#speaking of i’ll need to make another one of these when i post chapter x to decide on what day i’ll be posting each week

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 4

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, angst, mentions of animal cruelty, fluff, humor, slow burn, a super cliché makeover moment

Word Count: 10.1k

Posted on Patreon March 21, 2025

A/N: Heads up! My responses will still be a little slow. The boys are sick and I'm the last one standing. Haven't slept a lot this week lol. In other news – we're beginning our deep dive into Ben's past and doing a little bonding. Enjoy! 😉 ✨ Chapter title comes from Gone with the Wind (1939)

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Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day

You opened your eyes to soft sunlight filtering through heavy curtains. The room was huge, as was the bed, but it was the unfamiliarity of it all that made you shift uncomfortably in the plush sheets.

The clothes Ben had lent you felt strange. You couldn’t help but remember the quiet tension between you two in his father’s study, the moment you both had almost crossed some invisible line, and then he’d pulled away like it had never been there.

Still, you couldn't shake the pull he had on you. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that his kindness was a distraction – an unexpected one. His presence stirred something deep inside you, and you hated it. You needed to fucking leave. Fast.

You forced yourself to get up, the cool hardwood floors sending a shiver up your spine as you made your way to the door. You didn’t belong here – not in this house, not in this time. You needed to escape before things got any more goddamn complicated.

You descended the grand staircase, the weight of the mansion pressing down on you once more, its silence almost suffocating. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the empty hall before Ben already appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

How the fuck was he doing that? He didn’t have super-hearing yet, did he?

“Hey, you’re up early,” he greeted you with a brief flick of his eyes as he adjusted the cufflinks in his shirt.

He was dressed impeccably in a sharp, charcoal gray, three-piece suit that made him look every bit the man his father expected him to be. But he didn’t seem happy.

You had gathered enough courage to speak by the time you reached the last step – and him. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if we could maybe get a jump start on my… departure?”

Ben bobbed his head, lips pursed, but avoided looking straight into your eyes. “Sure, yeah,” he said at first, but you knew there’d be more. A lot more. “I just have to drop by the office and take care of a few things. But I told Florence, our housekeeper, to take good care of you. She’s already prepared breakfast for you in the dining room. Anything you need, just tell her, and she’ll get it for you. Make yourself at home, okay?”

What the fucking fuck was happening?

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before you ultimately found the words. “Am I–“ Ben’s head tilted at you, a hint of amusement and curiosity on his face. “Am I a hostage?”

He barked a loud laugh at your question, but then instantly lowered the volume to a more soothing tone. “No, no, of course not. You can leave anytime, sweetheart,” he assured you, and miraculously, you believed him. “Look, if you want to leave, I’ll take you to the train station or whatever right now. I just figured, you know, you seemed like you needed a little more time. I mean, do you know yet where you’re going next?”

“I told you. New York.” You folded your arms, shrugging.

“You have a place there? A home? Family? Friends? What?” he badgered on, crossing his own arms over his broad chest with a scrutinizing look.

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

Shit. 

You exhaled a frustrated sigh. This was getting old. “Why d’you care?”

Ben seemed caught off guard by the sudden sharpness in your voice. But then his lips curled into a half-smile, too tight at the corners, as he casually brushed off your question. “Yeah, guess I’m not supposed to care, right?”

He let out a short snort that almost sounded like an inside joke, his eyes flickering to the side, posture stiffening ever so slightly. He took a step back from you, adjusting his cufflinks again as if the distance and mindless fumbling could redirect the conversation, but the subtle grind of his jaw betrayed him.

You hesitated for a beat, but then decided to tell the truth. “Look, I-, I don’t really have anything in New York. I just figured I could find… something there, you know?”

Saying the words out loud caused a wave of panic to rise in your chest. He was right. Even if you left, you had no place to go and no idea how to get your abilities back yet.

“Listen, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, alright?” Ben said then as if he could feel the anxiety taking over you. His eyes sized you up, wondering if you would push back again. “Take your time, sweetheart. Really, there’s no need to rush, okay?” A tame smile played across his lips. “I-, uh, I don’t mind the company. Makes the house feel a little less empty.”

Fucking hell…

You wanted to tell him to stop – stop being so fucking considerate and sweet when all you wanted was to disappear. But your throat tightened, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. So you just nodded and forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Alright.” Ben gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll be in the office. You have a good day, sweetheart.”

Shit. By the affectionate gleam in his green eyes, you could tell he was enjoying this scene a little too much. You wouldn’t play The Donna Reed Show with him – and even that was still more than a decade of progressive thought away. All that was missing from his goodbye was a kiss to your temple and the sentence, “Can’t wait to see what you have cooked for dinner tonight, honey!” 

“By the way, I arranged for my mother’s tailor to come by this afternoon,” he added on his way to the front door.

“What?!”

Oh, you didn’t like this at all…

Ben only laughed at your gasp of horror. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time. Not throwing you to the wolves alone,” he quipped.

Needless to say, that didn’t comfort you in the slightest.

“Wait, what?!”

Ben gave you a patient smile, his amusement still visible before it morphed to a more teasing nature. “Look, as much as I enjoy seeing you in my clothes, sweetheart, I figured we should get you something more… fitting. Especially if you still plan your escape to the big, wide world out there.”

Before you could say another word, he was already disappearing out the door, his footsteps echoing as they faded into the distance. However, you didn’t remain alone for long.

“Miss?” A soft voice interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to find a woman in a worn, but well-kept uniform suddenly standing in the foyer. She must have been the housekeeper Ben told you about �� Florence.

Her face was kind, lined with the wear of years spent in this house, but there was a warmth in her smile that made her seem less like staff and more like family.

“Would you like something to eat, miss? It’s all ready for you in the sunroom.” Her voice was almost motherly, comforting, as if she’d been saying the same thing to Ben since he was a child.

You blinked at the mention of something called a sunroom. Sure, you’d heard of it, but you had never seen one nor had you ever known someone to own one. You’d grown up in a trailer park in Jersey, then lived in small and shabby cabin in the woods with a lot plumbing issues, and now in a shoebox apartment in a sketchy part of New York.

You glanced down the hallway at the dark, opulent, and intimidating dining room and figured the sunroom surely sounded… happier. But you didn’t want to eat alone in a big, empty mansion, your eyes landing on the housekeeper.

Florence had probably seen a lot over the years in this household. Maybe Ben wasn’t the only source of information around.

Since you couldn’t leave and Ben was so obviously avoiding you and your departure plans, you figured you could spend the day snooping.

This place was Soldier Boy’s diary, after all.

“I was thinking... maybe I could have breakfast with you? In the kitchen?” you asked her with a shy, yet friendly smile.

Florence’s brow rose in obvious surprise but quickly returned your smile. “Of course, miss. I can’t say I’ve ever had company for breakfast before since I’ve worked here, but I’d be glad to have you join me.”

Well, you had always loved being a little rule breaker.

You followed her into the kitchen, where the heavenly smell of eggs, bacon, and freshly brewed coffee wound its way to your nose. Your stomach suddenly grumbled. You hadn’t fucking eaten since that piece of birthday cake Annie had brought in that morning in the office.

It already felt like a lifetime ago. Had it been chocolate cake or red velvet? Why couldn’t you remember?

Swallowing, your gaze wandered around the kitchen as the housekeeper already bustled around, placing a plate down on an old oak table in the middle of the room. It was a warm, cozy space despite its size, shelves with china and silver lining the walls. Another fire crackled in the corner – they pretty much had a fucking fireplace in every room of this house.

You thanked Florence with a smile as you sat down, already stuffing a forkful of eggs into your mouth. “How long have you worked here, Florence?”

“Oh, I’ve known Benjamin since he was born.” She laughed softly as she continued working by the counters. “My mother had already worked for his grandfather.”

“Wow, so I guess you know Benjamin pretty well,” you said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“I do.” Florence chuckled but then let out a soft, nostalgic sigh. “He always had a lot to say, even as a little boy. Too much sometimes, if you ask me,” she quipped.

Yeah, you knew what she meant. The supe you knew would go on for hours about his not-so-glamorous stories of the important parties he’d attended and the more important celebrities he’d fucked. And you’d sit there, slowly dying inside, wishing he had the ability to contract laryngitis.

But the current version of him seemed more muted. Sometimes, you’d gotten glimpses of the bragging, the fuckboi attitude, and the spoiled brat who couldn’t accept no for an answer. Last night, though, he’d been more honest than you’d ever seen him.

“Does he always talk a lot?” you asked, your fingers playing with a piece of bacon.

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well... he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

You only nodded in quiet understanding. The whole house was screaming it; she didn’t have to say more.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Florence asked after a beat, watching you with a curious eye.

Of course the focus would fall back on you eventually. Here, you were the odd one.

You set your fork down and met her gaze with a smile. “You could say that, yeah.”

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started... well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

“What do you mean?” The creases of your brow deepened, the eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach increasing.

“Here, take my coat. You poor thing must be freezing. Look at you, you’re shaking.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father... he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Until you.

That was her underlying message. Florence was giving you a warning. Suddenly, you weren’t all that hungry anymore. You’d swallowed enough for one morning.

Florence’s eyes softened as if she could sense your unease. She lowered her voice, leaning in closer as she wiped down the oak table in front of you. “Listen, miss, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’d better leave before his father comes back.” Her tone was stern – protective. Apparently, one person in this house was looking out for Ben after all. It was just someone you hadn’t expected. “He’s a good boy, but his father’s a hard man. When he returns, all this–,” her eyes pierced into you, “–won’t be tolerated. Benjamin’s already been walking a tightrope with him. I don’t want you to be another problem for him.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. You nodded slowly, a cold shiver running down your spine as you realized just how precarious your situation really was. You weren’t here just because of a little time-traveling mishap. You were a complication – an inconvenience to the best-laid plans. She had seen what happened when Ben’s father decided that someone didn’t belong. And right now, you were the one who didn’t belong.

“I’ve told you what I can. Just-... don’t stay too long, miss. For your sake, and his.”

The mansion felt different in the afternoon – quieter, almost as if it were suspending its breath in anticipation for its owners to arrive. The morning, on the other hand, had been filled with staff scurrying around.

There was George, the groundskeeper and repairmen, who’d spent an hour switching broken lightbulbs in the endless corridors. You followed him to his work shed out back, finding a gigantic garden clad in winter magic as you chatted vividly with the sweet, older man. Soon, you started to freeze, though Ben had left his wool coat behind for you with a handwritten note, which was handed to you by Florence.

In case you go outside to look for an escape route…

Which brought you to your third encounter this morning – Ray, the chauffeur. He’d sought you out after breakfast with another message from his boss to you: “Mr. Benjamin wanted me to tell you that you’re allowed to use me for any getaway plans you may have.”

So, the younger version of Soldier Boy actually had a sense of humor. Who knew?

But even as you drifted aimlessly through the mansion, exploring one giant and overwhelming room after the next, your mind couldn’t free itself from the haunting conversation with Florence. You wouldn’t have cared if you caused trouble for Soldier Boy, but for some reason, you didn’t want Ben to suffer more.

Sure, his 80-years-older counterpart was the devil reincarnated, but this version of him had treated you only with kindness, the two sides of the same coin sometimes hard to reconcile.

Your sympathy, however, wavered slightly when you met the last two members of the staff – the maids, Frances and Dottie. Frances was the older one, probably in her forties, and didn’t pay much attention to you, going about her chores. Dottie, a girl in her early twenties, on the other hand, sent you a subtle glare every time you passed her in a hallway. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead by noon.

As her narrowed eyes particularly stared at your choice of outfit, Ben’s shirt, you quickly sensed why she might not like you.

The man really was a fucking dog.

When Florence moved to do laundry, you offered to help, but she quickly shooed you away, more or less telling you to stop getting her into trouble. So, you kept cautiously wandering around like the ghosts that haunted this home. You took in all the portraits of solemn men in expensive suits, the velvet drapes, the old-world furniture that shone with polish and pride. Spying a beautiful grand piano in the living room tempted you to tickle its ivories, but you didn’t know if it was allowed or even welcomed.

At this point, you certainly didn’t want to cause more trouble.

You ambled down another hallway, and just as you rounded the corner, the front door swung open, and Ben stepped inside.

“Are you always this curious?” he asked with a grin, leaving coat, hat, and scarf with Florence, who had hurried to his side as soon as she heard him come home.

Again, it explained so much about the future version of him. You had almost rolled your eyes but tried to remind yourself it really wasn’t his fault that everyone catered to his needs. This whole house and life was designed to turn him into a spoiled, careless man-child, taught to eat his feelings.

And as you observed Florence’s devotion to him, you suddenly saw the pattern as clear as day and knew you could never, ever unsee it afterward. His future counterpart had certainly shown a… preference in older housekeepers and maids – sexually.

You stiffened a bit, feeling like you were just caught red-handed in his diary – or his underwear drawer. “I… well, I was just exploring. It’s a… big house,” you deflected from your disturbing thoughts.

His tongue licked over his bottom lip as he nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes feels like it can swallow you whole.” He paused, probably realizing he let too much slip. “You find anything interesting?”

You gave an innocent shake of your head. “Not really. A lot of portraits of your ancestors, and some... old furniture.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s a lot of that.” He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. But when you met his eyes, you found more pain than anything else. “My father loves his legacy. It’s like living inside a museum sometimes.” He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders that was supposed to convince you he wasn’t bothered by that fact.

It failed, though. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint it until he said it, but walking through the mansion felt like taking a stroll through the Natural History Museum.

“So, uhm, how was your day?” you asked and would’ve loved to add a sarcastic honey. But again, it wasn’t his fault this time period was still domesticating women.

“Good. The usual, I guess,” he said casually, but you could tell by the small smile grazing his lips that he was happy you’d asked. “How was yours, sweetheart? Aside from exploring and scheming an escape plan?”

You giggled softly and gave him a smile that was almost shy. “Good so far. I had a lovely breakfast with Florence in the kitchen.”

Ben’s brow raised in surprise, but his smile hadn’t faded entirely. “You ate with the housekeeper in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” You gave a nod before your brow puckered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get her into trouble. She-… she isn’t, right?”

“Wha-… No, no, not at all,” Ben assured you, chuckling. “I just-… well, I’ve lived here for a little over twenty years, and I’ve never had breakfast before in the kitchen.”

“Huh, well, you should try it sometime. It’s fun.” You gave him a shrug, grinning.

“I’ll think about it,” he said and cocked a brow, his eyes dragging over your frame – the shirt of his you wore – with that little leer of his. “Do you always do what’s fun, sweetheart?”

The chime of the doorbell came as a welcome interruption and made both your heads turn toward the sound.

Saved by the bell. Your heart still thundered the storm of the century in your chest as Florence hurried to the front door once more. You had almost wanted him to step closer. You’d never experienced that feeling before with him.

“The seamstress is here, miss,” Florence said, swiftly ushering you toward another hallway. “Right this way.”

Fuck. You’d completely forgotten about that. You knew you needed some kind of period-appropriate attire. But why couldn’t he just take you to the 1942 equivalent of a V&M or Vara? You weren’t in the mood to entertain any makeover shenanigans.

“See you in a bit,” Ben said and fled down the opposite direction.

“Whoa! Hey! Where are you going? You said you weren’t going to leave me alone for this,” you said, your voice disturbingly close to a whine.

Ben must’ve sensed the panic blinking like an evacuation alarm in your eyes because he actually took a few steps closer to you again. “Five minutes, alright? Just have to take this to the study.” He gestured to a briefcase in his hand. “I’ll be right with you, sweetheart.”

Giving a hesitant nod, you couldn’t understand your own feelings. A big part of you hated to have him near you, hated talking to him, and hated to accept his help. Why him, of all the people on this planet? But there was another part of you that desperately sought the comfort his familiarity offered in an unfamiliar place.

Florence led you to the drawing room – a space specifically designed for entertaining guests. In your childhood, a burning trash can in the trailer park had served as your entertainment space for guests. In New York, it was your pull-up couch/bed. But sure, why not add an extra room if you’re shitting money?

The moment you stepped into the room where the tailor was waiting, your own personal nightmare unfolded in front of you as you were greeted by a flurry of fabric and an energetic woman in her forties, with short, stylishly curled hair and glasses perched on her nose. She was perpetually in motion, constantly fidgeting, muttering to herself as she laid out fabric swatches with dramatic flair. Her hands fluttered in the air like a conductor preparing for a grand symphony.

She straightened up when she saw you, eyes lighting up with immediate interest. “Ah, so you’re the one Benjamin’s been telling me about!” Her voice was brisk but warm, and she wasted no time in circling you like a hawk. Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses, scanning you from head to toe with exaggerated precision, as though the idea of fitting you for a dress was as exciting as solving a puzzle. “We’re going to make you absolutely stunning, darling. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

You hesitated at the doorway, giving her a tentative smile. “I’m really not sure about all of this. I’m not exactly–”

She waved her hand dismissively, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Not exactly what, my dear? Feminine? Pish posh. All women are feminine. It’s simply a matter of presentation.” She paused to give you another once-over, her eyes practically sparkling as she stepped closer, her hands bunching and tucking Ben’s loose shirt in various ways around your body. Were tailors always this handsy? “You have the shape, the frame. We’ll just need to... refine it.” She grinned, showing an alarming amount of enthusiasm for fabric and needles. “You’ll look fantastic in no time. You’ll be the talk of every high society ball, I assure you.”

“Huh? What now?” You blinked, unsure if you should laugh or run away. Did Effie Trinket just mention the word ball? You did not like the sound of that.

You shot a glance toward the door upon hearing a quiet creak, and Ben stepped inside, the faintest grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took in the scene. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and your eyes locked with his, silently asking him for a goddamn rescue. But instead, he looked entertained, maybe even a little pleased, which was infuriating, to say the least.

“You okay in here?” Ben asked, voice tinged with amusement as his green eyes darted between you and the seamstress.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded rather unsurely, your nerves ticking like a bomb inside of you. “Feeling like a tribute in the Hunger Games…” you muttered under your breath, aware your audience wouldn’t understand a pop culture reference from the 21st century. At least, the knowledge that Hughie and Annie would have laughed soothed your anxiety slightly.

The tailor, as if summoned by Ben’s voice, immediately sprang to action, striding toward him with a look of sheer joy. “Ah, Benjamin! What perfect timing! We’re just about to turn your lovely guest into a proper lady. You’ve done well bringing her here.” She beamed, patting Ben on the arm like a proud parent. “Wherever did you find this girl?”

“Uh… On the street.” Ben smirked, cleverly disguising the truth as a joke.

The seamstress threw him a pointed look at his antics, shaking her head. “Always a joker, this boy… However do you put up with him?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” You grinned, your eyes flickering mischievously to Ben. “It’s exhausting!”

Ben’s brow knitted, but to your surprise, he was more amused than anything else with your response.

“Oh, your mother will be so pleased when she comes back,” the tailor tells him wistfully before turning her attention back to you. “She always wanted a daughter to show off at tea parties. She’ll have you parading around Philadelphia’s finest circles in no time.”

Tea parties? Balls? Fuck no! Not to mention you wanted to be long gone before his parents got back, Florence’s warning still all too fresh in your mind.

Panicked, you blinked at Ben, while the tailor already swung a measuring tape around you like a ribbon.

“Uh, Ms. Vivian, my guest won’t be here anymore when my mother returns,” Ben informed her, approaching you as you stood in the middle of the room like a statue in an art gallery. “So, maybe we tone it down a little with the tea parties and the ball gowns.” He then looked at you, his eyes reassuring and encouraging. “Just tell her what you want, sweetheart. I told you – I got you.” He winked.

Your cheeks involuntarily blushed. Honestly, that little gesture might have been the nicest fucking thing he’d ever done for you.

With newfound confidence, you faced the seamstress. “Uh, maybe we could find something simple and casual? Maybe a little flowy?”

“Flowy? What, like a farmhand?” The tailor’s brow furrowed wildly as if you’d just offended her, clasping a palm to her chest. She sighed so loudly you almost felt like you had just shattered her entire lifelong dreams.

Ben snorted, and you couldn’t help but break into little giggles too, both your amusement flying right over the seamstress’ head.

“What about the cream one?” You pointed at a soft flowing dress on the rack, which looked perfectly fine to get around without suffocating.

“Oh, darling, no!” The tailor shook her head vigorously, but Ben sent her a stern look.

“Ms. Vivian…” His voice was calm but warning.

“Alright, fine.” She rolled her eyes exhaustively and put the dress aside before finding another one as well. She held it up to your face like it was a magic curtain. “What about this? Maybe a soft, ladylike lavender or perhaps a daring crimson to match the boldness I see in your eyes? That color would work wonders for your complexion, too!”

“Oh, uh, let’s steer clear of the crimson,” you told her, clearing your throat – not that Ben would actually catch why that made you uncomfortable.

“It seems like ‘no’ is your favorite word,” Ms. Vivian tutted in her frustration.

Ben laughed slightly at the comment. “Oh, she’s a hard one to win over,” he quipped, but his eyes never left you. There was a soft hint of a smile playing on his lips that you could almost confuse for affection.

Were you going fucking crazy?

The seamstress paused, considering the two of you, and then smiled in a way that felt a little too knowing. “Well, I suppose we could compromise. A sophisticated look, not too dramatic, but refined and elegant. The perfect balance. And just a hint of mystery, of course.”

God, she was good. You had to give her that. She really knew what she was doing, although you hated the fact she could read you so easily.

As Ms. Vivian eagerly rolled out fabrics and draped silks and velvets around your shoulders like sacred relics, Ben snuck closer to you. His fingertips lingered on your wrist, brushing but not touching as if to reassure you he hadn’t forgotten the rules.

But his breath fanned against the shell of your ear, the hair in the back of your neck saluting him when he checked on you in a whisper, “You still holding up here okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You laughed softly, barely able to hold his gaze. This whole situation was nerve-racking. “Just not used to being the center of attention like this.”

“Hmm, that’s hard to believe.” Ben gave you a little grin. “You’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Enjoy being dressed up like a doll? You’re not helping, you know...”

Ben chuckled. “Maybe not. But I enjoy watching you try getting out of it. Besides, I think you’ll look stunning, no matter what you wear.”

Furiously burning heat crept to your cheeks at his flattery. Fuck, he was good when he wanted to be. You thought you could handle Soldier Boy like you’d done so many times before in the future without issue, but this was entirely different.

“Oh, we almost forgot the foundations!” The tailor’s voice luckily interrupted the moment and drew both your attention back to her.

Your brow quirked, accompanied by an anxious feeling in your gut. “Foundations?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yes, darling. The proper undergarments,” she clarified and searched for the appropriate item in her large, wooden treasure chest. “What about a nice corset?”

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

To your surprise, Ms. Vivian uttered a loud gasp of horror as well. Ben, on the other hand, snorted in amusement behind your shoulder, and you turned to him with a confused expression.

“What?”

Before Ben could answer you, Ms. Vivian spoke first: “Young lady, mind your language!”

“Oh.” Your brow raised in realization. “Shit. I’m sorry. I mean crap! No, dammit! Am I allowed to say ‘crap’?”

A louder, more forceful laugh escaped Ben then, and you could see the glassy veil of tears over his eyes. He bit his lips hard, trying to regain his composure when Ms. Vivian was scolding both of you with a stern look.

“Benjamin, you better get Mrs. Helen to work with her before you take her out,” the seamstress said, but it was more than a mere suggestion. Her eyes were practically pleading him.

“Who’s Mrs. Helen?” you asked your host in a whisper-tone.

“She’s an etiquette coach,” Ben informed you, his amused smile still unwavering.

Your brow furrowed. “What, so I know which fork to stabbeth myself with while some pompous dick is going on and on about his yacht and the stock market?”

Ben chuckled violently behind his palm, but Ms. Vivian was less than amused and quirked a high eyebrow.

“Young lady, you better mind your manners,” she chided. “You may not find a man this way. Men don’t appreciate sailor talk. You’re in company of a gentleman here.”

“Who? Him?!” With a severely wrinkled brow, you thumbed over your shoulder at your host.

Oh, that is hilarious…

“Alright, if a corset is out of question, then we at least need to get you a proper brassiere,” Ms. Vivian continued her quest to dress you appropriately.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m good on that front,” you said.

The seamstress threw you a raised look, lowering her glasses on her nose for dramatic effect. “If you think I’ll let you walk out of here without the proper undergarments, you better think again,” she told you firmly.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ben quipped, grinning cheekily.

“Merde…” You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Fine, gimme a bra.”

Ms. Vivian foraged through her magical treasure chest again, shaking her head. “You know, I understand French, too, young lady.”

Fuck me, you thought since you couldn’t say it out loud.

“You speak French?” Ben tossed you a curious glance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fluent, actually,” you replied and watched his brow hike up in surprise.

“Well, I’m glad not all hope is lost,” Ms. Vivian chimed in. “French is very popular for girls your age.”

“You learned it in school?” Ben asked, and you could tell he was using this opportunity to pry more information out of you, but this time, you figured it couldn’t hurt.

“Uh, self-taught, actually,” you answered. Living in the French part of Canada for a couple of years, you’d certainly picked up a thing or two. “I’m also good with Latin and Greek. History, science, math…”

“Math?” Ben questioned, a trace of surprised intrigue flashing in his green eyes.

“Yeah, math,” you confirmed, smirking. “What subjects were you good at in school?”

Ms. Vivian snorted loudly at your question, Ben sending her a little glare at that. You knew why, remembering how he had flunked boarding school. And Soldier Boy would’ve probably pulverized the seamstress right this second for making fun of him, but Ben was a lot less hot-tempered.

“Uh, little bit of everything, I guess,” he replied vaguely at first, still trying to impress you. But then he wet his lips in thought. “To be honest, I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to my classes.”

The sudden honesty surprised you, and you rewarded it with a kind smile. You gave a quick shrug of your shoulders. “School’s overrated, anyways. Most of the stuff you need for life, you learn on the go.”

Ben’s lips curved into a smile. “Like French?”

“Like French.” You nodded, grinning.

“You know, playing an instrument is very desirable as well for girls,” Ms. Vivian added. “It lets potential suitors know you’re refined and cultured.”

So, they know I can play their flute? 

You bit back your comment, not knowing if Ms. Vivian wasn’t hiding a muzzle for you in her treasure chest as well.

“Well, I play the piano,” you offered instead. Truly, you didn’t try to impress Ben but the judgmental tailor. You hoped if she thought you had at least a little bit of a well-bred pedigree, she’d stay clear of the feathered hats you spied in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, that is wonderful!” Ms. Vivian clapped her hands in delight, making you quite proud of your achievement.

One point for the trailer park bitch!

“You know, we have a piano right there,” Ben said, gesturing to the corner where the beautiful grand piano stood that you’d admired earlier that day.

“Oh, I know. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to touch it,” you said, giggling. “Seems a little too grand for my skills.”

“No, go ahead, sweetheart. It hasn’t been played in a while. I’m sure it’d appreciate the treatment,” Ben encouraged you with soft smile, the affectionate gleam reappearing in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s too bad your mother won’t be here to see this!” Ms. Vivian tragically sighed. “She would’ve loved it! She was a wonderful player herself, always entertaining the guests at parties.”

“Was?” You looked at Ben, but he averted his gaze to the floor, never quite meeting your eyes.

You couldn’t remember if Soldier Boy had ever mentioned his mother. You’d heard plenty about his father, but his mother seemed more like an elusive mirage, swallowed by the exorbitant daddy issues that haunted him.

“She-, uh, she hasn’t really played in recent years,” Ben gave as a polite explanation but didn’t offer anything more.

“Oh, too bad,” you replied and sent him a small smile. “I’m sure she was great.”

“Alright, Benjamin,” the tailor interrupted you two, “This next part of the process is not meant for your eyes, so you better leave.”

“What? Why?” You sure as hell didn’t want to be left alone with the eccentric seamstress. God knows what else she could force you into. You were sure there were a lot worse things than a corset in that trunk of horror.

“Because you have to undress, darling, so I can see what fits and make the appropriate adjustments,” Ms. Vivian told you.

“Oh, I don’t mind staying.” Ben smirked puckishly.

“Benjamin Percival Brooks! Where are your manners, young man?” The tailor flashed him a look full of authority, her voice firm and commanding.

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

“I know your mother raised you better than that,” she chastised. “Go on! Shoo!”

You chuckled a little at the face he drew upon her order. Man, you should remember that trick in the future. You were kind of jealous of Ms. Vivian’s skills.

“You’re gonna be alright on your own?” Ben still checked, even when the seamstress was impatiently tapping her heel, waiting for him to leave you to your transformation.

“I suppose,” you replied, amused when the tailor already eyed you with a measuring tape.

“I’ll be in the study if you need me,” Ben said and threw you a wink. “Try not to melt under all the glamour.”

As the evening arrived in the mansion, the grand windows that lined the tall walls dimmed with the fading sunlight. You had spent the last few hours adjusting to your new wardrobe before settling on a dress that made you the most amount of comfortable – which wasn’t a lot, to begin with.

Your choice had landed on a long-sleeved, navy blue dress with the hint of a v-neck that was tied with a pretty bow. Alright, you did like the bow. A lot. This was probably the girliest outfit you had ever worn. It for sure was a far cry from your Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans, but at least you blended into your environment and didn’t stick out of the crowd like a sore thumb.

You also put on the vibrant red beret you had to fight Ms. Vivian for since it wasn’t “in fashion this season.” However, it made you feel very sophisticated and French, like you possessed a certain je ne sais quoi.

Alright, maybe you’d been daydreaming a little too much today. But one thing you’d learned during your epic adventures: Always commit to the bit.

Which meant fully diving into everything this period had to offer. You were stuck here, and you couldn’t get hunted down by an angry mob again, so you sucked it up like a big girl and channeled your inner Betty Draper.

Making your way downstairs, you passed Dottie, whose mouth dropped slightly when she saw you in your new outfit. If you thought Ben’s shirt made her hate you, that dress surely made her want to kill you now.

But Dottie, Grace, Betty, and Sheila all served as good reminders of why you had to heed caution with your charming host. You knew who he was in his essence. You couldn’t let yourself get blended by the pretty wrapping paper.

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ‘breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, unsure of how to respond. Then, you noticed a smile sneaking onto his lips when his gaze followed you down to your choice of footwear – you were wearing your same old pair of Chucks.

“Did Ms. Vivian forget the bottom layer?” he teased with an entertained smirk.

“Uh, no, she gave me plenty of choices. Not quite ready yet for that yet, I guess.” You blushed slightly. The truth was, your shoes still gave you a sense of familiarity and home that you wanted to hold onto. You could feel your own time beginning to slip your mind, little fragments starting to go missing from your memory. “She’d probably faint if she saw me like this.”

Ben grinned. “You’re tempting me to call her back just to see it.”

“Oh, too bad you haven’t seen her when I asked her if she had some pants for me, too. She almost collapsed like the London Bridge right then,” you quipped.

“Well, leave it to you to make me jealous I missed one of Ms. Vivian’s fashion shows,” replied Ben, giving you his signature smirk. “I was about to have dinner and was hoping you’d join me. I-, uh, I have a little surprise prepared for you.”

“Oh, uh, you know, that’s not really necessary. You don’t have to give me anything… or more, I guess,” you stammered, shaking your head, pupils flickering. “Letting me stay here, the clothes… It’s enough, okay? It’s more than I could’ve asked for, really. Thank you so much. You really don’t have to do any of that, you know?”

And you strangely meant every word. You were overwhelmingly thankful. Had that been his goal all along? Shit. Was it real it or was he playing you? The grin itching on his lips didn’t help you detangle the mêlée in your mind either.

“Is that a yes or no to dinner?” Ben formed a teasing smile.

“Uh… yes?” You were kind of hungry, not having eaten anything since Florence stuffed you full of crumpets during afternoon tea.

“Alright.” Ben nodded, clearly pleased. “Just, uh, give me a minute to finish this up.”

“Sure. Take your time,” you said and ambled through the study, your gaze drawing you to a row of framed photographs resting on the mantle.

One was a family portrait with Ben, no older than probably five, standing in the middle with two figures behind him – his parents. It was almost haunting seeing a childhood picture of that man, like seeing a teacher outside of school, buying groceries. It reminded you that underneath the emerald suit and the callousness was still a real, living and breathing person.

The contrast between his parents, however, was striking. His father stood tall and imposing, with sharp features and an air of authority that practically leapt off the picture. He didn’t share a lot of resemblance with his son, but weirdly, you could see some similarities between Ben’s father and his future offspring, making you wonder if Soldier Boy ever took note of those attributes as well.

Ben’s mother, on the other hand, was beautiful, her soft features highlighted by a gentle smile. Her eyes were kind, her posture relaxed, and she seemed almost ethereal compared to the rigid formality of her husband.

“Ah, my parents…” Ben’s deep voice ripped you from your thoughts. It was accompanied by a quiet chuckle, as though he didn’t particularly enjoy discussing that topic. He rose from the desk and sauntered closer to you, soon feeling his warmth radiating behind your back. “You see the resemblance?”

You glanced up at him, noting the subtle line of tension between his brows. There was something in his voice that betrayed the casual indifference he wanted to communicate.

“Yeah, you look a lot like your mom,” you remarked, studying the photograph a little closer. “You have her eyes and smile.”

Ben’s expression faltered for a split second with a flicker of something close to disappointment. His lips pressed together, averting his eyes down to the floor. “I suppose that’s true,” he replied with hesitancy. “Honestly, I’d rather prefer looking like my father. I’m not quite the man he is.”

You paused for a moment, your stupid hand itching to reach out to him in comfort. One thing was for sure, though: It was hard to see anything resembling Soldier Boy in the young man in front of you.

Yes, there was the occasional arrogance and bragging and even the insecurities. But you didn’t think this was an act or a game he was playing with you. Vulnerable honesty didn’t really fit his ammo when it came to wooing women. He was too proud in his virility for that.

So, you supposed you were just strange enough of a stranger to confide in. He couldn’t tell it to anyone else because – the girls he’d bedded, the staff in this house – they’d probably gossip, and he couldn’t risk that, could he? Not with a father like that. You, however, didn’t know a soul here. You were nobody. You were safe. You could keep his secrets.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you got lucky,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips. You giggled when his brows shot up. “Your mom’s a lot prettier than your dad. I’d be grateful if I were you.”

Ben huffed a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. A grin formed and widened on his freckled, clean-shaven face. “You think I’m handsome?”

“I believe I said pretty,” you teased.

Ben clicked his tongue, lips curling to fight a smile.

Your face softened, deciding to probe further. “What’s she like? Your mother?”

He licked his lips for a moment, surely considering if he wanted to answer your question. “Well, uhm, when I was younger, she was warm. Sweet,” he said slowly, trying to retrieve the memory from someplace distant. “She was everything you could want in a mother, you know? I-, uh, I felt like I could tell her anything, and she-… she’d understand.”

“What happened?” you asked quietly, your hands itching again, only held back by a sliver of self-control.

“I guess my father did,” Ben said as if he’d only just realized that fact himself. “I don’t know exactly what happened. I first noticed it when I was teenager. She just stopped being the person I remembered. She became more distant. Cold. She’s mostly just a ghost here. I think she just gave up fighting him, so she played the role of his wife, but not the one of my mother anymore.”

You had no fucking clue what to say to that. The hurt in his voice was raw, and you knew you were intruding on something personal he wasn’t used to sharing. You’d just opened a big can of worms in Soldier Boy’s past, and you had not the faintest idea how to get those slimy, little strings back inside.

Your eyes drifted back to the photograph. She seemed like a good mother in that picture, how she protectively rested a palm on her son’s shoulder. But you also noticed the contrast between the warmth of his mother’s smile and the cold, steely expression of his father. It was as if Ben’s mother had faded into the background, a supporting character in a life that had never really been her own. A fate, you’re sure, that befell many women of this time.

“You think she’s still in there somewhere? The woman you knew?”

Ben was silent for a beat, his gaze fixed on the photograph as he thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I used to think so. Now, I’m not so sure. The more time passed, the more she became… him.”

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do. Maybe then, you and Ben could call it even in the future and go back to your normal routine of hating each other.

It surely sounded less frightening than whatever this weird, blooming thing between you was right now that spread like a nasty STD.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing what else to offer. You still didn’t reach out to him. You were already playing with matches. You didn’t need to throw them into gasoline.

Ben gave a tight smile, trying to overplay his vulnerability. But you could see beneath all the bravado and arrogance. He was just a son who’d never felt like he was enough. Not to his father. Not to his mother.

Worst of all, you could relate.

He chuckled bitterly. “It’s alright. I’ve learned to live with it. You can’t choose your parents.”

“That’s true.” You gave a slight nod of agreement. “Mine were fucking assholes from the start.”

You hadn’t planned on sharing something personal with him, but it felt like the least amount of comfort and understanding you could offer him.

Ben’s brow twitched with surprise, a smile of amusement flashing across his lips, probably because of your use of sailor talk again. Honestly, though, how fucking ironic was that? You hadn’t even sworn a lot your whole life, but spending a year with Butcher and Soldier Boy in particular did a number on you.

“What-, uhm, what were they like… or are? Are they still alive?”

“No, dead. Probably,” you replied flatly. “And they were, uhm… selfish, unkind, elusive. Dumb like a bag of bricks, too.” Upon Ben’s blinking eyes, you uttered a half-hearted “sorry.”

“No, uh–“ Ben shook his head a little, as if to organize his thoughts. “So, that story about your father teaching you–“

“Bullshit, I guess,” you admitted, smirking a little.

“So, all that stuff you know–“

“I taught myself,” you confirmed with a proud smile, standing a little straighter. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you couldn’t deal with a woman being smarter than you.”

Ben’s lips hitched a smile that he tried to bite back. “I guess we’ll see,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I’m glad you asked about her,” he added quietly, his look touching something within your soul. “Not many people do.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I’m sure your mom’s proud of you. Even if she doesn’t show it.”

And then, the air shifted. You could feel it all around you, settling on your skin in a veil of delicate blossoms, rising in response to whispers of electricity. They danced across the surface, each little peak a shiver of anticipation. Your heart drummed louder, faster, till it drowned out all the other noise. There was just you and him at that moment in time.

You’d held eye contact for too long, the silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. It was addicting.

Your gaze briefly fell to his plush, pink lips, immediately cursing yourself for the action. He took note of it, his own eyes landing on your unoccupied, open palm by your side. And in the short second he paused and gathered courage to move forward with his intentions, you retreated half a step and exhaled a sharp breath.

“Uh, food?” Your voice broke the spell on both of you, Ben blinking out of his momentary daze. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sounds good. Shall we?”

Ben offered you his arm, and for a fleeting second, you considered declining. But there was something in the way he looked at you, faint crinkles around his crispy apple green eyes from a kind smile that pressured you to cave. So, you placed your hand lightly on his arm, and together you strolled down the hall toward the dining room.

“Is it just the two of us in the dining room?” you asked with a lump lodged in the back of your throat. Your heart was pounding while you held onto him. The soft scent of his cologne reached your nose, notes of citrus, mint, and wood making your head spin.

Ben chuckled a little. “Yeah, it’s just the two of us. Unless you want to invite Florence again.”

“Oh, can we?” As you glanced up at him, you saw the subtle smirk on his lips. “Oh, you were joking…”

Ben laughed deeply. “I was, but hey, if you want to–“

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head, trying to calm your jittering nerves.

As you entered the dining room, you were immediately struck by how large it was, the long table that easily fit a group of thirty stretching in front of you, lit by flickering candles. It was as grand as the rest of the house, but tonight it felt oddly intimate – just the two of you, and no one else.

Ben pulled out a chair for you, his movements graceful and old-fashioned. When you sat, he took the seat opposite you, and Florence hurried to set two plates of deliciously smelling meatloaf in front of you. Luckily, there was only one fork.

“So, what adventures were you up to today, sweetheart?” Ben asked, falling into the polite dinner conversation small talk. You were sure it was trained into him.

“Oh, uh, well, after breakfast, I spent some time with George in his shed. He’s got some cool stuff out there,” you said nonchalantly, only then noticing Ben’s look of amusement again.

“You spent time with George in his shed?”

“Is that not allowed?”

Ben tilted his head at you. “Why do you keep asking me that? I told you to make yourself at home. You can do what you want here.”

“No, I know,” you said, licking your lips as your chat with Florence crept along the edges of your mind. “I guess I just wanna make sure I’m not overstepping any lines here. Kinda like when you’re in a museum, and you’re not allowed to touch anything.”

Ben’s lips grew a smirk as he met your eyes. “Well, you’re allowed to touch anything you want in here, sweetheart.”

Oh no… You’d set yourself right up for that one, hadn’t you?

“So, out of curiosity, did you sleep with Dottie?”

Ben choked on the sip of red wine in his mouth, a few tiny drops staining his pristine white dress shirt. You’re sure neither Florence nor Ms. Vivian would be pleased with that – but you were.

“Hm? What?” He blinked at you like a deer in headlights, clearing the rest of the wine from his throat. “Why? Did she say something to you?”

“Might as well have answered that one with a resounding yes,” you teased and snickered into your glass of wine.

Ben frowned slightly. “You know, if she’s making you uncomfortable, I can fire her.”

Now, you frowned, eyes wide. “What?! No! Don’t do that. That’s such a dick move.”

“A dick move?” Both amusement and confusion flashed on Ben’s face.

Right… People probably didn’t say that yet. You also remembered the concepts of sexual harassment at the workplace and retaliatory discharge were still futuristic dreams, too.

“Well, you know, it’s kinda your fault. Suck it up,” you told him. “You’re her employer. You can’t just discard her because she makes you uncomfortable after you did… whatever you did to her.”

Ben was a little stunned by your bluntness. “Technically, my father is her employer,” he argued and then smugly added, “And I can guarantee you she also very much enjoyed whatever I did to her, by the way.”

Ew, gross!

“You just offered to fire her. I’m pretty sure you qualify,” you countered, not even touching the other comment with a ten-foot pole.

Ben pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a nod. “Guess I’ll suck it up then.”

You rewarded him with a wry smile. “There you go.”

“You know, that was just a one-time thing at some party my father threw. Months ago… Didn’t mean anything,” Ben added, shoving food around on his plate with his fork.

“To you, maybe,” you said and looked at him, waiting for another excuse.

But there came none. He just sipped his wine and dove back into his food.

Good. That would at least keep him from hitting on you for the next hour.

And it did – Ben and you had a pleasant dinner and stuck to small talk. You slowly began to relax, even though the tension between you two was still simmering underneath.

“You always eat dinner here alone?” you asked when Florence cleared the empty plate in front of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a box or a can.

One point for 1942.

“Usually, yes.” Ben shrugged. “Sometimes I go out with friends, have dinner in town.”

“Seems kind of lonely,” you noted.

“Can be. Seems a little less lonely tonight,” Ben replied, sending you a soft smile. “So, what was the house like that you grew up in?”

“Oh, uhm…” You weren’t sure if you should answer that one honestly but couldn’t find a good enough reason not to. “Well, it was a lot smaller.”

“How small?”

“About a quarter of this dining room,” you replied, slightly amused, and watched his brow crease in several directions as he tried to make sense of something like that.

“Huh.”

“We did have a sunroom, though,” you deadpanned with a sip of wine. “I mean, we just called it a window, but the thought was there.”

Ben snorted, soon fully laughing. He rubbed his lips with his fingers. “You ready for your surprise?”

“I told you. It’s not necessa–“

Before you could finish, your eyes flicked to Dottie in the doorway, holding a plate with a piece of cake and a burning candle stuck in it in her hands. The look on her face was devastating. Honestly, did this man possess no awareness at all?

It seemed like a cruel form of punishment for the girl. Fortunately, her grievances and anger weren’t geared toward you this time. The death stare fully landed on your oblivious host.

Dottie placed the plate in front you with a glare at Ben so biting you were surprised you couldn’t see teeth marks on his head yet. Both of you waited till Dottie had left the room again before you looked at him with a complacent smirk.

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes back. “Alright, I see it. Happy now?”

“As long as you’re aware,” you sang smugly.

“Stop gloating and blow out your candle,” he huffed, but a hint of playfulness swung in his voice. “I know I’m technically a day late for this, but I didn’t want you to miss out on cake. It’s the best part about birthdays.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and meant it. It was hard to deny that this was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever done for you. Uncharacteristically sweet and surely motivated by other nefarious reasons, but thoughtful nonetheless.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled warmly. “Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, uh… Twenty-… fourth,” you lied with some thoughtful reluctance. You knew if you’d told him your real age, there would’ve only been more questions about why you weren’t married and tamed yet.

“Older than me, huh?” Ben gave you a satisfied smile.

You bit your tongue hard at the irony and nodded, forcing a smile. Granny fucker.

“Well, happy birthday, sweetheart. Make a wish.”

And God, when that candle went out, you wished you’d be home soon.

▶️ Chapter 5: We'll Always Have Paris

Lots to unpack in this one! Some major insights into Ben's childhood and a glimpse at his mother. What did you think about Ms. Vivian? Should we get Mrs. Helen involved to fix reader's sailor talk? How much will Ben pay her not to reveal his middle name to Hughie in the future? 😂

And I'm not warning for age gaps in this fic because with Soldier Boy, it's kind of ridiculous anyway, but yes, reader is seven years older than him in 1942, but 74 years younger in the future, so they're even? 🤷‍♀️🤣

Coming Up:

So, yes, maybe you liked him. Liked him more than you’d be ever willing to admit. But were you just supposed to ignore everything else? Everything you knew and everything that might come?

Were you a fool for thinking you could change destiny?

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, teeth chewing on the plush flesh of his lower lip. He found your eyes. “Tell me yours first.”

“Alright,” you accepted, knowing you’d pushed him enough for today, knowing you had to give, too. Knowing his vulnerability didn’t come without a price. You contemplated for a moment, exhaling a sigh. “I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

Ben snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds a bit cockamamie.”

“Hey, you have your dreams, I have mine. And you’ll see. I’m gonna do it. I have more tricks up my sleeve than just math,” you retorted playfully, causing his smirk to deepen, but there was affection in every crease and crinkle on his face. “Before you mock, why don’t you just tell me yours, huh?”

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[dontlookatme121]

here are the fics i enjoyed between march 11th-21st 2025! some new, some old. mostly smut so MDNI! (i may have forgotten a few)

characters: javier peña, joel miller, frankie morales, marcus acacius

my other fic rec lists: march 1st - 11th fic recs, main ppcu smut rec list (almost everything i read between july 2024 - feb 2025)

a/n: since people liked the last one, i’m back with more thots, fav quotes, and some must-read fics. i'm glad i could turn my smut addiction into a little hobby to share with others, i've had a lot of fun making these lists. PSA: my thoughts are a bit more crazed than the last one, sorry, the smut was just so good im losing my mind over here.

note to the authors: you guys are so talented it needs to be studied. thank you for sharing your art <3 *mwah mwah*

WARNING: some of these fics contain dark themes that could be triggering. i will try to label accordingly, but PLEASE read the warnings. not all of these are for everyone!

smut- ♡ angst- ★ fluff- ✿ dark- !!

♡ !! run by @almostempty (wc: 2k, oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: marcus acacius x f!reader

summary: general acacius hunts you in the woods for ‘training’ then fucks you, duh [inspired by this post]

thoughts: …idek what to say about this besides it’s all i’ve ever wanted. sure, i could hypothetically be in a happy and fulfilling relationship one day… but i’ll never be hunted down in the woods by marcus acacius, sooo…

“Still fighting?” he murmurs. “Good.”

♡ !! OPEN WINDOWS by @pedgito (wc: 8.3k - oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

summary: Joel's a pain in the ass neighbor, but fortunately he's fond of you. Alternatively, Joel's a creep and you're definitely into it.

thoughts: YEAH i’m into it. unsurprisingly another banger from @pedgito.

“You’ve been watching me?” Joel chuckles, his grip easing enough to let you pull free. “Not like you’re makin’ it hard.” “You’re sick,” you spit at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “Maybe you’re the one who needs help,” Joel counters, taking a step back. “Or, maybe it’s attention.”

★ The boyfriend act, part 8: "The one with Dante and Beatrice" by @capuccinodoll (ch wc: 12k - series) (★- only angst as of now?)

pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

chapter summary: Things are a little different in Frankie’s mind. Apparently, you’re in there more often than you think.

thoughts: HOLY SHIT I WANT THIS CHAPTER TATTOOED BEHIND MY EYELIDS. sorry. this is just so good, i have to speak my truth. i already made an offensively long reblog with some of my fav parts so ill try to keep this brief. here are some of the highlights: frankie’s pov (so the whole thing), the convo from the last ch in frankie’s pov, the textinggg, frankie worrying about the cats wellbeing, the sexual tension, the flirting, the conflicted feelings, the dinner convo, the shift in dynamic, literally everything.

♡ family matters part 1, part 2, & part 3 by @daryltwdixon (3 parts for now. plssss i need pt 4.)

pairing: joel miller x tommy’s wife!reader

summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

thoughts: AGHHHHDDJGS. what. the. fuck. this is so hot. read it.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

★ ♡ !! Blind faith part 1 & part 2 by @stylesispunk (wc: 13.6k so far - series) ?? TW !!

pairing: priest!joel miller x nightclub dancer!reader

summary: Joel found you on a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

thoughts: jesus christ, this is so good. im obsessed with every aspect of this story, and i cant waittt for part 3.

(Quote from beginning of part 2:)

In the warm sunny spring of May when the night met the dark and lights reflected on the streets bustled with kids playing and families enjoyed meals. Joel was thinking about you. The cold had been replaced by the warmth irradiating from your smiled when you passed by, the way you spoke to him. The cold had left him on May 3rd, the night you walked into town with the kind of presence that made people take a second look without knowing why. Since then, things had shifted in ways Joel hadn’t expected. He felt it now, watching the world outside from the steps of the church. The night was warm, carrying the scent of fresh bread from the bakery down the street. Laughter echoed as children played in the dim glow of streetlights, their voices mixing with the low murmur of families gathered at restaurants. But Joel wasn’t thinking about any of them. He was thinking about you. Again, and again.

♡ Strawberry Swirl by @baronessvonglitter (wc: 1.9k - oneshot)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: Joel fucks you on a Ferris wheel. That is the fic.

thoughts: this is exactly what you promised and what i needed, thank you.

"You enjoyin' yourself?" he asks, wrapping his arm around you. You look up at him, the breeze whipping his graying curls. Wrinkles line his eyes, more pronounced when he smiles, and you press a kiss to his scruffy cheek then one to his soft lips. "I think we both could be having more fun.."

♡ Booty Call by @cxrsed-angel (wc: 3k - oneshot)

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem! Reader

summary: Javier calls for a booty call and of course you cant say no, even its the first time he’s coming over to your place.

thoughts: thank you for feeding my delusions with this one. this is simply a top-tier javier peña booty call fic. im always so impressed when an author fits great smut and enough characterization to make them both likable and believable into a oneshot. chefs kiss.

♡ Give up by @talaok (2 parts)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.

thoughts: to sum this up; nervous old man joel gets his dick sucked, reader expects him to leave after, but he’s a gentleman and returns the favor. joel washes his hair, they fuck. AND ITS SOOO GOOD. tommy clocking him had me giggling and kicking my feet.

dividers by: hearts divider- @uzmacchiato, mdni divider- @strangergraphics, red line divider- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

i fear that the harry castillo fics might take over the next list, so watch out.

[hannahbisssssss]

Dinner and Diatribes (Nandor the Relentless x fem!Reader)

Author's Note: When asked to write this piece, I wanted to make it special for those waiting so long for its arrival. This will be split into two parts. I currently have part one (the majority of the work) done. However, chapter two is strictly NSFW and I'm separating both parts in case that doesn't interest you. I should be done with part two by tonight, so keep an eye out for it.

Warnings: Overprotective brother Guillermo, horny Nandor (duh), and an innocent reader. Take that as you will. Blood and violence (also duh)

Word count: 11,000+

Requested by @binks1004

This will also be posted on AO3 by tonight!

I sigh softly as I finish putting the last touches on my homework. Another assignment done. I look at the clock that resides next to my desk. 12:30 in the morning: shit… I should have been out of the dorms ages ago. I promised Guillermo that I would go to sleep earlier tonight because I wanted to make my way over to his house in the morning. Well, it’s not like I haven’t gotten less sleep before and still survived. 

Suddenly, my phone rings, and I jump in surprise. I check the caller ID… Guillermo. Shit. I hesitantly pick up the phone after letting it ring a couple times.

“Hello?” My tentative voice rings out.

“You should be asleep.” Guillermo’s voice sounds disappointed but not surprised. I almost hear the eye roll in his voice.

“Why would you call me if you didn’t know I was asleep or not? Who knows, maybe you just woke me up.” There’s a hint of snarkiness in my voice. As Guillermo’s younger sister, I felt occasionally obligated to annoy him.

“You were last active on Instagram 15 minutes ago.” Guillermo’s ‘I gotcha’ voice is laid on thick.

“…Whoops?” He laughs on the other line.

“Whoops is right. You need to go to bed, Y/N.” I feel the exasperation start to rise within me.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I had homework to get done before winter break. Is that so wrong of me to want to spend my full time and attention with you when I’m there at your house?” I decide to guilt trip him. I hear Guillermo sigh before I hear heavy footsteps on the line.

“Guillermo? Who are you speaking to?” The voice is distant, but I can swear I hear the essence of a Middle Eastern accent. The phone is clearly covered by one of Guillermo’s sweaters, as I can’t hear much of the conversation after that. I think I pick up the words ‘master,’ ‘sister,’ and ‘visiting.’ By the time Guillermo uncovers the phone, he responds almost sheepishly.

“Sorry. My roommate.” I am hit with the remembrance that Guillermo has four other housemates that he lives with.

“Oh, right… who was that?” My curiosity is piqued now.

“Nandor.” Guillermo says curtly.

“Nandor.” I repeat, testing the name on my tongue. “Is he nice?” Guillermo sighs.

“Sometimes.” I laugh. 

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, then.” I try to assure him. 

“Sure. Y/N, please go to sleep before you end up driving over here like an exhausted zombie.” 

“Alright, alright. I’ll go to sleep, but don’t be shocked when you see I’m active on Instagram for the next 15 minutes: I have a routine, you know?” I hear Guillermo stifle a chuckle.

“Yeah, okay.”

“You know you love me.” I tease.

“Of course I do. That doesn’t mean you can’t be insufferable.” He teases back.

“That’s the fun of having a sibling, I think.” Guillermo doesn’t hide his laughter this time.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” I can hear the chiding in his voice.

“Goodnight, Guillermo.” I hang up the phone and make my way over to my bed. I’m a lot more tired than I previously thought, as I plug in my phone within five minutes of my nightly doom scroll routine. 

The drive over to Guillermo’s house is nothing special. It’s cold, with some snow falling, but nothing I can’t handle. As I made my way over the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, I feel myself getting a little nervous. What if Guillermo’s roommates don’t like me? What if I end up biting off more than I can chew with this trip? I mean, I’m staying for an entire month. Certainly his roommates would get annoyed with me after staying with them for so long. 

Before I can panic myself any longer, I realize that I’m already at his doorstep. I raise my hand to knock on the door, but Guillermo is already there. 

“Y/N.” He says fondly. I smile and let my hand drop.

“Hi, Guillermo.” We smile and hug and get all the niceties out of the way. 

“Did you end up sleeping well?”

“After scrolling on Instagram for approximately five minutes, yeah.”

“I noticed you weren’t active super long. I was hoping that meant you were asleep and not on that one website I don’t know about.”

“Character.AI?” I say with a laugh. He laughs too. 

“Yeah, that one. Who’s your current fictional character of choice?”

“I’m embarrassed to say…” I fidget with my hands for a moment. 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

“I most certainly do not.”

As I walk in the house, I am met with an ornately-decorated foyer. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling looks quite beautiful, and I can’t help but stare in awe.

“Like it?” Guillermo looks at me taking in the scenery. 

“Holy crap, you must spend a fortune living here.” He laughs at this response. 

“If only you knew…” I give him an odd look but decide to drop it. 

“Well, it’s 9:30 in the morning… What would you like to do?” I ask him with a pleasant smile.

“Did you eat breakfast?” I shake my head.

“Let’s do that first, that way you’ll be prepared for any activities I have set up for you today.” Guillermo says with a smile.

“Ooh, what kind of activities are we talking?”

“I’ll show you around Staten Island, and that’ll give me time to debrief you on each of my roommates.”

“Yeah, where are they? You’d think they’d be up by now.” Guillermo suddenly starts to fidget with his hands.

“They’re kind of nocturnal.” I look bewildered at this statement. “They work at the railroad, so they have weird hours.”

“But I thought… I thought you also worked at the railroad.” Guillermo looks stunned and a little frightened by my statement. “I-I do…” Guillermo looks down at his hands.

“Guillermo. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re telling a lie. Did you get fired or something?” He perks up at my statement. 

“Fired, yup! I’m just trying to look for new work, so I’ve been keeping busy with the upkeep of this house. Please, don’t tell mom.” I nod in solidarity.

“Of course I won’t. Your secret’s safe with me.” Guillermo smiles and visibly relaxes. Suddenly, another figure walks in the room. He’s bald, wearing a vest, and carrying a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Who’s this?” I perk up as he makes his way out of the kitchen. Guillermo shoots him a warning look. For what reason, I can’t be too sure.

“That’s Colin Robinson.” Colin raises his cup as a friendly gesture.

“Hello… You must be Y/N. Guillermo told us you were coming. You’re in for a lot of fun.” I smile at Colin, as he seems friendly enough. 

“Yes! I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. I sure hope I don’t become a nuisance too quickly.” He smirks at my statement. 

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” Guillermo shoots Colin another warning glare and for a moment, I could swear that Colin’s eyes brightened. Guillermo quickly takes my hand and leads me out of the house. 

“We’ll be back later, Colin.” I look at Guillermo, confused.

“What about breakfast?” He tugs at my arm again. 

“I’ll buy you breakfast, okay?” Guillermo closes and locks the door behind him, rolling his eyes at the thought of Colin. 

“He seemed nice.” I try to give him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, well ‘seeming’ isn’t everything. Colin Robinson is one of the most annoying creatures on this planet.” I laugh a little at this statement.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. Breakfast?” Guillermo smiles back at me.

“Breakfast.”

The two of us take Guillermo’s car throughout Staten Island. A diner, a mall, a work building, everything that sees me throughout the day sees a smile on my face. The minutes turned to hours and I suddenly feel the sisterly urge to connect with Guillermo. 

“I’ve missed seeing you.” I break the silence with my voice, knowing the words would ring true. Guillermo nearly trips in the shoe store we’re currently walking through.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Is his simple reply.

“I just don’t think you’d be able to understand the depth of my statement. I really fucked things up.” Guillermo stops this time, looking at me as I speak, as if seeing me for the first time in his life.

I don’t come from a functional family. I grew up Catholic, fatherless, and forced to grow up fast. The weight I bear is not something easily shaken. My mother loved me dearly, but was always worried about Guillermo. He was 7 years older than me. He didn’t have many friends growing up on account of his rather odd hobbies. By association, when I finally reached the age he was when he first started getting bullied, I was left friendless and alone. 

Life as an emotionally-mature person in an emotionally-immature body often led to grief beyond the imaginable. I knew as I grew up that there were things I would never experience. Teenage romance, of course, was the least-established of my facilities. The days boys would hit on me were over… Nobody wanted to be friends with the girl whose brother believed in vampires. What if it runs in the family? 

“I really messed up. I should have been reaching out more. College fucked me up and I think I was still holding a–” The words spill forth before I can even think. I only recently got in touch with Guillermo a few months back.

“You were never supposed to be taking care of me. I was supposed to be doing that for you. I should have listened to your feelings; spoken about your hurt.” Guillermo’s words nearly tear at my heart. There are moments like these with one’s family members that help one realize just how connected blood really makes us. Seconds turn to minutes turn to us sitting on the floor and crying together while a Shoe Carnival employee checks in on us. 

The day passes a lot more calmly than earlier. I’m not sure exactly how many times I am warned about each of his roommates. 

“It really sounds like you don’t enjoy living with them.” Guillermo grimaces at my words as if struck.

“I do enjoy living with them, but they are a particular bunch. I know you can be, too. I just don’t want anyone butting heads with you; they’d do that even if I were to specifically ask.” My face softens at my brother’s words. 

“It’s only one month. It’ll be alright.”

When we make our way back to Guillermo’s house, the lights are on and I can see shadow figures moving around inside, albeit with some paper in the way.

“Guillermo?” I ask quietly.

“Yes?” He follows my gaze before going silent.

“What’s the paper for?”

“They’re very private people. Who would I be to judge?” Guillermo nearly chokes on his answer.

“Do you think it was a good idea to invite me to spend my winter break with you?” I feel Guillermo’s warm hands clasp around my freezing left one.

“I would do anything to ensure your comfortability here. They’ll behave, I promise.” He shuts the car off and makes his way out of the vehicle, motioning for me to do the same. We make our way to the porch and Guillermo takes the jingling keys out of his pocket. As he opens the door, I peek into the foyer. Nothing. Nobody. 

“Where did they go?” My voice asks softly. Guillermo gives me a smile that could be perceived as tentative. 

“Probably the fancy room. The curtain is shut.” I immediately shrink into myself at his words. 

“They know I’m here. I should leave–” I begin frantically.

“No, Y/N, please stay. We can go and introduce you.”

“Memo, please. I know you’ve lived with them longer than since we lost contact with one another. I don’t want them to think to ask you why we stopped speaking.” There’s a rustling heard behind the curtain as it’s pulled aside. Standing on the other side of the curtain is a black-haired woman with green highlights. She is dressed in Victorian garb and looks superb. 

“I take it you are Y/N.” She says in her Greecian lilt. I give her a bright smile; years of acting makes switching from emotions a thing to do with ease.

“Yes, I am. Hi! Are you Nadja?” She smiles at me and I immediately take notice of her sharp canine teeth. Odd.

“The one and only. Come, come, you must meet the others since Gizmo won’t be introducing you himself.” Guillermo rolls his eyes and makes his way to the fancy room with a huff. Inside the room are two men. One sits on the couch with a pipe in his mouth, occasionally blowing out puffs of smoke. He shoots me a suave smile and I recognize his sharpened canines as well. I mentally take note of that as I look at him.

“My darling, who did you bring for us to meet?” His voice is strained and clearly fake. He knows exactly who I am. “This is Y/N, Gizmo’s beautiful sister who he never speaks of.” My face flushes a deep red and I feel Guillermo preen behind me. There is a throat clearing heard from the corner of the room. Out steps a figure that dwarfs the others. He is tall and imposing and every bit of the name I know him to have: Nandor. 

“Be nice to Guillermo, Nadja. You do not want to scare off his sister.” He steps closer and I feel his steps, both graceful and lumbering, get closer and closer. He is wearing a furred cape with some other cultural garb that does not seem from the United States in the slightest. He makes his way over to me with his broad chest leading the rest of his body. I almost pass out as I look up at him, feeling the air in my throat constrict. 

“Nandor.” He says in his baritone, holding a hand out for me. “Nandor the Relentless.” My mouth opens and closes like a fish before I spit out my own name.

“Relentless? Why’s that.” He doesn’t need to answer, as I’m sure I’d believe any answer he gives me. 

“Y/N. You have a very lovely name, as well as a lovely curiosity about you.” He replies. 

“Thank you, that’s quite kind of you.” I recognize now that I still haven’t taken his hand and I do, trying to shake it frantically before realizing how immovable he is. His steady hand lifts my hand to his lips as he keeps eye-contact with me. Normally, I’d explode from the attention, but I immediately clock his fangs.

“Is something wrong?” Guillermo’s voice chimes in and I realize I must have been staring. I blink a couple of times and come back to reality, noticing Nandor’s lips are still on my hand. Guillermo takes notice as well and swats at my arm. I pull it back in surprise and Nandor’s deep voice chuckles behind me. 

“Careful with this one. She’s fragile.” Nandor’s voice is both teasing and deadly serious, as if sending a warning to his roommates. Guillermo tugs my arm and leads me out of the room. I wave at Nandor and he gives me a smirk I can only describe as fond yet… hungry. After Guillermo drags me out of the room, I immediately round on him.

“You live with a bunch of cosplayers?” Guillermo shrinks from my anger. 

“They’re quite eccentric people when they’re not working at the railroad.”

“Speaking of, why the fuck are they here playing dress-up when they should be at work?”

“It’s a Saturday evening.” I deflate with Guillermo’s response. He’s right, of course.

“Okay. I’m off to bed.” Guillermo gives me an apologetic smile and as I turn away, I realize I have absolutely no idea where I’m going.

“Upstairs to the right.”

“Thank you.” I respond curtly before making my way up the stairs. When I make it to the top of the stairs and take the first right, I close the door behind me and take a deep breath. After my brain runs silent for a few moments, I decide to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. Of course, that meant exiting my bedroom, and I did not want to do that just yet. I wanted to take everything in. I look at my bed frame, an ornate metal one with a stained glass lamp on the nightstand next to it. Jesus, they took this whole cosplaying thing very seriously.

Guillermo’s POV

“Are you fucking kidding me? I asked you guys to do one thing: act normal! How hard is that? You were humans once, too!” Guillermo’s whisper shouting is quieted by Nandor, who places his hand on Guillermo’s shoulder.

“Laszlo, Nadja, leave us.” Nandor waves a dismissive hand at them.

“Fuck off.” Nadja’s voice is the first to pipe in. Laszlo is quick to recover as he stands and grabs his wife’s shoulders.

“Nadja, how about you and I go to our room and… discuss this new development in the house.” Both Guillermo and Nandor bristle at his statement for the very same reason. Laszlo drags Nadja out of the room before either of them could chide the married couple. When they finally leave, Nandor looks down at Guillermo.

“I would like to court her.” He says blatantly. Guillermo feels as if he had just been electrocuted. 

“Fuck no.” Guillermo is quick to recover from his immediate shock.

“Guillermo, she is a beautiful, unwed woman of childbearing age. Would you enjoy watching your sister turn into a spinster?” 

“Not any more than I’d enjoy watching her turn into your concubine.” Nandor looks as if he could snap his bodyguard’s neck. “You will not be courting my sister, and I’m so fucking serious. She’s a Van Helsing as well – she could kill you without a second thought.” Nandor perks up at this statement.

“I do enjoy a challenge.” Nandor’s voice is smug and steady. Guillermo storms out of the room, making his way to his room under the stairs. 

Y/N's POV

The house is cold and quiet. The fire in the living room does not create enough heat to reach where I am. Guillermo set up the room nicely, with a few extra blankets that will not go unused. I smile to myself as I make my way out of the room to head to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I smack into the chest of the person waiting outside my door. Nandor. He gives me a smirk, one of the fangs popping out of his lip.

“Hello, little Y/N.” I nearly shiver at his voice, but maintain my composure. 

���Hi Nandor. Sorry, I should have been paying more attention.” He gives me a friendly smile.

“You are quite alright. Do not feel bad. I was standing right outside your door, so I should be the one apologizing.” Nandor’s hands are clasped behind his back, making him look quite serious and almost otherworldly. 

“Yes. What were you doing outside my door anyway?” I look skeptical of him. 

“I wanted to apologize for causing any strife between your brother and you.” Now that was an answer I was not expecting. I swallow and try my best to not look phased. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Nandor chuckles at my words, a deep and smooth sound. 

“Guillermo clearly cares deeply for you. I wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression.” Nandor’s voice is genuine, without a hint of any of the confident bravado he carried earlier. 

“I know he cares for me. Sorry, I’m incredibly tired and have to get ready for bed.” I gently scoot him out of the way and make it to the bathroom without looking back. I lock the door behind me, standing before the mirror in front of me. It is a humbling sight: I look as though the exhaustion I’ve felt since I was 12 was surfacing all at once. Realizing my face was getting red with that discovery, I covered my face to cry. 

What I could not see beyond the door was a stunned Nandor, able to hear my soft cries. He did nothing, and yet here I am, angrier than ever. I stayed in the bathroom for a long while, knowing I could not go out and face him again.

Nandor’s POV

As he stares at the bathroom door, all he can feel is completely helpless about the situation. Had he said something wrong? What did he do? All he said was that your brother cared about you. Was that so wrong? Nandor awkwardly shuffles to his bedroom, closing the door to drown out your cries. He could hear them slow and eventually stop, listening to your feet shuffle back to the room across his. He wants to try again, to reach out and tap your door; to ask you what’s wrong. He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He tries to ignore the feelings your emotions stirred within him as he listens to your breathing even out as you fall asleep.

Next Morning - Y/N’s POV

I wake up the next morning feeling completely out of it. As I opened my eyes, I felt all the emotions slam into me as they did last night. Fuck. Had I really gotten that emotional around Nandor? I knew that my emotions had gotten the better of me, and I wanted to apologize to him. He couldn’t have known that my and Guillermo’s relationship was a sore spot. Of course he wouldn’t have known that: Guillermo has always liked to keep his shame hidden. I sit up in my bed and groan, trying to catch my bearings. His door is right across from mine… Maybe I could sneak over and speak with him. 

Why I felt so drawn to Nandor, I couldn’t explain. Maybe it’s because he’s incredibly handsome, or maybe it’s due to the fact that he has no clue about me. A clean slate. That’s certainly what I felt I deserved at this moment.

I stand and make my way over to my door, opening it and running into someone for the second time in under 12 hours. I’m surprised to see that it’s Guillermo. 

“I’m so sorry,” are the first words that leave his mouth. I look at him skeptically. “Nandor told me you were upset last night. I should have known.” My face heats up in embarrassment. 

“It’s no big deal, really. I was just upset–”

“Stop. Please stop lying on my behalf. I’m your older brother, and I fucked up. I haven’t told you the whole truth.” That stops me dead in my tracks.

“What are you talking about?” Guillermo takes my hand and looks at me with an emotion on his face I can’t quite read. 

“I know I’ve been obsessed with vampires since I was a kid, and I hoped above hope that they were real. So real that I went looking to find them. I found a job application when I was 19 that seemed suspicious enough, so I showed up here: to this house,” I shake my head in confusion as Guillermo continues. “I was met by Nandor at the front door, who took me in for an interview. The job detailed the upkeep of the house and what being a servant–a familiar would be like.”

“A familiar? What the hell are you talking about?” Guillermo takes my hand and continues.

“I haven’t been working at the railroad for all of these years… I’ve been working for Nandor, Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin Robinson. I’m a familiar. They’re vampires.” My face turns blank for the first few seconds after he said the words I desperately did not want to hear. 

“Are you serious?” I can see Guillermo’s face fall. “After all these years, you still don’t care about how your actions affect other people. Do you know what it was like? Taking care of mom when all she wanted to do was see her son. Getting bullied at school for being your sister?” I wrench my hand from Guillermo’s grasp. “I get that us getting back on speaking terms is new and exciting because I’ve missed you, but don’t fuck with me about this,” Guillermo quickly grabs my hand again and drags me to Nandor’s room.

“I can prove it. Look,” Guillermo opens the door to Nandor’s room and there, laying in the middle of the room, is a large coffin made from some of the finest wood I’d ever seen. 

“What the actual hell,” my voice is quiet but certainly not calm. “What is this?”

“This is where Nandor sleeps. He sleeps during the day because he’s a vampire, not because he works night shifts. If he touches the sunlight, it hurts him. And if he steps fully into the sun, it will kill him. That’s why the windows are boarded up; that’s why this house looks so haunted: because it is. It’s haunted by the vampires who have lived in it for over 100 years,” I cover my face again and pull my hand from Guillermo’s grasp. 

“You’ve actually been galavanting around with vampires for over a decade?” I am dangerously calm. 

“I don’t know if ‘galavanting’ is the right word, but–”

“Well, what would you call it? Leaving your family behind to live with vampires. Some fantastical fucking dream you got to have,” I turn away from Nandor’s coffin, feeling scorned. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I can’t take back those years that I left you and mamá, but I want to make up for it.”

“You left us! For years, you left us! And what am I supposed to do? Be fine that you were gone for so long, only to be living your dream,” I sit against the wall, sliding to the floor. “While I was stuck taking care of mamá, who wanted nothing more than to have her son back. Do you know what that’s like?” Guillermo takes a step closer to me, slowly sitting next to me. 

“No. I don’t. But I want to. It’s not fair that I was gone, but I want to have you back in my life–”

“Did you tell mamá?” Guillermo looks ashamed and it’s all the answer I need. “Why would you ever trust me with this secret?” 

“Because I can’t try to satisfy you with lies. I’ve done that for long enough,” Guillermo looks at me with such sincerity it almost hurts. I sigh, feeling a headache coming on.

“Is there anything else I should know?” I look at him from between my fingers.

“...We are descendants of the Van Helsing family,” I immediately groan and put my head back in my hands. 

“What does that entail?” Guillermo takes a breath as he prepares to explain.

“It means that you’re probably unnaturally good at spotting vampires. I noticed you noticing their teeth last night,” I look up at Guillermo again.

“You did?” Guillermo laughs at my question. 

“Maybe it’s why I was so good and seeking vampires out in the first place,” a small smile appears on my face at his statement. 

“Guillermo De La Cruz: always alone, traversing between two worlds,” I give him a smile as I take my hands off my face.

“Not alone anymore,” he replies with an openness I had not yet seen from him. 

“Not anymore, no,” Guillermo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him.

“Yes, yes, that’s nice. Now Guillermo, please flee from my room with your sister so I may slumber,” comes a voice from the coffin. I almost forgot we were in Nandor’s room. I laugh at his words. 

“Shit, sorry Nandor,” Guillermo says as he stands, pulling me to my feet. 

“Yeah, we’ll go,” I say as I start to leave the room. Guillermo closes the door behind him and looks at me a moment before we both start laughing. 

“Whoops,” Guillermo says first. 

“I guess I didn’t think vampires could be light sleepers,” I reply. 

“They most certainly can. Breakfast?” Guillermo asks. 

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes to do my morning routine. I need to brush the heart-to-heart out of my teeth,” Guillermo laughs and makes his way down the stairs. 

“See you in a few!”

After taking the time to do my morning routine, I make my way down the staircase to the kitchen. Before I can get there, I’m intercepted by Colin Robinson, who is, once again, holding a cup of coffee and wearing another vest. I shuffle nervously on my feet, now come to the realization that I am surrounded by vampires.

“What makes you so different?” I blurt before I can stop myself. Colin looks bewildered. “Good morning to you, too,” he mutters. 

“I’m sorry. Good morning. What I meant was, if you’re a vampire like everyone else, why can you be awake in the daytime?” Colin takes a sip of his coffee. 

“Your first assumption was incorrect: I am not like everyone else. I’m an energy vampire: a daywalker,” I nod at his explanation, though I’m still confused. “I feed off of people’s negative energy. Energy vampires are the most common of vampires, and I’m sure you’ve met some before meeting me.”

“Are you draining me right now?” I ask cautiously. Colin seems to find this amusing.

“No, no. I do it when you least expect it.” His words hang in the air for a moment before Guillermo peaks out of the kitchen. 

“Leave her alone, Colin,” Colin’s eyes glow blue at Guillermo’s words. So his eyes were glowing yesterday. 

“Go and enjoy breakfast. I sure have enjoyed mine,” Colin smirks before walking away. I make my way to the kitchen and prepare for the rest of the day. 

The rest of the day is rather mundane. Guillermo told me I should start getting used to taking naps in the daytime if I wanted to spend time with the vampires. When asking him if he was going to take a nap, he merely laughed. 

“The job of a vampire’s bodyguard is never-ending,” he responded.

“I thought you were a familiar,” I eye him.

“I was, until the vampires got attacked by other vampires,” Guillermo responds as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. I guess, for him, it has been his normal.

“Should I be worried?”

“Not with that Van Helsing blood in you,” Guillermo nudged me. “Now get some rest.” So I did. The day was spent in a mostly-dreamless slumber as I tried to preserve my energy for the nighttime. Being a college student, changing my sleep schedule was certainly not hard. I woke up to my alarm and checked the time, seven o’clock. I rub my eyes and sit up, seeing the sun had already set below the sky. Being wintertime, it gets dark a lot earlier than I’d like. Maybe vampires enjoyed the winter more for that same reason. 

While pondering existential questions about vampirism, I peek out my door to make sure I won’t run into anyone else. As I look across the hallway, I see Nandor’s door is already open. I make my way over to his room, trying to be as quiet as possible, as if sneaking into somewhere I shouldn’t be.

I look inside his door and see his coffin opened. As I survey the rest of the room, I do not find him anywhere. 

“It is rude to try and sneak up on a vampire such as myself,” I jump in surprise and turn around. Nandor stares at me, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“I wasn’t–I didn’t–” He chuckles in that same deep baritone. 

“You’re not too sneaky for a Van Helsing,” I stand a little taller and cross my arms.

“Van Helsing or not, I’m still a De La Cruz,” Nandor raises an eyebrow at me. 

“I can see the resemblance between your brother and you. Come, would you like to sit?” Nandor gestures to a couple of chairs in his room. “The others are probably out hunting for the night,” I feel my blood go cold at his words. Nandor chuckles again before speaking, “Don’t worry – I ate yesterday in preparation for your arrival,” I feel his eyes on me as I sit in the chair. He moves to sit next to me. 

“Do you… kill people?”

“Yes,” his response is quick and almost cold.

“Do you enjoy it?” Nandor sighs.

“Only sometimes. Those are boring questions. I hear them too often. Let’s talk about something more interesting,” Nandor feigns a yawn which elicits a smile from me. 

“How old are you?” Nandor peers down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling. 

“I am over seven hundred years old. How old are you?” I suddenly feel much more shy and self-conscious. “Oh, come now, don’t tell me you don’t want to answer any of my questions.”

“I’m 23,” I respond quickly, as if challenging his words. 

“But a sprout amongst the trees,” Nandor’s words flow from him. “Y/N, I like your name.”

“Thank you… It’s a family name. Where does ‘Nandor’ originate?” Nandor smiles proudly. 

“From Hungary. It’s a version of ‘Ferdinand,’” Nandor says the name with a hint of distaste. 

“You’re Hungarian?” Nandor immediately shakes his head.

“No. I’m from Al Quolnidar. It used to be part of the Ottoman Empire, but now would be southern Iran.”

“I feel like I’m getting a history lesson,” I say with a laugh.

“Do you enjoy learning?” Nandor asks, blinking slowly at me. I pause for a moment, wondering how to respond.

“Yes, I think I do,” Nandor’s chest seems to puff up proudly, like a bird showing off his feathers. 

“Then I shall give you history lessons whenever you please.”

And he does. Days pass in the house and I always await Nandor’s rising in the night. I spend some of my time getting to know everyone in the house, but Nandor, of course, steals my attention most of the time. We spend long evenings and nights getting to know one another. Yet, it feels as though my life is not as exciting as his. No matter how many times I state this fear, Nandor is quick to respond.

“Just because I’m ancient doesn’t mean I’m more interesting.” We agree to disagree on this front. During the nights we are not speaking to one another, Guillermo catches us stealing glances at one another in the kitchen or the library. He, of course, knows we both have feelings for one another, but tries to inform me of how stupid and dangerous that is. I hush him up every time, telling him to let me have my fun, as there’s no possible way Nandor feels the same way about me. Guillermo shuts up every time, going back to whatever he’s doing. During one of our nightly talks, Nandor begins to open up a bit more about his love life.

“I had 37 husbands and wives,” I nearly spit out my drink at the number. 

“Shit, I realize this is probably insensitive, but how did you keep up with all of them?” Nandor laughs and waves off my question.

“I loved 35 of them, so it was relatively easy. The other two were political marriages: women meant to bear my children to carry on my name,” I try not to blush at the thought. 

“That must have been nice–having so many partners to spend time with,” I try to spin the situation.

“Oh no, I spent most of my time with my concubines when I was on the battlefield,” I, once again, try not to choke on my drink. 

“Did you ever think it was enough?” The words fall from my lips before I can reign them in. Nandor looks at me, surprised by my question.

“No… I suppose I didn’t,” I frown at his response.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” The dam has opened. 

“I’m a vampire. All I ever think about is settling down for eternity. I lived enough lives by being a conqueror as a human,” Nandor looks at his glass, half-empty with AB+ blood.

“Seven hundred years is a long time to be alive. I feel like I’ve lived through enough as a 23-year-old,” Nandor gives me a look.

“You’re still young,” he says as a matter-of-fact statement. “Let the world open up to you.”

“I think I have had enough of the world opening up to me,” I begin to swirl the wine in my glass. 

“What do you mean?” Nandor’s curiosity is piqued.

“Helping out a single mom since you were 12 is not exactly a job for sheltered individuals,” I say with a sigh. “My mom needed someone to help out around the house after Guillermo left. I was that someone. It wasn’t all that bad, but it was hard.”

Nandor is suddenly hit with the crushing realization that he inadvertently did this to you. He took away Guillermo, he made it nearly impossible for Guillermo to reach out and speak to his family. Nandor takes a sip from his glass. If his face could blush, it would certainly be burning from his shame right now. 

“I’m sorry,” is his only reply. I give him a smile, one that he recognizes as a friendly but tired look.

“Don’t be. It shaped me into who I am. I like me,” I say simply.

“I hope you don’t mind if I were to ask you about your father?” Nandor immediately wishes he could take back his words once he watches my face fall. 

“I don’t remember much. He was a piece of crap who bullied our mother for a living. When he finally decided to get lost, I couldn’t help but feel abandoned. My mom loved me as best as she could, but that doesn’t mean it was what I needed,” I say before taking another sip of my wine. “Blood is thick, though. I am forever appreciative that I got this opportunity to reunite with Guillermo, even if that means having my worldview shattered,” I say with a laugh. 

“How do you do it?” Nandor asks as he studies my face.

“How do I do what?”

“How do you speak about such things with a smile on your face? You should be crying.”

“I weep when I’m alone,” I tell him as I look into my glass again. “It’s not very becoming of me to cry in front of people I don’t know that well, now is it?” Nandor also looks into his glass before looking back up at me.

“I would like to know you,” Nandor says those words simply, as if it wasn’t a declaration.

“I don’t think you would. I’m broken–” I start.

“I don’t know why you’ve convinced yourself you’re not worth knowing. You’re allowed to be angry with me, you know? I took your brother away for years, causing you to have to raise yourself. I would understand completely if you chose to hate me,” Nandor’s words spill forth like a waterfall. 

“I don’t hate you,” my face is burning.

“Why?” Nandor’s question is exasperated. 

“I’m not sure, but I don’t. You’ve given me every chance in the world to speak freely, but I don’t feel like hating you. It does not change the past, nor does it heal the future. I think just being in your presence now is a comfort. One I should not take for granted,” Nandor is stunned into silence. 

“Can I kiss you?” I am stunned by this question. I stand abruptly before getting ready to leave. 

“I should get going,” I close the door before he has the chance to respond.

Nandor’s POV

By the end of the night, Nandor’s room looks as if a tornado blew through it. Once he heard you leave the house, he began to destroy everything within it. He threw his glass of blood at the wall, watching it shatter with a cruel satisfaction. Of course you would not reciprocate. You’re too full of life, too wonderful, too good for him. Nandor roars in anger at each of these thoughts, destroying some of the furniture in his room. All that remains untouched are his coffin and the paintings of himself on the wall: all a cruel reminder of the warlord he was. The violent, cruel, evil dictator who took lives without care. Of course you felt the need to run away for the night. He made you uncomfortable, and he couldn’t blame you for feeling that way.

At some point in the night, there is a knock at his door. Nandor rounds on Guillermo, hissing as he stares at his bodyguard. 

“Leave me,” Nandor’s words are cold and angry. But Guillermo does not leave.

“What happened?” His question brings forth a thousand more thoughts in Nandor’s head, who clutches it as if it is going to explode.

“She left. I scared her away,” Nandor’s voice cracks from emotion, and he curses himself for it, finding a book on his nightstand and ripping it apart.

“What? How?” Nandor storms over to Guillermo, towering above him intimidatingly. 

“Leave. Me.”

“This is my sister we’re talking about. My sister, who is alone in the streets of Staten Island because of you. Now, tell me what happened,” Guillermo’s temper almost matches Nandor’s. Nandor lets out a frustrated huff before explaining what happened. 

“She was never angry with me. Never angry at me, the monster who kept her brother away from her for 14 years. She held no bitterness towards me about it,” Nandor turns around to hide his shame. “None, until of course, when I ruined it by asking to kiss her,” Guillermo falls silent with these words. 

“We have to go find her. She couldn’t have gotten far–” Guillermo begins, trying to ignore the feelings stirring within him.

“We don’t have to do anything. You will go and find her. I have done enough for tonight,” Nandor hisses, throwing a glare at Guillermo over his shoulder. There’s a pause between them before Guillermo glares back at Nandor. 

“Fine. Next time, stay away from my sister,” the door slams behind him and Nandor jumps, quickly returning to destroying his room. 

Guillermo’s POV

She couldn’t have gotten far. That’s the only thing he can think as he goes out to look for you. You couldn’t have gone too far. Guillermo, met with constant lefts and rights, decides to follow a path he had taken you on during one of your many daily adventures through Staten Island. Left, left, right, straight for a few miles… You couldn’t have gone far. He tries to think of all the possible places you could have gone. 

You took your car, of course. You left in your car to do whatever you wanted, and he had no chance to stop it. Suddenly, he remembers the pang of disappointment he felt in his stomach when you said you enjoyed going to bars. He took you to a bar a couple days ago. It had food, greasy food, but it also had drinks. That’s probably where you went. He tries to stuff down the thought of you drunk driving. You wouldn’t. 

Guillermo feels an immense sense of relief when he sees your car outside the bar. He opens the doors, a sense of peace washing over him. That is, until he realizes you aren’t there. Guillermo’s panic rises within him again as he looks around. He asks the bartender if he saw you – he hadn’t. You were sending him on a wild goose chase. Guillermo clutches his head in frustration, trying to think of where else you could be. That is, of course, until he hears you scream.

Y/N’s POV

I wanted to go to the bar for the shitty food. I knew it would make me feel much better after running away from Nandor. I had been mentally kicking myself the entire night over Nandor’s question. Why did I leave? I cover my face as I sit at the front sidewalk of the bar.

Commitment issues. It was always commitment issues. I felt so embarrassed for leaving Nandor hanging, but I was terrified when he asked to kiss me. I wanted to, of course, but I had never… I mean, what would come next? Marriage? Sex? The last thought sends a shiver through me. He’s a vampire. I’m just a blip in his long existence: an impermanent thing. I cover my face and groan to get myself free of those thoughts. Standing up to go into the bar, I reach the front door before I feel my arm grabbed by some stranger, dragging me away with a hand over my mouth.

I’m dragged into an alley, a knife pressed against my back. Yeah, this would happen to me.

“Don’t scream,” the voice is scarily calm. “I’m just robbing you. This will go as easily as you want it to,” he speaks the words as if they’re molasses stuck in his teeth. As he removes his hand from my mouth, I take a deep breath. 

“I don’t have a lot of money on me,” I responded brokenly. 

“Well, it seems we have a problem, don’t we?”

“Please. Let me go. I’ll give you the keys to my car,” I am pleading now.

“You think I want some busted car from a college student?” The knife begins to dig into my skin. I gasp and the man shushes me before whispering in my ear.

“I told you this would go as easily as you wanted it to. It seems you don’t care too much,” I shake my head and try to reason with him. 

“Please, I won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll go quietly. I’ll give you everything I have, it’s just not much,” the man removes the knife from my back and brings it to my cheek. He slowly drags it down the side of my face, certainly drawing blood. I cry out, beginning to scream for help. After a brief moment, I feel the weight lifted from behind me as the man is dragged off of me. 

“Don’t touch her,” I hear a familiar voice hiss behind me. I scoot away from Nandor and the man he is now holding off the ground. His eyes are a deep red; red as blood. With that thought, I raise a hand to my cheek, feeling the warm liquid running down my face. I catch Nandor watching me touch the blood on my cheek. He hisses at the man, and it’s a deep and menacing sound. “Look away,” his voice is deep and commanding. 

I tuck my head and cover my face. The moment I do, I hear a disgusting squelching sound, followed by a gasp from the man. I’m sure he would have screamed if he could, but I would guess Nandor went for the throat.

“Y/N, we have to go,” I uncover my face to find Guillermo staring at me, frantically trying to pull me to my feet. In a split-second decision, I turn to look at Nandor, who is crouched on the ground like a predator, face deep into the man’s skin. His eyes are on mine the moment I look upon him, and I can feel his relief as he looks at me. Guillermo drags me out of the alley, holding my hand the entire way. 

“Stop looking!” Guillermo commands as he pulls me out of Nandor’s view.

“He’s not going to hurt me–” 

“You’re bleeding,” Guillermo interrupts me. “I don’t want to tempt an apex predator, thank you very much.” He opens the passenger door and helps me sit down before going to the driver’s side. Guillermo speeds off in his car, headed back in the direction of the house. When I looked behind the car, all I could see was Nandor standing in the middle of the road, blood covering his face.

We got back home after driving for a few minutes in silence. When Guillermo parks the car, he looks over at me.

“Are you okay?” I cover my face and look away.

“Yes,” I responded curtly.

“No you’re not,” Guillermo puts a hand on my shoulder to comfort me, rubbing it softly. “It’s okay to not feel okay after something like that. I remember the first time I saw a human die at the hands of vampires. It’s scary. You shouldn’t have had to see that,” he speaks so gently.

“I’m okay, really. I mean, yes it was scary… I guess I’m just glad Nandor got there in time.” Guillermo nods.

“Me too. You can thank him when he’s not all bloodlusted,” Guillermo almost reads my mind. 

“I’ll just clean up and it’ll be alright–” I begin.

“No. He’s already got the scent of your blood. He’s going to be touchy for the rest of the night. We need to get you patched up and to bed,” Guillermo cuts me off. “That is a talk that can happen another day.” I finally relent, nodding in agreement.

“Okay… Can I go get cleaned up now?” Guillermo turns the car off and walks beside me the entire way, keeping an eye out for Nandor. “I’ll be fine, you know?” He scoffs at my words.

“You’re as stubborn as him – I’ll give you that,” he mutters under his breath. When we make it in the house, Guillermo helps clean me up. Luckily, the other vampires were nowhere to be seen, though Guillermo was sure they could smell my blood. “I’m going to put a cross on your door tonight. Give you a couple stakes…” 

“Would that really be necessary?” Guillermo shoots me a look. 

“I’m not taking any risks. He’s dangerous and I will not have my sister getting bitten by a vampire,” he continued to dab a washcloth on the wound on my cheek. 

“It’s going to be a huge, ugly scar, isn’t it?” There’s a hint of despair in my voice. Guillermo sighs.

“I don’t know… Probably… But not ugly! Let’s… not worry about that right now,” he tries to filter his words, but it’s really no use. He begins to use alcohol prep pads on my skin, causing me to hiss through my teeth. 

“Ow, that really hurts,” Guillermo’s face turns sympathetic.

“You’re very strong. I don’t think it needs stitches: it wasn’t that deep. Can I put gauze on your cheek?” I nod.

“Here we go. It’ll be okay. You will be staying in your room tonight,” Guillermo’s words leave no room for argument. I groan at him, rolling my eyes.

“Fine,” Guillermo nods as he finishes disinfecting my face and putting gauze over it. 

“You’ll bounce back quickly. Something tells me you always do,” he gives me a wink and helps me stand before pushing me into my room. Guillermo places a stake on my bedside table, then goes to hang a cross on the front of the door. 

“Is all of this really necessary?” My question is exasperated. Guillermo shoots me a glare. 

“Is keeping you safe from a deadly vampire necessary? Oh geez, let’s think about that,” I roll my eyes again at his words. 

“Okay, thank you. Good night, Guillermo,” I sigh and place the hand over my gauze. Guillermo’s eyes soften and he makes his way to sit on my bed next to me. 

“You’ll be okay, I promise. I just want to be careful, you know?” I nod along to Guillermo’s words. 

“Thanks. I know you’re just looking out for me. I appreciate it,” I say to him sincerely. 

“Just rest. The morning will be here before you know it,” he leans over and gives me a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too… Good night,” I say to him. Guillermo smiles and makes his way to my door, closing it behind him. 

I wish I could say that I tried falling asleep, but I did not. I stayed awake for what felt like hours, tossing and turning in my bed. All I could think about was Nandor standing in the middle of the road, watching me drive away with Guillermo. There’s a level of guilt that falls on my shoulders as I think about that look he gave me. I hold my cheek, beginning to cry softly at the thought of my face being marred for the rest of my life. 

After crying for a long enough time to feel dehydrated afterwards, I hear the loud flapping of wings and a squeak outside my door. There’s a poof sound, followed shortly by a hissing as Nandor approaches my door. 

“Fucking guy,” Nandor hissed at the cross on my door. I stand, tiptoeing over to the door before cracking it open. Before me was Nandor, cleaned up and in the same outfit I saw him in earlier. His face immediately softened once he saw me. “Y/N… Are you okay?” He reaches a hand out and I flinch, a little afraid from what I saw earlier. 

“I’m alright, I promise. You… shouldn’t be here,” Nandor scoffs at my words.

“What did your brother tell you?” He spits the words. 

“He said you would be… touchy. I don’t want to irritate you,” I whisper, trying to make sure Guillermo wouldn’t hear us. Nandor’s face widens into a smirk.

“Oh no, my dear, wrong touchy,” I blush in surprise and he takes this as an opportunity to push past me, closing the door swiftly behind him as he carries me towards my bed. 

“Nandor! Please,” I protest as he lays me down on my bed, quickly following to curl up behind me.

“Please what, darling? Use your words,” he nuzzles against my face, nose rubbing against the gauze on my cheek. 

“I don’t– I can’t…” The words are lost on my lips and Nandor shushes me. 

“I know, darling. I can smell it on you,” he nuzzles against my cheek again, pressing a kiss to the gauze on my face. “A virgin, are we? I smelled it in your blood,” Nandor whispers as he puts an arm around me. I blush deeply in surprise that he was able to guess so easily. 

“I grew up very Catholic,” are the only words that leave my mouth. Nandor chuckles darkly.

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter why, it matters that you are,” he kisses my cheek again. I shake my head again, trying in futility to deny.

“I ran away after you asked to kiss me,” Nandor stops suddenly, his grip loosening. 

“I will leave you if you wish it,” he continues to pull away. 

“No! I mean… you don’t have to,” I try to cover the desperation in my voice. Nandor chuckles again and leans in against me.

“You smell amazing,” Nandor continues to nuzzle against my cheek. 

“I shouldn’t have run away. I’m sorry,” I feel the remorse surge within me.

“Don’t be. I got a free meal of it,” he teases gently before nosing against the pulse point on my neck. 

“But I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I should have told you that I’m afraid to get close to people, that it was never your fault–” Nandor nips my neck gently, causing the words to die in my throat.

“Hush, Y/N. Stop apologizing. I don’t want you wasting your breath on something I already understand,” he leans down and kisses my head. I flip to my other side, facing Nandor and getting a good look at him for the first time since the attack. His eyes are still a faint red, pupils blown wide with some primal feeling deep within him. I reach a hand up and push a strand of his hair behind his ear. I hear a low groan rise from his throat.

“What does it feel like?” I ask suddenly. Nandor pulls away to look at me.

“What does what feel like?”

“Drinking blood. Is it… I don’t know… enjoyable?” Nandor smirks as he looks at me. 

“I wouldn’t be able to explain it. Drinking blood is like nothing I ever did when I was a human. It feels so powerful, like something out of a movie,” Nandor gets lost in thought, staring out of the paper-covered window.

“What does it feel like for a human?” Nandor looks at me a moment, before answering.

“When I was turned, it was not a pleasant experience. I’m assuming that was due to the violence of the one turning me, but I’ve heard some humans find it to be a pleasant experience. Why?” Nandor asks the question he already knows the answer to.

“I… would you drink from me?” I look up at him shyly. Nandor’s breath hitches as he looks at me. 

“You would want that?” I nod, the words dying in my chest.

“Would you remember me?” Nandor looks perplexed by the question.

“I would know you through the rain and the snow, through every storm that appears in the night. Just because your blood calls to me doesn’t mean I will answer in violence,” Nandor leans down and presses a kiss to my undamaged cheek. 

“You make it sound so easy,” I whisper to him.

“For some, it really is.”

“Is it for you?” Nandor hesitates.

“No, but I will not forget you,” I lean forward and hug Nandor against me. 

“You saved my life once. I owe you, at the very least,” Nandor leans forward and captures my lips in a kiss. It is a deep and passionate kiss that conveys the days of yearning between us. I could imagine myself getting lost in that kind of yearning forever. The kind of yearning that leaves one seeking answers from the beginning of the first interaction. 

Nandor’s tongue presses against my lips, licking off any balm I put on there a few hours before. I open my mouth to him, breath getting stolen as he takes a greedy gulp of my air. 

“The second you view this as a transactionary agreement,” he starts as he pulls away from my lips, “you’ll forget how much I want to get to know you. I don’t want you to forget that,” he says as he presses a kiss to my nose. He pushes my head to the side gently, sniffing my pulse point and taking a moment to just sit there. 

“You’re so sweet,” I whisper to him.

“Sweet. That’s not a word that’s been used to address me before,” He laughs and presses a kiss to my neck. I giggle softly as he continues to press kisses to my neck. “I like those noises. You sound happy. I only want to hear you happy,” Nandor mutters against my neck.

“I hope that not always being happy is not a let-down,” Nandor chuckles again, nipping my neck softly. 

“Don’t speak as if you’re some consolation prize. I don’t care. I like you,” he mumbles against my skin. 

“Are you going to bite me now?” I ask, trying to deflect some of the attention he was putting towards me. Nandor nuzzles against my neck again, dragging his teeth along my neck. 

“The second you say it back, I will. I like you,” Nandor says, pulling away to look me in my eyes. I blush deeply, trying to maintain eye-contact with him.

“I like you, too,” I say as Nandor leans down and captures my lips in another kiss.

“That’s more like it,” he says, bending down and pressing a kiss to my jaw. He leans down and kisses against my neck, growling against my skin. “So warm, so soft, so sweet,” he sinks his fangs into my skin. It feels like a short needle prick and I jump a little in surprise. As I jump, Nandor’s hold on me tightens to keep me in place. I whimper a little as I feel him begin to take pulls of my blood. 

“That… feels really nice,” I mutter to myself, feeling as if I had entered a trance. Nandor groans as he continues to drink deeply from my neck. The sounds are lewd and wanton as my body curls into him. It feels as though a thousand hands are holding me against him, making me feel safe and protected in his arms.

He takes a couple more pulls of my blood before pulling away, licking the puncture wounds on my neck. He kisses the marks gently, groaning from deep in the back of his throat. 

“You taste divine,” he breathes the words as if they are keeping him alive. 

“That felt really nice,” I mutter, still in a daze. Nandor chuckles and holds my face in his hand.

“I’m sure it did. I made sure to be gentle with you,” he says as he kisses the spot where he bit again. There are moments like these that help one realize just how connected blood really makes us. It feels as if we are bonded in some way, and I can tell Nandor is feeling it, too. “I’m sure you can feel how intense things are right now. Just take a deep breath, okay?” He holds eye-contact with me and takes a deep breath, trying to get me to follow suit. When I do, he smiles and kisses my cheek. “Good girl,” he whispers. My eyebrows knit together with his nickname.

“Oh, you liked that, did you, darling?” He kisses my lips quickly before saying, “my good girl,” once again.

4am - Nandor’s POV

Nandor woke up with you in his arms, feeling the weight and security you offered him. However, after a moment of peace, he feels something pressed against his back. 

“Get up,” Guillermo’s voice is a deep warning. 

“Guillermo–” Nandor tries to speak.

“Get up. I will not ask again,” he hisses again, holding the stake against Nandor’s back. Nandor looks over as you begin to stir. 

“You wouldn’t want to wake her up, would you?” Nandor’s voice is a deep purr. 

“Did you bite her?” Guillermo already knows the answer.

“Only because she asked,” Nandor nearly taunts Guillermo, who grabs Nandor and pulls him out of the bed. 

“I told you to leave my sister alone,” Guillermo growls at Nandor, who holds his hands up in defense. 

“She invited me in,” Guillermo frowns at Nandor’s words. When you stir, they both look over in surprise.

“Did anyone think about asking me what I wanted?” You stare at the two of them, glaring at Guillermo. “Yes, I invited him in. Yes, I realize that may sound dumb to you. No, I do not regret it,” Guillermo bristles at your words.

“I’m just making sure you’re safe,” his voice is a strangled mix of frustrated and calm. 

“Unhand Nandor, dude,” you say to your brother, who begrudgingly lets him go. Guillermo storms out of the room, causing you to want to go after him. 

“Don’t. He needs a minute alone,” Nandor starts.

“You don’t know what he needs. I need to apologize to him.” You get up and make your way out of the room, heading down the stairs to find Guillermo fuming in the kitchen. 

Guillermo’s POV

“I’m sorry,” are all the words you can muster. He hears you from behind him and he turns around, glaring.

“I told you to leave it alone for the night, and what did you do? Not that. Certainly not what your brother asks you to do,” you frown.

“It’s fine, he was fine! Nothing happened,” at your words, Guillermo’s eyes flicker to the puncture wounds on your neck. She flushes in embarrassment and quickly covers up the marks. “Nothing beyond that.”

“I don’t care what happened between the two of you, I want Nandor to be good to my sister. I don’t want him to lose interest the second you lose your novelty to him.”

“I don’t think I’m some novelty to him. I think he likes me–” Guillermo holds a hand up to quiet his sister. 

“I need to speak with Nandor,” he says with a biting edge to his tone. 

“Not with that stake, you don’t,” Y/N says with a glare thrown his way. Guillermo huffs, standing up from the table and walking out of the kitchen without his stake. As he stomps his way up the stairs, he sees Nandor peer from out of his room. 

“You, me, talk. Now,” Nandor opens the door for him, allowing him entry. 

“Guillermo!” Nandor says with a friendly lilt in his voice, trying to appeal to Guillermo’s normally good-natured attitude. “What is cracking, friend? How has your day been going?” Guillermo looks at Nandor’s room, still in complete disarray from the night before. He turns at Nandor and looks up at him. 

“When you said you wanted to court my sister, I could have killed you. When I saw you holding my sister this morning, I almost killed you,” Nandor shrinks from Guillermo’s words. But, he sighs. “Be good to her. That’s not a lot to ask for, is it?” Nandor immediately shakes his head. 

“I will be the best to her. Only the best she deserves,” Guillermo nods, thinking over Nandor’s words. He huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“If you so much as break her heart, I’ll put a stake through yours,” Guillermo threatens. Nandor crosses his fingers over his heart.

“Scout’s honor,” he bares his teeth in a little smile at his bodyguard. Nandor nearly jumps for joy as he makes his way out of the room to find you. When he sees you at the bottom of the stairs, Nandor grabs you around your waist and spins you around, kissing your bandaged cheek again. 

Y/N's POV

“Well, that went well…” I say with a laugh as Nandor brings me closer to kiss my cheek. 

“It did. Better than I could have ever imagined, my morning star,” I blush at his nickname, which elicits a satisfied noise from Nandor. “You like my little nicknames?” Nandor leans in and kisses my lips once again with a surprising amount of gentle energy. He dips me once my feet touch the floor, breaking apart only to look at me with the same reverence as yesterday. 

“Yes, I could get used to the nicknames,” Nandor smiles brightly, his fangs bared. 

“Anything for you, little one,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss me again.

[mendessi]

things i say when you sleep | chapter one

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc word count: 4.9k summary: Ania crosses the Parapet into the Riders Quadrant, and finally meets with the marked children of those who got her parents and brother killed. Bodhi Durran is quick to remind her that she's marked too. tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, mentions of death, she falls first he falls harder, majority canon compliant, some canon deviance, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending, additional tags to be added

AO3 masterlist

one | two | three | ...

Observant.

The words I had always heard used to describe myself. I spent my whole life watching, and observing those around me in their day to day. I always needed to know everything. I could never let it go if I couldn’t perfect it first. I intend to carry this strategy across the Parapet. I picked it up as a child and had no choice but to refine it after my parents and brother died at the end of the Apostasy. It’s how I survived the training that led me to this winding staircase.

I listen carefully to the conversations happening in front of and behind me, but I never engage with the chatter. I don’t care to learn the names of anybody on this staircase. Maybe I’ll care once we live to transition from candidate to cadet.

I am here because I have to be. Not because I want to be.

The shimmering relic crawling up my arm earned me a one-way ticket straight into the Riders Quadrant should I make it across the Parapet.

My heart thumps against my chest as the top comes into sight, three riders clad in all black keeping post. I keep my eyes on the stairs, taking one step at a time, my knuckles turning white from the grip I have on the straps of my rucksack.

“Next.” The rider recording names says. “Name.” He speaks quickly, with no time for niceties. He’s been here all morning watching candidates fall to their deaths. I could be next for all he knows.

“Ania Alistair,” I reply. I step around him when he nods his head.

My jaw clenches at the sight of the rider standing at the opening to the Parapet. He’s certainly grown since the last time I saw him six years ago. He’s grown into his height, his shoulders broader, his cheekbones and jawline now more prominent. He had bulked up, surely a result of being a rider. His eyes meet mine and his eyebrows raise, if only for a moment. I knew I would see him here, I just didn’t think this soon.

“Xaden,” I say his name. I am not the thirteen-year-old girl he last saw in Calldyr.

“Ani.” He replies, looking down at me as if testing the waters. “I was expecting you.”

"Don't call me that." 

The day that was now known as the rebellion had ended, I had been following my older brother, Beckett, in Aretia. He had become so secretive, him and all of his friends. I wanted to know what they were and why he kept them from me.

There had never been secrets between us before, and ever since Tyrrendor had begun a secession it felt like there was a brick wall between them. Our parents had been in another fight, the fight that ended their marriage and I didn’t find it fair that he had left me behind.

Our mother didn’t agree with the Apostasy and wanted to take Beckett and I to Navarre to declare our loyalty. Her mother was a rider, how could we ever betray that?  My father was Fen Riorson’s best friend and right hand man and believed that keeping us in Aretia was the safest option. He had an extremely active role in the Apostasy.

I crept behind the wall watching as Beckett engaged in a deep conversation with Xaden and his cousin Bodhi.

Fen had always said that with Xaden first in line to the throne, he was betrothed to a Poromish girl named Catriona, and Bodhi was betrothed to me because he was second in line. At a young age, I never understood why I of all people, but Beckett and Xaden always teased us about it.

“Ania, I know you’re there.” Beckett had called out. I rounded the corner with a frown and looked between him and his friends.

“Hi, little Alistair.” Xaden greeted me, turning his body away from Garrick. Bodhi gave me a small wave and I couldn't help the way my cheeks flushed.

His friends were some I had spent my entire life around. I saw them more than I saw my friends. They’d been around for as long as I can remember. Fen and Talia had held me the day I was born, a great family friend to my parents. Even Xaden, at three years old, had held me. My father eventually got caught up in whatever it was that led to the Apostasy.

“You can’t be here, Ani,” Beckett said as he approached me, lowering his voice.

“No, you don’t get it. Mom and Dad are fighting again. But it’s bad this time, Dad is packing our things. Our things. Not just his.” I lowered her voice to match his, glancing over at Xaden and Bodhi, too occupied in their conversation to overhear.

“Something is happening, you have to go home.” He said as he placed his hands on my shoulders with a firm grip. Anxiety swam in his eyes and I could almost sense it radiating off of him.

“Come with me.” I could feel the tears prickling my eyes. “I’m scared.”

He took a deep breath and then looked to Xaden and Bodhi, “I’m going to walk her home. I’ll be back in less than twenty minutes, I swear.”

“Safely.” That was all Xaden said and we were off. Beckett kept my hand in his, tugging me quickly through the streets.

I knew Navarre had not been happy with us but my parents had assured us that we were safe here. Until my mother decided otherwise, but I trusted that they’d never put us in harm’s way.

When we arrived home, our entire home looked like it had been ransacked. The bookshelves were thrown to the ground, and books were scattered across the living room. Our rooms were torn apart as well as if someone had been looking for something.

“Ani, stay behind me,” Beckett said quietly.

I gripped the back of Beckett’s tunic in my hand as we approached our parents' rooms and as he pushed the door open a scream ripped through my throat. I ran to my mother’s lifeless body on the floor ignoring Beckett’s objections. The blood that spilled from my mother’s throat seemed nonstop, covering my clothes as I sat in it, my hands covered in it as I tried to stop the bleeding.

“Beckett!” I cried out. “Please do something. Did Dad do this?”

“No.” He breathed out. “This wasn’t Dad.”

Fight or flight took over and he grabbed me by my tunic, shoving me into the closet. “You have to stay here, do you hear me? Don’t go anywhere until I come back for you. I will come back for you.”

Beckett never came back. But Navarrian infantry did.

When Xaden saw me in Calldyr for the executions of our parents, he shielded my eyes so that I didn’t have to see. He and Bodhi stood on either side of me until we were split up to go to our designated foster homes. They both fought against the guards, trying to ensure that I’d stay put with at least one of them. I wasn’t.

From that day forward, whether it was his fault or not, I blamed him for the death of Beckett. My parents too, even. My mother wanted no part in this rebellion. My father had been captured after he fled, leaving Beckett and I behind, and now had been executed right in front of me and the rest of the rebellion kids. I knew for a fact that Beckett had left me in that closet to run after Xaden and Bodhi.

I hated them all.

My shoulders twitched slightly as thunder boomed across the sky. Xaden noticed it, however. “Good luck.” Was all he could say to me.

I made it across without so much as a slip despite the downpour of rain. Once in the courtyard, I study it carefully from my place against a pillar. I have no interest in making any friends here. I’m here because I have to be, not because I want to be. I’d much rather be with the healers, like my mother. I observed the other cadets around me, taking note of who seemed to be a potential threat in size. It was hard to tell in any other way, too soon. I wasn’t terribly short, simply average. I had been lucky enough to be fostered in a home that trained specifically in hand-to-hand combat. If you count the fake sparring I used to participate in with my brother and his friends, then I’d say extra training. Though it didn’t matter the amount of training I had, that could only help so much if my opponent was bigger. I was told stories by my grandmother and in this moment I am replaying every single one in my head. It is just how she described it.

I watched and watched, observing those who came into the courtyard after crossing the Parapet.

Observing others is what got me this far. So long as I stayed quiet and didn’t make any enemies, I could make it Threshing and bond. I just need to remain unseen.

After being placed into Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing, I once again took note of those around me. My new squamates. Most notable was the petite girl with silver hair, to who I caught on quickly was Violet fucking Sorrengail. The girl’s mother oversaw my father’s execution and probably had a hand in my mother’s too. If that wasn’t bad enough, my squad ended up being moved into Xaden’s wing.

My bed unfortunately was positioned right next to my squadmate, Rhiannon, who was placed next to Violet. The two already seemed acquainted before they even crossed the Parapet, but I didn’t bother asking how they knew each other. I opened my journal, leaning against the flimsy headboard, and began writing about my first day in the quadrant.

“Hi,” Rhiannon says, though I’m not sure if she’s talking to me. “I’m Rhiannon. You can call me Rhi. We haven’t officially met yet.”

With a small sigh, I shut my journal and turn to face Rhiannon, “I’m Ania.” Don’t make enemies.

“This is Violet.” She gestures to Violet who sits on the edge of her bed.

“I’m Violet.” She offers a short wave.

I hum in response and then turn back to my journal, drawing out one of the dragons I had seen today. Gods, they were incredible.

“I just figured you know, we’re in the same squad, so we’ll be spending a lot of time together. We should get acquainted.”

“Consider us acquainted,” I say in the nicest way possible. I can see out of the corner of my eye the shared look between the two girls, but I keep a snide remark to myself.

After morning formation the next day, I quickly decided that while maybe attractive, my squad leader Dain Aetos was particularly annoying. As I watch from my place back one and to the left, it's easy to catch on that Dain and Violet have a history. The sort of history I couldn’t quite figure out, but with a few more interactions I could pin it.

As the Second Squad made our way into Battle Brief, I felt someone reaching for my wrist. I’d done so good at keeping my relic covered, I don’t think anyone even suspected I was what they call a Marked one. My defenses automatically up, I turn on my heel, shoving my forearm into the person’s throat, using my weight to shove them against the pillar.

“Not bad, Ani,” Xaden says, gently removing my arm from his throat. "I taught you well."

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. And don't fucking call me that.” I snap, as I take a step back. "You didn't teach me anything."

“Tell me, why is it you’re so jumpy? You’re not hiding something are you?” He glances down at my covered arm. “It’s July, why are you wearing long sleeves?”

“None of your business,” I reply, tugging my sleeves down over my hands.

“I understand you’re not fond of me, but regardless, I’m in your corner whether you like it or not. I can help you here.” Xaden’s voice lowers.

With a glance around, I catch Violet staring, but she quickly averts her gaze when she realizes she’s been caught. “I don’t need your help, Xaden. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“I’m your wingleader, though I doubt you need reminding. We grew up together, Ania, so trust that you will be watched over.” Xaden takes a step forward. “There’s no date set in stone, but you’ll be meeting with me and the other Marked ones in the woods-“

“I’m sorry?” I practically fume.

“I’m speaking, Ania.” He snaps and I almost flinch. I’ve only ever seen him angry once in my life and I have no intention of seeing it again. “Just do me a favor and try not to be a pain in my ass.”

We certainly are not kids in Aretia anymore.

Without another word, he stalks off and I have half the decency to not flip him off behind his back. He didn’t even finish his conversation which pisses me off even more as I follow the rest of my squad into Battle Brief. Who the hell does he think he is? Grabbing my wrist and demanding I meet him and the other Marked ones. And for what exactly? I haven’t seen him in six years and he was hardly the boy I remembered. If I can just keep my distance from him and the rest of the Marked ones, I will be just fine.

Battle Brief was hardly anything I found interesting. I simply took notes, didn’t ask any questions, and observed. I paid attention to who paid attention, Violet Sorrengail was annoyingly one of those people. Of course, the girl was smart. Ridoc Gamlyn was a class clown, who I kind of hate to admit was actually really funny.

I had always accelerated in school, far more than anyone in my class. It was something I prided myself on, something my parents were proud of too. I remember the days when Beckett, Xaden, and Bodhi would ask me questions as if I were some sort of lexicon just to see if I knew the answer. I always loved knowing more than others. I met my match in Violet Sorrengail.

I sat next to Rhiannon and Violet (unfortunately) when it came time for assessment in the sparring gym. I didn’t feel any special sort of way about it, I’d either get my ass handed to me or I would take the victory. Something in me told me that I’d come out on top as I watched the other first-years spar. I had a particular skill when it came to hand-to-hand thanks to my foster home.

I can’t help but eavesdrop on Rhiannon and Violet’s conversation taking place next to me. As much as I want to hate Violet, just like the rest of the first years, she and Rhiannon both seemed to have good heads on their shoulders. They were nice which was hard to come by at Basgiath. You’d think these two had known each other for years the way they acted, but I was struck with surprise to find out that they had only met before crossing the Parapet. It had always been hard for me to make friends and maybe that was my own fault, my own incessant need to exclude myself. Things now remained how they always had been.

I begin short-handing into my notebook quickly as I watch Ridoc and Aurelia spar, recording each of their fighting habits. I’d done so for every person who stepped on the mat, mentally tucking their patterns into a drawer in my head to use the day I had to spar with one of them.

“What are you doing?” Rhiannon asks, turning her head to look at me. Ever so nosy.

“It’s assessment day,” I say, my eyes not leaving Ridoc and Aurelia on the mat, despite my hand rapidly scribbling into my notebook. Gods, I can’t wait for the day I hold lesser magic, I can stop using these annoying quills. “I’m assessing.”

“That looks like chicken scratch,” Violet says leaning over Rhiannon to look at my handwriting. She wasn’t wrong. I had to write quickly to keep up with what was happening in front of me, so words were cut short, often abbreviated to one letter or number. The only legible thing was the title at the top of the page, Ridoc & Aurelie next to today’s date.

I slam my notebook shut and pull it close to my chest, “Well, it’s not for you to read. Do you two know anything about privacy?”

“I was just curious.” Rhiannon shrugs before getting called to the mat to spar with another first-year in our squad, Tynan, after Aurelia had her tooth knocked out. Just after Jack Barlow snapped a kid’s neck. Avoid him at all costs.

I can feel Violet’s hesitation before she moves closer to me. “I think that’s a pretty neat way of keeping track of-“ She stops at my side eye, “It’s strategy. I get it.”

I take a deep breath, debating on if I wish to reply to her. If I do, she’ll know that I’m just as smart as she is. “When I was in training, my instructor taught me that each move gets a number or letter.” I open my notebook and allow Violet to take a look. We both turn to Rhiannon as I write quickly. “One, one, two, five, four, three, five, six.” That was the combo she just threw. At least that’s what I was taught, it may be different here.”

“That’s… really smart actually.” Violet’s brows furrowed as she read over the notes I had taken for the day. “Where did you train exactly?”

“That’s none of your business.” I close my notebook and shove it into my bag, along with the pesky quill and topped ink pot.

“Too personal. Got it.” Violet turns her focus back to Rhiannon and doesn’t try talking to me again.

“You.” Emetterio says with a finger pointed at me, “And Cadet Hollis.”

I stand from the bench and step onto the edge of the mat rolling my shoulders.

“Good luck,” Rhiannon says as she takes my seat on the bench. “She’s a second year.”

That’s hardly a problem. I ignore her and take my place in the center of the mat and take a deep breath, drowning out everyone standing around the mat. I just need to track her fighting patterns and then counter them. Simple. I can do that.

Cadet Hollis, who I believe is named Quinn, joins me in the center of the mat and takes her fighting stance. I step my right foot backward and raise my hands, ensuring my face is blocked.

She moves first, taking a series of swings and kicks at me to which I slip each one much to her surprise. I track her pattern, it’s all the same, all within such a short spur of time. One, one two three, two. That’s a common pattern she follows, one of the first I learned, when she’s not trying to get her hands on me. When she takes another step with her left foot and I’m sure she’s gonna do the same thing, I slip her first throw and swing a rear hook directly into her jaw causing her to stumble backwards.

“I know what you are, Ania,” Quinn says as she bounces on the balls of her feet closer to me. Her voice is low, just loud enough for me to hear it. “They’ll all know it too. Stop hiding it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I seethe through clenched teeth as she unsheathes a dagger. I unsheathe mine too, the only one I brought with me. If she wants a knife fight, then she’ll get one.

“It’s July. You’re the only one wearing long sleeves.” My brows furrow. Xaden must’ve talked to her about me. She lunges towards me and I sidestep enough to dodge a deeper cut than what she gives me. I hiss through my teeth but I don’t give her the satisfaction of hearing me scream in pain. I feel the blood trickling down my arm as I clench my dagger so tightly that my knuckles turn white. “Why is that Cadet Alistair.” It’s not a question.

"Alistair?" I hear the whispers on the side of the mat but I force them out. 

She lunges again but I’m ready. My arms wrap around her waist as I slip under her swing. I’m behind her now, my hands wrapped around hers above her head as she tries to fight my grip. I manage to pry her fingers from around her dagger, knocking it to the floor and before she can reach for another, I drop the one in my hand and catch it under her arm. I slam the hilt into her ribs eliciting a scream from her. I kick her in the back of her knees and she falls to the ground. I give her too much grace, thinking she’ll yield but she kicks her leg directly back, connecting with my kneecap. I fall to the ground and she’s on top of me in a second, both of us rolling around for dominance. I fall onto my back finally with Quinn in a headlock.

“Yield,” I say, but it barely comes out above a breath. I know for a fact she hears me.

“Stop. Hiding.” She strains to reply.

She raises a hand and for a moment I think she might be tapping out. Instead, her fingers dig into the slit on my tunic from her earlier cut and directly into the gash where she drew blood. I cry out as I feel the skin at the edges of my wound splitting wider, but I refuse to let go and so does she. She pulls down with her fingers and my sleeve rips completely off. I hear the gasp from my squamates and I realize Quinn’s intention. I roll over and release, her, standing to my feet quickly, my relic now on full display. I stand over her and grab her shoulder forcing her to roll over, my feet on both sides of her ribs. I grab her collar into my fist and lift her back off the mat, making sure she’s making eye contact with me before I punch her directly in the nose, hard enough that I hear the bone crack.

“Ruthless.” I hear Ridoc whisper.

“It’s always the quiet ones.” I hear Violet say.

“I yield,” I say through a heavy breath as I release Quinn’s collar, shoving her back into the mat.

I don’t bother to look at any of my squamates, not caring to see the shock on their faces as I exit the gym and head to the healers.

I knew I couldn’t hide this Gods forsaken relic forever, but more than a day would’ve been nice. I can still remain unseen and keep to myself. I can still avoid creating enemies. 

I can hardly bare the idea of returning to the shared dormitory and find myself sitting in the courtyard against one of the pillars. It's past curfew but I hardly find it in me to care. I just need a breather after today.

My first day here didn't exactly go as planned but I will prevail and move forward. It's impossible to survive here without the thickest of skin. I need to focus on what I can control. What I can control is that I earned a victory today at the assessment against a second year. 

Ruthless. That is what Ridoc had called me. I hope that reputation doesn't stick. 

I take a deep breath and look up at the night sky. Gray clouds scatter the sky and the stars look so bright. It reminds me of-

"They're not as bright here as they are from the roof of Riorson House." I don't have time to finish the thought. I go to stand, expecting Xaden to come out of the shadows. "It's past curfew."

"Bodhi," I say from the awkward crouching position I'm in.

"It's fine." He says before he sits next to me. He has the decency to leave some space in between us as he looks up at the stars. "I won't tell the wingleader." 

I take the moment of silence to truly look at him. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him since becoming a cadet, though I can't complain because I made it a top priority. I still associate him and his cousin with Beckett's death. The last time I'd seen him he was an awkward fifteen-year-old still growing into himself. I hate to admit but he was much more handsome now. He still has that familiar warmth and softness to him. His dark curls are much more tame than they had been when we were teenagers, his brown skin now clear from any blemishes. He was... beautiful. Younger me wouldn't mind the silly idea of being "betrothed" to him. 

"I'm glad you made it, Ani." He says quietly. I don't correct him. 

"I didn't have a choice, did I?" I roll my eyes tugging at the grass sprouting through the cracks in the concrete. "It was this or death, so." 

His mouth moves but he doesn't speak. I can tell he's choosing his next words carefully, "I saw you spar today."

"And?" I say. I don't know if I don't care or if I want to know what he thinks.

"You broke Quinn's nose." The corner of his mouth twitches up into a small smile. 

"Don't act like she didn't deserve it." I grimace. 

"Hey, I didn't say she didn't." He laughs and I turn my head to catch the sight. He always had a great smile. "You fought well. We were all impressed."

"Who's we?" I ask, looking down at my hands that are now folded in my lap.

"Everyone that had a chance to watch it. There are a lot of good fighters in the first years, but none can take out a second year the way you did today." 

I nod my head slowly. I know I'm good, I'd been told before by my instructors, but hearing it from others doesn't do so much as boost my ego. Hearing it from Bodhi feels... different. Somewhere deep inside me, I feel a sense of validation that I didn't know I was looking for.

"I don't think anyone will be challenging you that's for sure." He hesitates again and I can almost feel that he's about to piss me off with his next words. "Xaden hasn't been taking the best approach with you, has he?"

"What, so he sent you instead?" Of course, this is about Xaden. The rage returns. "Let me make something clear-"

"Ani." He stands up just as I do and I'm almost shocked at how much he towers over me. There was a short period of our lives when I was taller than him. 

"I want not a single fucking thing to do with you or him or anyone with a damned relic on their arm. I'm here because I have to be, not because I want to be so don't think for a second that just because we're all in the same place again things will be like they were in Aretia."

"Hey." His voice is sharp as he grabs my left arm into his hand pulling it up in between our bodies as he steps towards me, "You have a damned relic too in case you forgot." His pointer finger touches his thumb around my wrist and I'm made aware of just how much he's grown. 

"And I shouldn't." I yank my arm from his grip. If only my mother would have gotten me and Beckett to Navarre safely before the Apostasy. If only she would've been able to declare our loyalty. She and Beckett would still be here.

"There is so much that you don't understand. Let us help you. Please, Ani." His voice is softer now, an emotion I'm not familiar with swimming in his eyes. 

"Just stay away the hell away from me. I won't ask twice." 

I turn on my heel and walk away from him. My hands shake with anger and I clench my fists to try and control it. Ever since my final days in Aretia, I have become such a resentful person. I never had this issue as a child, I never even threw temper tantrums and now it's all I wanted to do. I had a happy childhood aside from my parents' end of their rocky marriage. I was always a happy and pleasant child. I hated feeling this way. I needed to be in control.

Focus on what you can control.

I take the deepest, shaky breaths I can muster until it doesn't feel so hard to breathe anymore. I take one more for good measure before entering the dormitory as quietly as possible.

Just remain unseen, keep to yourself.

Don't. Create. Enemies.

previous | chapter two

[theproverbialpen]

So I uh. Thought of a joke while moving. And unfortunately, I am the final boss of “Commit to the Bit.” So have an unnecessarily detailed series of drawings lol.

Anyways hi! Hope y’all have been well! Other than answering asks, it’s been a while since I dropped content up in this B. Updates below the cut, if you’re curious :)

Proverb’s Personal Life

As of last week, I am officially moved into my new place! Still working on unpacking (you can accumulate a lot of shit over two years) and my PC will need a good ol’ dusting before I get her back online, but we’re making progress slowly but surely. Hoping to get settled and make some time to start writing again next week :)

However, updates will be slower than I originally anticipated becaauuuuuse I also got promoted at my job! Very excited for this next step but it uh, does mean 5 hours of overtime every week (the pay is worth it I promise, we must do what we must do in this capitalist hellscape). So, will be making time to write when I can but there’ll definitely be more of a gap between posts versus pre-move.

Speaking of writing though:

Update “Schedule”

Schedule in quotations because I’m not going to have dates attached to these per se. However, wanted to give y’all an idea of what you can expect to be coming on this here blog:

Hermes Lap Dance One-Shot. Should be easy enough to write and I think it’ll be a good warmup for getting back in the groove!

Chapter 7 of SiSeSo. I think this next chapter is gonna be smut? Have to see how it flows once I get going, but I have a basic skeleton and if it feels natural, we’ll be heading right back into the spice very soon 😈

Poseidon x Reader A/B/O Drabble. Listen I…as we can see, a bitch commits to the bit. If anyone has any fic recs for inspiration lmk cause I really do kinda want to send it on this one 😂

I also have a WIP drawing of Rockstar Poseidon in the works, as well as some other doodle ideas. More art on the horizon, but who knows when I’ll get those done haha.

Also, my ask box is always open if you have requests! I’m a little rusty in the writing department at the moment so happy to work on some drabbles and such if folks have anything they’d like to see :)

AO3 Scrape Incidents

I reblogged something a little while ago about the AI data scrapes that happened on AO3 and it’s still something I’m looking to address. I’ll probably be switching my works to Registered Users Only when I get the time just so folks are aware. Considering doing a series of backlog posts here on tumblr of all my content just so folks have another option to read. But, if you want to continue reading on AO3 and you don’t have an account, please be aware that you’ll need to register for one moving forward!

I think that’s everything for now? Hope you enjoyed my stupid little comic and I’m looking forward to being more active on here again！

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | All I Need | Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 18.6k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, messy family dynamics, generational tenderness, the good kind of exhaustion after a long day in the sun, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re building a life together.

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission.

📌 Requests: OPEN. I’ll be spending the weekend working through the ones I’ve already received, but feel free to send new ones in.

📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me.

Author’s Note:

This chapter isn't about grand gestures or dramatic turning points. It's about the quiet way distance can erode even the strongest connection—how two people can be speaking different languages without realizing it. The studio lights at 3 AM. The empty bed. The text that goes unanswered just a little too long.

Writing this felt like watching two people trying to hold onto something slipping through their fingers. Joe, buried in his routines and training, missing the significance of what Riley shares with him. Riley, pouring herself into her music and still making space for him, wondering if he'll ever truly do the same.

There's that moment we've all faced: standing in someone's kitchen, realizing they've forgotten you were coming, and deciding whether to voice your hurt or smooth it over. The courage it takes to finally say "this isn't working" to someone you're desperately hoping won't let you go.

Thank you for being here through their highs and lows. For the comments about wanting to shake Joe or needing to hug Riley. For understanding that sometimes the most honest love stories aren't about perfect people, but about real ones trying their best and sometimes failing spectacularly. I hope this chapter leaves you feeling that ache—not the sharp pain of a breakup, but the hollow feeling of wondering if what you have is enough. And then, maybe, that small flicker of hope when someone chooses to stay and really listen.

💙📱🎵

Taglist: @wickedfun9@starsyoongi@amiets2@palmettogal508@throwaway12356123@lilfreakjez

***

"One more with a little more vulnerability in the bridge." Pete's voice came through Riley's headphones, patient but unwavering. She nodded at the glass where he sat with Andy and Daniel, their eyes fixed on her with quiet intensity. She'd already recorded "Daylight" four times, and her throat felt raw in the amber glow of Sad Banger Labs' isolation booth. This converted pool house had become her sanctuary these past three weeks—the place where she'd finally found words for what Joe had shifted in her. Something honest and unguarded that felt different from anything else on the album.

"One more with a little more vulnerability in the bridge." Pete's voice came through Riley's headphones, patient but unwavering. She nodded at the glass where he sat with Andy and Daniel, their eyes fixed on her with quiet intensity.

Riley pressed her headphones tighter against her ears as the track began again. She closed her eyes, letting the familiar melody wash over her. This song—the one she'd written after their time together, after Joe had shifted something fundamental in her it felt different from anything else on the album. Raw in a way that wasn't about pain. Open without bleeding.

Pete's voice came through her headphones. "That's it. That's the one."

Riley opened her eyes, surprised. "You sure? I can do another."

Pete's voice came through her headphones. "That's it. That vulnerability in your voice when you hit the line about seeing daylight? Perfect. Just what we needed."

Riley smiled, feeling a small surge of relief. The song had come to her unexpectedly, a last-minute addition to an album they'd thought was complete. She hadn't explicitly told the guys it was about Joe—hadn't needed to. They knew, and they'd been oddly careful with her as they worked on it, like they were handling something fragile.

***

Two thousand miles away, Joe Burrow moved through the Bengals' practice facility with purposeful strides. Rookie minicamp meant the building hummed with nervous energy—new players trying to make impressions, coaches evaluating talent, media capturing soundbites. Joe wasn't required to be here, but leadership meant showing up when you didn't have to.

He spent the morning in the film room with the offensive coordinator, breaking down tendencies they'd observed in the rookies' college tape. Later, he joined the quarterback coach on the field, standing back and observing drills, occasionally stepping in to demonstrate a footwork pattern or the proper placement for a particular throw.

This was the part of leadership Joe excelled at—present but not overbearing, available but not intrusive. Setting a tone without having to announce it.

By late afternoon, most of the veterans who'd made appearances had cleared out, but Joe lingered in the weight room, watching the rookies cycle through their assessments. Some of them kept glancing his way, clearly aware of his presence. He remembered that feeling from his own rookie days, the weight of proving yourself to the established players.

When his phone vibrated in his pocket—Riley for the third time that day—he silenced it without checking. Team time was team time. He'd call her back later.

***

That evening, Joe joined the traditional rookie dinner at Jeff Ruby's Steakhouse downtown. The gathering was unofficial but important—veteran leaders welcoming new players to the city, to the team, to the brotherhood. Sitting at the head of the table, Joe made a point to engage with each rookie, asking about their hometowns, their families, their adjustment to Cincinnati.

"Tradition matters in this building," he told them, voice steady but commanding. "How we practice, how we prepare, how we treat each other. It starts now."

Next to him, Emma, one of the team's athletic trainers, was explaining recovery protocols to a cluster of attentive rookies. Joe leaned in occasionally to emphasize a point or share an example from his own experience. The rookies hung on every word—from both of them.

Joe didn't notice one of the restaurant's other patrons discreetly taking a photo of their table, capturing a moment where he was leaning toward Emma, both of them laughing at something one of the rookies had said.

***

Meanwhile, Riley sat cross-legged on the floor of Sad Banger Labs at nearly midnight, takeout containers scattered around her like casualties. She checked her phone again. No response to her last three messages. The clock read 11:48 PM in LA, which meant it was nearly 3 AM in Cincinnati. Joe would be deep asleep by now.

She typed a message anyway.

Just finished the new track. The one that came to me last week. I think it might be the best thing I've ever written. Can't wait for you to hear it someday. Miss your voice.

She sent it knowing he wouldn't see it until morning, when he'd already be up with the sun, methodical as always. Their lives moved at different speeds, in different orbits. His days regulated by training schedules and protein shakes, hers by sound checks and studio time. The distance wasn't just geographic.

She glanced at the mess of takeout containers. Her third consecutive dinner in the studio. When had that become normal?

Absently, she opened Instagram, scrolling through her feed to distract herself. Algorithms were strange things, especially once you started searching for someone regularly. Though she'd never followed any Bengals-related accounts, her feed had begun suggesting Cincinnati content ever since she'd started typing Joe's name in the search bar more frequently.

Her thumb froze mid-scroll. A post from a Cincinnati sports bar had appeared in her suggested content, showing a photo taken just hours earlier. Joe at a restaurant table, leaning close to a woman Riley had never seen before. They were both smiling, Joe's expression more relaxed than in most of his public appearances. The caption read: "QB1 welcoming the rookies to the Queen City tonight at Jeff Ruby's. #WhoDey #SeasonStartsNow"

Riley stared at the image longer than she meant to. It wasn't the woman that bothered her, not really. It was that Joe had time for team dinners but couldn't return a call. It was seeing photographic evidence that while she sat alone in a studio missing him, he was out living his life as if nothing was missing at all.

"You're spiraling," she muttered to herself, setting the phone down.

"Talking to yourself now?" Pete asked, appearing in the doorway with two beers. "That's concerning."

"Just having an existential crisis. The usual."

Pete handed her a beer and settled on the floor beside her. "What's going on Riles?"

Riley wordlessly handed him her phone, the photo still on screen. Pete studied it for a moment, then shrugged.

"Looks like a team dinner."

"He hasn't called me back all day. But he's got time for this."

"Some things aren't optional in his world, Ri." Pete's tone was gentler than usual. "You know that."

"Yeah, well, it feels like I'm optional right now."

Pete took a long swig of his beer. "You gonna ask him about it?"

"And sound like the crazy jealous girlfriend? No thanks."

"Since when do you care about sounding crazy?"

Riley laughed despite herself. "Fair point."

"You want company tonight?" Pete asked, already grabbing the spare blankets from the cabinet. He'd been staying over most nights during the final push—not because there was more work to do, but because he could sense the loneliness in her without her needing to say a word.

Riley nodded, exhausted. “Booth’s calling.”

Pete dropped the blankets on the couch and stretched his back with a groan. “Good. The couch and I are in a codependent spiral.

She cracked a smile. “Toxic as fuck.”

He smirked. “We’re working through it.”

They settled into their makeshift sleeping arrangements. Pete sprawled out on the couch with two cushions under his head, Riley curled up in the sound booth. The familiar sounds of the studio at night surrounded them—the hum of equipment never fully powered down, the distant drone of late-night traffic, the occasional pop from the old speakers.

"Hey Pete?"

"Mmm?"

"You think it's weird that he's never asked me to meet his family? After I introduced him to Papa and everyone?"

Pete was quiet for a long moment. "You let people all the way in. I think he's still figuring out how to do that."

Riley didn't need to ask which approach was better. She already knew what Pete thought.

Her phone stayed silent next to her pillow. In Cincinnati, Joe's phone sat in silent mode on his nightstand, Riley's message waiting unread. His alarm would wake him at 5:15 AM, and her words would be the first thing he'd see—a small bridge between their worlds that was growing increasingly separate despite all her efforts to stay connected.

His first thought upon waking, before even checking his phone, would be calculating the miles he needed to run that morning. His second thought would be wondering if Riley had called.

He didn't yet realize these two thoughts were beginning to compete for priority in a way they never had before. And he certainly didn't realize that a casual team dinner photo was already creating a small fracture in their carefully maintained long-distance balance.

* * *

The alarm shattered the silence of Joe's bedroom at precisely 5:15 AM. His hand silenced it with practiced efficiency, muscle memory from thousands of identical mornings. He allowed himself exactly one deep breath before sitting up, his body already calculating the day's first workout.

Joe reached for his phone, remembering Riley had called multiple times yesterday. Three notifications from her waited on his lock screen, the most recent sent close to 3 AM his time.

Just finished the new track. The one that came to me last week. I think it might be the best thing I've ever written. Can't wait for you to hear it someday. Miss your voice.

Something in his chest tightened. Her words carried a weight that made the space between Cincinnati and Los Angeles feel both vast and paper-thin. He typed quickly:

Sorry about missing your calls yesterday. Rookie camp, then dinner with the team. Want to hear this track. Call you after training?

He set the phone down and headed for the bathroom. No point staring at the screen waiting for a reply that wouldn't come for hours.

***

Across the country, Riley woke to sunlight filtering through the studio's small window. Her neck protested from another night in the sound booth, but her mind felt clearer than it had in days. Completing "Daylight" had released something in her, a creative tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying.

She checked her phone, expecting nothing. Joe's message surprised her.

Riley’s thumb hovered over his text. She reread it twice, heart catching on the phrase “team dinner.” Her eyes flicked to the corner of the screen—no photo follow-up, no “how was your night?” Just acknowledgment. Logistics. Polite warmth.

She typed a reply. Deleted it. Tried again.

Her fingers moved slowly over the keyboard.

Glad you got some rest. Hope today’s not too brutal.

She stared at the screen for a long moment, then added:

I'm still sitting with the track. I'll send it when it feels right.

There. Honest, but not dramatic. She hit send and set the phone aside, then pushed herself up off the floor.

The side door stuck a little as she pushed it open, heading from the studio into the main house. Pete was already in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast filling the air.

Pete handed her a mug without looking up from the toaster. "You sleep at all?"

“Enough,” she said, accepting the cup. “Joe texted back.”

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing over. “All good?”

Riley took a sip, buying herself a pause. “He said he’ll call after training.”

Pete didn’t say anything, but she could feel the we’ll see behind his eyes.

“He asked to hear the track,” she added, before he could say anything. “I decided I’m not sending it. Not yet.”

Pete nodded once. “Good.”

She looked up. “Good?”

“You don’t owe anyone the inside of your chest just because they ask for it.”

“He didn’t ask.”

“Even more reason to wait.”

* * *

Riley was deep in a mixing session with Pete when her phone lit up beside the console.

Joe.

2:18 PM.

She stared at the screen a second longer than she meant to.

Pete caught the glance. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she said, already standing. “I got it.”

He nodded and slipped on his headphones, giving her space.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

“Hey,” Joe replied, and she could hear the fatigue under his usual calm. “Sorry it took me a minute. Today got away from me.”

“How’d rookie camp go yesterday?” she asked, letting the question land lightly.

“It was good,” he said. “Long. But good. Lot of energy in the building.”

“Were they nervous?” she asked.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “A couple were nervous. But it settles fast once we start running plays.”

There was a pause. Not comfortable, but not tense either. Just the quiet of two people trying to hold onto something while standing miles apart.

"You've been going nonstop," Joe observed, his voice carrying that quiet concern she'd come to recognize.

"Yeah," Riley sighed, pushing hair from her face. "It's that part of the process. The final push is always a blur."

“You sit with the track anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“Still not ready to send it?”

“Not yet.”

Joe didn't answer right away. Just the soft sound of movement on his end - settling maybe, or absently reaching for something to keep his hands busy.

“I thought you were done adding songs,” he said eventually.

“I was.”

“So?”

"This one's going at the end."

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. Not pushing. Just trying to understand.

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know the answer, but because she wasn’t sure how to say it without giving too much away.

“Because the rest of it’s… heavy,” she said finally. “And I guess I needed to end on something that didn’t make it feel like I was drowning the whole time.”

Riley glanced at the soundboard, her notebook pushed to the edge, a half-empty water bottle wedged between the cables.

Joe was quiet. Just listening, not rushing to fill the space.

“I want to hear it,” he said, softer now.

“I know.”

“I can wait.”

Riley traced the edge of her notebook, gathering courage.

"So, um—I saw a photo yesterday," she said finally, keeping her voice deliberately casual. "From your team dinner."

Joe went quiet, the kind of quiet that told her he was choosing his words carefully. "Riley, that was just—"

"It's not her," she cut in, words tumbling out faster now. "I'm not jealous, or whatever. That's not what this is."

“Okay.”

She hesitated. "Maybe I am a little jealous," she admitted, the words low. "But not of her. It's just..."

She trailed off, trying to find the right words for what she was feeling.

“It’s been almost four weeks, Joe. You’re the one who said we shouldn’t go more than two.”

“You’re right,” he said, finally. “I’ve been trying to stay locked in. Everything’s ramping up fast.”

“I get it,” she said. “I do.”

“I’m busy too,” she said. “And I’m still trying to make time. Even when it makes me feel a little… clingy or whatever.”

She gave a short laugh, but it didn’t quite land. “Which is not a great look, by the way.”

"I get it," Joe said quietly. "I'd feel the same way."

Riley nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. She didn’t totally believe him, but she appreciated that he said it.

“I know you’ve been trying. I’m not saying you haven’t. You came to LA, you flew to meet my family—like, I see that. I do.”

She paused. “It just… it felt like we were figuring it out together. And now it kind of feels like that’s starting to slip.”

Joe set his phone down, running a hand through his hair. Riley's words still hung in the air between them, even through the screen.

"I hear you," he said finally, his voice low and steady despite the tightness in his chest. "You've been making space for us, and I haven't matched that lately." He paused, searching for the right words—not his usual calculated response, but something honest. "It's not that I don't want to. My schedule's always been like this, but it's never felt like a problem before."

Riley's eyes softened on the screen. "Because you've never had to make room for someone who doesn't fit neatly into your routine."

He nodded, the truth of it settling between them. His voice dropped lower. "I want to. I'm just..." He rarely struggled for words, but now they seemed inadequate. "Football's always come first. I've never questioned it."

"I'm not asking you to change that, Joe."

"I know." He closed his eyes. "That's what makes this harder. You deserve more than what's left over after everything else."

Riley was quiet for a moment, and he could hear her shifting, imagined her pulling her knees to her chest the way she did when she was thinking.

"It's not about what I deserve," she said finally. "It's about what we choose. Every day. Even when it's hard."

Joe opened his eyes, studying her face on the screen. There was no ultimatum there, just honesty.

Joe leaned back against the headboard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I don't want you to feel like you're chasing me, Riley. That's not what we are."

"I know," she said. "It hasn't felt like that—until recently."

"It used to feel like we were both making it work. Even with all the chaos. But lately… I don't know. I keep checking the clock, waiting for a call, hoping a window opens up."

She glanced at the screen. "It just feels different."

Joe felt the weight of her words settle in his chest. These past few weeks, his training sessions with Dak had intensified, and the meetings with Bill, Mark, and the Bengals staff had taken up more of his bandwidth than he'd anticipated. He'd been so focused on proving nothing had changed, that he hadn't noticed how much actually had.

"I know my schedule's been tight lately," he said, the acknowledgment feeling inadequate even as he said it. "The prep work with Dak, all these meetings."

Riley nodded slightly. Not accusatory, just confirming she'd noticed too.

"After I left New Orleans, I thought I had it figured out." His voice was quieter than usual. "But then everything started ramping up and I just..." He trailed off, unaccustomed to not having the right play.

"I get it," Riley said. "I do. The album's consuming everything right now too." She ran a hand through her hair, messy from a day in the studio. "But even in the middle of all that, I'm still making room. And sometimes it feels like I'm the only one trying to find the space between."

"You're right," Joe said simply, the admission foreign on his tongue. He wasn't used to being caught off-balance, to not executing perfectly. "I've been treating us like another thing on my schedule. And you deserve better than that."

She looked up at that, something softening in her expression.

"So what are we going to do about it?" she asked.

A heavy silence settled between them. Riley tucked her knees up to her chest, waiting. She’d said her piece, laid it out there. The ball was in his court now.

Joe considered her question with the same focus he'd give a defensive lineup. "I can't change training. Or the schedule." The words came out clipped, factual. "But I can change how I approach it. How I make time."

Riley bit her lip, nodding slightly. Then, before he could continue, she straightened her shoulders.

"What if I fly out there?" she offered. "Next weekend?" She spoke quickly, already working it out. "I could be in Cincinnati by dinner."

Joe paused. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think it'd help to see you."

“That could work,” he said, already mentally rearranging his Sunday. He had training with Dak in the morning, but he could move it earlier. “I’ve got something Saturday night—nothing major—but Sunday’s pretty open.”

“I don’t need a big plan,” she said. “I’m tired too, Joe. We’re finishing the album, starting rehearsals, planning the tour, locking down the documentary and all the promo—I just want time that doesn’t feel like another thing to manage.”

She rubbed at her temple, the fatigue catching up to her all at once. “I just want to sit still with you for a minute. That’s it.”

Joe didn’t say anything right away.

He knew she was busy—he’d known that. But hearing it laid out like that, the exhaustion threaded through her voice, made something settle heavy in his chest.

She was stretched thin, same as him. Maybe more. But the way she still reached for him in the middle of it—that wasn’t the kind of space he’d been holding for her.

She was carving out time for them.

He was trying to fit her in without changing anything.

Joe glanced at the time, thumb brushing the edge of his phone. “You need to get back to it?”

“Yeah,” she said, already hearing faint movement through the walls—someone shifting a mic stand, the subtle thump of bass bleeding from another room. “We’re locking in the last section before we send to mastering.”

“Will you call me later?” he asked. “Even if it’s late.”

“I will,” she said. “Try to relax a little in the meantime.”

“I’ll try if you do.”

She smiled, tired but real. “We’ll see.”

They sat in it for a breath longer—closer now, if not entirely fixed.

“Talk soon?” she said.

“Soon,” Joe said.

She ended the call, the screen going dark in her hand. For a moment, she just sat there, the low hum of the soundboard steady under her fingers.

Then she stood, stretched the stiffness from her shoulders, and headed for the side door that led into Pete’s house.

* * *

The side door stuck as she pushed it open. Outside, the air hung warm and heavy, sun dipping low over the canyon. Riley squinted against the light as she crossed to the house, her sandals scraping against the gravel path.

Pete's place smelled like old incense and coffee grounds. Same as always. She found him in the kitchen, barefoot at the stove, flipping something in a cast iron pan with the unhurried focus of someone who had all the time in the world.

He glanced over when she walked in but didn’t say anything right away. Just grabbed a plate and slid a grilled cheese across the counter toward her—extra crisp at the edges, the way she liked it when she was running on fumes.

She dropped into the nearest chair, the weight of the call still hanging somewhere in her chest.

"How'd it go?" Pete asked, not looking up.

Riley took a bite before answering. "Better than I expected."

Pete gave a slow nod, eyes still on what he was doing. "You two figure anything out?"

She exhaled through her nose. "Not really, but at least we're talking about it now."

Pete didn’t say anything else. Just pushed a can of Bubbly across the counter toward her and turned back to the stove like that was all he needed to hear.

Pete carried on cooking, giving Riley space. She watched him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone who had fed her a thousand times before—after late shows, during all-night writing sessions, those first blurry months after Ethan when she'd barely eaten at all. He'd never made a big deal about it, just slid food in front of her whenever she needed it, like now.

Riley finished half the sandwich in silence, letting the weight of the conversation with Joe settle around her.

"Tomorrow we finish this thing, yeah?" she asked, already feeling the familiar pre-completion anxiety buzzing under her skin.

"Full stop," Pete agreed. "All the way done. Nick's coming in at ten to finalize the sequence."

She nodded. "You think it's good? Like, actually good?"

Pete turned to look at her fully, setting the spatula down. "Riley. It's the best work we've ever done." He paused, eyes steady on hers. "And 'Daylight' is the best thing you've ever written."

“Yeah,” he said, with the quiet certainty that had steadied her through a decade of doubt. “I don’t say that lightly.”

Riley stared at her plate, eyes unfocused. “I didn’t think I’d write like that again after Ethan.”

Pete didn’t say anything yet. He knew she wasn’t looking for a response.

“I kept trying,” she said quietly. “Everything was either too careful or too mean. Like I couldn’t find the part of me that knew how to be honest anymore.”

“But you did,” Pete said. “You found it.”

She nodded, slowly. “I don’t know if it’s a breakup album. Or a healing album. Or just… a reckoning.”

“It’s all of that.”

Riley reached for her sparkling water, the can damp in her hand. “It doesn’t forgive him. But it lets me walk away.”

Pete tilted his head. “And ‘Daylight’?”

A pause.

"That's the part where I stop looking back," Riley said.

Pete looked up at her. "That's what makes it powerful."

"I don't say that lightly," he added, with the quiet certainty that had steadied her through a decade of doubt.

* * *

The studio dimmed to just the glow of the board and Nick's lucky lava lamp spinning colors across the wall. No one spoke. They didn't need to. Everyone was locked in.

Andy leaned against the back wall, scrolling through mix notes on his phone. Daniel hunched by the rack, playing the same four seconds of track ten over and over, hunting a click only he could hear. Pete made his ritual laps from console to couch, hands on his hips, listening from different corners of the room.

Riley stood behind Nick, arms crossed over her chest, eyes sharp. She hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.

“Pull the transition between nine and ten back two frames,” she said, her voice low, focused.

Nick didn’t question it. Just nodded and adjusted.

Track after track played through the monitors, every sound familiar but freshly dissected. The low hum of bass under her vocals. The breathing space between verses. The way a certain harmony fell into place without trying.

The board was scattered with scribbled notes, water bottles, and the fading memory of chaos. Now there was only precision. Discipline. The quiet hum of people chasing the end of something that mattered.

“Okay,” Nick said finally. “Let’s run the whole thing, start to finish.”

No one spoke. They just took their places—Daniel sliding back into his seat, Andy folding his arms across his chest, Pete still and silent by the door.

Nick hit play.

* * *

The clock on the wall read 5:17 AM, but the room felt suspended in something outside time.

The final playback filled the room. They sat frozen in their spots, like survivors after a storm. Nobody spoke. Just listened, leaning into the sound with everything they had.

They hadn't made the whole album here, but this was where it found its heart. Where it came to life. Where it truly became theirs.

No label suits walking in mid-take. No half-hour rental clocks ticking down. Just them—choosing every sound, stacking every harmony, gutting every lyric until it landed.

It had been a risk. Pouring their own money into this place, building something from scratch while the industry told them to play it safe. But tonight, the risk felt like freedom. Like proof they could do it.

"Daylight" filled the final stretch. Riley stayed on the floor, back against the rack. Pete stood silent in the corner. Andy swayed slightly, eyes closed. Nick just stared ahead, perfectly still.

You gotta step into the daylight and let it go. Just let it go, let it go…

The song ended, and for a long moment, nothing replaced it. No sound. Just breath and disbelief.

Then Nick clicked the board to stop. "That's the record," he said.

Pete nodded, still rooted in place. "That's the one."

Riley dragged her hands down her face, raw with exhaustion. "We really did it."

Andy let out a quiet "fuck," not angry, just stunned.

Daniel tapped a knuckle against the desk. "That's ours. Nobody fucking gets to say otherwise."

Pete crossed to her, pulled her into a quick, strong hug. "You brought this home, Riles."

Riley blinked hard, throat thick. "We all did."

Nick looked up, finally smiling. "Guess the name stays, huh?"

"No," Riley said. "Sad Banger Labs it is."

The fridge opened. The champagne they'd been saving appeared. No toast. No glasses needed. Just the bottle making its way around the circle, everyone taking a swig, trading quiet, stunned smiles.

It was 5:22 AM, and the album was done.

Not perfect. Not clean around the edges. But honest. Theirs. Every second of it.

And no one could take that from them.

By 6:00 AM, the room had started to dim.

Daniel crashed on the back couch, hoodie covering his face. Pete slipped out without a word, leaving the door unlocked like always. Nick closed his laptop, mumbling about four hours of sleep before one last check of the masters.

Andy stood in the doorway, blinking hard. "I'm gonna steal the guest room."

"Don't snore," Riley said without looking up.

"No promises," he called back, already gone.

Within minutes, the studio had gone still.

Riley stayed.

The studio rang with that hollow quiet that follows hours of noise. Stale coffee, a hint of whiskey, and the warm scent of bodies pushed past their limits filled the air. Her fingertips felt raw, hands still humming with phantom chords.

She worked through the last steps by feel - saving, bouncing the master, naming the file. When it finished, she sent it straight to her phone, the notification appearing instantly.

She opened her thread with Joe and typed:

We finished it. I wanted you to be the first to hear it.

She attached the file and hit send.

The weight of finishing settled in her chest. This album was different—not just because they'd made it their way, gambling everything on their vision. But because for the first time since Ethan, she'd written from a place that wasn't shattered. The scars showed in the lyrics, the doubt was still there, but something else had crept in too. A steadiness. A current of hope she hadn't known a year ago.

And suddenly she cared, more than she'd expected, what he might hear in these songs. What parts of herself, raw and unguarded, she'd just handed over without warning at six in the morning.

She didn't regret it. But the vulnerability caught in her throat, made her grip the edge of the console a little tighter.

Too late now. It was his to hear, to understand or not.

* * *

The weight dropped with a satisfying clang as Joe finished his fourth set.

"Two more," Dak called from across the room, not looking up from his clipboard.

Joe reached for his water bottle, taking his thirty seconds of rest. Black Sheep smelled like rubber mats and metal, sweat and disinfectant. At 9:00 AM, the place was still nearly empty—exactly how he liked it.

His phone screen lit up on the bench beside him. He usually kept it on silent during training, but something made him glance down.

Riley.

He wiped his palm on his shorts before picking it up.

Riley: We finished it. I wanted you to be the first to hear it.

Below it, a file. The album. The whole thing.

Joe nodded slightly, a quick smile crossing his face. Good for her. He'd heard enough about the late nights and arguments over tracks to know this was a milestone.

"Thirty seconds is up, Burrow. Let's go." Dak's voice cut through his thoughts.

Joe set the phone down, switching gears without missing a beat. Album done. Riley finished her project. He'd listen later. Right now, there was work to do. 

Eight clean reps. Focus. Breathe. The rhythm of it was meditative, his mind clearing of everything except the controlled movement.

After his final set, he grabbed his phone again, thumbs moving quickly between swigs of water.

That's awesome. Congrats on finishing. I'll listen when I get home tonight.

He hit send and slid the phone back into his bag, already mentally preparing for the next exercise Dak had lined up. 

It never occurred to him that Riley had stayed awake after an all-nighter just to send him this file. That in the music world, being the first person outside the inner circle to hear a completed album was an intimacy few were granted. That embedded in those tracks was a song about him—her feelings laid bare in lyrics he might not even recognize were about him.

He didn't realize that while his response was supportive, it missed the weight of the moment entirely. That what to him was a professional accomplishment to be acknowledged was, to Riley, a vulnerable offering of her most intimate creative self. That waiting until tonight, treating it like any other task to get to when convenient, diminished what she'd entrusted to him.

Joe turned back to his workout, not realizing what he'd just missed - how his practical response had landed squarely in the growing gap between their worlds.

* * *

Riley stared at her phone, the screen dimming before she reached out to tap it awake again.

Joe: That’s awesome. Congrats on finishing. I’ll listen when I get home tonight.

The words sat there, polite and measured. Perfectly Joe. She read them again, looking for something more between the lines, some hint he understood what she'd just shared. Nothing.

The exhaustion crashed over her—not just the physical drain of the all-nighter, but something deeper. A hollow space where excitement had been. She'd sent him the album while the music still vibrated in her bones, while she was still raw from what they'd created. And his response felt like a stranger's handshake.

She set the phone down on the console, screen-side down.

What had she expected? That he’d drop everything at 9 AM on a Tuesday to listen? That he’d somehow hear “Daylight” and instantly know it was about him? That he’d call her right away, voice warm with understanding?

Yes. Some small, foolish part of her had expected exactly that.

Pete wandered back in, hair sticking up on one side, eyes puffy with sleep. He glanced at her, then at the phone, then back at her face.

“You sent it to him,” he said. Not a question.

Riley nodded.

“And?”

“And nothing.” She tried for casual, but even to her own ears, it fell flat. “He’s training. Said he’d listen later.”

Pete leaned against the doorframe, waiting. He knew her too well to believe that was all.

“It’s fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It’s not like he knows what it means. Sharing an album like this. He’s not—” She gestured vaguely at the space around them, at the world they inhabited that Joe only glimpsed from the outside.

“Not us,” Pete finished for her.

“Yeah.” The word tasted bitter. It wasn’t fair to Joe, and she knew it. This was her fault for expecting him to intuitively understand the significance of something she hadn’t bothered to explain.

“You told him about ‘Daylight’?” Pete asked, though he already knew the answer.

“No.” She reached for her half-empty coffee mug, now ice cold. “That would’ve been weird, right? ‘Hey, listen especially closely to the last track because it’s about you.’ That’s not… I don’t want to make him feel…”

“On the spot,” Pete supplied.

“Yeah.”

Pete studied her for a moment. “You know he’s gonna like it, Riles. The whole thing. He’s gonna be proud of you.”

“I know.” And she did know that. Joe would listen carefully and tell her how impressed he was. He’d mean it, too.

But it wouldn’t be the same as understanding what it meant that she’d sent it to him first. Before her label, before the music blogs, before anyone who wasn’t in this room last night.

Before everyone except the people who were her home.

Riley stood, suddenly desperate for air, for sleep, for something to fill the strange emptiness expanding in her chest.

“I’m gonna crash for a bit,” she said, gathering her things. “Can you—”

“I’ll handle the label call,” Pete said. “Go sleep.”

She nodded, grateful beyond words. This was what she'd always had—people who knew what she needed before she had to say it. Who heard what lived between her sentences.

As she stepped into the LA morning, sun already harsh above the hills, Riley wondered if she and Joe would ever bridge the gap between their languages. Or if this was just the first verse of an old song—her offering pieces of herself he couldn't quite recognize, him responding in ways that made sense to him but missed what she was really saying.

She was too tired to figure it out now. Maybe there was nothing to solve. Maybe this was just what happened when two people from different worlds tried to meet in the space between.

* * *

Joe was halfway through his third set of weighted pull-ups when his phone buzzed on the bench. He ignored it, focusing on the controlled movement, the precise count in his head. Three more. Two. One.

He dropped to his feet, rolling his shoulders as he reached for his water bottle. The notification light blinked at him from his phone screen. He glanced at it absently, then froze.

Riley: boarding now, see you soon 💙

Joe stared at the message, his stomach dropping. Riley. The visit. Today.

"Shit," he muttered, immediately checking the time. 10:32 AM.

How had he forgotten? They'd talked about it just two days ago during their last phone call. He'd even made a note in his calendar.

A calendar he'd completely ignored this morning when Coach Taylor had called about reviewing new offensive schemes. Then he'd headed straight to Black Sheep for his training session with Dak, his mind already locked into workout mode.

"You good?" Dak called from across the gym, where he was preparing Joe's next set.

"Yeah," Joe said, already scrolling through his contacts for Sarah. "Just need a minute."

His mind raced, calculating times. Riley's flight would land around 2:00. He still had this entire workout to finish, then the meeting with Coach Taylor and the offensive staff at the facility was scheduled for 1:30, and those never ran less than three hours. There was no way he could make it to the airport.

Sarah picked up on the second ring.

"I need a favor," Joe said, stepping toward the empty corner of the gym, aware of Dak watching the clock. "Riley's flying in today. Can you pick her up at the airport?"

A pause. "Today? As in, right now today?"

"Landing at 2. Delta from LAX." Joe glanced back at Dak, who was now pointedly tapping his watch. "I know it's last minute."

"Last minute?" Sarah's tone shifted to that particular professional coolness that meant she was annoyed. "Joe, did you forget she was coming?"

He hesitated before admitting, "Yeah. With everything today... it completely slipped my mind."

"So you want me to just show up at the airport instead of you," Sarah clarified, "and what—pretend this was the plan all along?"

"If you could." Joe watched as Dak started adjusting weights for his next set. "Just say I got tied up with the coaches. Don't make it sound like I forgot."

The silence on the other end stretched out long enough that Joe wondered if the call had dropped.

"So let me get this straight," Sarah finally said. "You want your girlfriend's first impression of me to be when I lie to her face and pretend you didn't just completely forget she was flying in to see you?"

When she put that way, it did sound bad. But the alternative—Riley knowing he'd completely forgotten her visit and that seemed worse.

"Yes," he said simply.

Sarah exhaled sharply. "Fine. But I'm using the company card to get some things that I'll tell her were your idea. To smooth this over."

"Whatever you need," Joe agreed quickly, relief washing over him.

"What does she like? If I'm going to sell this, I need details."

Joe thought for a moment, aware of Dak's growing impatience. "She loves sour gummies. And blood orange sparkling water. Maybe some pinot noir, see if you can find a Louisiana brand."

"Anything else?" The sarcasm was subtle but unmistakable.

"Taco stuff," he added, remembering how Riley had raided his kitchen at 3 AM last visit. "She likes making tacos when she can't sleep."

"This is going to cost you," Sarah warned. "And not just the grocery bill."

"I know. I appreciate it, Sarah."

"You'd better." She paused. "What exactly should I tell her about why you couldn't make it?"

Joe hadn't thought that far ahead. "Meeting with the offensive coaching staff? Been in session since this morning?"

"Fine. I'll text her now." Her voice softened slightly. "But Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do this again," Sarah said firmly. "She's flying across the country to see you. That matters."

The words landed with unexpected weight. "I know. I know." he said, and meant it. "I'll make it up to her."

"See that you do." With that, Sarah hung up.

Joe quickly sent a thumbs-up emoji in response to Riley's message as Dak called out, "We've got a schedule to keep, Burrow!"

"Coming," Joe replied, sliding his phone back into his gym bag. 

As he positioned himself under the bar again, an uncomfortably familiar feeling settled in his chest. The vague sense that he'd missed something important. That he'd failed some test he hadn't known he was taking.

He pushed it aside, focusing on the weight, the movement, the count. The way he always did. But the thought of Riley—tired from weeks in the studio, excited to see him, probably already at the airport—lingered at the edges of his concentration. He'd been looking forward to her visit too, had talked about it for weeks. How had he managed to forget entirely?

Three more sets. Meeting with the coaches. Game film review. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Riley arriving at his house, waiting for him.

By the time he finished his workout, the guilt had faded to a dull throb, compartmentalized like everything else that threatened his focus. He'd handle it later. Make it up to her tonight. Order in, open that wine Sarah was picking up, give Riley his full attention.

But as he headed to the showers, Joe couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a scheduling mistake. It was part of something bigger—the fundamental difference in how they moved through the world. Riley, who lived in the moment, who rearranged everything for the people she loved. And him, with his structures and systems, his life divided into careful, separate pieces.

He pushed that thought away too. Just a missed airport run. They'd be fine.

* * *

The captain's announcement barely registered as Riley blinked awake. Her neck ached from sleeping against the window, and her mouth felt like cotton. The flight from LA had only been three and a half hours, but after nearly a week of minimal sleep, her body couldn't tell the difference between a nap and a coma.

"We've begun our final descent into Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport. Local time is 2:17 PM with clear skies and a temperature of 72 degrees..."

Riley pulled her phone from airplane mode, watching the signal bars reappear. She'd texted Joe before takeoff, a simple "boarding now, see you soon" that he'd acknowledged with a thumbs-up emoji. Not exactly effusive, but it was Joe.

They'd settled into a rhythm of sorts since the album incident—regular calls, supportive texts, carefully neutral. She hadn't brought up her disappointment, and he'd been impressed with the album when he finally listened. Just like Pete had predicted. But something subtle had shifted, a tiny fracture in their understanding of each other that neither acknowledged directly.

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown Cincinnati number.

Unknow: Hey Riley! This is Sarah, Joe's assistant. He got tied up with Coach Taylor so he asked me to come get you. I'm so excited to finally meet you after hearing so much about you!

Riley stared at the message, something heavy settling in her stomach. Joe wasn't coming. After weeks apart, after night-long calls where they'd planned this visit, he'd sent his assistant instead.

She swallowed the disappointment and typed back:

Thanks Sarah! What are you wearing so I can find you?

As she hit send, she caught herself wondering if this was how it would always be—adjusting her expectations, smoothing over disappointments, pretending it was all fine. She pushed the thought away before it could fully take shape.

The plane touched down, and Riley found herself switching into performance mode—the same calm, gracious exterior she wore for interviews she didn't want to do. For radio hosts who asked about her relationships instead of her band. For moments when disappointment needed to be concealed beneath a smile.

She spotted Sarah immediately at baggage claim—a petite woman with a sleek ponytail and the perfect blend of casual and professional in dark jeans and a cream blazer. She held a small sign that read "RILEY" with a little music note drawn in the corner.

"Sarah?" Riley approached with a warm smile that carefully masked the hollow feeling in her chest.

"Riley! Hi!" Sarah stepped forward with genuine enthusiasm. "I hope you don't mind me coming instead of Joe. The defensive coordinator called an emergency meeting, and you know how it is during training..." She trailed off, but there was nothing in her expression that suggested anything other than standard NFL unpredictability.

"Of course," Riley said easily, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "I'm just grateful for the ride."

Sarah led her to a sleek SUV in short-term parking, chatting about the weather and asking about her flight. As they pulled away from the airport, Sarah reached for a small tote bag between the seats.

"I brought you a few things for the ride," she said, handling Riley the bag. "I wasn't sure if you'd be hungry."

Inside was a selection of snacks—those sour gummy candies she loved, blood orange sparkling water, and a bar of dark chocolate. Thoughtful touches that would have required input from Joe. Riley remembered mentioning these to him once, during a late-night call when they were sharing random facts about themselves.

"Thank you, this is perfect," Riley said, genuinely touched despite herself. "The last real food I had was lunch yesterday."

"You guys finished the album, right? Joe mentioned you've been working crazy hours."

Riley nodded, something bittersweet twisting in her chest. Joe had talked about her to Sarah, remembered her favorites, but couldn't make it himself. The gesture was thoughtful and frustrating all at once - care without presence, attention without showing up.

"Yeah, we finally wrapped it," she said, keeping her tone light. "Took us about a year and too many late nights, but we got there."

The drive to Joe's house passed with Riley in performance mode - friendly and engaging, the way she could be even when exhausted or disappointed. But underneath, she kept thinking about how this wasn't the reunion she'd imagined: Joe at the airport, that crooked half-smile when he spotted her, his arms steady around her. Not his assistant, however sweet she seemed.

When they arrived, Sarah showed her inside and went straight to the kitchen. "I stocked some things for you," she said, opening the refrigerator. "Breakfast stuff, that pinot noir from Louisiana Joe mentioned you might like, and everything for tacos since he said that's your comfort food..."

Looking at everything Sarah had prepared, Riley felt caught between gratitude and disappointment. Joe had remembered all these details about her - but somehow still wasn't the one standing here with her.

"Sarah, this is incredibly thoughtful," Riley said, and meant it. "Thank you."

"It's no problem at all," Sarah replied with a genuine smile. "I'm just glad to finally meet you. I'll get out of your hair now, but my number's the one I texted you from, so reach out if you need anything. Joe should be home around seven."

After Sarah left, Riley stood alone in the kitchen, feeling Joe's thoughtfulness and his absence all at once. She traced the edge of the counter with her fingertips, trying not to sulk. This was Joe's world—organized, planned, handed off to others. She'd seen glimpses of it before, but standing in the middle of it felt different.

She dragged herself upstairs to his bedroom, disappointment heavy on her shoulders. She texted Joe quickly—Landed safe. At your place. Going to sleep for a bit. See you when you get home.—then fell onto his bed.

His pillow still smelled like him, and she buried her face in it, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent made the ache worse somehow, a reminder of the Joe she missed while lying in the empty space he should have occupied.

She'd flown across the country to see him, and he'd sent his assistant with snacks.

Sleep claimed her before she could dwell on it further, her exhaustion finally overwhelming the hurt.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

* * *

Joe sat in the car for a full minute after pulling into the garage, the engine off, his phone glowing dimly in his hand.

He’d texted her a handful of times throughout the afternoon.

You still asleep?

You need anything?

Want me to bring dinner?

Headed home. Be there soon.

Still nothing.

She'd said she was going to crash when she got in, but that had been hours ago. Too long for just a nap. He wasn't panicked—but something felt off. The silence wasn't just silence anymore.

He rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. Maybe she was pissed. Maybe she hadn't bought the story. Maybe she'd walked into that kitchen full of snacks someone else had picked out and realized the truth.

Maybe she'd changed her mind about being here at all.

Joe stared at the house, suddenly unsure what waited inside. He'd spent the afternoon practicing what to say—how to explain without admitting he'd forgotten. How to handle the guilt now sitting heavy in his chest.

He exhaled hard, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. His shoulders ached from hours over game film, everything feeling heavier now that he was home.

The house was quiet.

He moved through the entryway slowly, eyes scanning for signs—her bag near the couch, a charger plugged into the wall, the scent of her shampoo lingering faintly in the hallway.

He’d already played every version of this in his head out in the garage. How to explain. How to apologize without fully admitting he’d forgotten. How to soften the damage without looking like he was trying to manage her feelings instead of facing them.

Now, standing in the quiet, it felt worse. More real.

No Riley curled up on the couch. No music drifting from the speakers. Just stillness—the kind that didn’t feel neutral anymore. The house didn’t feel empty. It felt like it was missing something.

Like someone had been here… and maybe decided not to stay.

He dropped his keys on the entryway table and toed off his shoes, adding them to the small collection already scattered by the door. His gym bag landed with a thud beside the couch where he'd left yesterday's hoodie.

"Riley?" he called, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet space.

No answer.

He moved through the living room, noticing her bag on the floor near the couch, her phone charger already claimed a spot in the nearest outlet. The door to his bedroom was partially open, spilling a triangle of darkness into the hallway.

Joe paused in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Her clothes were scattered across the floor—black track pants half-folded near the foot of the bed, that worn Nine Inch Nails tee crumpled nearby, one cow-print slide tipped on its side by the dresser. A few of her rings sat in a loose line on the nightstand, like she’d taken them off without thinking.

It looked like she’d barely made it under the covers before sleep pulled her under.

Riley was curled on her side in his bed, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other stretched across to what had somehow already become her side of the mattress. The sheet was tangled loosely around her hips, leaving the curve of her back bare. Her hair was loose across his pillow, her face softened by sleep.

The sight of her hit him like a blow to the chest.

Relief. Guilt. And something deeper—quieter, heavier—something he wasn’t ready to name.

His bedroom looked the way it always did—comfortably lived-in rather than methodically organized. Jeans draped over the chair in the corner, a book splayed open on the nightstand, his watch tossed carelessly beside it. The normalcy of the scene made Riley's presence even more striking—the small addition of her to his everyday space.

He stepped back quietly, suddenly not wanting to wake her. In the kitchen, he filled a glass with water, leaning against the counter as he drank it slowly. The reality of what had happened—of his complete failure to remember something this important—settled over him now that there was no meeting to focus on, no workout to push through.

Sarah hadn't told her. Relief mingled with a deeper discomfort at the realization that he'd been saved from immediate consequences, but the underlying problem remained.  But consequences didn’t disappear just because they were delayed. And Riley—Riley never missed much. He'd forgotten she was coming. Had somehow pushed their carefully planned visit entirely out of his mind until her text snapped him back to awareness.

The water didn't wash away the guilt, but it gave him a moment to breathe, to recalibrate. He rinsed the glass and set it in the sink before heading back to the bedroom.

Joe shed his clothes down to his boxers, leaving them in a pile with the others on the floor, and carefully slid into bed beside her. Despite his efforts to be gentle, the dip of the mattress stirred her.

Riley shifted, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, there was only sleepy confusion, then recognition, then—before her mind could fully engage with the day's disappointment—a soft, genuine smile.

"Hey," she murmured, voice rough with sleep. "You're home."

"Yeah," he said quietly, reaching out to brush hair from her face. "Sorry I'm late."

She blinked slowly, consciousness gradually returning. "What time is it?"

"Little after seven." He settled onto his side, facing her. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay," she said, stretching slightly. "I crashed hard."

Joe watched her face, trying to read what lay beneath the surface—how much disappointment lingered, how much she knew or suspected.

"Sarah get you settled okay?" he asked, the question feeling inadequate against the weight of what he needed to say.

"Mmhmm." Riley's eyes were more alert now, studying him with that perceptiveness that sometimes unnerved him. "She was great. Got me snacks for the drive. Said you were stuck in meetings all day."

There it was—the moment to tell the truth or let the lie stand. Joe hesitated, caught between relief that she wasn't upset and guilt that she didn't know she should be.

"Yeah," he said finally, choosing the easier path. "Coach called an emergency meeting this morning. Film review went long."

She nodded, accepting this, though something passed across her face—not doubt exactly, just a flicker of something reserved. For a moment they just looked at each other, relearning faces after weeks apart, everything unsaid hanging between them.

Then Riley moved closer, tucking herself against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder like it belonged there.

"Missed you," she murmured against his skin.

His arm wrapped around her automatically, his body easing into the contact even as his mind stayed troubled.

"Missed you too," he said, and that, at least, was completely true.

* * *

She shifted, barely conscious, her voice muffled by his t-shirt.

“Will you lay with me for a bit?”

“Yeah Birdie,” Joe said quietly. “I got you.

He settled in beside her again, careful not to disturb the fragile line of her body curled against the mattress. She was already slipping back under—limbs heavy, breath slowing, worn down to the bone. He smoothed her hair back once, then let his hand rest near hers on the sheets.

She didn’t say anything else.

Within minutes, her breathing deepened. Asleep again.

He stayed with her for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath. The house was dark and still, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful—just hollow.

Eventually, he slipped out of bed, as quietly as he’d come in.

In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, blinking at the light. The shelves were neatly packed—grapes washed and stored, oat milk, three kinds of sparkling water, the taco ingredients he hadn’t remembered to get himself. Sarah had done all of it.

Joe pulled out one of his prepped meals, reheated it, and stood leaning against the counter while he ate. He wasn’t really hungry, but his body was on autopilot—routine over reflection.

Halfway through chewing, he opened his phone again.

The file was still there. The album. The one Riley had sent at the start of the week. I wanted you to be the first to hear it.

And he hadn't.

Not really.

He'd skimmed it once—half-distracted, folding laundry. Let it play through the speaker while answering texts. Told her he loved it. Told her it was incredible.

And it was.

But he hadn't actually listened.

Not properly.

What if she asked him about specific songs? What if she wanted to know what he thought of a particular lyric?

He stared at the file for a long beat, then grabbed his headphones off the counter. Paired them. Hit play.

The opening track hit different this time.

He remembered this one. The rhythm. The hook. He'd nodded along to it earlier in the week while sorting socks. But now, sitting still, headphones in, Riley's voice sounded... different.

Less like a performance.

More like a confession.

The lyrics hit hard. Not pointed at him—he knew that—but raw enough to make his chest tighten. Words about losing yourself, about being loved conditionally, about someone coming back like a wave when you're finally feeling alright. They weren't about him, but they were clearly part of what she was carrying when they met.

He hadn't asked much about the man who came before. And she hadn't offered details—just edges of a story. A name. A presence that had left its mark.

Now, here it was. Not the details, but the wreckage.

Each track peeled back another layer. Not just heartbreak - something more surgical. Songs about being displayed like a trophy then abandoned, about masks and lies, about the smallest man who ever lived. She wasn't mourning someone. She was excavating him.

And all this time, Joe had thought he was meeting Riley after the storm had passed.

Now he understood—he was showing up while she was still drying herself off.

His fingers pressed against the granite countertop, suddenly aware that he'd been gripping the edge. The realization wasn't just about her past. It was about what it meant for them now. About how the way he'd treated the album—casual, distracted, an afterthought between workouts—might have echoed something she'd lived through before. Someone who'd made promises then disappeared. Someone who never gave her what she deserved.

He rubbed at his jaw as the next song bled into the next, headphones pressing against his temples.

These weren't just lyrics. They were evidence. Of what she'd endured. Of what she'd fought through.

He'd thought he understood. He didn't.

Not until now.

And then the final track began—Daylight.

He sat back in his chair.

It was quieter than the others. Simpler. Just piano and Riley's voice, soft and clean. No barbs. No armor.

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you…

His throat tightened.

I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night…

He exhaled slowly.

And now I see daylight. I only see daylight.

There was no question who that one was about.

Not Ethan. Not regret.

Him.

The only part of the record that was written after they met. The only track he hadn't heard fragments of before. The one she'd added at the last minute, when they'd already thought the album was done.

That was the one she'd ended on.

The last few lines weren't sung, just spoken, like she was thinking them out loud in real time.

I wanna be defined by the things that I love. Not the things I hate. Not the things I'm afraid of…

You are what you love.

And then it was over.

Joe didn't move for a long moment.

She had ended that record on him. After everything she'd excavated, everything she'd laid bare—he was the hope at the end of the tunnel. The daylight after the dark.

And he'd kept her waiting at an airport.

And he'd waited five days to really hear it.

* * *

The morning light slid across the bed in slow golden stripes. Riley blinked against it, her eyes dry but heavy, her body aching from the kind of sleep that didn't soothe—just shut everything off.

She turned onto her side and saw him—Joe, still asleep, one hand curled near his face, the other resting palm-up between them. His breathing was slow, deep. Steady.

The kind of steady she hadn't felt in weeks.

It was 7:42 AM. With a start, she realized Joe was still asleep at almost eight—something that never happened. The Joe Burrow she knew would be halfway through his second workout by now, protein shake in hand, mentally reviewing plays.

But here he was, still beside her.

The calendar in her mind did the math automatically: eighteen hours left before her flight tomorrow. Eighteen hours that were supposed to be twenty-four, if yesterday hadn't dissolved into sleep and disappointment.

And that's when it hit her.

Not the sadness exactly—but the disappointment. The ache of what they didn't get yesterday. Not a full day, no—but the part that mattered most. The part she'd stayed up late mixing for. The reason she'd sent the album early. The moment she'd pictured walking into.

Gone before it ever happened.

Her eyes stung. She blinked fast.

Joe shifted beside her, sensing the change in the air before he woke. He turned toward her, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

"Hey," he murmured, voice rough.

"Hey."

He reached out gently, his hand landing on her hip, thumb brushing slow circles through the blanket.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Almost eight."

She tried to smile, but it faltered.

Joe blinked fully awake then, his brows knitting as he took her in. "You okay?"

She hesitated. Swallowed. Tried again. "I don't know. I think I'm just really tired."

He watched her carefully. Said nothing.

And then, before she could stop it, her voice caught.

“I don’t know. I just… I missed you. And I hate that I slept through half of being here.”

Joe’s hand stilled on her back, then resumed, slow and steady. Grounding.

“Baby,” he murmured. “We’ve got time.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just pressed her face into his chest, the fabric of his shirt catching at her cheek.

“I think I’m just overwhelmed,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I feel like I missed out on a lot of time… and you’ve got plans tonight, and I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

Joe’s throat tightened. She wasn’t accusing him. Wasn’t even upset. But the ache in her voice was enough to make his stomach turn.

“You didn’t miss anything,” he said quietly. “We're here now.”

Riley sniffed, half-laughing through it. “God, I’m sorry. I told you last time—I’m a crier. I’ll pull it together, I’m just… tired. And everything’s been so loud lately.”

Joe shifted, pulling her closer. “You don’t have to pull it together.”

She nodded against him, her fingers curling around the fabric at his side.

They lay there for another minute—quiet, warm, her breath steadying again.

Her breath warmed the cotton of his shirt, slower now, less shaky. Joe didn’t move, didn’t press—just let her stay tucked into him, his hand moving in quiet loops at the small of her back.

Eventually, her voice broke the silence again. Smaller now. Almost embarrassed.

“I know I’m being extra.”

“You’re not.”

“I kind of am.”

Joe pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were still red, but steadier. Her lashes clumped slightly from the few tears she hadn’t quite wiped away.

“You’re tired. You care. That’s not extra,” he said. “That’s you.”

That pulled the barest smile from her—soft, wobbly, but real.

She blinked at him, then glanced toward the window. Morning was starting to fill the room, pale and bright and indifferent to how little time they had left.

“I don’t want to waste today.”

Joe pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We won't."

She looked at him again. "What about your thing tonight?"

He hesitated, then ran his fingers gently through the back of her hair. "I'll have to make an appearance, but I won't stay long. Just enough to show my face."

Her eyes searched his face. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He brushed a knuckle along her jaw. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay," she whispered.

Joe’s hand found hers under the blanket. She laced their fingers together without hesitation this time.

“I’m not in a rush to get up,” she said.

“Good,” he murmured. “Neither am I.”

He didn’t say I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you sent the album.

He didn’t say I forgot your flight time.

He didn’t say I was so in my own head I almost missed all of this.

But he stayed close—facing her, their legs tangled under the blankets, the air between them warm with morning light and everything unspoken.

He reached up, his hand brushing her cheek, then smoothing her hair behind her ear like he was relearning her face. No rush. Just touch.

Riley didn’t look away.

He kissed her once—soft, gentle.

Then again, taking his time, saying the things he couldn't put into words.

His hand slid along her side, over the curve of her waist, until it found the small of her back. Skin to skin, nothing in between. He didn’t pull her in—just rested there, a quiet offering

Riley exhaled, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and then opened again. She moved closer—not dramatically, just enough that her forehead brushed his.

He stayed there.

Their breaths synced.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, then found her lips again. Not asking for anything. Just being there. His apology without words. His promise without sound. And she understood without him having to explain. Because his eyes stayed on hers. Because his hands held her like she was the only real thing in the room.

Riley shifted closer, her leg sliding over his hip, skin warm against his beneath the sheets. Not demanding anything. Not yet. Just closing the space between them.

Just closeness.

Joe’s hand slid along the back of her thigh, anchoring there. His palm was warm, steady. She felt him breathe her in like she was something calming, something worth slowing down for.

They kissed again—longer now. Less hesitant. She opened to him without urgency, just need. Simple and quiet and real.

He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to her ribs, thumb tracing the curve beneath her breast with familiar ease.

She didn’t stop him.

She moved against him, her breath catching as his skin warmed hers. No barriers left between them, nothing held back.

Joe shifted, drawing her beneath him without breaking the kiss. Each touch deliberate, focused, like he needed to get this right.

His hand moved between them, slow and careful, until her body arched into him, her fingers tightening at his shoulders.

Still, he didn’t rush.

He stayed with her completely—eyes open, watching, taking in every response like he was learning something essential.

And when he finally moved into her, there was nothing rushed about it.

Riley wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close—not just for the feeling, but for what it meant. For everything he was showing instead of saying.

For the way he hadn't left.

And when she whispered his name into the quiet space between them, he answered with a kiss to her cheek, then her mouth, then her collarbone—like yes,

I hear you,

I’m right here.

They moved together slowly, finding something neither had named yet. Something like forgiveness. Like coming home.

Afterward, they stayed close, sheets twisted around them, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

Joe watched the ceiling, then turned to her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Her hand paused.

"You don't have to say it," she murmured, knowing what those words cost him.

"I do," Joe said, voice low but certain. "For these weeks. For not showing up. For making you chase me when I should've been meeting you halfway."

Riley watched him, no tears now. Just seeing him clearly.

"You've felt far away," she said.

"I know."

He took her hand where it rested against his chest, threading their fingers together.

"I don't want to miss you while you're right here."

Riley exhaled, something finally settling between them.

"Then don't," she whispered.

* * *

By the time they left the bed, sunlight warmed the hardwood floors and the house felt wrapped in weekend stillness.

Riley pulled on one of Joe's shirts—soft cotton that fell to mid-thigh—and wandered into the kitchen. Joe followed, tugging on shorts as he went.

Without asking, he opened the fridge and started gathering ingredients. Eggs, spinach, feta, herbs.

"Sit," he said, nodding toward the counter.

Riley arched an eyebrow but slid onto a stool as he set coffee in front of her—already fixed exactly how she liked it. She wrapped both hands around the mug, letting the steam rise to her face, body still heavy with sleep.

"You're cooking?" she teased, voice still rough from sleep.

"I've cooked for you before," he said, cracking eggs one-handed into the bowl.

"I know. Just like seeing this side of you."

He didn't say anything—just that hint of a smile as he turned back to the stove.

Nothing fancy. Scrambled eggs, avocado toast, half a grapefruit each. Simple food that somehow tasted better here. With him. Actually present.

They ate without hurrying, knees touching under the table. No agenda. Just quiet morning sounds and easy words between bites.

"How's the album launch stuff going?" Joe asked, carefully dividing the last of the grapefruit.

Riley pushed her plate away, satisfied. "The team's been sending me press schedules. It's kind of overwhelming."

"When does all that start?"

"Already has. We're doing press next week, then photo shoots, interviews." She traced the rim of her mug. "The whole circus."

Joe nodded, his eyes steady on hers. "How are you feeling about it?"

Riley considered this. With most people, she'd brush it off, say something light. But Joe had that way of asking things that made her want to answer honestly.

"Excited. Nervous." She paused. "Kind of dreading the Ethan questions. They always go there."

Joe's jaw tightened slightly at the name, but he didn't look away. "What's your plan?"

"Say it's in the past, that the album speaks for itself." She shrugged. "Then talk about the music instead."

"You're good at that," Joe said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Redirecting."

Riley gave him a look. "Says the master of 'next question, please.'"

He conceded with a slight nod, then reached across the table to take her empty plate. "You want more coffee?"

"Always."

As Joe rinsed dishes, Riley leaned against the counter, her eyes catching on something familiar on his fridge. The gaudy "Love from Louisiana" magnet that had disappeared from her kitchen last month.

"You stole my magnet," she said, amusement in her voice.

She pointed to the colorful state outline with its cartoon crawfish and alligator. "That was on my fridge. I thought it fell or something."

"You stole my magnet," she said, amusement in her voice.

She pointed to the colorful state outline with its cartoon crawfish and alligator. "That was on my fridge. I thought it fell behind the stove or something."

Joe glanced at it, expression neutral except for the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. "Just borrowing it."

Riley smiled, something softening in her eyes. "Keep it. Looks good there."

She drifted into the living room, looking over his shelves again. Same careful arrangement as her last visit - books lined up, team photos in matching frames, nothing too personal left in plain sight.

The only sign of her from previous visits was the turntable he'd bought after seeing her record collection in New Orleans. She crossed to it now, running her fingers along the edge.

"You've been using it," she observed, noticing a small stack of vinyl beside it—not the carefully curated collection he'd first purchased, but new additions. Things he'd chosen himself.

Joe appeared in the doorway. "Yeah," he said. "Helps me think sometimes."

Riley selected one at random—Tame Impala—and set it on the turntable. The warm crackle of vinyl filled the room, followed by smooth vocals. She turned to find Joe watching her, something unreadable in his expression.

They stayed like that for a minute—Riley standing at the turntable, coffee in hand, Joe leaning against the doorway, watching her.

The music drifted into the room, smooth and woozy, filling the silence like water. Riley took a sip, then nodded toward the couch.

“Sit with me?”

Joe followed her wordlessly, settling into the cushions as she curled beside him, legs tucked under her, her head finding the space between his shoulder and chest like it was made for her. He wrapped an arm around her without thinking, pulling her in.

They didn't talk much. They didn't need to.

The record spun. Her fingers traced idle shapes on the inside of his forearm. Joe’s thumb brushed slow circles across her hip. Everything about the moment felt suspended, like time had taken a breath and decided not to move forward just yet.

At some point, Riley shifted, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over both of them. Joe adjusted to let her fully curl into him, resting her cheek over his heart.

They stayed there for a while, the Tame Impala record winding toward its final track, the music drifting soft and spacey through the quiet house.

Then Joe said, his voice low, "That last track on the album…"

Riley didn't move, just waited.

"Is that the one you told me about? The one you said I couldn't hear yet?"

Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah," she said. "When I first started writing the album, I was angry. Raw. Trying to burn everything down just to see what would be left. I didn't think there'd be space for anything soft."

She paused, her voice catching a little.

"But by the end... I don't know. I felt so far away from that version of me. Like I'd already made it through the worst part. I just hadn't figured out how to say that yet."

Joe's hand moved slowly against her hip. He didn't speak right away.

Then, quietly: "It's about me."

She nodded against his chest. "It is."

He was silent for another beat. "Why?"

Riley exhaled. Not in frustration—just in honesty.

"I don't know," she said. "You made me feel like… like something was still possible. Like maybe I wasn't just a collection of everything that hurt."

Joe didn't answer, but the way his arm tightened around her said enough.

The record ended, needle lifting with a soft click.

The needle lifted with a soft click, leaving them in a silence that felt deeper than before. Neither moved to change it or put on something else.

The needle lifted with a soft click, leaving them in a silence that felt deeper than before. Neither moved to change it or put on something else.

"I get why you put it last," he said finally. "It's the after. The part where you made it through."

Riley's throat tightened. "I wasn't sure I'd ever write a hopeful song again," she admitted. "After Ethan—after all of it—everything I wrote came out sharp. Dfdnsive."

Joe's eyes hadn't left her face, studying her with the same focus he brought to everything that mattered.

"And then you met me," he said, not a question.

"And then I met you," she agreed softly. "And something shifted."

The words hung between them, simple but profound. Not a declaration exactly, but an acknowledgment of something neither had fully articulated before.

Joe's hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head. "I wasn't looking for this," he said, voice rough with honesty. "For you. For any of it."

"I know," Riley said. "Neither was I."

"I've never had anyone write a song about me before," he added, a hint of vulnerability in his voice that she rarely heard.

Riley shifted to see his face better. "Really? Not even in college? Some girl with a guitar and a crush on the quarterback?"

A small smile touched his lips. "Not that I know of."

"Well," she said, settling back against his chest, "now you do."

His fingers traced idle patterns against her hip, seeming to follow some rhythm only he could hear. "It's a good one."

"Don't let it go to your head. It was just one song."

The playful edge in her voice made his smile widen. "I don't know. I might need another. Just to be sure."

"We'll see," she said, feeling his quiet laugh vibrate through her. "One might be enough."

Riley shifted slightly, angling to see his face better without losing contact. "We're doing this small thing at the Troubadour in a couple weeks. Not on the official schedule. Just for some of the fans, testing out the new songs live before tour."

"Yeah?" Joe's voice was casual, but his hand stilled against her hip, attention fully caught.

"Yeah. Very low-key, no press. Just seeing how they translate onstage." She traced an absent pattern on his chest. "It's not a big deal if you can't make it but I want you to."

Joe was quiet for a moment, and she could practically hear him mentally reviewing his calendar, weighing commitments, calculating possibilities.

"I'll see what I can move around," he said finally, his voice careful but tinged with something that sounded like determination. "When exactly?"

"Two Fridays from now. Night before we start full production rehearsals."

He nodded slightly, his chin brushing the top of her head. "Let me figure it out."

Riley didn't push, didn't make him promise. Just settled back against him, understanding that even this—the willingness to consider rearranging his meticulously planned schedule—was its own kind of progress.

"Okay," she said simply.

* * *

They wandered outside eventually, drawn to the sunlit stillness of the backyard.

The outdoor couch sat in perfect shade, tucked beneath the overhang where the breeze still reached them. Riley settled in first, stretching along the cushions. Joe followed, fitting himself behind her, one arm draped across her waist.

His hand moved lazily across her stomach, warm through the thin fabric. Her leg slid back between his without thinking. Their bodies aligned like they'd always known how to fit together this way.

The afternoon stretched around them, unhurried and golden. Joe's thumb traced slow circles at her hip, his face close enough that her hair caught his breath.

"This is nice," Riley murmured, barely above a whisper.

Joe hummed agreement, lips brushing the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Not quite a kiss. Just there.

"I only stop when I'm with you," he admitted, words warm against her skin. "Everything else is always... moving. Planning. Working."

Riley's hand found his where it rested against her stomach, her fingers slipping between his. “That’s because I’m a terrible influence,” she said with a soft laugh.

"Best kind of influence," he murmured against her shoulder.

"I was thinking," Riley said after a while, shifting slightly to tuck herself more securely against him.

"Dangerous," Joe replied, his voice warm with affection.

She squeezed his hand in gentle admonishment. "I was thinking about how we keep trying to fit each other into the cracks of our lives. And maybe that's why it feels so hard sometimes."

Joe's body tensed almost imperceptibly behind her. "What do you mean?"

Riley chose her words carefully, not wanting to break the delicate harmony they'd found. "We're both so used to making our work the center of everything. And then trying to find space for each other around that." She paused. "Maybe we need to start thinking of us as the constant. And everything else has to fit around that."

Joe was quiet for a long moment, his breathing steady against her back. She couldn't see his face, couldn't read his expression, and for a moment she worried she'd pushed too hard.

But then his arm tightened around her, drawing her impossibly closer. "That's a big shift," he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful. "For both of us."

"I know," she said. "It scares me too."

He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, and she could feel him processing, weighing her words with the same careful consideration he gave everything.

"It's not that we'd put football or music second," she continued. "Just that... we'd put us first. Together."

Joe's hand moved from her stomach to her arm, fingers trailing lightly over her skin. "I've never done that before," he admitted. "Put someone ahead of the game."

Riley nodded slightly. "I know. I haven't either. Not really."

Another silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Just the space they both needed to feel the weight of what they were discussing.

"When does all the album promo stuff start?" Joe asked finally.

"A couple of weeks," she said. "We've got some intimate shows lined up. The actual tour doesn't kick off until next year."

He exhaled slowly. "That's going to test this theory."

Riley turned in his arms then, needing to see his face. His eyes were serious, searching hers with that quiet intensity that had drawn her to him from the beginning.

"It is," she agreed. "But I think we're worth testing it for."

Joe's hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. His touch was gentle but sure, like everything else about him—no wasted motion, no unnecessary force.

"I think so too," he said simply. 

They stayed curled together on the outdoor couch, the sun warming their skin, the conversation between them still vibrating beneath the surface. Nothing else needed to be said—not right now. Not after that.

Then Riley moved.

Not suddenly, not abruptly—just unfolded from his arms like her body had finally remembered it could. She stretched once, slow and lazy, then sat up, pushing a hand through her hair.

Joe didn’t ask where she was going. Just watched as she stood and peeled off his sweatshirt, her back to him, skin glowing in the late morning light.

She didn’t pause. Didn’t look over her shoulder.

Just stepped out of her panties, left them pooled next to the shirt, and walked barefoot across the patio to the pool.

A moment later, she slipped into the water—quiet, smooth, no performance.

Joe sat up, watching her move through the water like she belonged there. She surfaced at the far end, pushing wet hair from her face with one hand.

“Are you just gonna stare, or are you coming in?”

He smiled to himself—that quiet, almost surprised expression she could pull from him without even trying.

By the time he crossed the patio, Riley was floating on her back, arms spread wide, eyes closed against the sun. Her hair fanned around her, weightless, and the soft rise of her chest mirrored the water’s rhythm.

Joe stepped down into the pool, slow and deliberate, letting the cold bite at his skin before he pushed off and swam toward her.

She opened one eye when she felt him near, but didn’t say anything. Just watched.

Joe didn’t fill the silence. He reached her without urgency, one arm slipping around her waist beneath the surface, guiding her gently toward him. Her body drifted easily into his, like she’d been waiting for the anchor.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. They just floated—joined at the center, water lapping softly against their shoulders, the sun warm on their skin.

“I feel different when you’re here.”

Riley didn’t respond. She just looked at him—eyes half-lidded, her lips slightly parted, like she wasn’t sure if she was breathing him in or about to say something.

Joe leaned in, slow and sure, until his mouth found hers—not urgent, not searching. Just certain.

The water pressed gently against their bodies, keeping them weightless as the kiss deepened—still soft, still steady, but anchored now by everything they hadn’t said and everything they had.

When they finally pulled apart, they didn’t drift far.

Just stayed there.

Chest to chest.

Mouths close.

Breathing the same quiet air.

Joe’s hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, fingers splayed underwater. He wasn’t pulling her closer—he didn’t need to. Her leg had already hooked loosely around his, the barest friction between their bodies sending a ripple through the space between stillness and want.

Riley’s fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck.

She kissed him again—slower this time. Deeper. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of his mouth underwater.

Joe's hand tightened at her back. His breath caught. Then he kissed her again like he couldn't help himself.

Something shifted between them—a quiet, inevitable pull. The kind that comes without warning or thought.

Neither of them tried to stop it.

They stayed like that, pressed together in the cooling water, steam rising around them. The bathroom lights had dimmed with condensation, casting everything in a soft haze.

Then Joe's grip changed. His fingers pressed into her skin, not rough, just urgent in a way he rarely allowed.

It wasn't desire now. Just tension. Something heavier.

His forehead rested against hers, eyes closed like he was memorizing the moment. "When you're here, this feels easy. Like... possible. Like I can hold it all."

His voice dropped, rougher now. "But when you're not... it's like I can't find the shape of anything. Everything gets heavier. Harder."

Riley's brows drew together, her breath catching. She stayed silent, knowing that interrupting would close whatever door had just opened in him. Joe Burrow didn't do vulnerability on command—it came in these unplanned moments, like water finding cracks in stone.

"I know I was the one who pushed for the structure," he continued, words coming slower, as if each cost him something. "The calendar. The every-other-week rule. The team check-ins. That was me. I asked for all of it."

The water lapped quietly between them, marking time neither wanted to acknowledge.

"And you've shown up, Riley." His voice softened with something like wonder. "You've actually made it work. I'm the one who keeps dropping shit. I forget things. I let stuff slide. And every time I realize it, I feel like I'm fucking it up. Like I'm fucking you up."

Her hand moved gently up into his hair, fingers threading through the damp strands. Something tightened in her chest—the recognition that this wasn't just about missed calls or forgotten plans. This was Joe Burrow admitting he was afraid.

"I'll think something didn't matter that much in the moment," he continued, barely audible now, the words warm against her skin. "And then a few hours later, or days, it hits me. What it really was. What you were giving me. And I didn't even see it.

The water lapped gently around them, warm and still in the afternoon sun. Riley's hand remained steady against his neck, her eyes locked on his—waiting, patient in a way he didn't deserve.

"I feel like I'm always late," he whispered, finally opening his eyes to meet hers. "Like I finally understand something... right after the moment I was supposed to show up for it."

"I don't—" He broke off, jaw tightening. This wasn't a post-game interview or a huddle call. Those were easy. Those followed a pattern. But with Riley, there were no playbooks, no practiced responses. Just the raw truth he'd been avoiding for months.

"I don't know how to carry this," he finally said, the confession rough in his throat. "Whatever this is between us. It's too much." His hands tightened on her waist, contradicting his words with their need to hold on. "My whole life has been about focus. Having a plan and executing it. Keeping it simple." His eyes found hers, something vulnerable flickering there. "And then you—"

He exhaled sharply, frustration and wonder mixed in his voice. "You're in my head all the time. You've got me doing things I'd never do. Feeling things I don't..." he paused, swallowed, "I don't know how to manage."

Riley started to speak, but he pressed on, needing to get it all out before he lost his nerve.

"And it pisses me off sometimes," he admitted, the words coming faster now. "How much space you take up in me. How much it throws me off balance. I don't recognize myself half the time."

His voice dropped lower, almost confessional. "But the thought of going back to before? Of not having this? Of not having you?" His eyes held hers, raw with honesty. "That scares me more than anything. Because at least now I feel something real. Before you, I didn't even know what I was missing."

The vulnerability in his expression was staggering—Joe Burrow, who never flinched under pressure, looking utterly exposed. Not just afraid of losing her, but afraid of what it meant that he couldn't imagine his life without the very chaos she'd brought to it.

"I don't like needing anything this much," he whispered. "But I think I need this. Need you."

The vulnerability in his expression was staggering—Joe Burrow, who never flinched under pressure, looking utterly exposed. "I'm in deep, baby," he whispered, the rare term of endearment falling from his lips like a confession. "I'm fucking drowning."

Riley's eyes softened, one hand rising to cup his cheek. She didn't rush to fill the silence or offer empty reassurances. Instead, she just held his gaze, thumb brushing across his jawline with a steadiness that anchored him.

Her voice wavered slightly, her own vulnerability bleeding through.

"Because Joe, I need you too."

She felt him tense—not pulling away, just holding still, like the words were something he hadn't known he was waiting to hear.

"I need the way you see everything," she said, her voice low but sure. "How you walk into a room like you're already thinking about what I'll need before I even say anything. Like when we're somewhere crowded—you always keep your hand on my back. Not possessive. Just... steady. Like you're there.

Her fingers moved gently at the back of his neck, where his hair was still damp from the water.

"I need how you listen. Not just to what I'm saying, but to what I don't say. The way you bought that turntable for your house. And started picking records that reminded you of me, without me ever having to ask. You remembered what mattered."

She paused, her eyes flicking up to meet his. The blue in them seemed deeper now, like the shallow end dropping suddenly into the deep.

"No one in my life has ever paid that kind of attention. Not the way you do. And it makes me feel..."—she searched—"anchored. Like I could let go of some of the noise and still be okay."

Her throat tightened, but she didn't stop.

"The way you take care of me without making a thing of it. Like it's just part of your day now. Not performative. Not for show. You just... do."

He hadn't moved. His hands were still on her waist, but she could feel the shift in him—something giving way, like her words were reaching the places he never let anyone touch.

"When I'm spinning too fast, you slow me down," she whispered. "And when you're holding everything too tight, I help you let go. I didn't know it could be that simple with someone. That we could just... balance each other without trying so hard."

The water rippled between them as she leaned closer, her forehead touching his.

"I need you," she said again, the words so honest they almost hurt. "Not because you fit some image or because you're Joe Burrow or any of that. I need you—the guy who gets up at 5 AM and still makes time to call me at night. The one who looks at me like you're seeing all of me and staying anyway."

Riley didn't speak after that. She didn't need to.

He looked at her for a beat longer—like she was the answer to a question he hadn't known he was asking—then leaned in and kissed her.

Soft. Deep. Certain.

Not to distract. Not to fix.

But to stay. To mark the moment with something only they would remember.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

"You're the first real thing I've felt in a long time," he whispered. "Maybe ever."

The pool water had cooled around them, but neither seemed to notice. Riley's fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the contours of his face like she might be tested on them later.

"We should probably go inside," she said finally, though she made no move to pull away.

Joe nodded, but his hands stayed firm at her waist. "Probably."

Neither moved for another long moment, as if leaving the water might somehow break whatever spell had settled between them. As if the confessions they'd shared might evaporate in the dry air beyond the pool's edge.

Eventually, Joe pressed one more kiss to her temple and released her, swimming backward toward the steps. Riley followed, water streaming from her shoulders as she emerged. Joe handed her a towel, wrapping another around his waist. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them—an understanding that what had happened in the water wasn't staying there. They were carrying it with them, this new weight that somehow made everything lighter.

* * *

The afternoon drifted by in a peaceful rhythm, both of them reluctant to acknowledge the hours slipping away. After the pool, they'd moved inside, Joe making sandwiches while Riley put on another record. They ate on the couch, her legs draped over his lap, talking about nothing and everything—her upcoming press schedule, his training regimen, stories from their childhoods that somehow had never come up before.

Around five, Joe glanced at his watch, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"You've got that thing tonight, right?" Riley asked, catching the look.

"Yeah," Joe nodded. "Sam's charity poker tournament. Should be pretty low-key, just some of the guys raising money for his brother's foundation."

Riley nodded, taking another sip of her La Croix. "What time do you need to head out?"

"Around seven," Joe said, his thumb absently tracing circles on her ankle. "It's at that brewery downtown. Probably won't be home till midnight or so."

Riley stretched slightly, her toes pressing into the edge of the couch cushion. "Sounds fun."

Joe nodded, but didn't take the opening. Didn't ask if she wanted to come. Didn't suggest it might be nice to introduce her to more of his friends.

And Riley, true to form, didn't push. Wouldn't dream of asking to be included. She'd rather set herself on fire than be the girl who invited herself along, who made him uncomfortable with her neediness.

"You sure you're good to chill solo tonight?" he asked, his voice quieter now. Like he already knew the answer and was asking anyway.

Riley nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I'm gonna finish this book—finally." She held it up briefly, dog-eared and worn. "I've started it three times and never made it past chapter four, so tonight's the night."

She set it aside and stood to stretch, then moved toward the kitchen. "And I'm making tacos. I saw the stuff Sarah picked up—she got the good tortillas."

Joe watched her move, absorbing the familiar rhythm of her body in his space. The way she always managed to make it feel more like home than he ever could on his own.

"What time do you think you'll be back?" she asked, opening the fridge to pull out the wine.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure."

She nodded, too, even though her back was still to him. "Okay. I might be asleep when you come in depending on the time."

Then she turned, giving him a small smile—tired at the edges but still soft. "But I'll try not to be, baby."

Joe crossed the room and kissed her forehead, his hand warm on the side of her neck.

She didn't lean into it. Didn't pull away either.

"I'm gonna shower," he said, lingering for just a beat.

"Alright," she said, turning back to uncork the bottle.

He watched her for another second, noting the way her shoulders settled just a little too carefully. The way she poured the wine with her eyes lowered. Quiet cues. Things most people would miss.

But Joe didn't miss them.

And still, he went to get ready.

* * *

Joe came down the hall around seven, pulling on a plain gray T-shirt as he walked, his jeans already slung low on his hips, keys in hand. He paused when he saw her on the couch—legs tucked beneath her, book open in her lap, wine glass untouched on the table. She looked composed, relaxed. But something in the air told him it wasn’t the whole story.

“I’m heading out,” he said.

Riley looked up, smile already there. Soft. Controlled. “Okay. Have fun.”

He nodded once. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

She hesitated, then closed the book around her thumb. “If I’m asleep… will you wake me up?”

His gaze lingered on her. “Yeah. Of course.”

“I wanna hear how it was,” she said, voice light but clear. “Even if it’s just who won or something dumb.”

That tugged a smile from him, small but genuine. “You got it.”

He walked over, slow, and leaned down—not rushed, not distracted—and pressed a kiss to her forehead then her mouth.

It was brief, but warm. His hand found the side of her neck like it always did. Her lips parted just slightly beneath his. And for a second, it felt like he might say something else.

But he didn’t.

“I’ll see you later,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” she replied.

He watched her for another breath. Then turned and walked out.

The door closed softly behind him.

Riley sat still for another moment, the wine glass finally finding her hand. Then she closed the book and reached for her phone.

* * *

Joe eased onto the highway, knuckles flexed against the wheel, mind already halfway back to the house.

Riley had said she was fine. Had smiled. Kissed him goodbye.

But her eyes had told a different story.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder.

Zac.

He answered on the second ring. "Yo."

"Hey," Zac said. "Riley get in okay?"

"Yeah," Joe said, checking his mirror. "Got in yesterday. She's at the house."

"Nice. You two laying low tonight?"

Joe tightened his grip on the wheel. "I'm on my way to Sam's thing. That charity poker tournament."

The silence on the other end stretched a beat too long.

"She's not going with you?"

Joe swallowed, remembering how Riley's smile had faded at the edges. "Nah. Said she wanted a quiet night. Tacos and a book."

Zac let out a low breath. "It's not a mandatory thing though, right?"

"No."

"So," Zac's voice sharpened slightly, "she flew across the country to see you, and you're leaving her alone to play cards with guys you see every day?"

Joe didn't answer. The image of Riley standing in his kitchen, shoulders too carefully straight, wouldn't leave him.

"Just making sure I understand what's happening here," Zac added, not accusatory—just cutting straight to what Joe was avoiding.

Joe exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

"She said she was fine," he muttered.

"Man," Zac said quietly, "when has 'fine' ever actually meant fine?"

Joe's eyes caught on the exit sign he'd just passed. Sam was expecting him. The team would be there. But Riley had crossed time zones just to sit in his space, after weeks apart.

"I gotta go," he said finally.

"You turning around?"

Joe was already slowing for the next exit. "Yeah."

"Now that's the smartest thing you've done all day," Zac said, and Joe could hear the approval in his voice.

He ended the call, hit his turn signal, and headed home.

* * *

The kitchen smelled like cumin and garlic. Riley stood barefoot at the stove, wine glass within reach, spatula moving methodically through the pan. Her phone was propped against the backsplash, FaceTime filling the screen—Haley sprawled across her bed with wine, Laura cross-legged on her couch, Andy and Daniel shoulder-to-shoulder on a sectional, game paused between them.

"So wait," Haley said, eyebrow raised. "You flew across the country. His assistant picked you up. You had what, a few hours together? And now he's at a poker game?"

Riley exhaled quietly, stirring the meat. "He mentioned it when I said I was coming. It wasn't a surprise."

She flipped the spatula, voice flattening. "I just thought I'd be going too."

"That's exactly why I'm pissed," Daniel said. "That after everything, you're still wondering where you stand."

"This morning in the pool," she said, looking up briefly, "he told me he needed me. That he doesn't know how to do this without me."

Her fingers tightened around her wine stem. "And I was there. Holding him. Telling him he's not alone in this."

"It's always the same pattern," she continued, eyes back on the pan. "These moments where he lets me in, and everything feels real. Then he just... checks out. Like I'm visiting his life, not part of it."

She took a long drink. "Should've made enchiladas instead. Could've kept my hands busier."

Daniel didn't hesitate. "Keep going. I need to know I'm not overreacting for you."

Pete's voice came through, quieter than the others. "Can I ask something?"

Riley glanced at the screen. "Yeah?"

"Did you tell him you wanted to go?"

She stared at the pan, voice dropping. "No."

"I'd rather set myself on fire than ask to be included," she said, the words sharp but tired. "If he wanted me there, he'd have said so."

"That's fair," Pete said. "This isn't on you."

Haley leaned closer. "So that's it? Status quo?"

Riley laughed without humor. "Looks that way."

"What if," Daniel started carefully, "and nobody kill me for this—but I actually like the guy. What if when he gets home, you just tell him how you feel?"

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not going to guilt him into wanting me around."

"But you're upset," Laura said simply.

"Of course I'm upset," Riley said, then softened immediately. "I just want to be chosen, not accommodated."

The call went quiet.

Then Andy said, "If he saw you right now, he'd already be on his way back."

A mechanical whir filled the background.

Riley froze.

Her eyes flicked toward the ceiling. "Is that—"

"The garage door," Haley whispered.

Laura gasped. "He came back."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Riley hissed.

"Shhhhh," Daniel stage-whispered.

The sound of the door unlocking.

Riley straightened. "It's him—I'll call you later."

She ended the call and turned back to the stove like she hadn't been mid-confession.

She filled tortillas methodically, hands betraying slight tremors. One shell filled, then another. Lettuce. Salsa. Her fingers steadied with each practiced movement.

She didn't turn around. Just kept moving.

Cotija. Lime. Stay busy.

She sensed him before she heard him—his presence changing the room. She half-turned, keeping her voice deliberately light.

"Hey," she said. "Forget something?"

She didn't hold his gaze. Just enough to seem casual, as if her pulse hadn't quickened.

Joe didn't answer immediately.

He just looked at her—taking in her busy hands, her careful composure, the way she was working so hard to seem unbothered.

He swallowed. "No."

She turned fully, searching his face. "Did something happen?"

His jaw tightened. "Yeah," he said. "I realized I was being a fucking idiot."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"I'm messing this up," he said, quieter now. "And the worst part is, I knew it when I was walking out the door."

Riley didn't speak right away.

She just stood there, spatula lowered, looking directly at him.

"Yeah," she said finally. "You were."

Not cruel. Not angry.

Just honest.

He held her gaze. "Why didn't you ask to come with me?"

Riley let out a short breath. "Because I shouldn't have to."

"I don't want to be somewhere just because I inserted myself," she continued. "I want you to want me there."

Her voice softened. "I needed to see what you'd choose if I didn't say anything."

He stood still for a moment, taking in her words.

Then he stepped forward, fingers brushing her wrist.

She didn't move away.

That was enough.

Joe drew her toward him—gently, giving her space to refuse.

When she didn't, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like he'd finally understood what he'd almost lost.

She stayed straight-backed for a moment.

Then slowly, she let her head rest against his chest.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

Finally, she said quietly, "Coming back doesn't automatically fix this."

She didn't pull away.

She was simply telling the truth.

Joe nodded against her hair.

"Tell me what would."

She looked up at him. Not cold. Just worn thin.

"That's exactly it, Joe. I don't want to have to explain it every time."

She stepped back slightly.

"After Vegas, after you met my family—I thought you understood. Then we're apart, and you just... disappear."

Her voice remained steady.

"So I come here, and we have these moments like today by the pool, and I think we're finally getting somewhere."

She met his eyes directly.

"And then you're gone again, right when I need you to stay."

Joe didn't argue.

He just stood there—taking it all in, accepting it.

"You're right," he said finally. "I keep saying I'll do better, but I'm not showing it."

Riley watched him, something shifting in her expression—beyond disappointment. A deeper weariness with the cycle.

"This isn't working," she said quietly. "We have these moments where you realize something's wrong, you say the right things, and nothing changes."

She reached for her wine. "I'm not even mad about the poker game. I'm tired of feeling like a visitor in your life."

Joe watched her, surprisingly calm, completely present.

"If this isn't what you want," she said, gesturing between them, "just tell me. Because I can't keep believing that next time will be different."

"I want this," Joe said without hesitation. "I do."

Riley studied his face. "Then show me. Not with words. Not with promises. Be here, with me. Actually present."

She picked up one of the tacos she'd made. "I don't need grand gestures. Just sit with me. Eat dinner. Talk about something real."

She met his eyes directly. Not asking for everything. Just this moment, genuine attention, the choice to stay.

Joe took a breath, visibly shifting from defense to understanding.

"Okay," he said simply, reaching for plates. "Let me help."

Riley turned back to the stove. She'd already prepared one taco—seasoned meat, lettuce, a sprinkle of cheese.

"Salsa?" she asked without looking up.

"Please," Joe said, watching her hands work.

Riley finished and handed him the plate. Their fingers brushed—brief contact, weighted with everything unsaid.

They moved to the kitchen island. Joe sat beside her, present but not pressing.

They ate in silence for a moment. Not comfortable, not tense. Just quiet, reorienting.

"These are good," Joe said, the simple words genuine.

Riley nodded. "Sarah got the right tortillas."

His assistant's name hung between them. The woman who'd picked her up when he forgot. Not accusatory. Just fact.

"I should have been there," Joe said quietly. "At the airport."

Riley looked at him. "Yes," she agreed, without heat. Just truth. "You should have."

She took another bite. "But we can't keep having the same conversation. I don't want to waste the little time we have."

Joe watched her, noting the shadows under her eyes, the slight curve of her shoulders—exhaustion beyond just physical tiredness.

"Come with me," he said suddenly. "To Sam's thing."

Riley shook her head. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to be an afterthought," she said, firm but calm. "I don't want to be there because you feel guilty."

"It's not guilt," he insisted, though they both knew better.

"You made your choice earlier," she said. "Going now doesn't change anything."

She pushed her hair back. "Maybe everything just feels worse because I'm tired."

Joe studied her face. "We're not okay, are we?"

"No," Riley said simply. "But I didn't cross zones to keep arguing."

She set her taco down. "What happens next time you have to choose, Joe? Do we just repeat this whole thing?"

Joe considered her words, then reached for his phone and sent a text.

"What are you doing?" Riley asked.

"Telling Sam I'm not going," he said, setting the phone down. "I'm staying here."

His voice grew more certain. "We're going to finish dinner. Then I want to talk about your album."

Riley looked up, genuine surprise crossing her face.

"I listened to it." Joe continued. "But I want to hear about it from you. The stories behind each song. Especially 'Daylight.'"

Something changed in her expression—not forgiveness yet, but a softening. "You want to know how I wrote them?"

"All of it," Joe said, meeting her eyes. "Whatever you're willing to share."

"I don't usually talk about my process," she said, studying him.

A small smile touched the corner of her mouth.

"But for you, I might make an exception."

[musings-of-a-rose]

Meet the Millers - Chapter 13

Pairing: Joel Miller x Benny Miller x Will Miller x f!reader (coming soon - another Miller?)

Word Count: 5700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Well folks, it's finally here! I originally ended this series back in April 2022, nearly a year before TLOU season 1 debuted. I thought it was over, but not only did I have a few scenes I wanted to write but wouldn't fit, SO MANY PEOPLE asked me for more. No one more than @theewokingdead so I dedicate this last half of the series to her!

Posted in 2022: This is set loosely in The Last of Us universe. I’ve only played a bit of the game and watched others play (and the show isn’t out yet), so please forgive any inaccuracies. Also it’s a post-apocalyptic world so I’m taking a bunch of liberties here. Because fan fiction.

Ages at the time of this story (so you don’t have to do math):

Reader: 29

Benny: 36

Will: 39

Joel: 51

Main Masterlist

Meet the Millers Masterlist

<<Chapter 12<<

A loud BANG! Brings me back to reality and my eyes fly open. My head pounds and I gasp, reaching for my head when Will appears, his body shielding mine.

“Are there any more of them?” He yells.

“I don’t think so,” Benny answers from…somewhere.

I hear Ellie and Joel talking, but it sounds like they’re far away. I blink some more and Will’s eyes snap to mine.

“Hey, darlin’. Can you hear me?” I nod, trying to sit up. “Whoa, take it slow. Let me help you.” Will helps me sit up slowly, a spinning sensation joining the pounding one. I look up into his grey blue eyes filled with worry as he pulls out a flashlight and shines it into my eyes. “I don’t think you have a concussion. But we do need to get that gash covered.”

I attempt a smile, the spinning subsiding. “What happened? Is everyone ok?”

Will hesitates a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah we’re all ok now.”

“Now?” 

Benny pops into my vision, his smile warming me. “Hey sweetheart! Did you get enough beauty rest while the rest of us were fighting?”

I punch his arm weakly. “Fuck you…but seriously, are you ok?”

He nods, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek. “Yeah. Joel almost got it but Ellie saved the day.”

“Which she shouldn’t have had to do,” Joel’s gruff upset voice sounds in the small space. “More on that later. We have to move.”

Will and Benny help me up, holding me while I acclimate. “I’m ok. I think.” 

“Can you walk?” Will asks, taking another deep look into my eyes.

“Yeah. I think it’s just my head.”

We manage to make our way into a building, newspaper covering the windows, thanks to the help of Ellie, who was able to squeeze into the small hole in the wall to unlock the door. We wait a while, listening to the trucks blaze past outside. 

“What happened?” I ask once the truck sounds fade.

“We were ambushed. I tried to get us out of there, but they were waiting. Had spikes in the road. We were spinning out so I drove us into the building to give us some cover. You hit your head and blacked out. Will pulled you from the truck but they were already on us. I-” Joel hesitates, looking at Ellie. “-one of them got on me. Tried to choke me. Benny and Will were already fighting off another couple of guys.” He looks at Ellie, sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to…you’re so young-”

“Not…not my first time,” Ellie says, so quiet I almost don’t think I hear her right.

Silence for a bit before Joel speaks. “Well I’m sorry for that too. You shouldn’t have to..do that. At your age.”

“But you’re glad I did, right?”

Joel’s jaw clenches and releases. “I’m glad to be alive, but I’m not happy you have that on your conscious.”

Ellie shrugs, kicking the dirt at her feet. “I’ll be ok, Joel.”

A few more moments of silence before it’s my turn. “Who attacked us?”

“Not the qz. These were homemade soldiers.” Benny says before he takes a swig of water from his backpack. “Probably whoever took over.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Joel says nodding to the windows. “We have to get out of here either way. I have a plan.”

About a half hour later, we make it to the 33rd floor of a tall building, Joel slumping against the wall as he catches his breath. Ellie sticks her hand out in front of him.

“Come on, get up. Lazy ass.”

Joel glares at her but takes her offered hand and pulls himself up. “I’m 51 years old, you little shit.”

We all chuckle as we walk down the hall, our guard still up. Joel stops in front of an office door and smashes open the glass panel, reaching in to open the door. We all file in and take a look around. No one here but us.

We grab some cushions off the office couches and drag them into the same area, rolling up our outer shirts to use as makeshift pillows while Joel and Will spread the broken glass in front of the door. Ellie watches them, cocking her head slightly. 

“What are you guys doing?”

Will glances at her before resuming his work. “If someone comes in, we’ll hear them.”

Ellie nods. “Ah I see. Crunch, crunch. Nice.”

We all settle on our cushions, the office dark and foreboding. I curl up with Will as there weren’t enough to go around, pressing myself as close to him as I can. His hand grips my hip and he whispers in my ear. “You gotta stop pressing, darlin’. There’s a kid here.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks, but no one sees it. “Oh. Sorry, Will.”

A few more minutes of shuffling and getting settled before Joel speaks. “First light, we’ll go up and get a good look at the city. Find our way out.”

We all mumble our agreements. A few minutes later and I hear Benny and Will’s breathing change as they fall into sleep. Joel seems to hear this too and he talks to Ellie, who is closest to him.

“What you said before about…that not being your first time to..”

I hear Ellie shift around on her makeshift bed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Joel shifts to face her. “You don’t have to. I’m just sayin’...it’s not fair. You being so young and having to deal with all this shit.”

“So you’re saying it gets easier when you’re older?”

Silence. “No.” It’s so quiet, I can barely hear him, despite being in a nearly silent room.

Ellie takes that and sits with it for a minute. “Make sure to lay on your right side. I noticed you don’t hear as good from it. That from when you got shot?”

My stomach flips. I know why that scar is there. But before I can say anything, Joel interrupts my thoughts.

“More like from shootin’, so keep that knife handy if you want to keep your hearing.” He shuffles around, most likely to lay on his right side. Just when I think she’s about to fall asleep, Ellie whispers.

“Joel?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?”

“What?”

“Yeah. It runs in your jeans.”

I have to bite my fist to keep from cackling, Ellie’s chuckle and Joel’s look doing nothing to help. Then I hear Joel, trying to hold back laughter.

“That’s so fuckin’ stupid.”

“You laughed, mother fucker.”

“I didn’t laugh.”

“Yes you did.”

Joel is barely holding it together. “Fuck, I’m losin’ it.”

“You’re losing it big time.”

He breaks and they both quietly laugh together, both telling the other to go to sleep already, and I can’t help but smile, their sounds lulling me off to sleep. 

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

“Joel!”

Ellie’s stern tone rips me from my sleep and I glance around, feeling Will tense behind me. A man and a smaller boy stand over us, pointing a gun at both Ellie and Joel, moving it between them and Benny and Will, who are both still laying with their hands up. The man looks at Joel.

“We don’t want to hurt you, ok? We just want to talk. Deal?”

All traces of the amusement of last night are gone as Joel looks the man dead in the eyes. “Sure.”

“Why do you sound like that man?”

Ellie desperately answers. “Sometimes he’s just an asshole. Joel, tell him everything’s fine.”

No change in his expression. “Everything is fine.”

“What the fuck, dude? Ok look, you guys need out, we have a way out. Can we talk?”

Joel stares the man down for several long seconds before nodding. The man lowers his gun and holds his hand out, shaking Joel’s before helping him up. 

“Sorry to creep up on you guys like this.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you,” Benny nearly growls from somewhere next to me.

The man nods. “Yeah. Like I said, sorry. I’m Henry and this is my little brother Sam.” He signs to the boy who points to all of us and signs back. “He wants to know your names.” Henry signs to Sam, telling him all of our names and continues to sign while we talk. We share some of our food with them, albeit a little begrudgingly from Joel, as it seems it had been a few days since they’d eaten. Henry tells us about the qz and how FEDRA was taken down and a rogue group of residents now runs the place. Within a couple hours of their abrupt arrival, the sun starts to rise, so we all make the trek up the remainder of the floors to the uppermost office, with a wall of windows down an old conference room. Henry stands at the head of the table, Benny and Will on the side across from Joel and me. Ellie and Sam are busy talking to each other using Sam’s writing board he carries around his neck. Henry gestures to a map he’s laid out on the table.

“So basically, we enter the underground through this building and we’ll pop up on the other side. No problems.”

“Then why do you need us?” Joel asks, hands on his hips.

Henry hesitates. “Just in case we run into trouble.”

“Clickers?” Will asks.

Henry shakes his head. “Nah. FEDRA cleared them out years ago. No one knows, but I heard it on the inside.”

“The inside?” Benny asks, eyebrows raised. Henry glances at Sam.

“Yeah. I uh…I gave FEDRA intel.”

We all suck in a breath but it’s Joel who says it. “I’m not helping a rat.”

“No, it’s not like that. Look, Sam got sick. Lukemia. The only drug that could save him, FEDRA had. And surprise, it was rare. So they told me I had to in order to get the medicine to save him.”

I nod. “I understand. I’m sorry FEDRA put you in that position.”

Henry looks at me and I can tell there’s a little more to the story, but I don’t push. “Thanks…so what do you say?”

“What about when we’re on the other side?” Will asks, pointing down at the map.

“There’s some buildings and shit out there. We just cross over that little bridge and we’ll be good to go.”

Joel, Will, Benny, and I exchange a look. We know each other so well that we don’t really need to exchange words with situations like this. Joel nods at us and we nod back. “Alright. Let’s go.”

We all pack up and quietly head outside, running a few blocks down and into a glass building that simply said BANK on the outside, its full name lost to time. We sound loud, our boot sounds echoing off the walls. 

“Where are we going, Henry? We’re sitting ducks here,” Joel barks out. Henry looks around and points, heading down a side hallway, which leads to another smaller hallway that is not nearly as fancy as the main entrance. He stops in front of a door that says MAINTENANCE. 

“You ready?” He asks. We all nod and Joel and Will push forward, Benny at the rear, Ellie, Henry, Sam and I in the middle. Silent, we all follow Joel as he opens the heavy door as quietly as he can, following the hall down. No one is here.

Henry whoops. “See? I told you it was empty!”

Joel shushes him. “Just because you don’t see them don’t mean they aren’t here. Quiet and silent.”

We follow Joel on constant alert, scanning the area as we move down the twisting hallway. Eventually we come to a doorway, the outside of which is painted in wonderful, bright colors, chipping away with time. A rainbow and grass, a castle and other fairy tale creatures are splattered across the walls. Ellie and Sam look around in awe before Sam presses forward, reaching for the door handle. Joel shoots his arm out, grabbing Sam’s wrist and shaking his head. “No.” Henry pulls Sam back and we give Joel some room, turning to cover him as he opens the door. 

It turns out to be an old child care room. No one is here, but more murals are on the walls, small tables with crayons and paper, some toys and books and magazines scattered about. On one wall a soccer goal is painted, a few balls sitting on the floor.

“I’ve heard about places like these,” Will says as he looks around. “Some people went to escape in the early days underground. Most of them got infected and emptied out.”

Ellie and Sam find a comic book and start eagerly chatting with each other about it. “Joel, can we stay a while? There’s actually shit to do here,” Ellie begs.

“We should get going,” Joel gruffs out. I can sense how tense he is being confined in a small room with no windows. 

Henry looks at him. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt. We could wait out some of the daylight, pop back up with the cover of night. Let the kids relax a little.”

Joel thinks about it a moment and then tosses his hands up. “Fine.” He sits at a table with Henry, Joel crossing his arms as he watches Benny, Ellie, and Sam start up a game where they try to kick the ball past Benny, but mostly just pelt him with the ball. I notice a couple of doors, presumably leading to smaller rooms that may be makeshift storage rooms. I quietly open one, gun out, and quickly see no one in it. Clicking on my flashlight, I look around and yeah it was definitely a makeshift office or supply room. Or both. There are a few metal shelves that sit mostly empty, a box of granola bars sitting on one of them. Some more makeshift shelves litter the opposite wall and on the floor is some bedding that hadn’t been used in ages. The door clicks closed behind me and I spin, my gun rising with it as my light lands on Will.

“Fucking hell, Will. Don’t scare me like that.”

His smirk is not dimmed in the minimal lighting. “Sorry darlin’. Find anything good?”

I hold up the box of granola bars. “Just some ancient food. Might still be edible.”

Will looks down at the makeshift mattress on the floor. “Someone took naps in here.”

“Not gonna lie, Will. I was about to lay down myself.”

Will turns around and cracks open the door. “Joel, there’s a mattress in here. We’re gonna lay down a bit. Wake us when we’re leaving.”

“Yeah. Remember where you are.”

Will chuckles. “I got it.” He closes the door behind him and shucks off his outer shirt, rolling it up and setting it down on the makeshift mattress. He lays on his side and then gestures to me, opening his arms wide. I slide in next to him, my body molding to his. He pulls me close and inhales next to my ear, a small sigh escaping him. A few minutes go by before I feel his fingers popping open the button on my jeans.

“Can I help you, good sir oh!” I gasp as Will slides his hand into my pants but over my panties, slowly rubbing circles over my clit. 

“Don’t worry, I washed them. I just need you, darlin’. Can I have you?” His fingers slide lower, teasing my entrance, heat rushing between my legs as I nod furiously. “Please, Will.” 

He slides my pants down over my ass, helping me to get them around my ankles before he opens his own. I kick off one of my boots, sliding my top leg out of my pants as he pulls it up over his leg, his fingers immediately back to teasing me, tracing my clit up and down, slow circles as he grinds himself against my ass. 

“Can’t wait. Need you inside me, now.”

“Yes, darlin’.” Will slides into my wet pussy with ease, pushing himself all the way inside as I choke back a moan, vaguely remembering there are people in the next room. Will’s fingers move against my clit in time with his thrusts, back and forth, circling and tapping, the heat and pressure mourning until I can’t hold back. I bite my own hand as I come, not being able to stop myself from a desperate whisper of his name. He grips my hip and thrusts into me hard, panting my name in my ear as he spills himself inside of me a moment later. We stay like that for a while, him softening inside of me as he holds me close. 

“I love you, darlin’. Don’t you ever forget it.”

I smile, satisfied. “Never, Will. I love you too.” 

—----

A couple hours later and we’re out of the tunnel and outside, right where Henry claimed we’d be. It’s dark now and I’m glad we waited for this extra cover. 

“I delivered!” Henry says. “Take this right, down the street, you’ll see the embankment there, and then we’re out.” We all turn right, heading down another dark street. 

“So we cross this river and then what? Where are you gonna go?” Ellie asks. 

“Don’t know yet.”

“Well, we’re going towards Wyoming.” Joel shoots her a look. “What? It’s a big state!”

Henry hesitates. “Yeah maybe we just call this a success and say our fond farewells.”

“Are you worried about Joel? He’ll change his mind. He always does. He’s like-” Ellie deepens her voice. “-No Ellie. It’s never ever happening!” - her voice changes back. “But I always wear him do-”

BOOM! A gunshot rings out over our heads and we rush to duck for cover, trying to figure out where it came from. Joel, Ellie, Henry, and Sam take cover behind a car, while Benny, Will, and I take cover behind another car. Up ahead is an older house, a couple stories tall, the shots firing from the topmost window. Joel motions to get our attention and points to himself and then towards the house with the sniper. I point to myself and gesture the same, indicating I’ll move around the side of the car we’re behind, mirroring him. Joel nods to me and starts to move, Benny and Will providing cover as we both make our way to the house in a parallel move. We meet at the back door, as the front one was boarded up. Joel motions for me to move behind him, providing cover, as we proceed up the stairs. We hear a few more shots go off intermittently until we’re in front of the open doorway that leads into the room where the shooter is. I step to the side, just outside of the door, while Joel proceeds inside. 

“Put the gun down, slide it over to me, and then stay up here for another hour. That’s all you have to do.” Silence. Then Joel speaks again, sternly but also sadness in his voice. “Don’t….don’t do it. Please.” My heart breaks on that last word, the gunshot that follows it ringing in my ear.

“Clear.” Joel says quietly as I move into the room, the shooter man laying dead on the floor. I walk up to Joel, squeezing his arm.

“You tried, Joel. He made his choice.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Doesn’t get easi-”

Static from a walkie-talkie scratches out over the silent room. A female voice comes over it. “Anthony? Anthony?....Anthony hold them where they are. We’re almost there.”

“Fuck,” we both whisper in tandem. Joel and I turn to the window, both yelling as loud as we can to everyone still hiding behind the cars. “RUN! RUN!”

It takes a few seconds before they seem to understand what we’re saying, but it’s too late. Armored vehicles come flying down the street, smashing into the cars that are scattered about. Benny, Will, Ellie, Henry, and Sam run, scattering in a few different directions as the cars are forced apart. Joel takes aim beside me, several shots ringing out and the battering truck shifts to the side, the driver slumped over the steering wheel, as it slams into a house. More cars and trucks slam on their brakes as Ellie, Henry, Sam, Benny and Will continue to run.

BOOM!

The house that the truck had rammed bursts into an explosive flame, Joel and I shielding our eyes at the sudden brightness on the dark street.

“What the fuck was that?” I whisper, Joel looking through the scope towards the blaze.

“Truck caught fire.” Joel scans the street. “Ben and Will are behind the truck on our right. Henry has Sam and Ellie on the left.” Joel moves to the side of the window out of sight, and I mirror him on the other side of the window. As the blaze calms down, scattered bits of debris lighting up small fires across the road, Joel peeks his head out again and a man from the street yells “He’s up there!”

“Fuck!” Joel whispers. 

Another man yells. “Two and two, around the back. Take him out!” Joel reloads the new acquired sniper rifle while I sling mine down from around my back, desperately missing my bow. But I’m no slouch with a rifle either. I didn’t get the nickname Ghost for nothing.

A woman calls out this time. “Dead end, Henry. Why don’t you come on out and save us all some time?” No one moves, aside from the mini army striding down the street with the woman. “That’s alright. Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll come out!” Henry yells from his position behind the car. “Just let the kids go!”

“No, sorry,” the woman replies. “The girl is with the people who killed Bryan. And Sam…well, he’s with you.”

“You don’t understand!” Henry pleads.

“I do! I know why you turned in my brother. But did you ever think that maybe Sam was supposed to die?” Confused and shocked, I look at Joel, who looks neither shocked nor surprised. Henry must have told him the full story. But I fully trust Joel and since he’s still here, so am I.

“He’s just a fucking kid!”

“Well kids die, Henry. They die all the time. You think the whole world revolves around him? He’s worth everything? This is what happens when you fuck with fate…It’s time Henry. Enough is enough!”

Joel and I slowly peek out from the window for a quick glimpse, seeing Henry come from behind the car, hands in the air. Ellie is still hiding, hand in hand with Sam, both looking like they’re ready to run. For several long moments, Henry and the woman stare at each other. Joel and I move back to our positions next to the window, our eyes on each other. 

The woman shrugs. “It ends the way it ends.” She takes out her handgun and slides it, putting a round in the chamber. She aims it at Henry. A low rumble echoes across the street, creaking and moaning coming from the house on fire. The truck that had hit it slowly tips on it’s front end, the ground swallowing it up. Joel quickly moves in front of the window to look, rifle at the ready. I’m watching him for a command, a direction, but the look of pure horror that washes over his face momentarily freezes me. But in the not too far distance, carried on the wind, I hear it. Them. The snarling.

Clickers.

I jump to the window beside Joel, bringing my own rifle up and ready, willing my heartbeat to slow even just a little. And then the ground opens up and spits out a horde of clickers, snarling, screeching, and running towards the group of people. They immediately open fire, screaming as clickers go down but also jump on them, biting and tearing at their flesh. 

“I got Ellie. Cover Ben and Will!” Joel barks out as his gaze narrows in on Ellie. 

My eyes find my husbands, who quickly move from behind their truck as a clicker climbs up the back of it and launches itself at Benny. I aim and fire, landing a shot in its head and it goes down. Benny and Will don’t question this and keep moving, firing their own shots. Another clicker comes from nowhere, grabbing at Will’s pack and he goes down, Benny fighting off another one. I aim and fire at the one on top of Will, keeping my breathing steady when I miss and have to reload, seeing the clicker’s mouth getting closer and closer to Will, who is pushing back with all his might. I finish reloading and jam the scope to my eye, take aim, and fire, my bullet exploding from the other side of the clickers neck. It goes down and Will shoves the body off himself and attempts to stand, but another clicker lands on top of him, trying to scratch at his face. I aim again and get his head, grateful for once for the large fans of mushroom that have erupted from its head as it gave me an easier target to hit. Will shoves that body off too, scrambling backwards a moment before jumping up. 

I pull my eye back and scan the moving masses for Benny, my heart racing and anxiety spiking the longer I can’t find him. A low, loud snarl comes frome the hole where they all crawled from and fear floods my system. I know that sound and I’d hoped I’d never hear it again. A bloater, big and fat and solid, comes crawling up, bellowing at the throngs of people, his eyes turning to-

Benny.

“Fuck!” I whisper, jamming the scope to my eye and lining up the sight, the bloater having only eyes for Benny, who has turned the other way and started to run, dodging around other people and clickers. But before I can fire, one of the soldiers that had come up starts shooting the bloater, drawing away its attention. Relief momentarily washes over me as the bloater barrels down on the shooter, grips him, and rips his head in two, growling out as it looks for its next victim. 

Next to me, Joel is focused but worried, shooting off a few shots before he swears under his breath. But a moment later, he breathes a sigh of relief. “She’s ok.” He says it more to himself than me, but I’ll take any reassurance for my adopted little sister’s wellbeing. Scanning the crowd, I spot Benny and Will rushing to a truck, helping Ellie take down a few clickers to rescue Sam and Henry who are trapped under the truck. Joel and I take out a few more to give them cover and they all start to run towards the path that will take them to the bridge. Joel pulls away from the window and I follow, both of us practically running downstairs as we hear more trucks pull up outside, the sounds of more guns joining the fray. I follow Joel out the back door and arond the house as we come up on Benny, Will, Henry, Sam and Ellie as they all watch in horror as the woman that had been trying to kill us all gets torn apart by a clicker who couldn’t have been more than 9 when the outbreak happened, both of their screams and screeches echoing into the night. 

“This way now! Move!” Joel yells as he practically pulls Ellie along, the rest of us quickly following him away from the clickers and towards the bridge. The roaring of the infected and gunfire gets further and further away and I realize that they must be following the people back into town, the ones that are running away. 

We keep silent as we make our way across the bridge, not stopping for at least a mile until we come upon a dilapidated motel, probably nothing fancy even before outbreak day. We clear the building, all of us aside from Henry and Sam used to our routine. We find a couple of rooms that are connected by doors and head inside, finally stopping to catch our breaths. 

“Let’s all get some rest and..take a breather,” Joel says, slightly out of breath himself. Ellie and Sam take a small bedroom, the door open wide as they snack and read their comic series they both love so much. It’s great seeing Ellie get along with another kid. She so rarely has the chance to interact with someone even close to her age anymore. Henry and Joel sit in the main room, Joel taking a few bites of jerky before passing the bag to Henry, who takes it gratefully. Benny opens the other door and peeks inside the opposite bedroom. 

“As much as I’d love to stay and discuss that, I need to sleep.” He heads into the room and Will follows, yawning and stretching as he goes. “Same. Wake us for watch?” He asks Joel, who nods at him. 

Joel turns to me. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“You sure? I know you have to be tired, old man.”

He gives me a stern look and I hide my smirk, holding my hands up in defeat. “Ok, ok. I’ll go sleep too.” I walk past Joel and lead down, gently cradling his face in my hands when he looks up at me, his eyes dark and sad. “You were amazing today. Really. I love you.” I gently kiss his lips before I pull back, rubbing my thumb across his cheek. 

He takes one of my hands in his, kissing the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re amazing too. I love you.”

I head into the room and immediately notice there’s only one bed. I roll my eyes and head over to the king size bed, Will and Benny already on either side. I set my bag down and hop on the bed inbetween them. But it’s not until they both scoot closer to me that I feel the tears finally welling up behind my eyes, and I’m unable to stop them. 

“Sshh sweetheart what’s wrong?” Benny cups my face and scans it, looking for any marks he may have missed earlier. 

“I…I almost l-lost you b-both. Y-you came so c-close to d-dying,” Get your shit together, Ghost. 

They both immediately envelope me in a hug, Will from behind and Benny in the front, both of them clapping the other on the back. 

“We’re alright, darlin’. But if I’m honest, I thought I was a goner. I’m assuming I have you to thank for those killer shots?” I nod and he kisses the top of my head. “You’re an amazing shot.”

“Fuck yeah she is!” Benny says, looking me straight in the eyes. “You shot that one practically in the air! And then I thought that bloater was my end. It was comin’ straight for me. Did your shot scare it away?”

I shake my head. “No. That was one of the soldiers. I’m not sure if they were terribly familiar with bloaters, but it doesn’t matter now.” Benny cocks his head in question. “Bloater riped the guy’s head in half.”

“Yeah that does tend to make you not learn stuff,” Benny says, his thumb wiping away one of my tears.

We all fall asleep in each other’s arms, grateful to be alive.

—----

A snarling sound from the main room wakes us up, all of us sitting bolt upright when we heard it wasn’t in the room. But before we could move, a shot rings out. 

“What did I do? That was Sam…What did I do?”

“Henry, just put the gun down… no Henry!” Another shot and Will is at the door, pushing through it, gun at the ready. He slowly lowers it, his eyes casting downwards before he turns back to Benny and me.

“Henry. Sam turned, Henry shot him and then himself.”

“Shit,” Benny whispers. 

I push past them both into the room, ignoring the pools of blood on the floor. I kneel in front of Ellie, who stares at Henry’s lifeless body. I take ehr face in my hands and call her name until she finally drags her eyes to mine. 

“Ellie, did you get hurt? Are you ok?” She blinks a few times and shakes her head. I scan her body anyway, noting only a few superficial scratches. I turn to Joel, who’s standing, wiping a hand over his face.

“Are you ok, Joel?” 

He looks at me and nods. “Yeah. Fuck, I didn’t want that to happen. I tried to stop it.”

I cross the room, avoiding the blood, and hug him, his face pressing into my hair for a moment. “You did what you could. You’re not to blame here, ok?” Silence. I pull back and grip his chin to look at me, his sad, big eyes finding mine. “Ok?”

He nods, glancing down once before back at me. “Yeah. Ok.”

We spend the next few hours digging 2 graves out front, silently saying our goodbyes to the people who helped us out of Kansas City. I really wish they had made it. Sam was so sweet and he and Ellie became fast friends. Henry, despite his past, was a good protector of Sam. And wherever they are now, I hope he knows he did the best anyone could. Ellie silently puts the writing pad Sam had used on his grave and turns, stopping to look at Joel.

“Which way is west?”

 Joel nods in the right direction and Ellie starts walking. Benny and Will drop their shovels, dusting their hands off before grabbing their packs and following Ellie. Joel looks down at the notepad Ellie left as I come up next to him. I look down at it and read “I’m Sorry”, which clenches around my heart. 

“Let’s go!” Ellie yells from half a block away. Joel drops his shovel and grabs his pack and I fall into a walk next to him, all of us a little more silent on our way west. 

We found fear and death and grief in Kansas City. I can only hope whatever we find out west isn’t worse. 

—----

>>Chapter 14>>

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[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty six : crucifixion

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 12.7k

summary : judgement day.

warnings: major character death, above canon typical violence, very brief references to suicide, torture, body horror (briefly), feelings of despair, blood, wounds, general kodo grossness, vomit (reader vomits several times, it is never described in detail), language, angst, brief smut, pregnancy, death, reader is not doing well in this like she's at a breaking point, i may have missed some so feel free to let me know.

a/n: please read the warnings on this chap! it's the most serious of the bks updates, definitely a bit more intense than the rest. gonna work on getting 27 out within the next few day. i've been terrified of releasing this chapter since i started writing it so once i post this i'm going to dig a hole and sit in it and hide for a while lmao.

i changed my editing style so if there's spelling errors lmk!! apologies in advance!!

“My room is too big.” 

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” You’re giggling along with him now, it’s the hardest you’ve ever heard him laugh. You both just laugh for a few minutes, as if each other's company is the most amusing thing in the world. 

Once your giggles fizzle out you wait another moment before breaking the silence. 

“Where did you grow up?” You can’t see him but you can sense where he sits in the darkness, you crawl forward so you’re sitting between his legs, your own legs wrap around his waist. “I’m just curious.” 

“Aq Vetina.” You can’t recall anything about the planet. You aren’t even sure you’ve heard of it. 

“Do you remember your parents well? You don’t talk about them very much.” You put your hands on his shoulders, ever so slowly moving them up to his neck until you’re cupping his face. 

“I’ll never forget them.” He whispers. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past.” You rub your nose against his, bumping them together as you hum and nod. “My mother loved ships. We didn’t travel, we never had a reason to, but she would take me outside and we’d watch ships fly past. I could never comprehend how she knew the name for all of them, it blew my mind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, staying silent in hopes that he’ll continue, he so rarely speaks so much. “My father worked a lot but he always made time for us, he was always home in time to say goodnight to me. He was always around when I needed him, he always provided for us. On his day off he’d spend the whole day cooking, I’d sit on the kitchen counter and tell him what my mother and I had done that week. When she’d come home we’d all eat dinner together.” 

“You sound like you were a happy child.” You can’t help but smile. 

“I never had reason to be otherwise.” He says it so matter of factly that you don’t doubt it for a second. He was loved. It only makes you smile wider.         

“What were you like, as a child?”

“Well behaved.” You immediately begin laughing once more. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. My mother homeschooled me, she always made sure I had manners. I wasn’t particularly athletic or talkative so I didn’t play with other kids a lot. It was just me and mama.” He sounds far away, it makes you want to hold him close and never let him go.

“So what did you do all day?” Your tone has softened significantly. 

“I would sew.” 

“Be serious.” He’s the one who laughs now at the disbelief in your voice.

“I am! I would sit with my mother after my lessons and we’d sew.” His fingertips dance along the back of your neck as he reminisces. 

“What kinds of things?” You don’t tease. When you really think about it you suppose such a hobby is fitting for him. A task that requires precision and care. 

“I would help her make clothes and blankets that she would sell most days. On the weekends she’d let me do whatever I wanted so I would practice my embroidery.” 

“My heart is actually about to explode out of my chest, you’re so cute.” You put on a mocking tone but the thought of such a thing really does make your heart clench. “Little Din Djarin stitching his name into his clothes.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” He leans forward, knocking his forehead against yours, almost as if he were reprimanding you. 

“What sorts of things would you embroider?” Your tone goes back to genuine, you could listen to him talk about himself for days and you’d never get bored. 

“Whatever my mother wanted. I would ask her what I should do and then I’d stitch it onto her blanket or the hem of her skirt. Mostly flowers, she loved daisies.” You’re pretty sure one of your ovaries literally popped at the thought of a little boy with dark curls and big brown eyes sitting beside his mother and embroidering a daisy onto her skirt. Your heart flutters a bit as you think of the necklace he got you. The silver outline of a flower you now realize is a daisy. “If he was ever gone for more than one night for work my father would bring her daisies, one for each day he was away.”

“Do you still know how?”

“I used to fix Grogu’s clothes when he ripped them but I haven’t done much else since I was a boy. He says it with finality but you carry on, not wanting him to stop talking. 

“What were their names? Your parents?”

“Clara and Arin Djarin.”  

“Those are pretty names.”

“What was it like for you? You said you had seven siblings right?”

“Eight actually.” You think of them now. There were eight of you and your parents' love for all of you combined wasn’t even a tenth of how much Din’s parents loved him. 

“Do you like having a big family?” He lifts you off of his lap, laying you back down as he crawls on top of you, laying against your chest. 

“I love it. I miss my siblings everyday, do you think we’ll be able to visit them someday?”

“If it’s safe to, of course we will.” He tilts his head, if you weren’t in darkness he’d be looking at you. 

“I wish they had visited here. They would have loved you.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding me? The younger ones would adore you.” You tangle your finger in his hair, scratching his scalp. “Kids just naturally like you.” 

“They just haven’t learned to fear me.” You frown when he says it like a fact.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Yeah?” The hopeful tilt to his voice has you leaning down to press a kiss into his hair. 

“Kids are intuitive, they can sense that you’re a good person.” He tenses up as you tell him he’s a good person. You know exactly what he’s thinking about now, how he punched your husband and then refused to leave. 

Neither one of you wants to talk about that though, not today. 

“What kind of room would you want? Since your current room isn’t to your liking.” He’s quick to change the subject and you let him.

“In all honesty, I like the cabin, I wish we could just live there.” You run your fingers through his curls as you think about it, gently pulling through any tangles.

“My cabin?” His voice is full of uncertainty as he pulls back a bit.

“It’s nice.” You feel a bit defensive, you consider the cabin to be the closest thing you have to a home. “Can you imagine getting to stay on Naboo? We could spend our mornings walking the market.” You rest your hand on the back of his neck now. “We could get jobs in the city, and then at night we’d come home.” 

“To the cabin?” He still sounds rather skeptical of your hypothetical future. 

“I’d cook dinner, you’d do the chores.”

“The cabin’s a bit small for us.” 

“We’d make it a bit bigger, add a few bedrooms, we don’t need that much space.” 

“A few?” He turns his head, his lips brush against your collar briefly as he kisses you there, freezing up when you speak again. 

“At least two, one for us and then some for any little Djarin’s who might need space.” With that he sits up entirely, his legs straddle your stomach.

“Little Djarin’s?”

“And Grogu, he would come live with us as well.” 

“You’d want him to live with us?”

“Of course, he’s a little Djarin.” Your hands rest on his thighs now as he seemingly ponders above you. He hums to himself in silence for a moment and you can’t help but grin at how seriously he’s taking all of this. 

“How many?” He finally speaks again and you laugh at the bluntness of his question. 

“Kids?”

“How many would you want?”

“You go first.” You haven’t ever talked about this sort of thing so you want to gauge his answer first so you don’t scare him too much with all the kids talk. 

“Maybe five? Or six.”

“Six?” Your voice pitches up immediately and you feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs. 

“Or five.”

“How about two, counting Grogu.” Turns out you didn’t need to worry about scaring him off. 

“How about three?” Three is manageable. 

“Counting Grogu?” 

“Counting Grogu.” He seems satisfied with that. 

“I suppose we could have three, you’re the one who has to build all the extra bedrooms.” 

“I don’t mind.”

“I’d work at the library and you’d work in a shipyard, we’d take turns staying home with the kids.” You pull him back to you, taking his hands and dragging him to lay his head on your chest once more.

“I’ve got enough savings, neither one of us has to work if you’d like.” It sends a twinge of pain to your heart how real this conversation has become, knowing that this exact dream isn’t possible. 

You could always make parts of it real.

Someday. 

“I’d want to work, to get out of the house, but you could stay home if you’d like.”

“When they’re still ik’aad, at least for the first few years I’d want to be with them.” He’s going to be a wonderful father. 

“Then I’d work, not long hours, just enough to get me out of the house, when I come home I’d give you a break, you could do the shopping and I’d watch the little’s.” 

“We’d go as a family, I wouldn’t want ‘a break.’” 

“You’d want to wrangle three kids in the markets?” You scoff in disbelief but he continues to sound completely serious. 

“They’d be well behaved.” You seriously doubt that. 

“What about either one of us makes you think our children will be well behaved? Is Grogu well behaved?” 

“We’ll manage.”

“They’ll be wild.” They will, not they would. 

“And smart.” He sits up again, hovering above you to give you a quick kiss. 

“And happy.” There isn’t a doubt in your mind that your children would be happy with Din as their father. 

“You’d really want to live here? I could build us a house anywhere.”

“I like Naboo, at least everything outside of the castle. I don’t even mind the castle, I just don’t care for the people inside it.” It’s true, somewhere along the way this place grew on you immensely. You love the city and the people in it. “And they’d get to play in the garden.” 

“I would build you a cabin anywhere you wanted, and I’d plant you a new garden.” He kisses along your cheeks and forehead as he speaks. 

“You wouldn’t need to plant me a garden if we lived here.” You insist. 

“We can’t live here, mesh’la.” He rubs a small circle with his thumb against your cheek. “This is too serious now, we’re supposed to be relaxed today.”

“When did we agree on that?” You muster up a weak laugh. 

“It was a silent mutual agreement.”

“I’m plenty relaxed.” You mumble. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you as you let out an airy giggle. 

“I’m actually very tense and I think we should take a break from all this talking and take care of that.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” He emphasizes his point by pressing his erection against your hip, you hadn’t even realized that this is where he was going with that. 

“How long have you been waiting to jump me?”

“When we started talking about the five kids I was gonna put in you.” He continues to nip at your neck and shoulders as he speaks. 

“Skipping the agreed upon three and going straight to five already? You’re not even going to attempt to negotiate for four?” 

“So you’re open to four?” He pulls back and you can hear his smile. 

“Let’s start with one and go from there.”

“Right now?” His hips stutter down a bit against yours. 

“Maker, you’re insatiable.” You both burst into another fit of laughter. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“I could get pregnant, and considering the lack of sex I’ve had with my husband I’m sure that might raise a few eyebrows.” 

“It would never get to that point, when we’re in the clear with this whole Kodo mess I’m getting you out of here.”

“Like… actually leaving Naboo?” 

“Exactly like that. I’m gonna take you far away from here when this is over, gonna keep you all for myself.” His hands move down, giving your hips a squeeze. 

“I’m already yours.” You laughed, rolling over to be on top of him. He’s right, if you’re going to leave anyway then what’s the worst thing that could happen? 

You never talked about that night after that. 

When everything sorted itself out you realized how crazy your fear had made you. You couldn’t just leave. At least that’s what you’d told yourself, now you feel like an idiot for not holding him to his words. It wasn’t realistic, you both knew actually leaving would take so much more preparation than a few whispered ideas during a time where neither one of you was in any position to be making such promises. 

It was just talk.

Lysa came to get you from the dining room. 

After everyone left you had no motivation to move, you just stood there, frozen in time. After a few hours she found you, she had taken your hand and walked you back to your chambers. She held your hand, she kept you upright when you threatened to crumble. And when you felt a wave of nausea ripple through you she rushed you to the fresher, a hand on your back as you threw up all over again. 

You sat breathlessly on the tile, Lysa rubbing your back.

“Gods, I’ve been nauseous since the wedding. Even before everything fell apart.” It’s the first words you’ve spoken since they took Din, your stomach is still churning. “This has never happened before.” You groan, you’ve had many moments of upset throughout your life, but none that made you physically ill. Lysa looks almost painfully worried. 

“Ma’am… is there a chance you might be…” 

Kriff.

You never talked about that night after that. 

Maybe you should have. 

You both did a lot of things during those days. You had been so angry, and he had done everything in his power to ease that anger, to keep both of you as happy as someone could be in your situation. 

You shouldn’t have used that as an excuse to be reckless. 

“I’d like to go to bed.” 

“Of course.” She helps you to your feet, walking you back to your room, you turn to her one last time before you close the door. 

“I’m sorry. Elaine never should have gotten involved in all this.” You’d trade places with her in a heartbeat if you could. 

“It’s not your fault.” She truly seems to believe that. 

Except it is. Elaine never would have found herself in this situation if she hadn’t so often been helping the two of you keep your secret. 

“Goodnight, Lysa.” 

“Goodnight, princess.” 

You lay on the bed, unable to bring yourself to sleep in the closet. 

It’s cold. Colder than Hoth, as you stare at the ceiling in your far too big bed in your far too big room. Even bigger now that it’s just you. 

You let your hand roam down your torso to rest on your stomach.

Just you, hopefully. 

☆

You’re now having nightly dinners with Kodo. 

You don’t get any respite from him, you just want to stay in bed. You’re nauseous and tired and your head hasn’t stopped spinning since that night. A million thoughts a minute. 

Where is he?

Is he okay?

What the fuck can I do about it?

Mostly that. 

The worst part is your lack of a plan. If the roles were reversed Din would have already rescued you and you’d be living happily ever after. 

But that isn’t how your story is going. Instead you are alone, with no scheme on how to get to him. It’s only been three days but it’s driving you insane, you have never known such hopelessness, it’s maddening. To sit alone in your room all day, staring at the ceiling until Lysa comes to dress you for dinner. Neither one of you ever speaks, afterall, what would you say to each other?

“I’m sorry the love of your life had been sentenced to die?”

How morbid. 

Not that you’re above being morbid. 

You think about it often. How easy it would be to drive your dinner knife into Kodo’s throat. You’re seated beside him now at dinner, both of you at the head of the table, joined by the rest of his family. 

The thought of killing him is the only thing that brings you peace these days. You’ve never once in your life been violent until now. Din is good. He’s a good man. In every way he is the opposite of your husband yet Din is the one locked away, Maker knows where, while Kodo is being rewarded. 

It doesn’t make you mad, it makes you furious. 

It makes you want to poison his wine. 

But you don’t have poison. 

And you can’t put yourself in danger. Because you feel fundamentally different, and even if you refuse to think that such a thing is possible you know you wouldn’t just be putting yourself in danger. There’s more at stake now. 

That’s what you tell yourself to stay calm, a feat that is getting harder by the minute as you’re sat beside Kodo who is currently bragging about how he defeated a Mandalorian. 

“They aren’t as strong as you think they are. Under the armor they’re weak, pathetic.” 

It took six battle droids to keep him down. You didn’t even get near him. 

“Some people just need to be taught a lesson, don’t touch what isn’t yours.” He sneers and the rest of the table erupts into laughter. “I certainly taught that horned bitch a lesson as well, you all should have seen what they brought me last night.” 

You perk up, this is the only thing they’ve said in days that truly matters to you. You’ve heard nothing about the current state of either of them until now. 

“What did they do to Elaine?” Everyone’s head turns to you, all their expressions look as if you’ve announced something treasonous but Kodo smiles as if he were explaining something to a child. 

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” He puts his hand over yours when he says it. 

You don’t ask for any follow up. 

You don’t think you could stomach it, so you stay silent for the rest of your meal. When you’re finished you stand, the rest of the table is starting to pour more drinks but you simply lean down, mumbling something about being tired before giving Kodo a quick kiss on the cheek and dismissing yourself. 

You’re waiting for the night where he joins you in your chambers, after all his father is dead, but it has yet to happen. He had told you that once he was king he would be in need of heirs but he seems happy enough with his pleasure houses and you’re more than grateful for the women you entertain him so you don’t have to. 

So you return to your chambers alone, peeling off your gown before burying yourself under the covers. 

Sleep evades you as you toss and turn. You aren’t even tired, there’s too much going on in your mind, there’s no room for exhaustion. After about an hour you manage to drift in and out of unconsciousness, earning a brief reprieve from your anxieties until a sharp knocking has you jolting upright. 

You don your robe, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you rush to the door, you’re too tired to wonder who might even be bothering you at such an hour as you pull the door open. 

Lysa?

“We have to hurry, ma’am.” She grabs your arm, frantically tugging you into the hall. 

“Lysa? What are you doing? Are you okay?” 

“I am fine, but we don’t have much time.”

“Surely you have enough to tell me where we are going.” 

“Do you want to see him or not?” 

Din.

You nod, taking her hand as he rushes onward, stopping at each hall to peer around the corners until you make your way to a servants stairwell, skipping several steps in your descent until you run out of stairs. You’ve never been down here, you didn’t even know there were dungeons until recently. 

It makes your stomach twist in knots the moment you stare into the darkness. 

“Are there no guards?” You whisper, squeezing her hand.

“Not for the next hour, I’ve made sure of it.” She begins walking down the poorly lit corridor, pulling you along behind her. 

The stone floor is damp and it smells of mildew. Your bare feet are already freezing after just a few steps.

Every cell you pass is lit from the outside with a hanging lantern, they’re mostly empty, but you catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of your eye every now and then. In all honesty you’re doing your best to take in as little as possible, you don’t want to think about Din being down here in such a place, but there’s one element you can’t ignore. 

The wailing. 

Someone is weeping, a low, sorrowful song filling the vast maze of halls and you realize quickly you’re heading in its direction, Lysa tenses beside you as you continue on. You’re about to turn one more corner when she abruptly stops, turning to face you.

“He needs to eat.” She removes a fistful of rations from her apron pocket, shoving them into your hands. 

“He hasn’t?” He’s been down here for three days. 

“He won’t… let me.” You pause, cocking your head to the side and she gives you an apologetic look when she turns. “He won’t let me uncover his face.”

Oh. 

“I’ll feed him.” You nod slowly, tucking them into your own pockets before turning the corner. The contents of the cell immediately on your right have you stumbling backwards but Lysa is not swayed, pulling a key from her pocket, unlocking the door quickly before handing it to you. 

“He’s two cells down, on your right.” She doesn’t look at you as she rushes in, pulling a roll of bandages from her dress. “Shh… it’s okay, I’m here.” Her voice goes soft as she kneels beside Elaine. You can’t help it as you step into the entryway of the cell. 

Well, you’ve found the source of the wailing. 

She’s sat on a cot, curled in on herself as Lysa carefully peels back a series of soiled bandages from her face. 

“I’ve got you, it’s just me.” She continues to make an attempt to sooth a rather hysterical Elaine as she peels back the final layer of bandages and your stomach flips. “You’re okay, love, I need to change these.” You don’t know how Lysa is so calm, even in the darkness you can see the extent of her wounds. Now you know what they brought Kodo last night.  

Both eyes. 

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” 

Oh gods. 

You’re worried you may collapse as you watch Lysa tend to her with no hesitation, cleaning them with a careful hand before she begins to redress them. You can’t bear to watch any longer as Elaine begins sobbing once more. You try desperately to force the sight of your mutilated friend from your mind as you count down two more cells before quickly fumbling for the lock, letting it hit the floor as you take the lantern outside the door off its hook, bringing it into the dark room. 

It isn’t like Elaine’s cell. 

There’s no bed or interior light, it’s terribly dark and fetid, his cell running deeper than her’s. It takes a few steps for you to finally illuminate the room enough to see him. 

Maker. 

What have they done to your Din? 

You don’t hear Elaine anymore, there isn't a single thing that could distract you from the scene in front of you. There is nothing but the sight of your kar’ta. There’s too much for you to worry about, you don’t even know where to start, you’re frozen in place, a small part of your brain refuses to recognize the man before you as Din at all. He shouldn’t look like this. 

Armorless. 

They’ve stripped him of any clothing you recognize, the thought alone makes you nearly lose your dinner. 

They took his helmet, replacing it with a linen sack.  

Did they see his face?

You briefly have to shut your eyes, taking a deep breath as you take in the rest of him. His clothes are too thin, he must be freezing, they’ve dressed him in a cotton tunic and trousers that end just below the knee. You can see just how beaten and bruised he is. Unlike Elaine he’s in chains, kneeling on the floor with his hands shackled, taut above his head. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally crouch down in front of him, setting the lantern down beside you as you reach out to place a hand on his chest.

“Din…” Your voice cracks and the moment you come in contact with him he flinches back. Suddenly you know how Lysa held it together so well with Elaine, she just had to. You can’t fall apart, who would care for him now if you did? “It’s me, just me. Just me.” You whisper and place a hand over his heart but withdraw it quickly when he trembles under your touch. You ache at the sight of it but more than anything you’re confused, it only takes a moment for you to realize the issue. 

He doesn’t have his helmet. They’ve not only left him here blind, but deaf, of course any touch would frighten him. 

He assumes you're here to harm him. 

You lean in, careful not to come in contact with him as you speak clearly and loudly. 

“Din?” His trembling stops instantly. You find it a bit troublesome how much worse his hearing seems to have gotten in such a short time, you’re half tempted to reach under the bag to make sure he still has his ears. 

“Sarad?” Oh, Din. His voice is terribly small and it sends you forward, wrapping your arms around him as you pull him into an unreciprocated embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You make sure to speak loud enough for him before pulling back, placing your hands against the fabric covering his face. 

“Are you okay?” He coughs a bit as he asks and you almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is considering the state he’s in. Are you okay? 

Technically no. 

But far better than he’s doing. 

“I’m perfectly fine, what can I do for you? Are you hurting?” You feel his face through the bag as you look down across his body. It doesn’t look like there’s been any permanent damage outside of a pretty nasty cut on one of his legs. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Now’s not the time to play the hero, Din.” He flinches a little and you calm your tone immediately. What the hell did they do to him? “Just let me help.”

“How’d you get down here?” 

“Lysa, she says you aren’t eating.” 

“She’d have to lift my- the bag to do it.” He sounds apologetic, as if you could ever fault him for following his creed. 

“It’s okay… may I?” You bring your hands to the hem of the bag but his head turns sharply.

“I- I don’t want you to look.” 

You have no response. He’s always wanted you to look. 

“I just, I don’t think you wanna see the condition I’m in. I don’t want your only memories of my face to be this.” He whispers when you don’t respond.

You should have looked when he asked you to. You should have done a lot of things differently. 

You shouldn’t have waited so long to look. 

You shouldn't have waited so long to tell him you loved him. 

You should have just let yourself love him. Why did you fight it for so long? It seems silly now. If you could do it all again you would have just taken his helmet off the first night you met him and you would have married him right then and there. You would have left Naboo that night.

And you would never keep any of it from him. You would tell him how important he is and how loved he is, you wouldn’t make him wait. 

Even now you can’t help it though, censoring yourself out of fear. Do you tell him about how nauseous you get every morning? About the way Lysa stares at your belly when she does your makeup? 

No. 

It wouldn’t do either of you any good, not when he’s in this situation. 

You take hold of the edges of the bag once more, gentler this time. 

“I’ll close my eyes.” You lift the fabric completely off of him, setting it in your lap as you simultaneously shut your eyes. You keep one hand on his face, using your thumb to find the corner of his mouth as your other hand fumbles to open a ration bar. You feel him part his lips as you feed him. He’s barely chewing, eating quickly and swallowing most of it whole. “Have they fed you at all?” You whisper as he finishes the first bar in a matter of seconds, his teeth lightly scraping against your fingers before you withdraw them, tearing open another bar.

“No.” His voice is still soft as you go to feed him once more, opening each package until he’s eaten them all. 

“Are you still hungry? I could see if Lysa has more.” 

“I’m okay.” You let your head fall forward, resting your forehead on his. 

“What else can I do for you?” 

“Nothing. Being here is enough.” 

If you had felt helpless before it was nothing compared to this. This is more than helplessness, it’s despair. 

“I’m sorry.” You pull yourself further into his lap, wrapping your arms around him in the process. 

“Hey… none of this is your fault.” It certainly feels like it is. Why does he keep comforting you when he’s the one shivering and alone down here? 

“Please, there has to be something I can do to help you.” 

“There is one thing.” You almost open your eyes, you're so relieved, you just want to ease his pain. 

“Anything. I’ll do anything.” 

“I need you to promise me you won’t look.”

“Won’t look?” Your eyes are already closed, you couldn’t look any less if you tried. 

“When they do it. I don’t want you to see it- it won’t be pretty.”

When they separate his head from his body. 

“I won’t.” You can’t deny him this, you’ll give him anything he wants. “Do you know how much I love you?” You whisper before leaning forward another inch to kiss him. 

The question is genuine. It terrifies you to your core to think that he may not know just how much you love him. 

“Of course sarad.” He murmurs against your lips until you let your head rest on his shoulder, fighting back tears. 

What do you say now?

What do you say to a man condemned to death? 

“I love you.” You mumble into the thin fabric of his tunic. 

“I love you too.” After a moment more with him you hear metal jingling as Lysa locks Elaine's cell once more. You quickly pull back from him, pulling the bag back over his head, once you know he can’t see you anymore the tears flow freely. Lysa steps into the cell and you remove your robe, wrapping it around him, immediately he begins to protest. 

“Mesh’la, you can’t leave this here.” His voice is strained and it makes you sick to think he started crying once he was out of sight as well. 

“Please, y-you’re gonna freeze.”

“They’ll know you were here, sarad’ika.” 

“Din…” You’re practically babbling as Lysa removes your robe from his shoulders, an apologetic look on her face as she grabs your arm. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we need to go.” Tears sting your eyes as Lysa urges you to hurry but you don’t want to leave him, you want to stay, no matter the consequence. You pull away from her, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

“You need to go.” His voice is urgent through the fabric as you cling to him tighter. 

Would it be easier to just stay? Get caught and join him at the executioners? You’re genuinely considering it when you feel your stomach churn once more and you’re reminded of the exact reason why you can’t stay. Before you lose your nerve and shatter completely you lift the bag, just enough to give you an eyeful of his split lip and bruised jaw as you gently lean in and kiss him one more time. 

Doing everything in your power to remember exactly what it feels like.

The curve of his lips and the shape of his chin, the overgrown stubble brushing against your skin as you press your face harder against his, desperation taking over as you taste salt on his lips. You hold him as long as you can, until you hear Lysa urging you to make haste once more. 

“I love you.” You press your forehead to his through the fabric, feeling the familiar shape of his face against yours. 

“I’ll always be yours.” 

That was the last thing he was able to say before you let Lysa drag you out of the dungeons. 

☆

It’s like everythings suddenly back to the beginning. 

You wake up alone, you go to bed alone, and you wander the castle alone.

There is no plotting or scheming to free Din. 

Even if you were a trained killer or bounty hunter, it would be more than difficult to get him out of the dungeon and on a ship off Naboo. It would be even harder to do so when you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet. 

He is buried deep beneath the ground and there is nothing you can do about it. 

After all, you're just a doll. 

You don’t know when it happened but all your clothes are blue again. Every dress Lysa fetches from the closet is a different shade of blue and all your nightgowns are the color of the sky. A personal brand put on you by Kodo. It’s clearly more than just a preference now, it’s a reminder to you and everyone else that you’re his. 

And time blends. 

You know a date was set right around the time you visited him. One week until Kodo’s coronation and two until the execution. His first public event after being crowned king will be a death sentence, how fitting. 

So you wake. 

And you sleep. 

And you walk. 

Kodo never replaces Din and you haven’t seen Leo since that night, so you’re completely alone. It’s like he’s rubbing in the fact that you’re powerless. There’s no need for you to have a guard, you can’t leave. If you tried you’d be escorted back in an instant. 

You tried to convince Lysa to let you see him again last night. 

“Please, just a few minutes-“

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s just not possible. The only reason I was able to get you down there the first time was because the guard that usually lets me in was working nights, he won’t be working nights again until next month.”

Din won’t live to see next month. 

“Is he eating?”

“He won’t let me-“

“You need to insist. Tell him I insist, and tell him you’ll close your eyes.” 

She pins back a bit of your hair, leaving half up and half down. You both bask in the silence for a moment.

“I’ll make sure he eats.”

“Thank you.”

That had been the last conversation you had with Lysa. 

She doesn’t come to dress you in the morning. You think nothing of it and dress yourself in the gown she’d laid out last night. It’s a bit difficult, putting your coronation gown on on your own but eventually you manage, when you’re fully dressed in the obscenely decadent blue fabric you begin to worry. 

You have no reason to assume that everything is fine. It would actually make sense for this to be a worst case scenario situation, everything else in your life is right now. 

You’re about to leave in search of her but you decide against it. Sitting at the vanity and doing your makeup as quickly as possible, the last thing you need to do right now is give Kodo a reason to be upset with you, you have to be presentable. You smear the shimmering blue eyeshadow across your lids before rushing out of your room. 

The halls are full. Servants move quickly from room to room, cleaning every inch as you carefully push through the crowds, making a beeline towards the dining room. 

Kodo is seething when you push open the large doors. 

He stands at the end of the table, shoving an armored guard as the veins in his neck jut out in his rage. 

“Where could she have possibly gone? She’s blind. You’re telling me some blind bitch outsmarted my entire guard?” 

Your heart flutters at the thought.

They escaped.

Your hope is shattered the moment Kodo begins speaking again.

“At least we still have the Mandalorian… I want security tripled, guards stationed outside his cell at all times.” He continues grumbling for a moment until he realizes you’re there. “Happy coronation day dear wife! I’m afraid we’ve had a rough morning here, somehow in the night the Togruta girl escaped, do not fret, we’ll find her.” 

God's you hope not.

Even if things are worse than ever regarding Din there is one flicker of light in that darkness. Lysa got Elaine out. Knowing that almost puts you at ease.

“Happy coronation day.” You actually manage a smile when you look at your husband, it’s weak but it’s genuine. You want to be mad that they didn’t help Din escape but you just can’t be. You know they most likely tried but if the roles had been reversed and you could only get one of them out you wouldn’t hesitate. 

So there is no animosity. Just a flicker of happiness for them.

They got out.

☆

You were under the impression that a coronation was a happy event. Yet when you step out onto the castle steps it seems to be quite the opposite. 

They look miserable. 

All of their faces are sullen and dejected. How shocking, no one is excited about Kodo being crowned king. He didn’t have any of the outside of the castle decorated or made presentable in any way. No one reacts when Kodo reads from an ancient looking book until a crown is placed on his head. 

A moment afterwards you’re instructed to kneel and a tiara is placed onto your head. 

The audience is silent and you feel shame when you stare out at them.

Even if you don’t have very much power you still feel as if you’ve failed them. The feeling follows you when you’re directed to the dining hall with Kodo.

“I have a couple gifts for you, wife.” His twisted smile makes your stomach turn as you enter the dining hall, now decorated with blue and gray banners.  

“A gift? You shouldn’t have, my king, I- I didn’t get you anything.” You feign remorse as you take a sip of the wine in front of you on instinct before spitting it back up into the cup. 

“That’s more than okay, you’re my gift, sweet wife, all mine.” The thought of such a thing makes you sick, you smile despite yourself. 

“That’s very kind.” You’ll only ever be Din’s. No amount of blue fabric and faux smiles can change that. He snaps his fingers and a large box is brought to you by a servant, they set it directly in front of you on the table. You look at Kodo who nods, sitting back in his chair as you stand, the box is wrapped in checkered blue paper, a large bow adorning the top. Your hands tremble a bit as you take hold of the edges of the ribbon, tugging on them until the bow slips free, much to your surprise the entire box falls open, the sides collapsing giving you an immediate view of the contents. 

The silver, shimmering contents. 

Din’s helmet. 

Polished like new, it sits before you, and the room suddenly empties. It’s as if you are completely alone, despite all the eyes that are most definitely pinned on you right now. Your hands continue to shake as your fingers wrap around the beskar steel, like you would when you held Din’s face, lifting it to glare into the visor. 

Empty. 

You can’t help but stare at your own emptiness reflected back at you. 

You want to hold it close, press it to your forehead but you’re snapped back to reality by the grating sound of Kodo’s voice breaking you from your focus on the helm between your hands. 

“That’s only one of your presents, open the next one.” He hisses gleefully. 

You set the helmet down, realizing there was another, much smaller box underneath it. Silently you scoop it up and cradle it in your hands. It’s a larger than a ring box, it just barely fits in your palm as you ever so gently open it, swinging the top open as if it were a tiny treasure chest.              

Huh.

It takes a moment.

You aren’t exactly sure what it is you’re looking at at first but when it registers your entire body tenses up, your grip tightening on the gift box. 

Bloody and pink, a tongue. 

Of course you know better than to assume Kodo would give you any old tongue. This is a special someone’s tongue. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

You had loved his tongue before anything else.

He can’t do this, he cannot do this to you.

You had fallen for his sharp wit first, it was what drew you into him. His sweet words had won you back, his declaration of devotion.

Now you hold all of that in the palm of your hand. 

“What do we say?” His nasally voice breaks through your mental anguish. 

No.

“Come on, where are your manners?”

Please. 

“Thank you.” Your whisper is nearly silent as you struggle to keep down the scream bubbling in your throat.

“What was that?” 

You clear your throat. 

“Thank you.” 

He makes you take it with you. You don’t bother telling him you won’t be attending the coronation ball in a few minutes, it’s not like you’ll be missed. 

In one arm you’re cradling his helmet, in the other the little blue box. 

You set each one down carefully onto the bed, even if it’s a bit demented these are the only parts of him you have left. You stare at the little box. 

You have never been hateful. 

Kodo made you into this. You are full of hate, for most things at this point. You hate your husband, you hate your room, and most of all you hate the little blue box on the bed. 

And the music starts. 

It must be deafening in the hall for you to hear it from your room but it’s there, loud and demanding of your attention. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to think about it, in a few quick strides you’re standing beside the vanity, your hands gripping the top of the mirror as you pull it down in one swift motion, the contents spill everywhere and the glass shatters in an instant, shards splattering the floor but you take no time to process it. 

You move on to the next thing.

You yank each drawer from the dresser, throwing them to the floor, clothes strewn about until it’s light enough for you to push the entire dresser over. In your frenzy you go about the room toppling every stupid fucking table over. So many fucking end tables in  one room, and you throw everyone to the floor, trinkets and vases clattering to the ground as you destroy the room. You get a rush of adrenaline as you lift one of your nightstands and throw it against the wall leaving a small dent but more importantly the force of it makes anything hanging on the wall tumble to the floor, glass frames shatter. 

Your chest heaves as you stare at the carnage.  

And it isn’t enough.

Your face is wet with tears and your hands with blood from cuts you didn’t feel upon your skin as you tear open the closet door, the pile of blankets mock you from the floor, you grab them, your vision now blurry with tears as you pull them out of the closet, throwing them onto your bedroom floor. When you return to the closet you’re in a frenzy, you tear at the fabric before you, yanking each and every dress off their hangers, ripping what you can.

There is nothing else for you to do, so you destroy everything you can get your hands on until the only thing left untouched is your bed, left in pristine condition as you let out a small sob. 

Maybe you are a hateful person now. 

You feel as though you have every right to be at this point. 

You step over the shard of glass, giving your bloody hands a glance before wiping them on your gown.

Happy coronation day. 

You sit on the bed, your trembling fingers wrap around the helmet, now that you’re alone you waste no time to hold it against you face, until your body just gives up, too tired to stay awake anymore.

☆

A guard wakes you in the morning, knocking on your door, when you answer it they tell you Kodo requires your presence in his chambers.

You dress in a blue gown that you don’t look too closely at. Stopping at the fresher on the way, rinsing the dried gore from your palms, wincing as you clean your wounds. None of which seem too deep. 

You want to cut Kodo’s tongue out, to make him feel it. But you know that sort of thing would be an impossible task. So you daydream about it as you walk. You’re more than displeased when you open the door and are greeted by Leodall. You hadn’t seen him since that night and from the looks of it he wasn’t expecting you. He swallows loudly when you step inside Kodo’s room.

Normally you’d be curious, you’d probably take a look around but your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Leo as you scowl at him. 

“Why’d you do it?” You don’t hesitate to ask, you have no idea how quickly Kodo will be joining you. 

He simply stares at you, shame apparent on his face.

“You owe me an explanation at the very least.” You cross your arms in front of your chest as he clears his throat. 

“I thought he’d reward me.”

You laugh. A harsh dry sound 

“What could he have possibly given you that you couldn’t have just asked me for?” Your gaze never softens and you’re practically seeing red as you stare at him.

“I thought he’d give me a lordship.” 

You can’t help it as another crisp and pained laugh slips past your lips. 

“You thought Kodo would raise your status? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Is he an idiot? “He doesn’t see servants as people, if you wanted such a thing you could have asked me, maybe I could have done something.” 

A glimmer of something similar to hope flashes through his eyes. 

“Would you- would you consider doing so now?”

“You cannot be serious-” Your expression goes from fury to disbelief as you stand. 

“It seemed worth asking.” He puts his hands up defensively as you storm up to him, poking a finger into his face. 

“You slimy little weasel, it should be you on the chopping block, not him. If it were up to me I’d have them put your head on a spike.” The words pour out of you like venom. 

“I would be nicer to me if I were you.” He sneers and your incredulity only grows. You can’t help it, you scoff in his face. 

“I would rather die.” A part of you really means it. 

“You might if you aren’t careful, I saved your life by letting Elaine and your Mandalorian take the fall, I could have told the king that you were a willing participant. I saw the two of you together, I read your little rules. He never forced himself on you. I wonder what Kodo might think about that.” You aren’t a fighter, you’ve never so much as thrown a punch in your life but you grab him by the collar of his shirt and slam him into the wall, the back of his head hits the stone and you don’t feel an ounce of remorse as you do so. 

“Do it.” You tilt your head to the side, almost as if you’re taunting him. “Tell him.” Any of the confidence he briefly had is gone in an instant. “The moment you do I’ll tell him that you’re covering your tracks, and that you made a pass at me. I wonder how Kodo would reward you for trying to touch what’s his?” Leo’s head turns as you both hear Kodo’s piercing voice in the hall. You release your grip on his shirt, brushing off your gown as you turn towards the door. Kodo and three others make their way into the room as Leo coughs behind you. 

“Dear wife, I have another gift for you.” He takes a step to the side, gesturing at a line of three people you don’t give so much as a glance. He doesn’t even seem to notice the obvious tension in the room. “A new staff!”

“I don’t need a new staff, I’m fine on my own.” You abandon the pleasantries. You’re in such a state of upset right now, what's the point? 

“You’re the queen now, staff is required. These three will replace the ones you've lost in a week, until then Leodall will be training them intensively to tend to your every need. Two guards will also be assigned to you but I promise they will be much less loathsome than your Mandalorian.”

All five of them will be trained to keep an eye on you. To report back to Kodo, after everything with Din you should have known he’d keep you on a shorter leash. 

You barely look at them. 

You hate them. 

You shouldn’t, they’ve done nothing wrong, but you hate them. 

You give each one a quick up and down, naming them in your mind. 

A BD-3000 droid commands the most authority just based on how she stands so you mentally note her as Elaine's replacement. You’ll call her new Elaine. 

New Lysa is a pasty young blonde woman with rosy cheeks. You truly wonder how well informed she has been on your circumstance. She’s smiling from ear to ear and seemingly couldn’t be happier to be here. 

And new Leo is somehow even more nervous looking than actual Leo, practically shaking like a leaf at the sight of you. The bags under his eyes are worse than your own. A lanky thing with messy brown hair. 

There’s no reason for you to fight this, Kodo always gets his way so why bother. So you nod. You don’t pretend to be grateful this time, instead you shove your way past all of them, content to return to your room and never leave. 

☆

The morning of the execution comes before you’re ready for it. 

Of course you didn’t sleep last night, how could you?

You dress yourself, apparently your new staff isn’t starting until tomorrow, not that you mind another day to yourself. You manage to find something that isn’t blue, a gray dress trimmed with gold, the closest thing you’ll find to funeral attire. No one else will dress with any respect for him but they can’t stop you. Your vanity is destroyed so you don’t bother with your hair or your makeup, you simply don’t care enough. 

For the most part you feel nothing when you open the door, only emptiness until you look down. 

Someone left you a small vase of flowers. 

You pick them up, taking a closer look but your heart skips a beat when you do so.

Daisies. 

After a few short breaths you throw the vase into the wall across from your door, tiny shards of porcelain fly everywhere as two servants at the end of the hall give you a look of horror. Your shoes crunch over the remains of it as you make your way down the hall and to the entryway of the castle. 

Kodo insists that the two of you get to see him first. 

You’re sweating wildly out on the steps as you wait.

Long before you’re ready for it they bring him out. 

A shivering skeleton of a man with a linen bag over his head, immediately bile rises in your throat. Kodo is grinning ear to ear when his legs are kicked out from under him and he’s forced to kneel.

Kodo himself reaches forward and tears the bag off, too excited for any decorum or finesse. 

You gasp as you stare down at the broken man before you.

In all honesty he isn’t at all what you envisioned. 

His eyes verge on being hazel; they're such a light brown. You’d always pictured them to be nearly black. It doesn’t matter what color they are though, when you see the tears forming in his lash line you flinch, clutching the ring on your necklace to silently let him know silently just how much he means to you. 

He’s a mess. 

You don’t like looking at what those weeks in the dungeons did to him and the last thing you need to do right now is empty your stomach on the palace steps. 

He’s too thin. Far, far, too thin, it’s like his entire being has shrunk down. He’s hollow.

Your breath hitches when Kodo grabs a fistful of his dark hair, forcing him to turn and stare at the crowd. They must have cut it while he was down there it’s a mess, jagged edges and shorter than you’re used to. 

“This man has committed an act of treason against the crown.” His voice is loud and booming as the city goes quiet. “For such a crime he shall face the proper punishment.” He yanks him downawards, you watch in horror as Din’s head hits the stone, an incoherent mess of sounds pour from his bloody mouth and you have to look away. 

He didn’t want you to look.

You remind yourself to try and calm your breathing. You can hear the scuffle as they drag him to the guillotine, placing his neck into the wooden divot, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you turn to look. His eyes are everywhere but on you as he looks at the people around him, desperately pleading for his life. Not a single person so much as glances at him, afterall, it’s just nonsense, no one can understand him without a tongue. 

You can’t stand it, you almost cover your ears but you manage to resist as Kodo puts an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. 

“You’re welcome, sweet wife.” He whispers, his breath hot and wet against your ear. 

Fuck it. 

You don’t suppress the shudder in your spine as you shoot him a look of disgust. In a matter of moments everything you care about will be gone, why pretend any longer.

A bellowing chime plays from a nearby clock tower and you know it’s time, you straighten up as you stare at the guillotine in abject horror. 

This is it. 

Your chest rises and falls in sharp short bursts as everyone prepares themselves, a hush forming among the crowd on the street. 

And it begins, a chain reaction that you cannot stop now that the executioner has his ax raised above his head.

You had expected more. More time.

A part of you thought that time would slow, that you’d have a chance to stop it. 

But no. 

There is no epic fairy tale moment where the sun glimmers off of the blade and the executioner raises his ax, giving you this perfect moment to run to him, to shield him from the inevitable, to beg them to take you with him. 

That moment never comes. 

You barely have enough time to close your eyes like you promised him. In one unbroken motion the rope is cut, the blade falls and boom. 

Just like that, he’s gone. 

When you hear the metal slicing through the air you squeeze your eyes shut, hearing only the wet crunch as it cuts through flesh and bone. A soft, squishy thud when his head hits the stone. 

In fashion with your decision to no longer hide your disgust from Kodo you vomit. Bending down you puke onto the stones, spraying your own, and Kodo’s feet. The triumphant smile on his face vanishes as he realizes what’s happened. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, refusing to look at Din’s limp body as you give Kodo one last look of detestation before turning around and running back into the castle, not caring what anyone thinks anymore.

The moment you’re inside the reality of it all settles in as you feel tears falling wildly as you run up the steps to your room.

☆

You have been good, and kind, and in return the maker rewarded you by killing the love of your life. 

So when you stand in the center of your demolished room you do the only thing your body can do at this point. 

You scream. 

From deep within your stomach, you scream, loud and raw. 

If anything was left unbroken in your room you’d be throwing it at the wall. But there’s nothing so you scream. 

You shriek.

You howl. 

And you wail.

You scream until there is no more noise. Your voice, like the rest of you, gives up. 

You aren’t sure how late it is when you finally stop. You’re tired and it’s dark outside and your throat is raw. 

And you lay on the floor. Because the bed is too big, and too cold, and the closet is so empty. So the only place left to sleep is there. You lay on the floor with no more tears to cry and no more sounds to scream as you stare at your bed, only from this angle can you see a rectangular shape under your bed frame. 

You wipe your nose with a stray piece of fabric before slowly crawling over to it, you sit on the floor and when you retrieve the item a brand new lump forms in your throat as you stare down at the box Din had bought all those days ago at the market. 

Your failsafe. 

With quivering hands you open it, staring into the small space containing a mess of items but what catches your eye is a piece of folded paper with your name on it. You take it between your fingers, opening it, careful to not let your tears fall onto it. 

Sarad’ika,

If you’re reading this then I’m afraid things aren’t going all that well for me. There are plenty of possible reasons as to why I’m no longer with you, but what’s important is that I plan on doing everything in my power to get back to you. There is only one thing in the galaxy that could keep me from your side, and if that is my fate then this box will ensure you’re taken care of. 

The most important thing is for you to get off this planet. I have included a few possible plans for you, do what you have to to survive. Elaine will help you escape. 

You can seek out Greef Karga on Nevarro. Tell him Din Djarin sent you, tell him what’s happened and he will see to it that you are cared for. Explain our circumstances and I am certain he will provide you with safe lodging. 

Tatooine is also an option. You’ll find a Mandalorian there by the name of Boba Fett, he will not turn you away. You will be protected there, if you need to relocate for some reason after that he will help you locate the Mandalorian convert. Show the Mandalorians your ring and you will be cared for the rest of your life, the convert will protect you. 

As an absolute last resort there is a planet located in the Outer Ring called Ossus. There is a school there, taught by a man named Luke Skywalker. I doubt he would be eager to take you in but you must insist. Bring the chainmail, they’ll know who sent you. Take care of each other. 

In this box you will find enough credits to get you off planet and take care of you for several months, a year if you’re frugal, I suggest you take a few jewelry pieces to pawn off for extra credits as well. You will find a small chainmail shirt, and a necklace of mine. 

And lastly you will find your vibroblade. 

Protect yourself. You’re strong, and more than capable of doing so.

I have one request for you, please, I will only ask this one thing of you. 

Be smart. 

You are the smartest and kindest person I have ever had the honor of knowing. Be smart, take care of yourself. If the roles were reversed I know that I would go to extremes to either get you back, or find justice for you. And all I can do is ask that you do not attempt any such thing, the only thing I would ever want for you is safety and happiness. 

So seek those things out. 

Be safe. Be happy.   

I was lucky to know you, and even luckier to be yours. 

an ner kar'taylir darasuum, 

Din

All my love. 

You flip the paper over, desperate for more, more Din, but all you find is scrawled coordinates to each location. Your fingers sift through the items, everything he promised is found inside but you latch onto the blade. Laying back down on the floor you clutch it between your fingers as you think of Din.

Din, who was yours.

Din, who they took from you.

Who Kodo, took from you. 

And your grip on the knife tightens. 

☆

Two guards stand outside your door round the clock now. 

They never follow you or come into your room but they’re there, silently watching as you direct all your anger at your new staff. As promised Leo trained them to be as persistent and infuriating as he was. 

When the two new girls come to fetch you in the morning you can’t help it when you scream at them to leave you alone and to stop trying to clean the ever growing mess of things. 

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t their fault, you can’t stand the sight of anyone. 

All three of them try. New Elaine and Lysa show up three times a day, trying to dress you and squeeze their way past you into the room but after enough shrieking they always leave you be. 

New Leo usually tries once or twice a day, you don’t even look at him. You always stare at the floor, when he tries to speak you give him the same treatment as the girls, screaming at him and slamming the door. 

Why should you let them in? You know what they are. They’re here to spy on you, to be Kodo’s eyes while he’s busy being king. They’re easy to evade. When you leave to fetch yourself food or a book from the library you easily outrun them. The two girls are worse at navigating the castle than you were when you first arrived and new Leo has a bad leg, sometimes he’ll make attempts to limp after you but they’re always unsuccessful. 

You think of nothing, day after day because there is nothing to think about. 

Except for the fact that Kodo took your future away from you. He took everything from you. 

If you thought time was blending before Din’s death nothing could have prepared you for now. You don’t track the days as well, you keep your curtains drawn and only leave when you get hungry or start to think of Din. The last thing you need to do is have another screaming fit so you keep him locked away in your heart, an ache that’s always there that you don’t address. 

One day, in a fit of tears you took your knife and decided on a whim to kill Kodo. You didn’t care about the repercussions at that point you just wanted him to suffer but the moment you opened the door you nearly tripped, stumbling backwards the guards didn’t so much as glance at you. 

Another vase of flowers.

You’re tempted to just kick them down the hall but you can’t help yourself when you lean down to pick them up. 

A bouquet of blue lilies. Your nose twitches at the sight of them, out of the corner of your eye you see new Lysa and new Elaine approaching so you take the opportunity to slam the little glass vase into the stone floor. Glaring at them when you do before returning to your room. 

☆

Maybe it’s been three days since Din died. 

Maybe it’s been three months. 

You aren’t sure.

You aren’t sure when you made plans to kill Kodo either but suddenly you have them. A fool proof way to get him alone. 

And suddenly you’re dressed for the first time in, well, however long it’s been. In a baby blue nightie with a robe you march out into the hall. The guards watch in silence as you walk away, your bare feet scampering down the stairs until you find yourself watching the main entrance. Waiting for your loving husband to make his nightly trip to a pleasure house, a trip that is typically accompanied by guards. 

You grip the handle of the knife in your pocket as you wait until you finally hear footsteps approaching. 

“Kodo, honey?” You step out from behind the stone column, holding your robe closed as you bat your eyelashes at him. He stumbles around drunkenly until his eyes focus on you. 

You’ve only used your voice for screaming for so long you sound meek, exactly as you want to right now. 

“Wife?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to join me tonight…” You hold a hand out towards him, putting on a sickly sweet tone of innocence. His mouth twists into a grin. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

He doesn’t question where you’re taking him, he simply follows.

What a joke. 

You pull him up the stairs, you know from hide and seek where to find an empty room so you guide him there in calculated silence until he trips a bit, laughing to himself as he stutters.

“I knew if I got rid of the Mandalorian you’d realize how much better I am than him.” The statement doesn’t sit right with you and he can see it on your face, even in his drunken state he can sense your confusion. 

You both stop, you’re above him on the stairs as you turn and stare into his eyes.

“You- you knew?”

He simply nods, that sickening smile of his is plastered on his face. His icy blue eyes shimmer with delight. 

“How long?”

“When Leo told me I remembered everything. That little altercation in the hall when your boy knocked me out came right back to me, from there it wasn’t hard to figure out.” Your eye twitches as he speaks.

He knew you loved him and he took him from you anyway.

Any hesitations you had are gone as you nod, pulling him onward until you reach the large vacant tower room. He’s so drunk you decide to just drop the voice, pointing at a spot on the floor. 

“Lay down.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket once more.

He eagerly does as he’s told, laying down on the cold stone, you take a deep breath, in one swift motion you grab your knife, holding it behind your back as you toss your robe aside. He gives you a toothy grin as you ever so slowly walk to him, standing above him before sitting, straddling his waist. 

You look him up and down, one last time. 

Your loving husband. 

One of his hands plays with the blue lace of your nightie as you collect yourself. You look up at the ceiling briefly. 

I’m sorry. 

Not for Kodo, but for Din. This is exactly what he didn’t want you to do. 

You aren’t a killer. And you aren’t hateful, but a person can only be pushed so far before something breaks. 

Be smart. 

You think of Din’s note one last time before you bring the blade out in front of you and slam the blade into Kodo’s chest. 

He makes a sickly wet sound, coughing as he stares at you in shock.

You remove the knife, the hot steel cauterizes his wounds, there isn’t so much as a drop of blood as your face twists with fury and you bring it down again into his stomach now. 

How dare he look surprised by any of this. 

After what he took from you? He deserves galaxies worse. 

So you remove the knife. 

And you stab him again.

And again,

and again,

and again,

and again,

and again.

Until there is no more shocked look on his face. You don’t have a snarky remark or a statement to commemorate your revenge, you’re all used up at this point, all you have is this, this stabbing motion. 

He didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

You crawl off of his body, sitting on the stones as you toss the knife to the side, waiting for a rush of euphoria. 

But it never comes. 

It doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. 

Staring down at Kodo’s lifeless body. You let yourself crumble. Collapsing down onto the floor, gasping for air as you sob. 

This was never going to bring him back. 

You lay there on your hands and knees for quite some time, just wailing, because what else are you supposed to do right now? You realize far too late that this was never an act of malice, some demented and shattered part of you thought that this would somehow bring him back, that it would give you peace. 

They won’t execute you. 

You planned this exactly so they wouldn’t.

Kodo didn’t tell anyone about your relationship with Din in much detail, not enough for them to assume that you could be with child. Everyone will assume that it’s Kodo’s. They won’t kill you, they can’t. 

Not if they think you’re carrying Kodo’s child. Now that Kodo’s dead, there’s no one to tell the royal family that you never consummated your marriage, your child is the most well protected person on the planet. The future monarch. It’s almost funny, you haven’t permitted yourself to think about the stirring within you as a child until just now, in this moment of weakness. A child, your child. 

Who will most likely grow up without a mother because of the decisions you've made today.

You bite your fist, swallowing a scream as you sit back on your heels. 

Your child will never know how loved they were. Your little one will never get to sit beside their mother while their father teaches them to sew. You put your head in your hands as you wail, no longer caring who hears. Your fate is sealed, what does it matter? 

You don’t turn when you hear someone coming up the stairs. When they pull you into their arms you try uselessly to shove them away. Your vision is blurry and filled with tears as you stare up at the unfamiliar figure now holding you. They rub your back, drawing swirls and stars against your spine as they pull you closer. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” They mumble into your hair. You dry your eyes hastily on your sleeve, confused by the voice you’re hearing, it’s painfully familiar, on instinct you wrap your arms around their torso, pulling yourself into their lap as you both sit on the floor beside Kodo’s body. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You whisper against the stranger's shirt. You knew you weren’t hateful. You’re certain of it now because even though he took quite literally everything from you, you still feel bad when you look at Kodo. 

A large hand cups your face, pulling you back to their chest so you can’t see the corpse anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it- I- I didn’t mean to kill him. Well I did but I just-” You begin to ramble as a fresh flood of tears begin sliding down your cheeks. 

“Hey- hey it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. We gotta get you cleaned up, okay? I’ll take care of this, I’ll fix it.” Their arms tighten around you, giving you a reassuring squeeze. You finally find the courage to look at your companion and it takes a moment for you to even realize who you’re looking at. 

New Leo. 

Why would he help you? You treat him like shit. When you look at him he looks like he’s about to cry and for the first time since Din was taken from you drop the walls you’ve put up and you let yourself feel bad for him. You show an ounce of kindness to him because in all honesty he’s the first person to make you feel safe since the night Din was taken from you. 

A lighthouse while you sail through a storm.

So you hug him. 

You pull yourself closer to him and you offer him a comfort you haven’t known for days.

“I’m sorry… for all of it, but especially the flowers, I should have told you, I just- you wouldn’t let me and the guards wouldn’t let me in without your permission and you just wouldn’t look at me.” He begins to mumble his own apologies, sending a surge of confusion through you. 

You furrow your brows, pulling back once more giving him a perplexed look as you search his nearly black eyes for some kind of answer. 

And it clicks. 

All at once it snaps into place and you want to say his name, so desperately, but you’re terribly afraid of being wrong. 

And then he smiles. A soft smile that makes you feel okay and you don’t even care if you’re wrong and you don’t care if it doesn’t make sense you just have to ask.

“Din?”

☆

a/n : yeah so uhhhhh yeah uhhhh this is the first chapter i've ever written where im actually very fond of the writing and nervous about the plot stuff so im gonna go hide?? and just vanish for a while lol

//

I don't have a tag list anymore !! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 5

A Glen Powell RPF Series

Apologies for the little hiatus guys. I'm hopeful that I'm back to regular posting, Glen's recent content influx has certainly helped with my inspo! Please comment if you'd like to be tagged! x

Billie

Billie hears a groan of effort and looks back at her phone sitting in the cradle on her dashboard. The metallic sound of dumbbells hitting the floor rings out and suddenly a face fills the screen, familiar brown eyes looking back at her. 

“Alright I’m done with my set now, sorry”.

Billie laughs and shakes her head, looking away from the phone and back at her reflection in her rearview mirror. 

“You’re the one that called me, Brad” Billie counters to her brother, smoothing back the baby hairs near her forehead into her slick ponytail.

Bradley, her brother had facetimed her ten minutes ago, Billie having since pulled into a car park at the address Glen had sent her this morning.

“Yeah, cos’ I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages and I miss my little sis’” Bradley says with a smile before taking a quick sip from his water bottle, “Besides, who else am I gonna speak to at this time? You’re the only one I know that would be awake”.

“Speaking of, why are you doing a workout at----” she pauses, lifting her wrist to check her watch, “Three AM?”. 

Bradley shrugs nonchalantly, as if going to the gym in the early hours of the morning is the most normal thing in the world.

“Just came off a week of night shift. First day sleep routine is always kinda fucked. Couldn’t sleep, so figured I’d come and do a workout rather than wake Jords and the kids”.

“Have you tried reading a book?”.

Bradley pulls a face and Billie can’t help but laugh at it.

“Oh yeah sorry, I forgot you’re allergic to reading” she teases, knowing her fire-fighter brother hated every single second of school and study and she, the book smart one in the family, was the complete opposite.

Bradley rolls his eyes and wipes his face with a sweat towel. “Where are you off to anyway? Gym?”.

Billie looks back at her reflection again - she’s wearing activewear again, this time a pair of tight coffee coloured shorts and a white racer back tank whose neckline makes her shoulders look toned.

“I don’t know actually. It’s a date” she says with a soft laugh, looking back down at the facetime call.

Bradley snorts. “A date? Dressed like that?”.

This time it’s Billie’s turn to pull a face.

“He said to wear something I don’t mind sweating in, and to bring a change of clothes”.

Billie swears she can see Bradley’s face morph into older-brother protective mode.

“Don’t mind sweating in? Who is this guy?”.

Billie only smiles. “Just a guy I met at Rufus the other day”.

She stays tight-lipped with the rest of the details - namely, that the guy also happens to be a Hollywood celebrity and is so gorgeous that just looking at him makes her want to melt into a puddle on the floor. Though she and Bradley are close and typically tell each other almost everything, she decides to stay vague about her date, fending off her brother's immediate barrage of questions.

Right now, she’s happy being in her exciting first-few-dates bubble. And she isn't ready for it to burst by involving other people. She would tell Bradley later, maybe. 

Bradley starts to ask another question when Billie looks down at her watch, looking back at her phone and interrupting her brother to say she needs to go.

“I’m gonna be late ok? I’ll talk to you later in the week?”

Brad nods, “Yeah yeah, you better. Be safe ok?”

“I always am, Brad. Give my love to Jords and the kids yeah?

“I will. Love you Bil”

“Love you too”.

The call abruptly ends and Billie lets out a deep breath, suddenly aware that her heart is hammering in her chest. She’s nervous, nervous to see Glen again even though she’d seen him less than twenty-four hours ago, though admittedly the last time she’d seen him she’d kissed him without warning.

She can still feel his lips on hers, their plush softness moving against hers in a gentle dance, his scent in her nose, his fingertips on her skin. She’d struggled to think of little else during her bosses housewarming barbecue last night, flashbacks of their kiss invading her every thought as she’d mingled with her work friends.

Billie realizes she’s closed her eyes, opening them a moment later and letting out a breath as she looks out the window at the busy LA street in front of her. She double checks the address on her in-dash car GPS confirming she’s at the right place, before taking a final look at her reflection, grabbing her bag and stepping out of the car.

It’s a sunny Sunday morning in LA, the sunshine instantly blinding as Billie closes her car door behind her, reaching up to shield her eyes and looking at the modern brick building in front of her.

Oh my god. 

It’s the Alo gym.

God, it’s a workout date.

Billie can’t help the breath that escapes her throat then.

Glen really did take her advice about unconventional dates seriously.

Fuck.

Billie sucks in a nervous breath and reaches up to smooth down her hair, making her way towards the entrance and doing her best to ignore the mass of butterflies that have suddenly started flapping wildly in her stomach. She knows it’s nerves, but part of her also knows it’s excitement at the thought of seeing Glen again.

She gulps silently.

Here we go.

--

Glen

Glen’s sitting in the entrance area of the Alo Wellness club, relaxing into one of the sleek, cream coloured lounges. His right leg is bouncing like he needs to go to the bathroom, but he knows it has nothing to do with his bladder.

He looks down at his phone in his hand for what feels like the tenth time in a minute, looking at the numbers above his screensaver of Brisket.

10.02am.

Glen knows he’s nervous, but he doesn’t know why. He’d been on hundreds of dates in the past but for whatever reason this one feels different. 

They’d spent most of yesterday together, talking and laughing for what felt like hours, they’d even kissed yesterday - albeit unconventionally, but still. His stomach is a tangle of nervous thoughts and feelings, and all of a sudden he can’t help but second guess his date idea. 

Billie had said she liked unconventional, but was this taking it too far? Especially so soon?

He’d come up with the idea almost instantly yesterday, calling Keith, his Alo trainer as he’d driven home from his Ikea trip with Billie. Some part of him had decided that a personal training session for the two of them would be a great second date idea, given he and Billie had bonded over their frequent exercise and gym habits.

It ticked all the boxes - it would be an activity she told him she enjoyed, one they both regularly participated in, and it was certainly not a traditional date choice.

It was the kind of activity that he would never even attempt with a lot of girls, let alone on a second date, but with Billie? It seemed like the perfect choice. At least it had when he’d come up with it yesterday anyway.

Glen shakes his head as if he’s arguing with the voice inside his head, ignoring his thoughts and standing firm on his decision. He exhales through pursed lips and flips his phone over in his hand again, looking up when he hears the entrance door open.

In an instant, all of his fears and concerns are gone. 

Billie looks every bit as gorgeous as he remembers, even better if that were possible, his eyes running over her as he watches her ask for directions at the front desk. There’s a smile on his face before he can even think about it, standing up from the lounge just as the receptionist points in his direction.

He feels the breath catch in his throat when Billie’s eyes meet his, and suddenly there’s a smile on her face too - a smile that makes every single muscle in his chest contract.

Glen stays put as she makes her way over to him, unable to help his gaze from following the sway of her hips. She's wearing a pair of light brown coloured shorts and a tight white tank top, both accentuating her fit figure and making her golden skin glow. 

Glen’s fingers tighten around his phone and he fights the urge to bite his fist and audibly groan, suddenly wondering how on earth he's going to get through this date without dying when she looks like that.

“Hey darlin’”.

Billie grins gorgeously. “Hey you”.

Glen steps forward to kiss her cheek just as she does the same, the turn of her head making his lips land dangerously close to her mouth. He sees her cheeks immediately flush as they step apart, and Glen fights the urge to groan out loud again for the second time in thirty seconds. 

If they hadn't been somewhere so public he'd have tipped her chin and pulled her in for a bruising kiss. 

Fuck.

Glen swallows and reaches down to pick up his gym bag, grinning down at Billie.

“So, what do you think?”

Billie tilts her head and smiles, “I see you really were listening when I said unconventional dates”.

Glen laughs. “Told you”.

“So what are we doing?” Billie asks as Glen gestures for her to follow him, heading over to the elevators at the back of the room.

Glen shrugs and presses the ‘up’ button on the wall, looking up when the elevator immediately dings. “You'll find out in a second”.

Billie laughs and flashes a worried smile. “I’m actually kind of terrified”.

He returns her laugh as the doors open and they step into the modern elevator, Glen stepping forward to press the button for level seven. 

“You’ll be fine, I promise”.

The doors close and a moment later they’re going up, Glen struggling to ignore the less than three inches of space between them. That, and the sweet, spicy peach scent of her perfume that’s once again filled his nose, the one that’s plagued his brain since their kiss yesterday, the one that seems to be permanently burnt into his every waking thought for the past twenty-four hours. 

God.

A moment later the elevator dings again and the doors open almost as quickly as they closed, revealing the sprawling, modern black and white gym floor of level seven.

They step out and Glen smiles when he sees Billie look around in awe, spying Keith up ahead standing and talking to Mike, one of the club’s other trainers. Glen nods when Keith sees him, leading Billie over towards him to introduce her.

“Hey man” Keith says, pulling Glen in for a handshake hug in that way that only men do, Glen stepping back and gesturing to Billie.

“Billie, this is my trainer Keith. Keith, this is Billie”.

They shake hands and Billie smiles, Glen momentarily caught up in how beautiful he thinks she is for the tenth time in only ten minutes.

“Glen’s told me a bit about you. You’re a physical therapist?”

“Yep! I work at Evolution Sports Rehab, on Olympic Boulevard?”

Keith nods, “Ah I know the one. I’ve sent some clients there before actually, to see Ross?”

Billie nods enthusiastically, “Yes! He’s my boss. He’s incredible”.

Glen watches Keith and Billie chat, impressed at the way Billie so effortlessly converses with new people. He smiles to himself as he looks down at her. 

No wonder she’s such a good physical therapist.

Glen takes Billie’s bag off her shoulder and puts their things aside, returning to stand with her and Keith holding two water bottles in his hands.

“So, what fresh torture have you got for us today?”

Keith laughs and Billie looks mildly terrified, Glen putting his arm around Billie and offering a reassuring squeeze.

“You did say you wanted a bit of a challenge” Keith says pointing at Glen, Billie dropping her head back in dismay, “And you did say that Billie was basically an athlete”.

Billie’s head snaps back up and she looks at Glen in alarm, “An athlete? On what planet?”.

Keith drops his head back and laughs, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding” he says holding his hands up in surrender, “But he did say you work out quite a bit, so I’ve put together a team challenge for you both”.

Keith turns to make his way over to the squat rack, motioning for Billie and Glen to follow. As soon as his back is turned, Billie punches Glen’s arm playfully.

“You have definitely talked me up way too much”

Glen grins as he looks down at her, winking mischievously. “No such thing darlin’”.

Billie grins and rolls her eyes adorably, Glen taking her hand and pulling her until they’re both standing in front of Keith again.

“So, we’re going to do a bit of a circuit challenge. It will be a mix of strength and cardio, but you’ll need to work together to get through it” Keith says, pointing at various equipment around the room. “There will be ten stations, and at each one there will be a rep target which you can divide up between you, so you can sub in and out as you need”.

Glen reaches up to stretch his arms above his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a sly grin as he looks over at Billie’s wide eyes.

“For example, battle ropes. There will be four hundred reps. Billie you could do one hundred, then Glen does a hundred, and repeat until you get to four hundred. Ideally, the goal is to do the entire circuit in under fifty minutes”.

Billie exhales loudly. “Have you done this exact circuit with people before?”

Keith nods. “The record is forty-six minutes”.

Glen bends his left leg behind him, holding his ankle so he’s stretching out his thigh, glancing down at Billie and back to Keith. He scoffs out loud.

“Forty-six minutes? Easy”.

The look of alarm is back on Billie’s face, though this time she’s looking at Glen like he’s insane. 

Glen can’t help but chuckle at her expression.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

He grins down at her, loving the way she smiles back at him. 

“You said unconventional, remember?”

Billie shakes her head. “I think I’m starting to regret saying that”.

Glen laughs, and they both turn back to Keith.

“So, the key is to know your strengths, and what exercises you’re good or not so good at”.

Billie looks up at Glen, tilting her head playfully.  

“Surely there are no exercise that you’re not good at”.

Glen opens his mouth to speak but Keith beats him to it. “Maybe ask that again when we get to the core exercises”.

Glen pulls a face and both Billie and Keith laugh.

“Alright then” Keith announces, clapping his hands together and looking back at Glen and Billie. “We ready?”

---

Forty-four and a half minutes later, Glen and Billie collapse on the floor on their backs, panting and breathless, and covered in sweat.

Glen feels like his chest is going to explode.

He knows it has nothing to do with the workout he’s just done that has his heart rate hammering at marathon race levels, and everything to do with the stunning, sweaty, sexy girl lying panting next to him right now.

Doing that workout with her was like forty-four and a half minutes of foreplay.  He’d never been so simultaneously impressed and turned on in his life. 

Watching Billie move and jump and squat and press had Glen thinking all kinds of things, things he definitely shouldn’t have been thinking while doing a workout in the gym. He couldn’t help but stare as he did his own exercises, frequently losing count of his own reps, his eyes dragging over her back, her legs, her ass. He was totally enamoured by her, by how strong and fucking sexy she looked, even now as she lay on her back, her chest heaving, breathless from the finishing the fifty burpees they were both determined to get done before the timer ticked over to forty-six minutes.

Glen turns to look over at Billie, his eyes running over her face, her lips parted as she sucks in breaths, her cheeks flushed and covered by a glowy sheen of sweat. He swears she’s never looked more sexy than she has in that moment, and all of a sudden he can’t help but imagine what she'd look like after another kind of cardio that has nothing to do with the gym. 

And nothing to do with clothes.

“That” Billie pauses, sucking in a breath and exhaling loudly, “Was not the way I thought my Sunday would go”

“Probably not the way you thought this date was going to go either” Glen adds cheekily, watching as Billie finally turns to look at him beside her.

She grins at him, that same gorgeous, breathtaking grin, her beautiful eyes sparkling, and it takes everything Glen has not to roll over, pin her beneath him and kiss her right there in the middle of the gym floor.

“You guys killed it. Broke the record and everything” Keith says suddenly, standing over the two of them and clapping his hands. “Glen, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work that hard before. But I guess you had some extra motivation this time”

Glen chuckles and Billie laughs, but it sounds strained through their panting breaths.

“And Billie, that was pretty incredible. You smashed it out of the park, awesome stuff”

“Thanks Keith” Billie breathes, still panting, offering a weak thumbs up before dropping her hand back down to the ground dramatically.

Keith laughs. “You’re welcome”.

They talk for a few more minutes before Keith announces that he has to run to see another client, Keith bending down to shake both of their hands before waving and walking out of the gym. 

Billie sits up and leans back on her hands, her legs still outstretched in front of her. Glen is still lying on his back beside her, dabbing his face with his sweat towel.

“Glen, that was fucked”

Glen tips his head back and laughs, dropping the towel back to the floor. “But you killed it”.

“I think it killed me” Billie replies exasperated, dropping head back and looking up at the ceiling, “I am going to be so sore tomorrow”.

Glen chuckles and moves to sit up from the floor, his sweaty skin sticking to the floor beneath him.

“I really need a shower”.

“That makes two of us” Billie laughs, “But I don’t think I can stand up”.

Glen laughs, letting out a groan of effort as he hauls himself upright and stands. He reaches down for Billie’s hand and pulls her up, unable to stop his eyes from flickering to her boobs in the tight white tank she’s wearing.

God.

“I also need food” Billie announces, taking a long sip from her water bottle and smoothing back her sweaty hair,  “I’m suddenly starving”.

Glen nods in agreement. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a bite after this?” he asks, eyes searching her face as he looks down at her, “If you still have the day free of course”.

Billie’s lips part into a smile, and Glen can’t help the way his own smile grows. 

“My day is totally empty”

“Oh really?” Glen inquires, one eyebrow raised, “Does that mean I can steal you for dinner too?”.

Billie laughs, shrugging her shoulders adorably, “If you don’t get sick of me before then, sure”.

Glen shakes his head and reaches out to touch Billie’s arm, flashing her his most charming grin and loving the way she looks back at him in that moment. 

“I’m not sure that's actually possible Billie”.

Billie smiles, and Glen can’t tell if her cheeks flushing is from their workout or from his comment.

They walk over to their bags, Glen bending and handing Billie hers before bending to pick up his own. 

“Did you want to shower here? Or head home and meet up again?”

Billie shakes her head and holds out her hand, “I brought a change of clothes like you said, I’m happy to shower here. But it’s up to you?”

“No no, here’s good” Glen says, dabbing at his face again with his towel, “You should see the bathrooms here. They're pretty fuckin’ amazing”. 

They walk towards the elevator and step in when the doors open, Billie’s perfume filling his nose as she brushes past. Glen presses the button for level 12, the two standing in comfortable silence as the doors close and they move up the building. 

The elevator dings and the doors open up to the reveal the luxury spa, shower and sauna level, Glen letting Billie step out in front of him.

“The female bathrooms are that way” Glen says, reaching up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, “I’ll meet you back out here?”

Billie nods, looking over in the direction of the bathrooms and back up at Glen with a soft smile.

“See you in a bit”.

---

Billie

This shower is better than the one at Billie’s house. No actually, it's the best shower she's ever used. At the gym of all places. 

It's all dark moody tile and black furnishings, the rainfall shower head providing the most amazing water pressure on her already aching muscles. Not to mention the luxury skin care products that are just free to use.

She’s in shower heaven. 

Or she would be, if Glen was in there with her.

Billie tips her head back and lets the warm water cascade over her, unable to think of little else except Glen. 

The way his muscles had rippled beneath his skin as he’d pulled himself up on the chin up bar, the way his biceps had flexed and moved as he’d picked up each dumbbell. Billie had barely been able to concentrate on her own exercises, not when Glen was looking like that, and certainly not when he was looking at her the way he had been. It was like he wanted to devour her - and if they hadn't been in public, she probably would have let him. 

Right there in the middle of the gym floor.

Their workout has left her feeling all wound up in more ways than one, like forty four minutes of insane heated foreplay without a finish line. If she were at home, she’d absolutely play with herself. 

She thinks about Glen in the shower, thinking about how badly she wants to have him pressed up naked against her, to feel his thick arms around her frame, his lips on her skin. 

Fuck.

What was this man doing to her?

Forty eight hours of knowing the guy and she's already desperate for him.

She wonders idly if he’s thinking about her the same way she is right now, suddenly remembering that he’s probably waiting for her outside and that she should get on with it. She exhales heavily through her nose and rinses the last of the soap suds from her skin, letting herself enjoy the shower for thirty more seconds before she turns off the tap.

Billie steps out of the shower and dries herself with the fluffiest white towel she’s ever used, changing into a pair of light blue mom jeans and a loose white button up shirt. She looks back at her reflection in the giant mirror of the luxury bathroom, tucking the front of her shirt loosely into the waist of her jeans and buttoning it just enough that it teases just a hint of cleavage.

She reapplies her makeup keeping it glowy and natural, using the gym’s very expensive hair dryer and blow waving her hair just enough that it’s tameable. She pulls her hair back into a loose braid leaving out a few face framing pieces, spritzing her favourite peachy perfume onto her neck and wrists. She steps back and looks over her reflection once more, deciding she’s happy with her look, packing up her things and walking out of the bathroom.

Billie does a double take when she walks out and finds Glen sitting waiting for her on one of the cream leather lounges near the elevator, looking somehow even more handsome than he had earlier. 

He’s now dressed in a cream henley shirt and brown trousers, a pair of brown leather boots on his feet. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough that she can see the beginnings of his dark chest hair, his hair still damp from the shower and falling messily but somehow still perfectly.

As if he isn’t handsome enough just looking like that, Billie feels her breath catch when he looks up and sees her, his lips parting in an utterly gorgeous smile.

Billie tries not to notice the way her body feels as his eyes run over every inch of her, following her hips as she walks towards him.

“You look gorgeous”.

Billie smiles. “See, I was just thinking that about you”.

Glen laughs and stands up in front of her, pressing the button for the elevator and holding open the door for her as they walk in. 

“Were you feeling anything particular for lunch?” he says looking down at her, Billie standing close enough to smell his delicious aftershave and fighting the urge to reply with ‘Besides you?’.

“I’m not fussy”.

Glen nods. “Good, I know just the place”.

---

Glen

“Were you really?” Billie asks, shaking her head in exasperation, “No way, I’ve seen that movie a thousand times, I’d have recognised you”

Glen laughs and nods his head, putting his hand on his heart to emphasize that he’s telling the truth,  “I swear I am. I’m in the stock exchange scene”. 

Billie’s brow furrows, like she’s replaying the scene in her head, and Glen chuckles when she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. 

“No way. I have to look this up”.

They’d just had lunch - they’d gotten sandwiches at one of Glen’s favourite spots near the Santa Monica beach. It was a little hole in the wall place with an outdoor courtyard type area at the back, and best of all, it wasn’t too well known about. On this sunny Sunday afternoon, it was the perfect choice.

He and Billie are sitting side by side in a wooden booth together, having just finished their food. They’d been there nearly three hours now, the conversation and laughs between them flowing effortlessly. It’s only been two days, and yet somehow Glen feels like he’s known Billie for months. 

They’d been talking about music choices when they exercised, Billie revealing that she actually liked to listen to movie scores when she ran - namely, superhero movie scores, saying that they made her feel motivated and pumped to keep going. That had brought them to talking about Batman and The Dark Knight Rises, at which point Glen had laughed and told her that he was actually in that movie.

He keeps his eyes on her face as she types on her phone, looking over her glowy skin and dark lashes, her full lips that make him want to kiss her for hours.

He hears the beginnings of a video play, the familiar menacing voice of Tom Hardy’s Bane character, watching as Billie’s eyes suddenly light up, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

“Oh my God it is you!” she exclaims adorably, looking up at Glen and then back at her screen still in disbelief, “How have I not noticed that before? How old are you there? You look like a baby”.

Glen laughs and takes a sip of his soda bottle, tapping his fingers against the plastic. 

“Twenty-something---, twenty-four, I think?” he says just as he hears Bane smash his character’s head into a computer.

“You know, I actually got a real concussion during that take. Tom got a bit too into his character and instead of just tapping me on the head like he was supposed to, he actually slammed my head down. Had to go see the medic and everything”

Billie’s eyes widen in shock for the second time, a soft laugh of surprise slipping from her lips. “Oh my god, really?”.

He nods and they both laugh, Glen looking over Billie as she shifts in her seat to better face him.

The afternoon sun is warm and Glen has since shed his jacket, his gaze hidden behind his sleek sunglasses. He takes advantage of that fact, savouring every moment of his eyes on Billie’s available skin, the edge of a pale blue bra peeking out from the dip of her shirt from this new angle.

He tries not to notice the way one of her denim covered thighs is now pressed against his, or the way one side of her white shirt has slipped down to expose her golden collarbone. He finds his imagination wondering what her skin would taste like on his tongue, how it would feel beneath his lips if he kissed along it.

Billie lifts her hand to look down at her watch and back up at Glen.

“You need to go?”. 

“No no, just thinking about Nugget”.

“If you want to go home and check on him it’s okay Billie”

“I want to” she says, her voice trailing off into a pause, “But---, I also don’t want to leave”.

Glen smiles back at her, his eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“Well, how about this then?” he asks, reaching up to run his fingers through his now dry hair, “You go home and grab Nugget, and then the two of you come to mine a little later for dinner?”

Billie tilts her head as looks at him, the corner of her mouth tugging into a smile, “Oh that is incredibly tempting”.

He grins and leans in towards her, loving the way her gorgeous hazel eyes are looking back at him then.

“Anything I can do to make it even more so?”

Billie ponders for a moment, her eyes still on his, her tongue sliding out to wet her pink lips.

“Well, for starters, keep smiling at me like that” Billie says, leaning her elbow on the table between them and resting her cheek on her hand, “Do you have any idea how handsome you are? Like, it's almost unfair how attractive you are”.

Glen chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his throat.

“I’ve been thinking that same thought about you since the moment I met you at Rufus, Billie”.

“Oh really? You think I’m handsome?” Billie teases, a laugh bubbling up in her throat.

Glen only chuckles, reaching up to brush a loose hair from her face, swearing he sees her suck in a silent breath.

“Actually you know what” Billie breathes suddenly, her voice almost a whisper, “I think there is something you can do to tempt me more so”.

Glen raises a curious eyebrow, acutely aware of how close his face now is to hers.

“What’s that darlin?”

Billie exhales quietly, her perfect lips stretching into a soft, sexy smile.

“Kiss me”.

Glen needs no instruction after that.

He tilts Billie’s chin with his finger and angles her face to his, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to hers.

---

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Legends Chapter 7: Feathertails

Hello riders! I would like to first start by saying formatting for this chapter is going to be a bit off. I’m posting from my phone instead of computer like I usually do. Once I get access to my computer I’ll edit the formatting. I already have 7 bonus scenes I’ll be writing after this story is completed, keep letting me know what you want to see. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Fourth Wing chapters 19-21

Pairings: Xaden x sister, Liam x best friend, Sawyer x reader

Warnings: Swearing, death, implied smut, sexual talk, spoilers from the book series

Word count: 7,165

Legends Masterlist

I know some times as a Duke I need to do things in the best interest of my people, like the arranged marriage between Xaden and Cat. But I don't think I'll ever be able to do something like that to (Y/N). I see how her face lights up when she's around Liam and I can't help but want her to end up with him… or at least someone like him.

-Recovered Correspondence from Duke Fen Riorson to Colonel Mairi

My dagger flies out of my hand, landing in the unbounded cadets arm. I blink. Violet isn't there anymore, she's beside me. But there's no possible way for her to have gotten there in seconds. She was just pinned across the room!

I turn to look at her, Xaden is now filling up the doorway. His eyes snap to Violet's then mine, he looks at everyone else in the room, one dead cadet, four injured. "You're all fucking dead." Xaden's eerily calm.

"Riorson!" A dagger clatters to the floor.

"You think surrendering will save you? It's against the code to attack another rider in their sleep."

"But you know he never should have bonded her!" The cadet argues, "You of all people have reason enough to want the weakling dead. We're just correcting a mistake."

"Your mother giving birth to you was a mistake. Not Tairn choosing Violet." I snap.

Without letting anyone try to defend themselves, Xaden's shadows grab them by the throat, constricting until they don't move anymore.

When the last cadet hits the floor, footsteps are heard from the hall. "Damn Xaden." Garrick says, looking at the dead cadets, "No time for questioning?"

"No need for it." Xaden says, he nods at me, "(Y/N) killed one before I even got here." I nod at Garrick just as Bodhi enters. He also does a quick sweep of the room.

A laugh bubbles out of Violet, we all turn to look at her. I place a gentle hand on her arm, "It's the shock." I whisper to her.

Bodhi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Let me guess… we're on clean up duty?"

Xaden nods, "Call in help if you need it." He turns to me, "Thanks for the help, but go back to your room. I don't want you involved any further."

I narrow my eyes, "Like hell! Violet's my friend and she was just attacked! I'm going to be there for her!"

Xaden's eyes narrow but before he can argue, Violet speaks up, "Let her stay, please." She gently grabs my arm. Xaden sighs but nods, seeing that Violet clearly needs the comfort. "I'm alive." Violet mumbles.

"Yes, you're alive." Xaden confirms. Stepping over a body and retrieving mine and Violet's daggers. Garrick and Bodhi haul out the first body.

"I didn't realize I said the out loud." Violet replies, she's shaking, glancing around her room. Xaden opens her armoire. He takes out her cloak and boots.

"Like I said, it's the shock." I tell her, gently rubbing her shoulder.

"Are you hurt? Either of you?" Xaden asks.

"I'm okay." I answer, looking at Violet.

Violet takes a shaky breath but doesn't answer, "Come on, Violence." Xaden says, folding Violet's cloak over his arm and dropping her boots to the floor, "Pull your shit together and tell me where you're hurt."

She hesitates, "It's okay, Violet. You're safe now. You can tell us." I reassure her.

Xaden's fingers lift up Violet's chin, making her look at him, "You're breathing like crap, so I'm guessing it has to do with-"

"My ribs." Violet finishes. "The one by the bed hit the side of my ribs with the sword, but I think they're just bruised."

"Must have been a dull sword." Xaden replies, cocking an eyebrow. "Unless it has something to do with why you sleep in your leather vest."

Violet's eyes glance at me, "You never told him?"

I shake my head, "Of course I didn't. It's not my secret to tell. I wasn't going to break your trust."

Her lips form a small smile before her gaze flickers back to Xaden, "It's dragon scale. Mira made it for me. It's why I've lived this long."

Xaden glances at the armor, "Ingenious, though I'd say there are multiple reasons for why you've made it this far."

I snort, "Me too. But Violet here is oblivious to her brilliance."

Violet rolls her eyes. Xaden's eyes flicker to the bruise marks on Violet's neck, he then looks towards the cadet that made them, "I should have killed him slower."

"I'm fine." Violet says.

Xaden's eyes snap towards Violet, "Never lie to me."

Violet frowns, glancing at me, before admitting, "It hurts."

"Let me see."

Violet opens then closes her mouth, "Is that a request or a demand?"

"Your pick as long as I get to see if that fucker broke your ribs." Xaden pauses, "At least let (Y/N) take a look if you don't want me to."

Garrick and Bodhi step through the door, Masen and Ciaran behind them. "Take those two, and we'll get the last ones." Garrick tells them. They get to work, carrying the last of the bodies through the door.

"Thank you," Xaden says, he flicks his wrist and the door shuts. "Now let one of us check your ribs."

Violet swallows but nods. She doesn't specify if she wants me to look so Xaden steps closer when Violet turns her back to us. She shrugs out of her night dress, holding the material over her chest. "You'll have to-"

"I know how to handle a corset." Xaden says, he gently moves her hair over her shoulder. Xaden's fingers loosen the laces of the corset. "How the hell do you get yourself into this thing every morning?"

"I'm freakishly flexible. It's part of the whole bones-snapping, joints-tearing thing." I watch as Violet and Xaden's eyes meet.

I swallow back a laugh, "Should I leave you two alone?" Violet's eyes widen, a blush creeping up her face. Xaden glares, loosening the last lace. I hold my hands up, "Sorry, not a joking time."

Xaden shakes his head, he gently runs his finger over Violet's bruising ribs, "You have one hell of a bruise, but I don't think they're broken."

"Yeah," Violet says, "That's what I thought. Thank you for checking." Xaden laces Violet back up.

"You'll live. Turn around." She does, tugging her night dress back over her shoulders. Xaden drops to his knees, reaching for Violet's boots. It reminds me of Liam kneeling before me to put my boots back on at parapet and I can't help but smile at the thought.

"You're going to have to walk through the pain, and we have to do it fast. Can you lift it up?" Violet nods, lifting her foot. He puts her boots on for her, one after the other.

When he stands back up he looks at me then turns back to Violet, "Can (Y/N) go back to her room now or did you want her to stay?"

Violet glances at me, she opens her mouth then closes it again. "I'll do whichever you want. I'm here for you if you need me." I say.

Violet's eyes glisten but she blinks quickly, stopping any tears from falling, "Go back to bed. I'm okay now. Or at least I will be."

I nod. I glance at Xaden, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm. "I'll see you both in the morning." I turn to walk out the door. Heading back to my room.

"Good work, Night Orchid." Nyx says. "Now get some rest."

*_*_*_*_*

The next morning at formation, Violet stands next to me, whispering. "You need to have a conversation with Aether, it's important."

I narrow my eyes in confusion but nod, "And maybe bring Garrick. He should know too." Violet continues.

"Garrick? Why does he need to know about Aether?" I ask.

"He's bonded with you because of Nyx. He needs to know about Aether, he'll find out at some point. Might as well be with you."

"Did Andarna say something last night? You went to see the dragons, right?"

Violet nods, glancing around but no one is listening to us, they're focused on Captain Fitzgibbons, "We did. & she told me some things… about feathertails. You need to know too."

I nod in understanding, "Aether? Can I come see you at lunch?" I don't specify what for, I know he knows everything that happens with me, he knows what he needs to tell me.

"Of course! Nyx will be there too!" Aether replies.

"I'll tell Chradh to tell his rider." Nyx says.

"Thank you." I reply.

Fitzgibbons reads off the last name, "We commend their souls to Malek." Six of the eight names on the list were the unbounded cadets that attacked Violet. The other two were third years, killed on a training operation near the Braevick boarder.

"I can't believe they tried to kill you while you were sleeping," Rhiannon says. She's still seething from when Violet told the squad what happened at breakfast.

"Even worse, I think I'm getting used to it." Violet replies. Captain Fitzgibbons is making some minor announcements. I don't bother paying attention.

Xaden is striding past the formation, stopping in front of Dain. "There's a change to your squad roll."

"Wingleader?" Dain asks, confusion evident in his voice. "We just absorbed four from the dissolution of the third squad."

"Yes." Xaden agrees, he turns to at Second Squad, Tail Section and I know exactly what he's doing. "Belden, we're making a roll change."

"Yes, sir." Belden nods once.

"Aetos, Vaughn Penley will be leaving your command, and you'll be gaining Liam Mairi from Tail Section." I can't help but smile.

Dain's mouth snaps shut, and he nods. The two first years switch spots, Liam nods at Xaden as he passes, standing in line behind Violet.

"I do not need a body guard," Violet snaps. I bite my lip to stop my smile from growing. Poor Violet, that is absolutely not going to work.

Xaden ignores her, focusing on Dain, "Liam is statistically the strongest first year in the quadrant."

"Actually that would technically be me." I pipe up.

Xaden sends me a quick glare before turning his attention back to Dain, "He has the fastest time up the Gauntlet, only lost one challenge, and is bonded to an exceptionally strong Red Daggertail. Any squad would be lucky to have him, and he's all yours, Aetos. You can thank me when you win the Squad battle in the spring."

"I. Do. Not. Need. A. Bodyguard." Violet repeats, louder this time.

One of the first years behind us gasps. Imogen snorts, "Good luck with that approach." I giggle, no longer able to stop myself. I quickly place my hand over my lips to quiet the sound.

Xaden walks past Dain, standing directly in front of Violet. "You do, though, as we both learned last night. And I can't be everywhere you are. But Liam here-" he points at my best friend, "he's a first year, so he can be in every class, at every challenge, and I even had him assigned to library duty, so I hope you get used to him, Sorrengail."

"(Y/N) was already there for me, and you're overstepping." Violet snaps.

"You haven't begun to see me overstepping. And good thing (Y/N) was there. Now you have two of the top cadets in your year watching your back." His voice drops, "Any threat against you is a threat against me, and as we've already established, I have more important things to do than sleep on your floor."

Violet's face heats, "He is not sleeping in my room."

"Of course not," Xaden agrees, smirking, "I had him moved into the one next to yours. Wouldn't want to overstep." He turns around, walking to the front of the formation.

"Fucking mated dragons." Dain mutters, keeping his eyes forward.

Once Fitzgibbons finishes his announcements, he steps to the side allowing Commandment Panchek to step towards the dais.

"What's going on with Panchek?" Rhiannon asks.

"Not sure." Violet says. But I do, it's about her. There's no way Xaden was going to let this just slide.

"It has to be something big if he's fumbling with the Codex up there," Rhiannon says.

"Quiet." Dain snaps. He glances over his shoulder, looking at us for the first time. He does a double take, noticing the marks on Violet, "Vi?"

"I'm fine." Violet reassures. Dain continues to stare, "Squad Leader Aetos, people are staring." She waits for him to react but he doesn't, "Dain!"

He blinks, clearing his throat, "Is that what Riorson meant by last night?" Violet nods. "I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm fine." Violet says again, "Later." She nods towards the dais, causing Dain to turn back around.

"It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred." Panchek starts. "As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated. This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward."

"Someone's in trouble," Rhiannon whispers, "Think Ridoc finally got caught in Tyvon Varen's bed?"

I snort as Ridoc answers, "That's hardly against the Codex."

"He's the executive officer for second wing," Violet says, sending Ridoc a pointed look.

"And?" I say, "It's still not against the Codex. I say get it, Ridoc."

Violet sighs, "I miss sex."

I hum, a smirk on my face, "I know someone who might be interested."

Ridoc talks before Violet can ask who, "If you're looking for a little fun, I'm happy to oblige-" He winks, brushing his hair off his forehead.

"I miss good sex." Violet counters. "Besides, apparently your spoken for."

"We're not exclusive," Ridoc says, "It's like Rhiannon and what's-her-name…"

"Tara," Rhiannon replies.

"Will you all shut the hell up?" Dain scolds.

I bite my lip to stop my smile, I love pushing Dain's buttons. "Of course you do. Never one for authority." Nyx chortles.

"I can't help that it's funny when he gets angry."

Xaden is walking up towards the dais, "This is about me." Violet whispers. Dain glances back at her with confusion.

"Early this morning," Xaden begins, "A rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unboundeds."

Murmurs fill the air, "As we all know, this is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider's Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense."

"Having been alerted by my dragon, I interrupted the attack along with two other Fourth Wing riders." He pauses, dipping his chin toward Garrick and Bodhi, who step up beside him on the dais. "My sister, (Y/N), another Fourth Wing rider, was also alerted of the attack by her dragons, she made it to the room first killing one of the attackers."

There's a brief pause before Xaden continues, "As it was a matter of life or death, I personally executed the other five would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran."

"All Tyrs. How convenient," Nadine, a new addition to the squad, sneers. I roll my eyes, but continue to face forward.

"But the attack was orchestrated by a rider who fled the scene before I arrived," Xaden's voice raises, "A rider who had access to the map of where all first years are assigned to sleep, and that rider must be brought to swift justice."

Another pause, "I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail," Xaden's gaze shifts to the center of the formation, "Wingleader Amber Mavis."

"What the hell?" Dain asks.

"She's a Tyr, too, Nadine," Ridoc says over his shoulder, "Or are you only biased against marked ones?"

Nadine keeps her mouth shut. Dain shakes his head, "Amber would never. A Wingleader would never." He turns to completely face Violet, "Get up there and tell everyone that he's lying, Violet."

"But he's not." Violet replies.

"It's impossible." Dain argues.

"I was there Dain."

"Wingleaders are beyond reproach-"

Violet cuts him off, "Then why are you so quick to call our own wingleader a liar?"

Amber steps forward, "I have committed no such crime!"

"Of course she would try and deny it." I whisper.

"See?" Dain says, ignoring my comment and pointing at Mavis. "Put a stop to this right now, Violet."

"She was with them in my room." Violet states.

"That's impossible." Dain continues to argue, he steps forward, lifting his hands.

My eyes flare in anger, I step in between him and Violet, "That is you best friend. Don't you dare disrespect her by trying to force her to share her memories." I hiss, quiet enough that only Dain and Violet hear my words.

Dain blinks, his hands dropping back to his sides, "How do you-?"

I don't allow him to finish the question, "It doesn't matter, get away from her. Because if you try to touch her without her permission it will be me you'll have to get through and I can promise you, you will not want to deal with me when I'm angry, Squad Leader."

Dain's jaw clenches, behind him Xaden speaks once more, "Wingleaders, we need a quorum." Dain look over his shoulder at the dais where the rest of the wingleaders gather. Dain moves away from Violet and I, shoulders tensed.

Wing beats are heard above us as the wingleaders gather to talk. One by one each of the wingleaders dragons land on the wall, Tairn is with them and so is Panchek's Green Clubtail.

"Shit's about to get real," Sawyer says. He breaks formation to stand at Violet's side.

"You can stop this all right now, Violet." Dain says, "I don't know what you saw last night, but it wasn't Amber. She cares too much about the rules to break them."

I shake my head, Dain needs to shut his fucking mouth before I shut it for him. "Don't do anything rash, he'll know the truth soon enough." Nyx says.

"You're using this to get your revenge on my family!" Amber yells at Xaden. I roll my eyes. "For not supporting your father's rebellion!"

My jaw ticks, but I give no other reaction. In a matter of minutes she'll be dead, she's just just talking out of her ass to try and save herself. Xaden doesn't acknowledge her, he continues his conversation with the other wingleaders.

A scene flashes before my eyes, Amber making eye contact with Violet then dashing out of her room once she realizes she's caught. "That spineless wretch," Rhiannon seethes. Everyone in the quadrant saw what Amber did last night.

Dain pales, "Believe me now?" Violet asks him, "You're supposed to be my oldest friend, Dain. My best friend. There's a reason I didn't tell you."

He staggers backwards like he was slapped. "The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement," Xaden says, he's flanked by Nyra and Septon, "We find you guilty, Amber Mavis."

"No!" She shouts, "It is no crime to rid the quadrant of the weakest rider! I did it to protect the integrity of the wings!" She paces, looking for anyone to help.

As a whole, the formation moves back, away from the wingleader. "And as is our law, your sentence will be carried out by fire," Nyra states.

"No!" Amber looks at her dragon, "Claidh!"

Her Orange Daggertail snarls at the other dragons. Tairn swivels his head, snapping at the smaller dragon, causing Claidh to cower.

I hear Violet whisper, "Please don't." I instinctively grab her hand. I don't feel bad for Amber, she deserves to die after what she did, but I understand that Violet needs comfort in this moment, so I'll provide that to the best of my ability. She turns to Xaden, begging, "Please give her a chance."

Xaden holds her gaze but doesn't say anything. "Claidh," Amber whimpers, looking at her dragon. The formation splits down the middle, leaving Amber standing on her own.

Tairn leans low, extending his neck and head. He opens his mouth wide, flames erupt from his mouth. Claidh screams, everyone's hands fly to their ears, trying to block out the sound of the Orange dragon mourning.

*_*_*_*_*

After morning classes when the rest of the squad starts heading towards the dining hall, I break off from the group, heading towards the flight field. "Where are you going?" Liam calls after me.

I look back, seeing the squad watching me. "I'm meeting Garrick. We need to speak with our dragons."

"Will you make it back for lunch?" Sawyer asks.

I shrug, "I don't know how long it's going to take. Don't worry about me though, skipping one meal isn't a big deal."

"I'll sneak something out for you if you don't make it."

I smile, "Thanks." I turn, walking away from the group, "Garrick is meeting me, right?" I ask my dragons, but before they respond I see the tall rider waiting in the courtyard.

"Smiley." Garrick greets, he wraps an arm around my shoulders when I get closer, "So why do we need to talk with our dragons? Chradh wouldn't tell me anything."

"Beats me. Violet said that Andarna told her and Xaden something about feathertails last night. Said I should talk to Aether about it and bring you."

Garrick shakes his head, "I can't believe they stooped that low. Attacking her in her sleep."

I scoff, "Honestly, I'm not surprised. There's so many people in this godsforsaken college that would do anything to bond, especially a dragon as powerful as Tairn."

"I'm just happy it wasn't you." Garrick cringes, "That sounds like I don't care that it was Violet which isn't true…"

I smile, "It's okay, Gar. I know what you meant." We're just approaching the flight field, the three dragons standing next to each other. Aether bounds forward, I run towards him, stepping out from under Garrick's arm.

Aether and I meet in the middle, he nudges me with his head, making a sound like a purr. "Hi, baby." I say, giving him a kiss on his nose.

"Hi (Y/N)!" He replies, keeping his head nuzzled against me. Nyx and Chradh approach from behind Aether. Garrick walks closer as well.

"So, what's so important about feathertails?" I ask, looking between Aether and Nyx.

Aether looks at Nyx, they exchange words between each other before Aether turns back to me, "I'll start with the least important… Andarna and I are twins."

"Andarna and you are twins… that makes sense I guess? I mean I figured you guys were about the same age anyways." I shrug.

"That can't be the only reason they wanted to talk with us." Garrick says, brows knitted together.

Nyx growls, low and deep. "Pretty sure that means patience." I smirk at him.

Garrick holds his hands out, "Sorry."

"Feathertails are adolescents." Nyx says.

My mouth opens in shock, "He's a baby?" Garrick asks. My head snaps to him. Chradh must have told him.

"Not a baby." Aether replies. "Just young. I'm two."

I turn towards Garrick, he's waiting for a response, "He said he's two."

A new male voice enters my head, its deep, almost like a growl, "Dragons age differently from humans. We age faster. Though feathertails usually don't bond."

I open and close my mouth, "Did Chradh just talk to me?"

I ask Garrick but Chradh is the one who replies, "Yes, child. Just like Nyx can talk with Garrick."

Garrick shrugs, "It's part of the mated bonds, why we're connected too." I nod.

"So if feathertails usually don't bond, how come Aether and Andarna did?" I ask.

"And why don't they usually bond?" Garrick adds.

"Andarna and I trusted you and Violet. We know that you would never do anything to hurt us. You would never abuse our power." Aether says.

I look towards Garrick who is waiting for an answer, so I repeat what Aether said. "What do you mean your power? It's different from adult dragons?"

"Yes. I can give you my power directly. The power usually goes away once we reach adulthood but when we're feathertails, if we bond, we can easily be drained of that power."

Once again I repeat what was said to Garrick, "So it's different than a signet?" Garrick questions.

"A signet is the magic manifested through our power together, as dragon and rider." Nyx says.

"As a feathertail, there is no signet. It's just pure magic given directly to the rider." Chradh adds.

"Which is why feathertails can be easily drained if they bond." I state.

"But I know you would never do that. I trust you." Aether says, resting his head on his paws.

"Of course I wouldn't." I confirm.

"You both let a baby-" Aether shows his teeth, "Sorry. A two year old, bond?" Garrick asks, disbelief clear on his face.

"You act like Aether and Andarna are ours." Nyx snaps, "They're parents died, they're orphans. No one controls the twins, even though sometimes we wish we could."

"The most we do is guide them. They listen when they want." Chradh says.

"So what's yours and Andarna's power? I'm guessing Andarna used hers last night. There was this moment…" I trail off shaking my head, not sure how to describe it.

"It's not my place to tell you Andarna's but I can reverse time." Aether holds his head up with pride.

"Reverse time?" I ask in shock.

"Yes. Just about 5 minutes previously."

"Oh. No big deal then." I say casually, trying to wrap my head around this power. Garrick looks confused so I tell him what he said. "Gods, no wonder feathertails usually don't bond. If the higher ups found out about this…" I shake my head.

"That's why you both can't tell anyone. Don't even talk to Violet and Xaden about this. They already know what they need too. No need to discuss it more." Nyx warns, swiveling her head to look between me and Garrick. We both nod. "We'll see you later, you're going to be late for class."

Aether gently nudges me one more time, then backs away, launching himself into the air. Nyx and Chradh follow.

"Well that was a lot." Garrick mumbles, he throws his arm back over my shoulders, "Let's go, Smiley."

*_*_*_*_*

During dinner the whole squad sat together, bombarding Liam with questions. "Do you have any embarrassing stories of (Y/N) when she was younger?" Ridoc asks, grinning.

I roll my eyes, "Can't have embarrassing stories when I never get embarrassed."

Liam smiles, "Exactly. Nothing phases (Y/N)."

"Well you must have some interesting stories." Violet says.

Liam and I exchange a look, "(Y/N) loves dancing and singing, the amount of times I've walked in on her having dance parties in her room." He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"Is she any good?" Quinn asks.

"Yes," Violet and Rhiannon answer in unison.

"Well, she's good at singing, we don't know about the dancing." Violet adds.

"How do you know that?" Sawyer asks.

"She sings in the shower." Rhiannon shrugs.

"I perform in the shower, thank you very much." I correct.

"She's good at dancing too, she was required to learn ballroom dancing when she was younger." Imogen says.

The group turns to look at me, "You were?" Violet questions.

I nod, "I was in line to be a duchess. I had to learn all types of etiquette, dances, how to play instruments. I hated the etiquette classes but the dancing and instruments were fun."

"She always said she was born to be a rider not a lady." Liam adds, laughing.

"Liam is a good dancer too. I used to beg him to be my dance partner during lessons. I hated working with the other kids when he wasn't there."

"I hated it, the only reason I started doing them was because when we were 10 and the lessons started (Y/N) threatened me."

"I did not threaten you!" I roll my eyes.

"You held a dagger to my throat!"

I smile, "I did, didn't I?"

Liam rolls his eyes, "Yeah, you did. But honestly, I probably would had done it anyways. I'll do anything if it means making you happy."

I lean over to kiss his cheek, "You're so sweet."

Imogen smirks, "They were also each others first kiss."

I laugh, nodding, "I think we were eleven."

"I'm sure she's improved since then though." Liam jokes, winking.

"I mean, I have nothing to compare it too, but I'd say she's a pretty great kisser." Sawyer shrugs.

Everyone at the table, besides Rhiannon turns in shock, "What? You two? You kissed Sawyer?" Ridoc asks, "You kissed (Y/N)?"

I snort, "We've done more than just kiss."

"Way more." Sawyer confirms, smirking.

"How long has this been going on?" Violet asks.

Sawyer and I look at each other, "Um, like the first week here?"

Sawyer nods, "Yeah, it was before challenges started."

"Wait." Liam looks at me, "He was the one, the night you were late." He doesn't elaborate further but I know he's talking about the night of the first meeting between the marked ones. I nod in response.

"Why do they both get to kiss you?" Ridoc asks.

I laugh, startled by the question, "What do you mean?"

"I'm right here, (Y/N)."

I smile, "First, Liam and I haven't kissed since we were kids. And second I usually go for older guys."

"What about girls?" Rhiannon asks, jokingly blowing me a kiss.

"Are you asking me to kiss you? Because the answer is yes." I smirk.

"I mean…" Rhiannon trails off.

"Back to me." Ridoc says, "Will you kiss me?"

Sawyer snorts, "Don't sound too desperate, Ridoc."

"I am desperate and I'm not afraid to admit it. Have you seen (Y/N)?"

"Thank you." I smile.

"I've seen a lot of (Y/N), many times." Sawyer confirms.

"How many times?" Liam asks, drawing the attention to him, "Just out of curiosity."

"5? 6?"

"Multiple rounds each of those times." I nod.

"She does this thing with her tongue." Sawyer whistles. Imogen laughs, shaking her head.

"I wanna know what you do with your tongue. Your room or mine? We can leave right now." Ridoc says.

"I'm not sleeping you with Ridoc." I laugh.

"I'm good though, (Y/N). Probably better than Sawyer."

"I take offense to that." Sawyer replies, pursing his lips.

"Okay, Ridoc. Convince me." I say.

"Does it have to be with words?" Ridoc asks, eyebrows knitting together.

I smirk, "You just want to kiss me."

"Yes, but I know it will convince you so it's a win-win."

I nod, "Okay then, Ridoc. Lay one on me." Without any hesitation Ridoc grabs the back of my neck, pressing his lips to mine.

"Gross." I hear someone mutter. Pretty sure it was Violet. Ridoc slips his tongue in my mouth, deepening the kiss.

I hear Imogen whisper, "Oh shit."

There's a cough behind us. Then a deep voice calls out, "Gamlyn!" Ridoc and I separate, turning to see Xaden with his arms crossed and Garrick standing beside him, "If I ever see you make out with my sister again, I'll cut your tongue out of your mouth and feed it to Sgaeyl."

Ridoc's eyes widen, gulping, "Noted."

I laugh, "You can't scare off every guy, Xaden." I roll my eyes, looking across the table at Imogen and Quinn.

"I can try." Xaden's glare flickers to me. "Don't kiss people in front of me. We've already talked about this."

I smirk, remembering our conversation. Instead of acknowledging the previous conversation, I decide to tease Xaden, "Only if you promise not to kiss in front of me once you finally grow the balls to confess your feelings for a certain sil"-

Xaden's glare hardens as he cuts me off, "You may be my sister but I will hurt you."

I smirk, "Love you too, Xade." Garrick and Liam both shake with laughter. "Honestly at this rate, I should just kiss everyone in the squad." I glance around the table at everyone, "Who wants to be next?"

Imogen smirks, "Honestly, I wouldn't mind a kiss."

The whole table snaps there gazes in her direction but Imogen continues to look at me. "What?" Xaden snaps.

"I mean, she looks like she'd be a good kisser. And bonus points because it will piss you off."

"You'll seriously kiss me, Gen?" I ask, mouth parting in shock.

She nods, "Absol-" I don't give her a chance to finish, I launch myself over the table grabbing the back of her head and pulling her in to a heated kiss. Imogen smiles against my lips.

I can't see the faces of the rest of the squad but I know they're looking on in shock. "Okay, enough!" Xaden says, pulling me away from the pink-haired girl.

Imogen laughs, running her thumb over her bottom lip, "I was right, you are a good kisser." She winks.

"Well now I really want that kiss." Rhiannon says from down the table.

"No more kissing my sister in front of me." Xaden glares, "Do whatever you want when I'm not here but I'll murder the next person who kisses her in front of me, I swear to Malek."

I smirk, "He's just bitter because he still hasn't kissed So-" A shadow quickly wraps around my mouth, stopping me from saying more.

"If I release you will you behave?" Xaden glares. His onyx eyes meeting mine.

My eyes twinkle with mischief but I nod in agreement. His shadow slowly falls away from my mouth, "I won't tease you anymore and no more kissing my squad members in front of you." I turn towards Rhiannon, "I'll meet you at your room later, we can kiss then." Rhiannon laughs, nodding.

*_*_*_*_*

A week later the squad heads to battle brief, "I want to be like the cool kids," Rhiannon says, watching as first years from second and third wing file out of the stairwell coming from Professor Carr's classroom.

"We will," Violet reassures. She links her arm with Rhiannon's.

"You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!" Ridoc says, slinging his arms over the two girls.

I roll my eyes as Violet explains, "She's talking about everyone who's already channeling." She pauses, rearranging the books in her arms, "Though at least if we're not channeling, we're not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us."

I groan, "Don't remind me. I still haven't manifested a signet. I'm a ticking time bomb!"

Liam's blue eyes twinkle, "Remind me not to stand too close to you." I stick my tongue out at him.

"Oh, I thought we were discussing how I owned that physics test." Ridoc grins, "Definitely the highest score in the class."

Rhiannon rolls her eyes, "Please. I scored five points higher than you."

"We stopped counting your grades months ago." He leans forward slightly, "Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us." He looks towards Liam, "Wait. What did you get, Mairi?"

Liam smirks, "Not getting into the middle of this."

Violet laughs as we break apart , entering the bottleneck. A cadet steps into our path, "Sorry about that Riorson, Sorrengail."

I ignore him, unconcerned, but Violet replies, "Nothing to be sorry about!" She turns back towards us, "I'm never going to get used to that."

"I like it. People should be afraid of me." I reply, a bright smile on my face.

Liam snorts, "Of course you would be happy with people being terrified of you."

I hum, "I like being scary. I think more people should be afraid of me."

Violet snorts, "I'm pretty sure most of the quadrant is afraid of you."

"Gods, I hope so." We all enter the battle brief classroom. Riders file in, finding their seats. With the amount of deaths that have occurred in the quadrant, there's plenty of seats available for everyone to sit, unlike the beginning of the year.

I sit next to Liam, Violet on his other side. "Riorson just got here." Liam says. He's working on a new dragon carving, he gave me the carvings of Nyx and Aether last week. They're sitting in my room on my desk.

"Figured." Violet says. She keeps her gaze forward but holds up her middle finger in Xaden's general direction.

Liam snorts, grinning, a dimple flashes, "And now he's glaring. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant?"

"You could try it yourself and find out." She suggests.

I laugh, "Oh, pissing off Xaden is so much fun. But you know who's even more fun to piss off? Aetos. I want to laugh every single time he gets annoyed with me." I look at Liam. "You should try it sometime."

"That's going to be a no from me. For both pissing off your brother and Aetos."

I shrug, "Your loss. I'm having a great time."

"I swear, you'd think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me." Violet says, shaking her head.

"In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you." Rhiannon replies.

"One time!" Violet argues, "It happened one time, Rhi!"

"Right, and what do you call that whole thing with Tynan?"

"Threshing. And he went after (Y/N), not me."

"That's true." I mumble in agreement.

"Fine Oren, but while we're on the matter, a lot of people are fond of trying to kill you too, (Y/N)." Rhiannon states.

I shrug, "It comes with the last name, plus no one's succeeded. I think the only first year who has killed more people than me is Barlowe."

"Speaking of Barlowe," Rhiannon turns her attention back to Violet, "What about his constant threats?"

"She has a point there," Sawyer chimes in.

"They're just threats. The only time I've actually been targeted was at night, and it's not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom."

"I mean, I'm not opposed-" Liam begins.

"Don't even start." Violet's head whips in his direction, "You are a shameless flirt."

"You have no idea." I mumble, a small smile on my face.

"Thank you." Liam grins, going back to his carving.

"It wasn't a compliment." Violet scolds.

"Don't mind her, she's just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby." Rhiannon jokes, writing the date on her empty page.

"That has nothing to do with it!" Violet says, exasperated.

"And yet you're not denying it." Rhiannon smiles sweetly.

"I'm sorry I don't make the cut," Liam says. "But I'm sure Riorson would be fine with my reviewing a couple of candidates, especially if it means you'll stop flipping him off in front of his entire wing."

"Or maybe Riorson would help you out." I smirk.

Liam's eyes widen and Violet whips her head to me, "What?" She asks, her cheeks are red.

"I was talking about me. I'd gladly help you out and bonus because you know I won't try and kill you."

"Is Liam still going to have to review you? I mean how exactly would you go about that? What would you be scoring?" Rhiannon grins, raising an eyebrow, "This I have to hear."

"I mean… I wouldn't say no to reviewing you." Liam says, looking at me.

My eyes flicker over his body. I'm not blind, Liam's hot. "Hmm… Can't say I'd mind either." I wink.

Violet bursts out laughing, "Thanks for the offer, both of you. But I'm good. I'll make sure to run any potential liaisons by you, Liam."

"I mean, you could watch," Rhiannon continues, "Just to be sure she's fully covered. You know, so no one… sticks it to her."

I giggle, watching as Liam's face turns red. "Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?" Ridoc asks from my other side, "Because my entire life has led up to this very moment."

Sawyer laughs, causing Liam to mutter under his breath, "Fuck me." He talks a little louder, "I'm just saying that since you're protected at night now-" we all laugh harder.

"Wait." Violet stops, "what do you mean I'm protected at night? Because you're next door?" Violet's smile vanishes, "Please tell me he's not making you sleep in the hallway or something obnoxious."

"No. Of course not. He warded your door the morning after the attack." His expression changes, "I'm guessing he didn't tell you?"

"He what?"

"He warded your door," Liam says quieter, "So only you can open it."

"He did it to mine too, he's very protective." I say, doodling on my paper.

"But if he's the one who warded it, he can get in, too, right?" Violet asks.

"Well, yeah." Liam shrugs, "But it's not like Riorson is going to kill you."

"Right. You see, I'm still adjusting to that little change of heart." She fumbles her quill, dropping it to the ground as Professor Markham and Professor Devera get their things ready for class to begin.

"If we can get started?" Markham calls out, quieting the students. Just as the words leave his mouth, a sharp pain causes me to reach for my head.

Markham says something else but I'm focused on rubbing my forehead, trying to get the pain to stop. Markham is making an announcement but all I can focus on is the massive headache that is forming.

The cadets around me break into cheers. Liam nudges me, "Are you okay?"

I nod, "Just a headache." I drop my hand, trying to focus on anything except the pounding in my skull.

Then I hear Violet's voice, "Surely he didn't say that." I blink, unsure what she's talking about. Markham is currently talking about a previous battle, apparently the front lines were quiet today, which I think is bullshit considering they haven't been quiet since the beginning of the school year.

But again, I don't focus too much on what's happening around me, the headache is getting worse. "An entire village of Navarrians was ransacked last night along the border and supplies looted." Again I hear Violet's voice.

I feel a mental block slam into my skull, "Talk to me, Night Orchid." Nyx says.

"What?" I ask.

"Talk to me, continue to talk to me throughout the whole class. I don't care what you miss. This lesson isn't important. Talk to me and don't stop. And when the class ends, get back to your room as quickly as possible."

So I do. Nyx blocks her powers, stopping me from channeling. She only allows me to talk with her and Aether who pops into the conversation right after Nyx's initial statement. The headache went away as quickly as it came. Throughout the lesson I focus on nothing but Nyx, Aether, and the doodles on the paper in front of me.

Taglist: @littleemissperfecttt @galaxystern08 @thegirlwiththepurpleshelves

[darkeralmond]

yeees i would definitely enjoy a celebrini fic <3

EYES LIKE SIRENS

previous < Chapter 1 > next

Pairing: Macklin Celebrini x Emilia Richardson

Summary: While Emilia’s is on another date in an effort to get over Macklin, she reminisces on her past HOCO proposal which made her realizes how much she likes Macklin

Warnings: Implications of sex, but no smut

Apricot Speaks: hi guys!! i missed u all sm!! i have been working hard on these and ive also been wondering if i should post these on wattpad too. lmk and pls support my writing!!

“Emilia, this is really starting to become a problem,” Clara called out from her bed. I rolled my eyes at her comment, but due to how small our room was, she saw my reflection causing her to add,“Don’t roll your eyes at me. It is a problem and you know it. This is the 3rd guy in the span of 2 weeks.”

Finally looking back at her, I replied, “Shouldn’t you be proud of the fact I’m not home moping around like I was before?” When I look back, I intensely stare at myself as I focus on acquiring the perfect cat liner.

Behind me, I heard her sigh as she jumped off her bed and making her way into the bathroom. She stopped next to me and though I wasn’t looking, I could the disapproval as she stared into the side of my head. “Maybe if you stare long enough, you can burn a hole into the side of my head and I can cancel this date.”

“Ha,” She answered dryly. I finally looked over at her when I finished the second eye with a smug smirk on my face. “Why do you even wanna go on this date?”

“Because I need to distract myself from brooding in bed all day.” I played with my hair, perfecting a natural messy but sexy look.

She huffed again signaling her distaste in it all, but it wasn’t her concern what I was doing with my free time. Even if it was in an attempt to get over M- someone. “Is your location shared at least?” She asked, raising her brows as she did so. There are so many things she does which resembles my mom which annoys me, but it at least makes me feel somewhat comforted in a way.

I smiled slightly as I answered, “Yes, Clara. I’ll text you where I’m at at times, and I’ll send the safe word if things go south.” Even with my best attempts at reassuring her that not everything will end bad, she still has the same disapproving look on her face. “Clar, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry.” I took her hands into mine in my final attempt to assure her I’m grown and can make my own decisions.

I understand Clara’s concern, but what she doesn’t realize is that I know my date’s intentions. I knew this was only going to be a free meal followed by a one night stand, it’s basically what I signed up for when I hopped on these dating apps. All the dates she’s referring to could be considered more as hook ups and actual romantic dates. It’s what I need right after Macklin. Dammit, there goes my 10 minute streak of not thinking of him.

Sometimes I think she has mind reading super powers the way she’s able to redirect the conversation without me saying anything. “So, who’s the lucky bachelor tonight?” She asked as she holstered herself onto the sink counter.

“Jason Redding. He goes to NYU for business.” She bumped her shoulder against mine playfully, causing a small laugh to bubble out of me. “He also plays hockey, which is weird ‘cus I didn’t know they had it there.” Normally I steered clear of hockey players, but somehow Jason landed right into my DMs and it was a love story from there. And by love story, I mean his opening line being ‘This is why I prefer blondes.’

And they say chivalry is dead.

He didn’t make any effort in hiding his true intentions, which I appreciated since other ones did. He suggested taking me to dinner at a very fancy Italian restaurant before taking me to his dad’s hotel located nearby to stay for the night. Now why he was in Boston, I didn’t know.

Well that was until Clara said, “Oh! They play the boys on Tuesday. That’ll be interesting.” I forgot that Macklin had said something about playing NYU in their opening game. If I had known that I definitely would’ve cancelled on him, or never answer him at all.

“You can say that again,” I mumble. I heard my phone ding with a notification, prompting me to look down and see a message from Jason. “He’s here. I’ll text you when I leave the restaurant, alright?” I grabbed my coat off the bed and shimmied into it before tossing my purse over my shoulder.

“Please be safe!” She called out as I left our dorm. I heard the door shut behind me as I made my way towards the elevator.

When the elevator doors shut, I let out a long exhale. Not a nervous exhale, just one final sigh before I put on a fake facade for this guy for the night. Why be myself when he won’t stick along long enough for him to cherish it. I used to not be this way.

I used to be jittery going down this elevator to go out on dates. Now I felt numb and ready to get the night over with. I knew there were no feelings attached to any of these hookups that spawn in my lap, so why worry over something that’s not gonna progress. Let alone affect my future.

I thought my feelings would change eventually. That I’d meet the right guy and feel all the waves of emotions I used to feel in the past, but I haven't. It was my fault I wouldn’t either, so I knew not to feel sorry for myself.

As soon as I stepped out of the building, I wished I would’ve picked a warmer outfit. The weather in early January Boston was hellishly cold and my tights did nothing to prevent the wind from freezing my legs. At least I looked good in my skin tight leather dress.

I wasn’t suprised when I approached Jason and caught him eye fucking me. “Well, hello to you.” When I was in close enough proximity, he wrapped his arm around me and kissed my forehead. I didn’t expect this type of contact so soon, but I didn’t tense up either. I had more in store for me later anyways. “You look even better than you do in pictures.”

My fake laughs had become more convincing the more of these “dates” I go on, but at least this one was giving me stuff to work with. “You’re not too bad yourself,” I said, and I wasn’t lying either. He was super attractive. Brown eyes, blonde hair, a chiseled chin with peach fuzz. He just wasn’t my type.

He opened the car door for me, so I crawled in. The car felt so warm, causing me to melt into the seat. Before shutting the car door, Jason said, “Yeah, don’t fill up too much. I’ll have desert waiting for you in the room.” I was waiting for him to say something along those lines and it didn’t even take 5 minutes. I closed my eyes momentarily as I let the heat thaw me out.

On the way to the restaurant, it was silent minus the sound of traffic around us. With nothing else to entertain me, my mind had resorted to reminiscing on the past.

It gave me a healthy reminder on when I was young and naive, I used to fantasize about my soulmate sweeping me off my feet in a grand romantic gesture in front of a crowd of people. Guys, like Jason, have lowered my expectations of having an Uber paid for me when I used to appreciate aftercare.

…

Junior Year

I would like to believe that since my break up I was doing an incredible job on focusing strictly on myself and school. That, however, went out the window when I came to the realization that it was going to be my first homecoming dance without Westyn.

I stared at my ceiling above, taking in all the teenage version of One Direction staring back down at me. If only one of them could come to life and save me from this catastrophe, preferably Zayn. “I don’t know, maybe I should text him and ask. It will be my final time ever interacting with him.”

“Please don’t make me drive over there and snatch your phone away from you so you don’t do anything stupid,” Macklin replied on the other end of the phone.

I laughed as I rolled onto my stomach before responding, “Then you’d be late for your game.”

Without missing a beat he said, “Then, I’d risk being late for my game then.”

“Aww, you do really care about me. I thought you were heartless,” I teased him.

He scoffed, “It’d be for my own sake so I don’t have to hear you complain about him ever again.” I rolled my eyes and laughed again. He got serious again when he said, “Look, I’m sure someone will ask you soon. It’s still a month away.”

I dramatically groaned before flopping back on the mattress. “But I need to get my dress now!” I took the phone off speaker as I brought it up to my ear. . “I’ve already decided pink is my color this year and I wanna be able to find something glittery and unique.”

The sound of him driving was replaced with his laugh which caused a smile to appear on my face as my face grew warmer. “Alright, I’m pulling into the rink now. My parents will be there to get you in an hour so please be ready. Oh, and, Emilia?”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll happen,” He said in a low, almost secretive, tone which made my stomach flip for some odd reason. “Alright, see you later.”

I say bye and hang up, looking at the time on my phone. I should start getting ready now since the Celebrinis will be here in the next hour, but for now I stay laid down in my same position. . I continue to stare at my One Direction poster as I let my mind race with a million thoughts at once.

Ever since the night of Westyn and I’s break up when I came crying to Macklin, something changed within me. That night I saw some sort of spark in his eye which made me reconsider everything. His eyes drew me in like a siren, but I was able to break away and leave before anything could progress.

It had to have been my imagination, because the next day things were normal between us. Maybe it didn’t happen or maybe it’s the way Macklin naturally looks. Whatever it was, that look was dangerous.

I heard my phone ding, causing me to pick it up. Macklin had shot me a text which read:

I know ur still laying down, get up.

…

I didn’t feel crazy anymore for the way I was feeling in bed, because waiting for Macklin to come out after tonight’s win felt different. His parents didn’t help soothing my nerves any, as they were also acting weird. Like they were anticipating something.

I continued chucking it up to my own paranoia until Macklin came out of the locker room and I noticed his mom now held up her camera. “Hey, you!” He greeted me with a cheesy grin as he came out, holding his arms out for a hug. With my brows furrowed, I still accepted the hug because I wasn’t going to leave him hanging just because of my own derailing thoughts.

Without skipping a beat, Macklin’s mom announced, “Let me take a picture.” Macklin spun me quickly to face her, and part of this felt rehearsed. His grip on my waist as we posed for the picture felt tight that if I tried to squirm out of it, I would fail miserably. As my head rested against his chest, I could hear his heart racing. Maybe it was just due to post game adrenaline rush, but he also seemed nervous. I watched as Macklin’s parents, specifically his mom’s, faces lit up as they looked past us which made me think something was occurring behind us.

As if Macklin noticed it too, he glanced back as his grip loosened. I also turned my head, but in an effort to do so, I noticed a bundle of bright flowers against the black sweatshirt Macklin was wearing. I gawked at the arrangement of different pink flowers which were wrapped with a pretty pink bow. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he held them out for me to take.

Accepting his flowers, Macklin gently held onto my waist as he diverted my attention to the scene behind us. I was greeted by five of his teammates holding up poster paper spelling out ‘HOCO?’ with joyous grins on their faces.

I could feel my jaw beginning to cramp, indicating how long it had been open due to the amount of surprises thrown my way in the span of a minute. I thought Macklin had been acting weird about Westyn because he liked me, but it was really because he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going with Westyn.

Even though I felt relieved that my initial guess was wrong, for some odd reason my heart felt a sudden pain at the thought of Macklin not liking me. That’s a good thing though… right?

“Emilia?” Macklin spoke up, grounding me back to reality. I looked over at him and noticed the panicked features embedded on his face.

I laughed as a reaction to everything before answering, “Yes, duh!” I threw my arms around him as I grinned from ear to ear. People around gave subtle applause while his teammates cheered loudly.

When we pulled away, I captured the same look that I saw the night I came to him crying. That same longing look. My heart dropped as I swiftly shifted my eyes to look elsewhere, breaking eye contact that made me want to risk everything.

“Now, you have to find a different way to ask me to prom,” I joked as an attempt to distract myself from what could’ve happened.

He laughed before responding with, “I’m sure you’ll have a new date by then.” With that, he put an end to the delusion I’ve had for the past month. I simply nodded my head, looking back down at the flowers.

…

Now

Jason’s hand found its place on my leg, bringing me back to the present as I looked in his direction., “Are you ready to head inside, gorgeous?”

For the first time tonight I felt something that wasn’t numbness, disappointment. Disappointed that I wasn’t looking at Macklin’s smiling face. Disappointed that I let things slip through my fingers because I couldn’t balance my chaotic life.

Swallowing that feeling down, I nodded my head and answered, “Yes.”

As I was escorted inside, my head kept reeling back to what Macklin could be doing right now. What if he was seeing someone as well? What if he’s actually moved on?

No matter what I keep telling myself, thinking about Macklin is inevitable. How am I capable of moving on whenever he breaches my mind every minute of every single day. There was no possible date that could solve this yearning.

[kleyasradio]

this heavy cage of bones [chapter 2]

READ ON AO3

A/N: Sorry for the wait, this chapter took a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it!

(Warning, there is a flashback that has some disturbing implied content)

Any comments/thoughts/feelings are truly appreciated. Hope you enjoy.

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

Luthen would have hated this place.

The thought morphs into an absolute certainty as Kleya makes her way around the rebel base.

The stillness of the jungle canopy opens onto a clearing of ferrocrete and moving parts, right below the stateliness of the Massassi Temple. The base sprawls outwards from its mouth. The cavernous entrance has been repurposed into a hangar bay, connecting to a courtyard that functions as a landing pad, X and Y-wings parked there and being worked on by mechanics. At its edges, there are rows of tents and barracks made of misaligned metal. Scaffolding that looks none too stable, cables running across the terrain like exposed arteries and connecting to power generators.

She senses the semblance of organization. They are trying, she will give them that. She identifies at least three watch posts. Armed sentries by a storage unit that she suspects houses weaponry. There is constant movement. Pilots, soldiers, volunteers. So many bodies darting from one task to another. The place hums with energy and purpose. There is idealism everywhere she looks. And a sloppiness that makes her stomach twinge.

It's a mess.

Her eyes dart around and catalogue every potential hazard, every security flaw. That she is here on Yavin is proof of how vulnerable they truly are; the emergency signal she broadcasted from Coruscant slipped through the cracks, and Cassian was able to ignore all protocol and regulations to go on an unsanctioned rescue mission into enemy territory.

It’s all amateurish, loose ends everywhere. This Rebellion is a child that’s still learning how to walk.

Luthen would have absolutely hated this place.

And yet, he insisted she come here.

It happened more than once, close to the end. Off-hand comments while sharing a meal in the back of the gallery.

“Those fools are going to need someone like you if we want the Rebellion to continue,” he said. “They’re all hope and no competence.”

Kleya downed what was left of her revnog. “Forget it. I’d rather be locked in an ISB cell.”

He made a huffing sound, something close to a laugh. “You would rather that.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, his expression turned somber for a moment. Right then, he looked every bit his age.

“It was always my fate to become obsolete,” he said with a sigh. “To be left behind. But it isn’t yours.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s with the pity party tonight?”

“I’m serious.”

“Obnoxiously so.”

“Kleya.”

“Luthen.”

Theirs was a push and pull that spanned almost two decades. Two stubborn individuals who took turns yielding to one another. Only to one another.

His face rearranged itself into something harder.

“You won’t have a choice eventually,” he said, using the tone he’d use when she was a child and he was trying to exert some form of authority on her.

She looked at him in silence for a moment. Useless then, useless now.

She poured herself more revnog, then filled his glass as well.

“Alright,” she said. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a smirk. “I’ll go when you go.”

Kleya slows to a stop.

He was right, and she hates him for it. She hates that he left her. All she has is the weight of his absence.

Around her, people pass by and glance at her. Some with curiosity, some with suspicion. No one speaks to her. She doesn’t return their stare.

Earlier, in Vel’s hut, when she finally decided to stop hiding away, she did what she could to put herself together. She rummaged through Vel’s modest collection of clothes until she found something she didn’t despise: light grey cargo pants and a charcoal tunic. Still a far cry from the elegance of the Coruscanti blue she’d grown fond of, but at least it was an alternative to the dreadful khaki and orange that everyone in the Alliance seemed to love so much.

She tied her hair up in a half-bun, letting the rest fall in loose waves. Yavin’s humidity had undone the sleek, pin-straight style she used to wear on the galactic capital. That version of herself, a persona she spent years refining, from posture to appearance, had been disciplined down to the roots of her hair, every strand tamed and lacquered into place. A mask of polish and control. She’d worn it for so long that it had fused with her skin, she no longer remembered what she looked like underneath.

When she glanced in Vel’s dull mirror, she saw someone softer, unfamiliar. It disturbed her at first, it was like being exiled from her own skin. She tucked the shirt inside the pants, straightened her back and tilted her chin up. She looked at herself again, and saw a glimpse of someone she could recognize. Better than nothing.

Kleya stares up at the Great Temple, millennia old stone carved in and hollowed out to host the pulsating heart of the Rebellion. What once was a symbol of evil has been repurposed into one of freedom, of hope. What a contradiction.

Cassian’s words echo in her mind, as unwanted and annoying as when he uttered them.

You need to see the place you helped build.

The Rebel base buzzes all around her, animated by a type of earnest enthusiasm that is foreign to her. Even in the early years when she was still a child, before she learned endurance and ruthlessness and all the things a Rebellion needed not to fizzle out and die, she never had this. She was hateful, and she was furious, and she was committed, body and soul. But she was never joyful.

She had always been good at being invisible. She made an art of it. She survived by making herself seem unimportant, someone so unworthy of notice that her enemies didn’t even realize they had invited a snake into their home. It was a choice in service of the Cause. Here, the choice has been stripped from her. It’s no longer a camouflage. She is irrelevant.

She is standing still in the middle of a machine she helped build, and that she has no idea how to operate. She and Luthen built this in the dark before it had a name, fed it their blood, and the blood of countless others. Now, the Alliance has a name, and insignia, and a ruling council that knows how to argue better than they know how to act.

A group of young pilots walks past her, talking about flight maneuvers. One of them laughs, bright and carefree. Kleya looks at them and feels in her bones the distance between who they are and what she is.

She doesn’t belong here. But she is here, with no other way except forward.

She hears him in her head.

Move.

She does.

She heads to the entrance of the temple, each step measured, purposeful now. She is about to walk inside, when a loud voice stops her.

“Kleya?”

It confuses her, the sound of her name spoken out loud. She turns, guarded, and then she sees him.

Wilmon Paak.

He limps towards her, his gait uneven but sure. The last time she saw him, he was pale and half-delirious, with a mangled leg she was sure would either kill him or have to be amputated. She was wrong, on both accounts. The boy making his way to her has both legs and eyes that brim with life.

“Stars, it is you,” Wilmon says when he reaches her. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

And before Kleya can do or say anything, he pulls her into a hug.

Kleya freezes. Her entire body goes stiff, arms awkwardly caught between them. She doesn’t return the gesture, doesn’t know how.

It’s mercifully short, at least. He pulls back, and she fights the urge to shrug and shake the discomfort out of her limbs.

“I heard you were in the infirmary. They let you go already? Are you ok?”

She sees his eyes scan the injuries across her face. There is genuine concern there. The best she can offer is a noncommittal nod. She does not bother explaining that nobody let her go, that she wandered off into a storm until she somehow ended up in Vel Sartha’s arms, and that she is very much not ok, not in any way that matters.

He breathes in relief, smiling. Then, his expression folds into something sadder.

“Cass told me about Luthen,” he says softly.

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t react beyond a slow inhale.

She senses Wilmon’s grief. His emotions are written all over his face, open and sincere in a way that would have Luthen smack him across the back of his head for letting his vulnerabilities transpire so recklessly.

She knows Wilmon had grown to care for him, that his affection for Luthen had become something deeper than respect or admiration. He probably cried over Luthen’s death more than she did. It’s a strange thought to have. It settles somewhere beneath her ribs, uncomfortable. She can’t decide whether it’s irritation, or envy.

“How did he… I mean, was it…?”

He fumbles with the words, his voice cracks around the question he can’t bring himself to finish.

“It was quick,” she says. “He didn’t suffer.”

She hears it again, the quiet beeping of the life support machine she turned off. She looks away and tries to ignore it.

Wilmon nods. His shoulders sag. He rubs his eyes once, then smiles softly.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, honest.

Kleya makes a sound with her throat. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Cassian didn’t leave me much of a choice,” she grumbles.

Wilmon huffs out a laugh. “He does that, doesn’t he? He can’t help but save people.”

She thinks of that moment in the safehouse, when she insisted Cassian would memorize the information she had acquired and go. But he wouldn’t leave, not without her.

She never had any doubt about how things would go, how they were supposed to go. She would pass along the intel Luthen had died for, Cassian would take it to the Rebel Alliance, make sure they were ready to fight back, and then she would follow Luthen’s path. A blaster bolt to her head.

Only in hindsight does she realize how naïve she truly was, in a way she hadn’t been since she was a little girl. She wouldn’t have had the privilege of ending her life quickly, or to go down fighting. One stun grenade had been enough to incapacitate her. Had Cassian not been there, she would be in an ISB interrogation facility now, being subjected to inconceivable forms of torture and all the atrocities Luthen died to protect her from.

No. No, I’m doing the comms.

No, you’re not!

It should have been her at the gallery.

He saved her against her will one last time.

And then, in the safehouse, Cassian did it again. He refused to abandon her, like her life mattered more than the intel she was providing.

Idiot.

Wilmon’s voice reels her back. “Have you been through orientation yet?”

When she doesn’t answer, he nudges her with an elbow.

“Come on, then. I’ll give you a tour.”

She hesitates only for a moment, then falls into step behind him. She is forced here; she might as well familiarize herself with the place. Wilmon shows her the mess hall, a bunch of tables and benches pulled together underneath a reinforced tent. It isn’t crowded, most people must have already eaten and moved on to their daily task. Wilmon talks the whole time, something about the caf machine breaking every other day and which food to avoid. She doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

They pass a prefab structure where crates are being offloaded. Standard-issue uniforms, gear, spare clothes. She makes a mental note to inspect it later and see if she can find something decent. She doesn’t want to keep stealing Vel’s clothes.

“Bunks are in there,” Wilmon says, pointing to the row of barracks she had seen on her way there. “That’s where most people sleep. I lucked out. Got my own tent with Dreena.”

A light blush tinges his cheeks while he says it, his face softening in a way that reveals just how young he actually is. Kleya thinks of herself at that age. She never had that tenderness in her, nor anyone to direct it to.

Wilmon clears his throat, as though embarrassed by the way she is staring at him. “They’ll give you a spot once you’re assigned your role and credentials. Based on that, you might get a private accommodation, too.”

Kleya doesn’t say anything. The idea of sleeping elbow to elbow with a bunch of strangers makes her want to crawl out of her skin. In the grand scale of things, it is a childish thing to be concerned about. Still, she is.

“Hey, I get it,” Wilmon says, no doubt seeing the look on her face. He points at his leg. “When I got grounded, I thought I’d hate it here. But this place… it’s good. People keep coming from all over the Galaxy, they all want to be part of this, they want to stand up to those bastards. And now we’re so many we actually have a chance to hit them, and hit them hard. We’re an army.”

He doesn’t seek her approval. He just offers a small smile and shrugs. “Give it a chance. It’ll surprise you.”

They move inside the Great Temple through the hangar bay. It is cooler inside; the stone walls absorb a lot of the heat from the jungle. The space is loud, mechanics running diagnostics on starfighters, soldiers coming and going. An astromech droid rolls past and bumps into Kleya’s leg. It beeps an apology before readjusting its course and scuttling away. Wilmon guides her through the hangar and shows her a row of turbolifts.

“Most ops are run on the upper levels,” he says. “Council Room, command center, comms hub. They’re all up there.”

Her attention piques.

“Can I see?” she asks.

“Uh, sure. But there isn’t much. The area’s restricted. You have to be part of Intelligence to get access.”

They go up the turbolift and exit on the second level. It’s quiet compared to the hangar bay, the lights dimmer. Wilmon leads her down a hallway that spiders out in different directions. Fewer people, too.

They reach a sealed door. An access panel glows softly beside it.

“Command center is through there,” Wilmon explains with a shrug. “I told you there wasn’t much to see.”

He is already walking back, but Kleya lingers, her eyes on the door. That’s when a woman walks past her, eyes fixed on the datapad in her hand. She doesn’t notice Kleya as she approaches the panel. She punches in a code without even looking. Kleya’s eyes narrow, tracking the movement of the woman’s fingers, the precise sequence of each press.

The door slides open with a hiss and the woman disappears inside the dark room. Kleya catches the green glimmer of terminals before the door slides shut again. Her fingers twitch, instinctively repeating the sequence. It’s already in her muscles before being in her mind.

“You coming?”

She glances back. Wilmon is waiting for her by a junction, looking bored.

Kleya gives one final look at the panel, then turns and catches up to him without a word.

-

The sunrays have burst through the bank of clouds by the time they come out. They reach a wide-open space carved out of one of the temple’s side chambers.

It’s a training yard. Dozens of recruits are fumbling their way through assembling and disassembling blasters. There is a row of shooting targets, but from the lack of blaster burns on them and the clumsiness of the trainees’ movements as they execute each exercise, Kleya can tell they are far from the lethal soldiers the Rebellion needs them to be.

“Again. Faster this time.”

Kleya hears her before she sees her.

Vel.

She paces among the recruits, inspecting their progress with a sharp gaze that leaves no room for error. She corrects grips, repositions arms into better angles. Her movements are efficient, her orders clear. She doesn’t have to raise her voice. She is shorter than most recruits, but she commands the space with the kind of presence that inspires immediate respect.

Next to Kleya, Wilmon notices someone he knows and drifts away with the promise to return. Kleya barely hears him. Her eyes stay on Vel.

She advances a few steps without realizing it, until she comes to stand by the edge of the yard, closer to the recruits. Vel is different here than she was on Coruscant. She is stripped of pretense. The sleeves of her tunic are rolled up to her elbows, a few strands of hair have escaped her updo and are stuck to her cheek. There is something magnetic about her, like she is lit from within. Vel had always been confident, even when she had no reason to be, even to a fault. She’d defy all the rules Kleya and Luthen had put in place with a cocksure attitude that made Kleya want to thwack the smirk off her face.

What she sees now is different. There are no vestiges of the rich privileged girl used to getting everything she wanted. There is someone else in her place, someone real. Kleya can’t stop looking at her.

In the middle of adjusting a girl’s stance, Vel looks up, wiping the sweat from her forehead, and her eyes land on Kleya.

Upon seeing her standing there, Vel’s face lights up in surprise. Her posture softens, just barely so, the corner of her mouth twitches up into something close to a smile. She lifts her head in a short nod of recognition, then turns back to the recruit in front of her.

Something flutters inside Kleya’s stomach. It’s unfamiliar, a spark that disorients her with its warmth. She shifts her weight and tries to ignore this foreign sensation she doesn’t have a name for.

Still, she keeps looking.

That’s when she hears them.

“It’s her, I’m telling you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Captain Andor stole a U-wing to pull her out of Coruscant. I’ve never seen Draven so pissed.”

Kleya stiffens. She glances to the side, where the voices are coming from. Two recruits, her age or less. Their half-assembled blasters lie abandoned on the table before them. One of them jerks his chin in her direction, none too subtly.

“She must be special to make him pull that kind of stunt.”

“Yeah. Or good in bed.”

They chuckle. Their voices aren’t even that quiet, like they don’t care whether they are heard or not.

Kleya hears them. Every word lands clear.

She turns her head just barely, enough to see them from the corner of her eye.

“No way,” the other one says. “Andor isn’t the type to stop using his brain for a girl.”

“He flew into the heart of the Empire for her. He’s either crazy, or she gave him something real nice for the ride.”

His companion elbows him. “You know what I’ve heard? Apparently she used to run with one of those fringe operators the Council hates. Some old guy who was around before the Alliance, crazier than Saw Gerrera.”

“Pre-Alliance? How old do you think she is?”

“I don’t know, but he was her handler, I think.”

“Yeah…” the other replies with a snicker. “I bet I know how he handled her.”

They both laugh, low and crude.

Kleya doesn’t blink. She stares ahead, her body a cage of locked muscles. Her hands curl into fists at her side, fingernails biting into the skin of her palms.

“She doesn’t look like a spy.”

“Look at her. I doubt an old guy kept that around for spy work,” the other says, his tone tinging with lewdness. “Think about it. Constantly looking over your shoulder, the Empire breathing down your neck… you’ve got to find a way to relieve all that stress or you’ll go crazy.”

His friend snorts. “You’re full of shit.”

“Want to put some credits on it? My guess is that he pulled her out of some sleazy hole in the low levels of Coruscant and she stayed with him. Showed him how grateful she was.”

They laugh again, so pleased with themselves.

Kleya doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. The rage that coils inside her is silent, cold.

She does not care about the lewd guesswork slung her way. She has known men like them. Men who talked without knowing, who degraded without fear, or shame, because they believed themselves powerful, and her weak. She used it to her advantage, weaponized their assumptions. They looked at her face, her youth, and only saw what they wanted, something soft and breakable. She let them underestimate her. It got her inside rooms no one else could have entered. It got her out of others that might have killed her.

She does not give a fuck about what these men—these boys—make of her, what they reduce her to.

It’s what they say about him.

They don’t even know Luthen’s name, and they drag it through filth. They twist him into something grotesque, their fantasies so shallow and vile because that’s the limit of their childish imagination. An old man in a perverse arrangement with a young girl.

They have no idea. For all his cruelty and ruthlessness, for everything he took from her, the person they are accusing him of being does not exist. They can’t even begin to comprehend the kind of man he was.

The wind stinks of rust and engine oil. The sun is starting to go down, her jacket is too thin for the cold, her boots are splitting along the seams. She keeps her hands in her pocket and waits. She hates waiting.

Luthen is inside the cantina, trying to bargain for a room upstairs with the few credits they have left. Hotels are off-limits, they cannot risk being logged in. He told her to stay outside. Nargotha is not the right planet to play the daughter card. Vulnerability here doesn’t attract sympathy, it attracts fangs.

She kicks the dirt with the tip of her boot and huffs, trying to ignore the way her stomach is eating itself. They haven’t had a decent meal in two days.

“You lost, sweetheart?”

She turns her head and sees a man strolling towards her. Tall and lanky, dark coat of synth-leather, greasy hair slicked back. He flashes a smile at her, his teeth yellow.

She doesn’t answer, just looks away and straightens her back, staying very still even if her heartbeat ticks up.

He chuckles low and shifts closer.

“You’re not scared, are you? I’m just being friendly.” She feels his eyes on her, raking over her. “How old are you, love? Thirteen? Fourteen? It’s not safe for a young girl like you to be out here on your own.”

“I’m not alone,” she says without looking at him.

Inside her pocket, she tightens her grip around the handle of the switchblade. Luthen gave it to her five months before, told her to always keep it on her.

He leans in, undeterred, smiling wider when she takes a half-step back.

“You hungry? You look hungry,” he says, his voice smooth in a way that makes her skin crawl. Her thumb on the knife finds the button that will deploy the blade.

She remembers what Luthen taught her.

Soft part of the thigh.

Abdomen.

Groin.

Before the man can say more, the door of the cantina hisses open and Luthen steps out.

Her breath leaves her in a sharp exhale. She doesn’t move, doesn’t call out, just meets his eyes. That’s all he needs. He takes in the scene in a single glance, the man too close to her, the tension in her shoulders, her right hand buried in her pocket.

Then, his eyes shift to the man, glacial.

“Evening,” the man says with a phony amiable tone. Upon seeing Luthen, a full head taller than he is, his demeanor changes. He straightens, runs a hand through his hair and pastes on a smile, different to the one he used on her. “I didn’t know she was waiting for someone. Saw her out here, and with how these streets are… I thought she was on her own.”

“She is not,” Luthen says, a warning in his voice.

The man lifts his arms in a gesture of peace. “Got it. She’s yours, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Your daughter?”

Instead of answering, Luthen grips her shoulder and pushes her along, hard enough to make her stumble. He walks fast, her tired, shorter legs struggle to keep up. She knows he is angry. What she doesn’t know is who that anger is directed at: the man, himself, or her.

The man follows them. She hears his footsteps right behind them. She makes to turn her head, but Luthen yanks her forward.

“You were looking for a place to stay, weren’t you?” he says once he has caught up to them. “Vogren’s a crook. Always taking advantage of outworlders. I can make you a good offer.”

Luthen ignores him, doesn’t slow. He goes down a narrow alley, but the man steps in front of them, blocking the way and forcing them to stop walking.

“I’ve got a nice, private room I can give you for the night. A hot meal, too. Credits aren’t an issue.”

“We’re not interested,” Luthen says, emotionless.

“Are you sure? The little one looks tired… When was the last time you ate? Slept in a real bed?”

He’s smiling again, that oily smile that made her want to squirm away.

“It’s two blocks from here,” he says. “You can have it for free.”

“Nothing is for free.”

The words are out of her mouth before she can swallow them back. Luthen’s eyes snap to her, furious. She throws the glare back at him but then she notices the look on the man’s face. He is staring at her. Something flashes in his eyes, something dark and ugly. She regrets opening her mouth.

“I see why you keep her,” he drawls, his focus back on Luthen. “Not a lot of girls like this one in this gutter, no.”

He licks his lip, makes a smacking sound. “One hour alone with her and the place is yours.”

She freezes.

Nausea rises so fast she can’t breathe through it. Her mouth goes dry, the back of her eyes sting.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

She wants to run. She wants to hide behind Luthen’s legs.

She chances a look at him. He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t uttered a word. It terrifies her. His lack of reaction.

The man grins, emboldened by Luthen’s silence. He takes it as interest.

“She’s not your daughter, am I right? I could tell right away. Makes it even easier.”

The man is openly leering at her now, his eyes crawling over the shape of her, peeling her apart.

“I bet she’s a handful. Takes effort to keep her in line. What do you say? Get yourself a drink, take a shower, while I take care of her a little while.”

He leans in, talks like he is doing Luthen a favor.

“I can tell you’re a man who treasures his things. I’ll treat her right, don’t worry. Won’t do nothing she hasn’t already done with you.”

It all happens in the time of a breath.

She doesn’t see Luthen pull out the blaster.

There is a flash of red, the sharp crack of the bolt.

The man collapses to the ground, his mouth still stuck on that filthy grin. Smoke curls from the hole in his chest.

She doesn’t scream. Just stares wide-eyed and frozen at the dead body while her stomach protests against the smell of scorched flesh. She is familiar with it.

Luthen tucks the blaster back under his coat and crouches beside the corpse. He pats him down, finds a small bundle of credits and pockets them.

Then he rises.

“Move.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t check on her, doesn’t ask her if she is ok. She obeys, hurrying after him on unsteady legs. When he grabs her arm, not roughly this time, she thinks she can feel his hand tremble.

“So what’s the bet? Ten credits?”

“Make it twenty.”

She wants to eviscerate them. She knows she could. She could turn around and reduce these children to tears, to nothing, with a single phrase.

She swallows the bile and anger and turns to walk away, to let this slough off her the way she has trained herself to, when a voice cuts through the air.

“Rek. Zeno.”

Vel strides towards the two recruits, stone faced. Kleya watches the moment realization dawns on their faces, how pathetically they scramble to attention, all their bravado gone.

“Major Sartha,” the one called Rek stammers.

Vel stops right in front of them, hands clasped behind her back.

“Enjoying yourselves?” she asks, pressing her lips into a razor-sharp smile.

The boys pale. Vel barely reaches their shoulders, but they don’t dare look at her in the eyes.

“Major, we were just—”

“Talking,” she cuts him off. “Yes, I heard. You’ve been talking and talking, while everyone else has been running their drills. You two, on the other hand, must be so good that you don’t need these exercises, am I right?”

The yard has gone silent, everyone’s attention on the scene unfolding.

“I think we should put that to the test,” Vel says. “Go to the targets.”

Rek and Zeno glance at each other. Kleya recognizes the flicker of panic in their eyes.

When they don’t move, Vel grabs two training blasters from the rack and shoves them in their hands, hard. They fumble with the weapons, almost dropping them.

“To the targets,” she repeats, tone hard as steel. “Now.”

They drag their feet to the firing line, cowering under the weight of all the eyes on them.

“Five shots each,” Vel orders. “Show us all how exceptional you are.”

The first one gets into position. His grip is too lax, his shoulder too high and stiff. Kleya knows he’s going to miss before he even shoots.

He pulls the trigger. The blaster kicks to the left, the bolt misses the target entirely. He tries again and barely grazes it. He adjusts his grip, hands sweating. The recoil diverts the bolt far and wide. Again and again, a complete failure. The second recruit fares no better, only manages to hit the outer ring once.

When they finally lower the weapons, they are red-faced with humiliation.

Vel lets the silence stretch. She walks up to them, slowly. She isn’t smiling now. Any trace of sarcasm is gone.

“You have no discipline. You have no respect. Let me make one thing very clear now,” she says, her voice cold and unflinching. “This isn’t a game. There is no room in this Alliance for simpering children who talk shit more than they can shoot straight. We don’t need them. And we don’t want them.”

They keep their eyes downcast, looking like they’d rather crawl into the jungle and vanish. Zeno mumbles something, the beginning of a stuttered apology, but Vel doesn’t let him speak.

“You don’t care about training? Fine. You can scrub the ‘freshers clean for the next two weeks. Best believe I’ll check that they’re spotless.” She leans in and lowers her voice to something threatening. “And if I hear either of you speak like that again… if I ever hear anything like what I heard today, I’ll personally put you both on the first outbound and send you back to whatever rock you came from. Have I made myself clear?”

They nod quickly.

Vel sends them off with a glare. “Get out of my sight.”

They scurry away, keeping their heads low in shame.

Kleya watches them go until they disappear inside the temple. When she turns, Vel is beside her.

“Are you alright?” she asks. Her voice is softer, all the fierceness gone from her eyes.

Kleya nods once, but it’s an automatic reaction. Her jaw is still tight, her back rigid with tension. She wants to say she is fine, just to get Vel to stop looking at her with concern. It should be easy by now; she has done it countless times before. But the words refuse to leave her mouth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally says, though it’s so quiet lacks the sharpness she meant to instill in her voice. “I’ve heard worse.”

Vel’s gaze lingers on her, neither prying nor pitying. “It doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Kleya blinks. Once, then once again, a nervous tic she hasn’t been able to kick out of her body. This isn’t her. She isn’t someone who is unsettled by a stupid comment. She doesn’t need another person to fight her battles for her.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Vel asks, gentle.

Kleya’s mouth parts, but nothing comes out. Her eyes drop to her boots. She faced the most dangerous people in the galaxy and never hesitated, not in a decade at least. Here, she feels small.

The twitch in her fingers is back. This is her sanctuary. Her supposed new home. She must share it with people who think Luthen used her and that she earned her place in the Rebellion on her back. She curses Cassian for not letting her die on her own terms.

Vel watches her closely for a long moment. Then, out of nowhere, she asks: “How’s your head?”

Kleya frowns and looks at her. “What?”

“Your head. Any pain? Dizziness?”

She shakes her head.

Vel nods. “Good.”

She turns to the training yard. “Listen up, everyone! Eyes front!”

The recruits, who had been murmuring amongst each other, snap to attention.

Vel steps forward, exuding authority again. “I want you to pay attention. You’re about to learn something.”

Kleya’s eyes narrow, not following. “Vel?”

Instead of answering, Vel nods to the weapons rack beside them. “Pick one.”

Kleya stares at her, rooted in place. Vel waits without pushing. That stirs something in Kleya’s chest, a fire of sorts. The nerve of this woman to think she can get her to do whatever she wants. It was like this before, too, when Vel was an asset in hers and Luthen’s network and she supposedly worked for them.

“What are you doing?” Kleya hisses.

Vel shrugs. “Showing them how it’s done. If you want to. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”

There is something in her tone. Her voice is lower, only meant for Kleya. It’s not a challenge, not quite a dare. It sounds more like an invitation.

Kleya glances around. All the recruits are looking at her. Curious, waiting. She doesn’t owe anyone a performance. When her gaze lands on Vel again, she finds her blue eyes staring at her like she already knows how this is going to go.

Insufferable, arrogant, little brat.

Fine.

Kleya exhales sharply, squares her shoulders and walks up to the rack. She surveys the weapons and selects a pistol smaller in size, testing the way it fits in her hand.

She walks to the firing line and stands where the two recruits stood only minutes ago. She lifts the blaster, moves her finger to the trigger. Everyone is staring. She tunes them out and focuses only on her body. There is a tightness in her ribs where she is bruised, it tugs her arm downward. She adjusts, tucks her elbow closer to her body and widens her stance, to make herself steadier. Her eyes follow the line from the barrel of the blaster to the target.

She breathes in through her nose, deep, controlled. Her heartbeat slows down.

She thinks about Rek and Zeno’s comments, purposefully replays them in her mind, turning their filth into fuel.

She remembers the rotten grin of the man on Narkotha.

Other grins, and eyes, and hands.

A trooper in a white corridor, the only thing standing between her and Luthen’s room.

She breathes out.

Pulls the trigger.

The bolt hits the target’s head dead center. A perfect shot.

She fires again. Another headshot. Then again, center mass, right where the heart is.

It’s like a switch flipped. She is no longer thinking. Her body falls into rhythm, remembers what it knows it can do. She fires in rapid sequence, each shot precise, clean. Two more to the heart. Another between the eyes. Over and over. All lethal. All perfect.

When she finally lowers the blaster, the silence around her is absolute. All the recruits are staring at her, some slack-jawed. And then there is Vel, watching her with her arms crossed and the smallest hint of a smirk on her face, like she knew this would happen all along.

Without a word to Kleya, Vel steps in front of the recruits and points a finger at the target, scorched black at every vital point.

“She did that with a concussion. After getting hit by an Imperial stunner.”

There is a ripple of murmurs among the trainees, young eyes filling with awe. Being the focus of so much attention is new to Kleya, and not exactly a comfortable experience, but she stands straight, doesn’t recoil.

“I don’t expect you to be that good today,” Vel continues. “Or next week. But if you think you’re going to survive this war by half-assing your training, think again.” She gestures at Kleya with a tilt of her head. “That’s the standard. Out there, it’s that or nothing. Remember that if you want to stay alive.”

She pauses to let her words sink in. “Now back to work.”

The yard comes back alive with movement and noise.

Kleya stands still for a moment, watching the recruits return to their drills. She heads to the rack and places the blaster back on it. That’s when Vel approaches her.

“I’d never seen you shoot,” Vel says, casually leaning her hip against the metal structure. “This could have gone disastrously.”

Her teasing tone earns her a scowl.

“Spare me the act,” Kleya bristles. “There was no need for all this.”

Vel shrugs. “Maybe not.”

She is quiet for a moment. Then, she leans closer, her voice a touch softer. “Feel better?”

Kleya considers lying. Rolling her eyes and mouthing off Vel with some barbed remark that will remind her who she is talking to. But it would be dishonest. Because the tightness in her chest is unwinding, and she feels realigned. Calm.

“I do,” Kleya admits quietly.

Vel nods. The ghost of a smile crosses her face, more in her eyes than her mouth. It’s not smug, nor triumphant. Just knowing. It dawns on Kleya that this is what Vel intended. Not to turn her into a spectacle for the recruits, but to give her something. A moment that felt solid. A reminder that she was still herself.

Kleya swallows. She doesn’t know how to express gratitude, how to respond to the strange kindness Vel keeps offering without demand.

If Vel expects her to, she doesn’t show it. Her eyes assess her, a quick once-over.

“You look better,” she states, more an observation than a compliment.

An amused twinkle lights up the blue of her irises when she recognizes her own clothes on Kleya. She cocks her head.

“Of course you took the only grey shirt.”

Kleya glances down at herself. “I’ll give it back. Mine was still damp—”

“Keep it,” Vel interrupts her with a wave of her hand. “It suits you. It never looked good on me anyway.”

Vel’s simple comment slips beneath Kleya’s skin and sends heat crawling up her neck, all the way to her ears. She doesn’t respond. Any words that come to mind feel too sharp or too soft and real. Silence is safer.

Mercifully, Vel doesn’t press.

“I’ve got to finish here,” she says with a nod to the training yard. “Don’t disappear, ok?”

She gives Kleya one last, lopsided smile, then she pushes off the rack and walks back to the recruits, swiftly snapping back into instructor mode.

Kleya watches her. That strange flutter is back. She presses her arms tight to her chest and lets the feeling sit there. Vel Sartha is the most confounding creature she has ever met. Perhaps, since she is stuck here anyway, she will figure out why it’s so hard for her to take her eyes off of her.

She is about to turn back inside the temple, when she notices something.

Someone.

Across the yard, half-shadowed by the stone wall, a recruit is staring at her.

He is young, maybe twenty-five. Buzzed blonde hair, lean frame. He isn’t working, nor pretending to. He just stands there, still as stone, watching her.

Kleya tenses, on instinct. His eyes aren’t curious or admiring like the others were before. They are piercing, fixed on her even after she catches him.

A cold feeling stretches up her spine and lingers. She tries to place him, but nothing comes up. She doesn’t recognize him, she is sure of it. And it unnerves her. Because he does.

He stares at her like he knows her.

And his eyes aren’t kind.

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Twenty Two♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Twenty Two Warnings: profanity, mentions of blood Visit my pinned post to see all other chapters.

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Twenty Two]

You wiped the blood spattered across your cheek, and it spread across your skin. Velvette smirked at seeing you, taking back the spear you held out to her, your face emotionless.

“Another successful day staking claim to territory?” She asked. You nodded wordlessly, stepping into your bedroom, then the en suite. She followed you, grabbing every bloodied article of clothing you peeled off and tossed.

“Turn around,” you said bluntly. “I’m taking my bra and underwear off now.”

Velvette turned. “So. Revenge.”

You sank into the hot water. “Yes, revenge.” You combed your fingers through your hair. “You can turn around now. Just keep your eyes-“ you flipped a finger to your face. “-Up here, dolly.”

Velvette spun around clumsily, face turning bright red. “Right, right.” She rested her elbows on the side of the tub, watching as you poured shampoo into your open palm. “So, who exactly are we getting revenge on?”

“We?” You said dryly. “It’s me who’s getting revenge. You three stay out of it.”

Vel sighed, drumming her fingers on the side of the bathtub. “Right, right. But who?”

You bit your lip. You weren’t even sure you wanted revenge- the more time you’d had to think about it, the less you trusted Alastor. But if you wanted to be sure about anything, you needed either Alastor or Lucifer in front of you. You needed to talk to them face-to-face. You’d only told the Vees you wanted revenge in a fit of angry passion- but you needed to take things slow, to find out the truth first. 

Being an overlord would be an asset either way. Your eyes slid to Velvette, who was looking at you expectantly. And if the Vees ever became a problem, you could just send them to whatever came after Hell. 

“No one yet,” you murmured slowly, full of thought. “But maybe once I find myself some answers.”

Velvette nodded. “And that is…?”

“I need to speak with Lucifer Morningstar.”

Velvette’s mouth turned into an ‘o’ shape, but one look at your face and she pressed her lips shut, pushing down all the questions. She stood up. “Well, there’s towels, I’ll send over your clothes, and, uh…” she sneaked a glance at you. “I’ll get going. Bye babes.”

“Bye. Vel.”

The door shut. 

-

“[name].”

You’d wiped off another smatter of blood from your face, stood over the now-dead overlord before you, as your eyes swept over the newly claimed territory, when you heard the familiar voice that sent your mind and body into overload. You snatched the spear up, pointing it straight in between Lucifer’s eyes.

“You take one step closer and I will make mincemeat of you.” You licked your lips. “Did you know cannibals quite like the taste of angels?”

Lucifer pushed the blade away from his face. “You talk as if I’m not ten times stronger than you,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours, “or as if you’re not an angel yourself.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not really any more, am I?”

“Well, we all have choices, angel.”

Your lip curled, and you looked away. “Whatever,” you muttered, lowering the spear. “What do you want from me?”

“To talk.” You looked up, and his face was pleading now. It always shook you, the way he could look like he was toying with you in one moment then begging you the next.

“Go on, then, talk.”

“I-“ he choked up, then looked away. His eyes flicked back, and he reached out. “C-can I touch you? Please, I… I haven’t seen you in so lo-“

“No.” You struggled to fight the wavering in your voice. “Not yet, no. I’m sorry.”

“Angel, whatever the reason you may be angry at me for-“

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“And so do you!” He burst out, then took a deep breath. “Please, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” you sighed. 

“[name], I- did you really threaten to burn the hotel down?”

“I- what?” Your eyes widened with outrage, as you lifted the spear once more. “Why would you say that?”

“I know it’s not the first thing to start with, but I just need to know, for Charlie-“

“For Charlie?” You spat. “To Hell with her. Who do you- who does she- who do any of you think you are?”

He stepped back, a scowl blooming on his face. “[name], I’m not done talking.” 

“Well, I am. Maybe you shouldn’t have started with an accusation of-“

“-It was a simple question-“

“-that I would never do-“

“[name], if you don’t start listening to me I swear to-“

“Who? God? The guy who fucking abandoned you? The guy who kicked you out of your only home-“

Lucifer pressed his lips together, fury blazing in his eyes, then his shoulders slumped. He reached his hand towards you. “[name], what- are you really… okay? I mean- I-“ He ran his hand through his hair. “What happened to you?”

You smacked his hand away, and he hissed, recoiling. Golden blood stained his white skin, where your now-sharp nails had cut into his flesh. Guilt bloomed fresh in your stomach, and tears sprang to your eyes as you stepped back, away from him, face crumpling. 

“You did.” 

“I- no, [name], I haven’t fini-“

“I’m done here.” You turned around, wings spread. “I need to go. I- come find me again, and I’ll-“ you drew in a shuddery breath. “I’m not in the right state of mind to be having a level-headed conversation with you right now.” Your voice weakened. “I’m sorry.”

You spread your wings, preparing for flight. He didn’t object. You didn’t turn around to check if he was even still there anymore as you launched yourself into the red sky. 

You wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t.  

-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You dragged your hand across your scalp, letting out a broken sob as the spear clattered to the floor. What the fuck was wrong with you? Why would you hurt him like that? Every time you closed your eyes, the image of his crestfallen face, cradling his hand, appeared in your mind. You were so prepared to just pick up the spear and drive it through your heart. 

The guilt was gnawing away at you until you would be nothing but an empty shell of all your mistakes. 

You took in a deep shuddery breath. But that wasn’t all. Instead of explaining everything, giving you a chance to ask him about Alastor’s recording, he immediately accused you of something as barbaric as- you cut the thought short, pacing the room. Why should you feel guilty? For all you knew, everything Alastor had said was true.

You could have found out if you had stayed longer, but your emotions were so out of control you would have definitely caused irreparable damage in a violent fit of fury. Leaving was the wiser option. There was always next time.

But was there?

And, despite all that, you still felt undeniably guilty. You sank to the floor, putting your head in your hands. 

You missed him. 

You missed his stability, the way he’d be there for you every year, the touch of his hand, the brush of his lips, the way his fingertips would trace your skin. But now nothing was certain. He could very well be the monster Heaven had told you he was.

“[name]?” 

You looked up to see Velvette standing in the doorway. You sighed, looking back down. She padded over to you, hoisting you up. “It’s late, babes. You should go to sleep. You look…” her eyes flicked over you and she sighed. “Tired.”

“That’s an understatement,” you laughed, voice cracked and raspy with the toll of heavy emotions weighing down on every inch of you. She dragged you over to the bed.

“Sweet dreams, you goddamn bitch,” Velvette sighed. You chuckled, eyes barely open. 

“Sweet dreams, Vel.” 

A/N: did anyone notice the callback to chapter four?

[morbidpandabear-blog]

Beneath The Silence

Part 3 of ?

Date posted - March 16th 2025

Hybrid au!

Chital deer hybrid! Jungkook x Reader x Golden Tiger hybrid! Taehyung x Fennec Fox Hybrid! Hoseok x Snow Leopard Hybrid! Yoongi

Eventual OT7 x Reader

Warnings! — Exhausted Hobi, fighting.

( Authors note — This chapter is still under editing. )

Chapter 3 — Familiar Face

———————————————————————————

"Take it easy," Y/N murmured, as she and one of her nurses carry the groggy hybrid through the front doors of her clinic, her voice gentle as she carefully helped the fennec fox hybrid into the room she had prepared for him. "Let me get you settled in." She said gently as she and another nurse began to get the exhausted hybrid into a gown. After getting him settled into a gown and in bed Y/N took a moment to assess the situation. This new hybrid was in dire need of care, clearly he was exhausted and mostly definitely malnourished like the two before him. So with a quick deep breath a small outward assessment of his body Y/N got to work, she had no intention of letting him suffer for even a second longer. "Hey," Y/N murmured, guiding a caring hand across his pale face I’m going to check you over, okay? Just relax."

The fennec fox hybrid didn't seem to resist, and he couldn’t muster much strength to respond. So Y/N began. Working quickly, she assessed his condition even further, making sure to give him fluids and check his vitals. She didn’t find any major injuries, only a few small already healing scratches and old scars. So his condition wasn't anything she couldn't handle. She could do this.

Before long, she was joined by the two hybrids she had already been taking care of. Both coming out of their room across the way having been informed by the head nurse that Y/N wanted to see them both. Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s worried expressions softened when they saw the fennec fox man laying on the bed, his breathing slow but steady now.

“Is he okay?” Taehyung asked, his voice thick with concern, his usual confident boyish charm replaced with an uncharacteristic tenderness.

Y/N nodded, offering them a reassuring smile. "He'll be fine. He just needs rest. He’s exhausted and a little malnourished, but nothing that can't be fixed."

The two men seemed to relax at the news, though they still hovered near the bed, their protectiveness clear. “But I do have a question, when he ran to me before he passed out he said your name Taehyung” Y/N spoke in a gentle voice, “would he happen to be a pack member of both of you?” Both boys glanced between each other as if wondering if the other would confirm the suspicion, eventually Taehyung leaned in, speaking in a hushed voice, he introduced the fennec fox by name.

"His name's Hoseok," Taehyung said softly, his voice full of fondness. "But we call him Hobi, He’s our third oldest hyung . He's always been the most optimistic of us all, always keeping us smiling even if it was hard for him to do so.."

Y/N nodded, understanding immediately. She could tell just from looking at Hoseok that he was someone who had a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, having to keep the younger ones from losing hope. She gently rubbed his arm, reassuring both him and his packmates.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, I promise," Y/N said. "You don’t need to worry, I’ll make sure he’s better in no time.”

———————————————————————————

Over the course of the next week, the three hybrids all seemed to recover rapidly. Hoseok, or Hobi as his packmates called him, began to regain his energy and his usual spark, even teasing Taehyung about his ferocious protective nature. Jungkook’s playful spirit returned, and Taehyung seemed less tense, his previously sharp edges softened by the care Y/N had shown them.

But as the week came to a close, the reality of the situation set in. The clinic was intended to be a temporary stop for hybrids like them, and Y/N knew that it was time to start discussing their future. They couldn’t stay at the clinic forever, and she needed the rooms for other patients.

She sat the three of them down, her heart heavy with the knowledge that they'd have to move soon.

“Alright, guys," Y/N began, her voice soft but firm. "You’re all healed now, and I know you’ll be okay on your own, but… until a shelter home opens up, I have a proposition.”

The three men looked at each other, their eyes filled with curiosity. Jungkook leaned forward first, his expression open and eager.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I have room in my house,” Y/N explained. “I can’t let you all stay here at the clinic, but you’re more than welcome to stay with me until a more permanent solution is found. I’ve got extra space, and you’ll be safe there.”

Taehyung, always the cautious one, raised an eyebrow, but there was no hesitation in his voice when he spoke “You’d really take us in?” Y/N smiled warmly, trying to ease the anxiety in his voice. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. I want to help.”

After a brief moment of silent communication between the three men, they all agreed. Jungkook grinned, Taehyung nodded with quiet appreciation, and Hoseok, still a little shy but grateful, gave her a small but blinding smile.

A day or so later Y/N had received the temporary emergency adoption papers for all three of the men, and as a group they followed her to her house to settle into their new home.

When they arrived at the house, or more technically the mansion the boys gasped in shock, Jungkook genuinely looked like a deer in headlights. “You live here?” Hoseok asked in utter shock as he stared at the regal cat statues lining the entry stairs. Y/N laughed, “Yes this is my humble abode, come in, my house is your house now too.” She said gesturing the boys inside.

Aside from Y/N’s grandfather being a ridiculously wealthy man and leaving his wealth to her, she had also made a substantial amount from the multiple books on hybrid health she’d written although most of the income from those went towards the clinic or hybrid charities.

After the boys got over the shock they decided to pick out their rooms, although there were multiple unoccupied rooms available Jungkook and Taehyung took to rooming together as neither one wanted to be alone. Hoseok however picked a room for himself albeit still close to the other twos room. Once the decision was made they began the process of settling in.

A week of laughter and shared moments later, the boys and Y/N had decidedly grown close, the three men deciding that Y/N was a special kind of human. One evening Y/N stood over the stove cooking dinner, she had decided to cook lasagna, she had just begun to brown the meat as Jungkook returned from the backyard greeting her as he headed upstairs when the atmosphere shifted. Y/N was focused on the stove, stirring the meal, unaware of the shadow that loomed behind her.

———————————————————————————

The back door creaked open, and before Y/N could register the movement, the intruder lunged. A guttural snarl echoed through the room, and Y/N gasped in shock. But before she could even scream, a deafening roar pierced the air, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing into the wall.

At the same time as the intruder entered the kitchen Taehyung had rounded the corner from the stairs. He’d seen the shadow of the other hybrid and his instincts to protect had him reacting instantly as he slammed the attacker back. The two hybrids collided in a blur of claws, fangs, and fury, a dangerous tangle of limbs as they fought for control.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she backed away from the scene. She saw Jungkook and Hoseok rush into the kitchen, their eyes wide with panic, as they rushed to check on her. Their voices drowned out by the sounds of snarls, all Y/N could do was watch as Taehyung fought with a terrifying intensity.

Finally, Taehyung managed to pin the attacker, his jaws snapping inches from the stranger’s throat. The battle slowed, and as Taehyung caught his breath, his furious expression faltered. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared down at the intruder, his voice barely a whisper as he muttered, “Yoongi-hyung… is it really you?”

The realization hit everyone like a freight train. The hybrid who had just tried to attack Y/N, was none other than Yoongi, another lost pack mate.

Shock and confusion filled the air as the two hybrids locked eyes, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Taehyung lept off Yoongi, giving him space to pick himself up. Hoseok and Jungkook stayed by Y/N just in case Yoongi decided to strike again. As Yoongi got up onto his feet dusting off his worn out jeans he hissed out with menace directed at the human, “Would anyone care to explain why you’re here with a human?” He spit the word out like it burnt his tongue just to say it as he glared at Y/N with a look of suspicion.

As Y/N noticed the look of distaste Yoongi sent her way she gulped, thinking to herself that this entire situation has just gotten a lot more complicated.

[mrs-willow]

"A Raven and a Falcon" benji x oc

Disclaimer: I am not familiar with the Dance of Dragons books or the accurate storyline, so I have decided to change it to fit this story. I could not find an exact or reliable family tree for either House Blackwood or House Arryn, so I just made my own characters.  

The dance never actually happens!!! Viserys doesn’t die until he reaffirms Rhaenyra as his heir, and after that big family dinner, Rhaenyra returns on Dragon back, and she and Alicent talk out everything. There are mutual apologies, tears, laughter, and everyone lives. 

This is a sappy slow burn with angst, fluff, smut later, and everything I make up when I disassociate.  

This is literally my first post on here or any other website, so please be nice. I am writing this solely for my own enjoyment… there needs to be more Benjicot Blackwood material on this app.  However, I would still love feedback, and if there is something that you think would add to the story, message me, and I’ll see what I can do. 

Summary: Lady Lillian of the House Arryn reaches her eight and ten in a fortnight and has yet to be wed or promised to another Lord. After returning from Kings Landing for the coronation of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, she is informed of her Father and brother's plans to wed her to a man she has only seen glimpses of and whose reputation is insanity and bloodlust. Lillian learns to love this new stranger, or will she be forced into a life of loneliness and solitude and made to produce heirs until she dies?

Warnings: smut (later), blood, violence, cursing, period typical sexism, alternating POVs, (idk lmk if I should add more stuff)

Chapter 1

As Caelan strode through the corridors of the Eyrie he pondered the rumors of the castle being haunted just as Harenhall is. The man had grown up running through these halls with his siblings, escaping the septas and playing games of war and duels, and yet he could not remember the strange sound of wind whistling through the columns and doorways, creating the strange feeling that someone was trying to speak with you. That fate awaits one as one grows from boy to man. 

Caelans riding boots echo on the dark stone as he makes his way to the Arryn family's apartments. The decorations adorning the walls turn from mosaic replicas of the vast mountain range the Castle was built in, with striking figures of falcons soaring through twenty-foot billowing clouds to soft tapestries displaying a man, his wife, and four beaming blonde children. Metalwork of falcons and moons adorns the tall arches of doorways, and vases of flows rode in from the reach sit colorfully in vases. 

This deep into the castle, the man and the flowers are protected from the harsh rain and winds whipping through the outermost corridors and open rooms. Still, as he enters Lord Arryns personal study, Caelan finds all four hearths of the great room lit as the aging man cannot escape the chill of a month's travel on the King's Road during winter.

At the sound of someone entering the great room, the old man looks up from the pages he had previously been contemplating. It's funny how a few words can cause so much stress. Robert Arryn was a kind man, loved by his bannerman, and respected in court and on the battlefield. His Knights of the Vale were among the fiercest armies in the Seven Kingdoms and were recently praised by the new Queen Rhaenyra when Robert matched them south as a show of support for the true Queen and a warning for those who mean to harm her. Among his Knights, the Seasnakes Armada, the Blackwood host, and the Northmen showed formidable support for their true queen. Yet, Robert is no longer a twenty-year-old man poised for battle and all manner of foolish, daring adventures, and this long trip has taken its toll on the man's bones.

He muttered as he met his son at the table. 

“The realms delight should’ve lived up to the title and held the coronation in spring to spare all us old men the pain of the cold set into our bones.” 

The young man subtly rolled his eyes away from his disgruntled father. “If you had listened to my warnings of the rain while on horseback, perhaps you would not be in such discomfort, Father,” Caelan teased with a small smirk. 

Robert sent the young man his most fearsome glare, “I will not be laughed at in my own home, boy. Now go get your father a pelt so he might not freeze to death in the damn winter.” 

Calan rose, joking that the “bloody Starks are always right at some point. Winter is Here.” 

The two men sat side by side momentarily, gazing into the crackling fire. One old man sat grateful that he had not been called to fight another war, “so much death and cruelty in the world,” he thought, “thank the old gods and the new that my children will not know war.” The younger man sat gazing at the flames, contemplating his father's reasons for calling him here at such a late hour with the castle all but asleep. His mind immediately drifted to the worst reasons for the summoning, and he prayed his worries would soon be eased when his Lord Father stopped being such a dramatic old crow.

“Father, why have you summoned me at such an odd hour?” Caelan questioned. The man knew better than to press his father for answers and thus sat patiently like a little boy waiting for his father's commands. 

Robert sighed. He then rose and retrieved the papers he had been studying when Caelan first arrived in the study. Wordlessly, Robert handed the letter to his son and resumed his place at the table, once again falling silent.

As Caelan reads the letter addressed to Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale, the reality of getting older becomes present and clear as the childhood he once knew begins to fade into blurry memories filled with love and laughter.

Caelan reaches his father's eyes, “Lillian is to be…” he pauses and lets his father's eyes answer his question. 

“She is to be Married,” Robert affirms. “She is nearly ten and eight; the time has come, and it would do her more harm than good to shelter her here until it truly is impossible for us to let her go or her to let us.”

Caelan leans back in the oversized chair he adorns, “She will be livid,” he warns his father. 

“Aye,” Robert agrees, “but that is the way of things and she cannot hide in these mountains forever.” 

“Father, I agree, but truly to that man?” Caelan questions. “You cannot possibly think that giving Lillian to a psycho would be wise?”

“Mind your tongue, boy,” Robert warns. “His father is one of my oldest friends and closest allies.” Robert reminds his emotional Son.

“Yes, of course, but that does not discredit the news we hear of his son. We mu-”

Robert rose swiftly from his chair, “I will hear none of this. Samwell Blackwood and I were raised side by side. We learned to shoot, ride, and wield swords together, and I trust that the man I grew up with raised a son who is equally honorable and just as he is.”

Caelan slumped forward, defeated. “At least allow me to inform her of this change to her life?” the man asked. “She will be more forgiving if it comes from me rather than you.”

Robert sighed. He felt pride swell in his breast for his eldest son and his three younger children. He was proud to have raised them in a manner that made them friends and confidants rather than enemies. He knew then and there that his eldest son would be equally loved and honored as Lord of the Vale when death came for him. 

“I will allow it, but it must be done in the morning. She will leave the day following her name day.” 

“Thank you, father. If I may retire to my chambers, I sense tomorrow will be a trying day.” 

Robert raised his hand and bid his son a good night, then called after him, “Caelan? Please tell her that I’m sorry.”

Caelan paused and sighed, “Father, you must tell her this yourself. Soon, she will no longer be a short walk from your own chamber.”

With that, the heir to House Arryn headed back toward his chambers and noticed that the howling in the halls sounded sweater, slightly more musical and feminine.

Back in the study, Lord Arryn stood in front of the hearth in contemplation. He reminisced about the times his family was still whole and couldn’t help but feel that he was chipping away yet another piece of his soul in allowing his daughter to leave the safety of her family.   

[raindrop-21]

Scarred Love: Chapter Two: Need To Know

A/n: Here's chapter two! chapter three will be posted anytime this week as it's not the weekend anymore and I have school, so please keep that in mind! I've also given reader's friend a name: Eve!

word count: 1,114

Cw: somewhat insecure reader, Ghoap x f!reader, soulmates, talk about scars

Masterlist

“Yes! Yes! Go! Go talk to them!” She says excitedly.

“What would I even say to them?” You reply, your voice a mixture of caution and want.

Your friend clasps your hands and looks at you with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen on her face. She looks at you with the determination you wish you could have. Her determination is somewhat giving you some determination of your own.

“Girl, I’ve known you for so long now. You’ve never liked the idea of having a soulmate, but the look in your eyes when you look at them is something I’ve never seen from you before. You’re looking at them with want and need. Go talk to them.” Eve says with the most loving and understanding look in her eyes.

You advert your eyes from her gaze in self-doubt. “But what if they think I’m just screwing with them…I’ve never heard of a person having two soulmates so I doubt they have either…”

Eve scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Dear, I don’t think they’d think that. I think they might find it strange that they have another soulmate and didn’t know about it. If you really think they’d doubt you with only being able to see the scars on your face, then take off your jacket. They’ll recognize the scars as their own. Recognize you as their own.”

You know she’s right, but you still can’t help but feel insecure.

“But still…They already have each other…What they decide that they don’t need or want me?” You sigh weakly.

Eve sighs disapointedly. “Sweetheart, if they decide that they don’t want you even though you might be their soulmate. Just know, I’ll personally beat their asses no matter how much bigger or stronger they are than me.”

She pulls you into a deep, strong hug. One that always grounds you and calms your nerves. You hug her back, knowing that she means it, even if it’s unlikely that she’d actually physically fight them. You take a deep breath, thank her, and walk towards the group of men. Once you’re within a couple of feet of the men you make yourself known.

“Uhm… Hello?” You say in a semi-quiet but confident voice.

One of the men, one with a blue cap with a British flag on it turns around at the sound of your voice. He looks you up and down and then smiles and holds out his hand.

“Hey there little lass, name’s Kyle.” He says sweetly with a toothy smile.

“Hi… Uhm, I kind of wanted to speak to your friends over there.” You say with a hand gesture to the two whom you think are your soulmates. A tall blonde man with a black surgical mask on, and a brunette man with a short mohawk who’s a tad bit shorter than the blonde man.

“Oh? You want to speak with Johnny and Simon? If you’re looking for a fun night, sorry but they’ve already found their soulmate; each other.” He says gently as if trying not to let you down.

“No, no, you don’t understand; I think I’m also their soulmate.” You say as you remove your jacket showing Kyle the scars that decorate your arms.

He takes a look at your arms and his expression turns to one of shock and his mouth makes a perfect little ‘o’ shape.

“Oh….Oh! Holy shit!” He immediately recognizes the scars as the ones he’s seen on Johnny and Simon’s arms a million times. “Simon! Johnny! Come here for a second!”

Johnny and Simon walk over to where you and Kyle are standing. Even though you’ve made up your mind to speak to them, you can’t help but want to walk away and forget for fear of rejection.

“What do y’need Garrick?” The blonde says in a gruff voice as if he’s annoyed to be called away from what he was doing.

“Simon, don’t be like that, Kyle’s got a bonnie girl with ‘em. Maybe he wants to introduce us to his Lassie.” The brunette jokes, which earns a scoff from Simon.

Your hands tremble a bit, and you clasp them behind your back nervously as you try to find the right words to speak. What if they laugh at me? What if they think I’m playing some sick prank? Any and every situation of what could go wrong played through your head, but you still went through with it.

“Actually, I’m here for you guys…” You say nervously as you look at the two men in front of you. The lights behind them have been somewhat engulfed by Simon’s large frame, so they can’t exactly see the scars on your face that match theirs.

“What do you mean ‘here for us’, Lass?” Johnny asks curiously with a raised eyebrow. Simon gives you an equally curious look.

“I-I believe I may be your soulmate.” You do this with all the confidence and courage you can muster. Your response to his question makes both Johnny and Simon laugh, not at you, but at the idea of having another soulmate.

“Lassie, I don’t think that's right. You can’t have two soulmates.” Johnny says with a light chuckle still present in his voice.

You sigh, a tad disappointed and upset. Disappointed because, even though you didn’t expect them to believe you they didn’t. And upset because you think they’re laughing at you.

“Look…I know it’s absurd. It sounds insane even to me.” You think for a moment on the way to ‘prove’ it to them and you settle for removing your jacket. You remove your jacket, but then you realize that Simon is blocking the light. “Hey, uh, could you move over a bit, you’re blocking the light.”

“Oh, sorry.” Simon huffs before moving over and letting the light shine onto you.

Once the light shines on you, the scars on your face, neck, arms, and shoulders are visible to your eyes. Their eyes trail from each little scar, a trail they’ve followed on each other’s bodies a million times.

“Holy shit…” They mumble in unison. 

“I-I….” At this point, all the words you wanted to say have left you. You’re left waiting for whatever the two men in front of you are going to do next.

Simon and Johnny look at each other, and then back at you, and then back at each other. They give each other a nod before looking at you and reaching out their hands.

“Come with us.” Johnny says with a bit of urgency in his voice. 

You’re stuck in your own mind. Do you take their hands and follow them or do you refuse them and say you want to talk here?

Taglist: @under-the-dirt @littlebluespoon