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ohdeerfully · 2 months

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K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.”

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming.

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes.

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response.

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual.

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face.

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #angst #TW: child death #child death #ohdeerfully

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miniimight · 7 months

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DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

#rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #rindou x reader #rindou imagines #rindou #haitani #tokyo revengers angst #rindou haitani angst #rindou angst #haitani brothers #haitani rindou #haitani rindou x reader #haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #bonten #bonten x reader #bonten rindou

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pellucid-constellations · 5 days

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If It All Fell (7)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, PINING, Azriel's POV and he is incredibly sad

a/n: Yay here's more <3 I promise it gets happy and there's a little teaser of what that'll look like in this part. Let me know what you think pleaseee :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

Azriel

Azriel’s heart came to a thudding halt.

“What was that?” he asked softly, trying to play it off. Trying to pretend as if you hadn’t just asked him the one question he had hoped would never come. Because you were supposed to get better before it came to this.

He had begged the Mother for any kind of reprieve.

She hadn’t listened, as Azriel had expected.

“Mates,” you slurred, your head bobbing on his shoulder. The High Lords had exhausted you. “Helion said you… he said something about a mate. I can’t remember exactly… but no one’s told me what that is.”

Pure adoration tore at Azriel’s chest. Your words blurred together as you sunk deeper into his arms, and Gods, did he love you. He let himself imagine that you were drunk—just for a moment. You were drunk and still his and he was carrying you home after a night at Rita’s.

“Azriel?”

The moment ended and panic replaced the temporary comfort that had consumed him.

“Yes, my love?” It had slipped, a mistake fueled by his clouded mind. Azriel counted his footsteps and held his breath, but you only hummed in response, too drained to notice the endearment that had fallen with such desperation from his lips.

“You were telling m’about mates,” you reminded him. Your arm slipped from his neck and landed in your lap. Azriel held you closer, feeling your body begin to lose its grip.

“Of course,” he dutifully replied. “A mate is… it is a gift from the cauldron. An equal to share a bond with.”

“Like a lover?”

Azriel could hardly piece your words together with the way they tumbled out.

That, and his stomach was twisting, reminding him of the very bond that was crying out within him. This was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. He didn’t have to have this conversation with you last time; it had hurt you too much to even hint at the topic.

Back then, Azriel had been so deep in anguish he couldn't keep food down, so desperate to just speak to you that his body rejected all else.

This was somehow worse.

“Much stronger,” he whispered, pressing his nose to your temple in an act of weakness. You didn’t notice. “Our souls are linked—mates I mean. A mating bond doesn’t always lead to the pair being lovers, but if they choose to do so, it’s enhanced. It’s unexplainable, truly, having someone connected to you that you love so deeply.”

“That sounds nice,” you mused, a melodic flow of syllables starkly contrasting the effort with which Azriel was trying to string his sentences together.

“It is.” He gave in to his urges and looked down at you in his arms, your hair flushed against his leathers, your face soft and drowsy. “It is wonderful.”

You cracked an eye open. Azriel had stopped walking. “Do you have one?”

“What?” he choked out.

“You speak as if you know the feeling well. Do you have a mate, Azriel?”

“I—” There were no thoughts in his head, nothing but the sound of your voice and your question repeating itself like a bell tolling in a vicious pattern. “Yes,” he sputtered out. “I do, yes.”

You smiled softly, but it was paired with a furrowed brow and a light sigh. “Good,” you nodded to yourself. “You deserve a mate.”

Too much talking, too much thinking; your head lulled into his arm, face against his chest, and you were asleep.

Yes, this was much worse than the last time.

Azriel adjusted his grip and carried you back to the room you didn’t know belonged to the both of you.

The pounding in your head was your first indication that you were awake. You moved your hand to your hairline before opening your eyes, applying pressure in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.

Useless.

A small groan made its way up your throat. The night before, or whenever it was—you had no idea how long you’d been sleeping—was a jumbled mess in your mind. You remembered meeting Helion, being told you were in love with him, being told that you actually weren’t in love with him, and then he and Rhysand had entered your mind and left you as nothing more than a vegetable.

There were other pieces too, like Azriel carrying you back to your room and talking about… mates? Yes, that sounded right—the larger-than-life, effervescent partners bestowed upon fae by the cauldron.

And he had told you that he had one.

That was good. Great, even. Something stirred within you, an uncomfortable feeling, but you ignored it in favor of the pain radiating across your head. Gods, why did it hurt so much?

Helion and Rhysand had been in your mind. They were going to discuss things with you.

You shot up far too quickly, the motion sending shooting pains up your neck.

“What?” you heard a voice panic. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

Another jarring look to the side and you just about passed out from the pain. You caught a glimpse of Azriel before you squeezed your eyes shut to try and manage it, his large form folded into a chair by the door that was certainly not made to accommodate wings. You lowered your head into your hands and heard the chair screech against the floor.

“What is it, y/n?” Azriel asked, voice closer now.

You let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, just—it’s my head, give me a moment.”

He didn’t speak, but the room became dark. That seemed like an impossible feat, with the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls and letting in the rays of the day court sun. But the pounding in your head receded a fraction, and you could tell it was dimmer even from behind your eyelids.

“Does that help?” he asked, so low you could barely hear him.

You felt his breath at your arm.

“Yes,” you whispered back, and when you opened your eyes, Azriel was there. His wings had circled you, encasing you in a darkness that blocked out the world, his knees at the side of your bed.

“You got up too quickly,” Azriel offered.

“I know, but I wanted to hear what the High Lords had to say about the witch and my memories and what I need to do to fix everything. Have you heard anything?”

“Very little. I’ve been here.”

“For how long?”

“You slept for a day and a half.”

“And you stayed the entire time?”

“You requested I stay by your side. You’ve been here.”

You bit into your lip, the heavy weight of guilt loading onto your chest. Azriel flinched as if he felt it himself. “I wanted to stay,” he comforted. “It puts me at ease to… see you while we’re in this court. To know exactly where you are and who’s around you.”

“Because of last time,” you stated, but it was a question that hung in the air.

Azriel’s eyes tracked along the planes of your face. His hand twitched. “Yes, because of last time.”

He looked so serious, bordering on forlorn. Despite the pain in your head and the conflicting emotions rising within you, you attempted to lessen some of the load that seemed to bogg the shadowsinger down.

“You could have taken shifts with Cassian, you know. Or even, I don’t know, laid on the bed that’s the size of a small apartment. I was out cold the entire time—didn’t wake up once. I wouldn’t have noticed if you did,” you offered with a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his own expression lightening. “Cassian would fall asleep immediately. And, just to let you know, you did wake up. Several times.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “I think I would remember that.”

The shadowsinger bit back a smile and something within you shone at the playful look in his eye. “Right, so you don’t remember waking up and practically ripping that from my body?”

His eyes shot down to your chest, an action which you followed to find a large, unfamiliar sweater swathing your body in warmth. You looked further down at your hands, only to find the sleeves of the garment covering your palms and fingers as well.

An incredulous laugh bubbled in your chest. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t actually rip this off of you, did I?”

Azriel shifted his knees into a kneeling position beside you, his wings shuffling and creating a sound you had begun to find comfort in. “Well, you didn’t exactly ask politely.”

You groaned and shoved your face back into your hands. “Gods, that’s embarrassing. It’s because I was delirious, I swear. Those damn High Lords scrambled my brain.”

“Y/n, you have a penchant for demanding things in your sleep. Food, water, clothing, more blankets. Once you woke up to ask me for an entire roast duck and in the morning you had no recollection. You were quite aggravated that night.”

“No, stop, I can’t take this. I am melting into a puddle of mortification and you are making it worse.”

Azriel chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve grown used to it over the years. It’s almost charming, really.”

You peeked through your sweater-clad fingers. “You can’t mean that.”

“I mean it very sincerely. When you are sick or unwell, you sleep through the entire night. When you wake up and grab the neck of my sweater like you’re robbing me, I know things are okay.”

You groaned again, this time tilting your head back and immediately regretting the action when a pulse of pain permeated along your temples. But it wasn’t so bad anymore; Azriel and his wings made it better.

You took a moment to gaze upon his face in the proximity. He was smiling slightly, some humor still shining in his hazel eyes. The occasional shadow made a pass along his cheeks and by his ear, whispering secrets you weren’t privy to and then coming to wind around your body as well. His hair was mused and untamed, landing in soft patterns across his forehead.

Azriel was so beautiful it hurt.

“Does your mate ever get upset that we are so close?” you asked, the question not even fully formed in your head before it entered the space.

The smile slipped from Azriel’s lips and you regretted your impulsivity almost instantly.

“No,” he answered, a slight shake of his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Has something happened? Between the two of you?”

“Y/n, please don’t worry yourself over—”

“It’s just—Azriel, I know how hard all of this has been on you. When you spoke of your mate it was the first time I saw you look at peace. That’s why I’m asking.”

“You remember what I said?”

“All of it,” you smiled, but Azriel only looked grave. “Az—"

The shadowsinger jutted back as the familiarity left your lips. He sent his shadows out, their configuring forms covering the windows and the cracks in the doors until it was dark enough for him to remove his wings from around you. With him went the comfort of night-kissed air and warmth and all of the things that made sense in this life you had been dropped into.

“Rhys has requested that we meet in the study to discuss findings,” Azriel relayed, clearing his throat and standing from his place on the bed. “I laid out some of your things and a servant ran a bath when you started to stir. Do you need help—”

“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, eyes downcast, feeling as though you’d ruined something that was already painfully delicate.

“I’ll be here if you need me. Just outside the door.”

You believed him—you did—but something was missing. Something you couldn’t keep up with. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was in love with someone. Mor, maybe? Or one of the sisters Cassian talked about on occasion?

The thought of him with his mate made you nauseous.

You shouldn’t have asked.

“A replication?” you asked, running a hand along the side of your head in an attempt to look casual about the throbbing taking place there. “So… it is like last time?”

“Partially, but because the witch’s powers aren’t pure, she was unable to mimic what a full daemati can do. So, same outcome, fewer side effects,” Rhys offered, a calming presence across the table. “Witches often find sources to draw from because they don’t have access to their natural abilities any longer. Your source was—”

“An opening in her mind,” Azriel concluded, expression guarded as he sat stiffly beside you. “There were remaining injuries in her mind. The witch found her weak points and used them against her.”

Helion nodded, rounding one of the more ornate chairs and basking in the light streaming through the window. “Very astute. We thought there were no remnants of—”

“Don’t say his name,” Azriel warned.

“—of the attack,” Helion quickly corrected, obviously not in the mind to start an argument with the keyed-up spymaster. “But they must have been miniscule. We think she must have been an old witch, very practiced.”

“So what do we do now?” Cassian gruffly asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the windowsill. You turned to look at him, but the sunlight casting his shadow sent your head ablaze. You quickly righted your gaze and squeezed your eyes shut to compensate.

You felt shadows stalk beneath your feet and across the floor until they consumed the light of the window. If anyone had any comments on the shadowsinger’s act, they didn’t voice them.

“Now,” Helion breathed out, dropping into a chair and interlacing his fingers atop the oak table. “We wait. Just like the last time, this kind of power is not something we can simply undo. We need a witch, and witches are incredibly elusive.”

Trepidation gripped your heart, sending your lungs into a fiery descent. You were just supposed to wait? Wait and hope that maybe, possibly, they would find a witch and fix this before your life moved on without you in it?

Your breath came out in quick, uneven puffs, exacerbating the ache in your head.

Azriel sat up in his seat, high alert and on the defensive.

But Rhysand was quicker than his spymaster’s anger. “There is the possibility that this wears off on its own.”

Your eyes snapped up. “Was that a possibility last time?”

“No,” Cassian remarked, brows shot up to his hairline. “That’s why you were missing for so long and in so much pain after. You both made it clear that there was no moving whatever the daemati put in her head.”

Helion and Rhysand shared a look, but your High Lord was the one to speak. “It was weaker this time, more permeable. We think, with time, the wall the witch attempted to replicate will break down and you’ll have everything back. She did only do this to you to flee from attack. It wasn't personal.”

“How much time?” Azriel strained.

Helion replied this time. “There is no way to know, shadowsinger.”

“What about the pain? You said fewer side effects but I couldn’t even have light in my room this morning.”

Rhysand looked sheepish, eyes darting over to the window still opaque with shadows. “Yes, well—we may have pushed you a bit too far during our assessment.”

Cassian let out a disbelieving huff from the corner of the room. Azriel gripped the arms of his chair until they groaned.

“So it’ll go away?” you asked, desperation trickling into your tone.

The wood beneath Azriel’s hands splintered.

“Yes, very soon. We can give you some tonics before you leave as well. They will help speed up the process,” Helion promised, eyeing his chair being slowly destroyed.

In a motion that felt almost second nature, you covered the spymaster’s hand with your own, shadows wrapping around the press of your skin. It was then that you noticed the ring. Silver and unassuming, it took up residence on the ring finger of his left hand and looked like it belonged no place else.

Our souls are linked, he had said, talking about his mate with such passion.

You removed your hand from his.

Azriel flexed his fingers upon your departure.

“We were thinking,” Rhysand began after a pregnant pause that seemed to blanket the room. “With your pain, we might want to stay a few more days. Winnowing can add extra pressure to the body and flying would—”

“No,” you were quick to dispute. “No, I want to go home. It’s lovely here, Helion, and I thank you for all you’ve done and are doing, but I want to go back to the Night Court. I want to try and live the life I’ve made for myself, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.” Another pause. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Azriel spoke from beside you. His words sounded dull, his fingers remaining outstretched on the chair.

“We will continue looking for the witch on our side,” Helion nodded, pushing out of his chair. He came before you then, meeting your gaze. “I cannot apologize enough for what your time in my court has cost you. I only hope that all will return to you. I have missed you, y/n.”

And then the High Lord of Day was gone, and you had no recollection as to why he would miss you in the first place. Everyone was saying they missed you, even as you stood before them unharmed and intact.

A harsh reality slammed into you with the departure of the High Lord.

If you didn’t get your memories back—if there were no witches or deteriorating walls in your mind—they would continue to miss you. You would forever be a husk of your former self, never understanding the full picture of who you were.

But that wasn’t okay with you—not at all.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst

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randomdragonfires · 1 month

Text

Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins.

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more.

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms.

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it.

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to?

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her.

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious.

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her?

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went.

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled.

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?”

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm.

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth.

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.”

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife.

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for.

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated. It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words.

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?”

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high.

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her.

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour.

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.”

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears.

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs.

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table.

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties.

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand.

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled.

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond.

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands.

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death?

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him.

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other.

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more.

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.”

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her.

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.”

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would.

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself?

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.”

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed.

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment.

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him.

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch. Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him.

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all.

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood.

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife.

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence.

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short.

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone.

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child.

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night.

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind.

“Your Grace.” he bows.

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

“Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days.

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.”

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t.

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?” I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight.

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married.

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC, HERE.

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writingreadinglurkingandsmirking · 9 months

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Hold Me Down (Is This A New Start?) - Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: After a long, hard day of work you just want to go home and go to bed. But, when you get a persistent knock on your door from Rafe fucking Cameron. you know you’re gonna have a long night ahead. Letting him in, after two months of not seeing him, you fully anticipated a screaming match. But, you got something much different than you bargained for—much better too.

CW/TWs: brief angst, brief mentions of Rafe being on house arrest lol, feminine pronouns used, gorgeous/sweet girl/baby/darlin' as nicknames, toxic behavior, canon-adjacent Rafe, mean-ish Rafe, smut, piv sex, oral sex (male receiving), impact play, (not really) lowkey daddy kink, brat reader, dumbification, degradation kink, praise kink, overstimulation, breath play, unprotected sex (be safe I am nawt your mom gn), allusions to a pain kink for sure, mushy gushy sweet ending, not highly edited or reviewed

Words: 8.1k+

Note: 18+ MDNI, really just fucking don’t. I wrote this one in first person because writing in second person irritates my very soul. Uhhhh so this kinda came out of left field and I did nawt plan on writing this but here we are! But such is life! Anyways…back to regularly scheduled programming.

It had been a long day - too long. There was something exceedingly exhausting about living paycheck to paycheck that the average person didn’t understand. There was nothing quite as specific as the exhaustion that you encountered by overworking yourself day after day, week after week, month after month, all for nothing. Because that’s what this all amounted to. Nothing. Nothing extra at the end of the week to take home, nothing to do anything nice with. Just nothing. And nothing sucked the joy out of your day like knowing you’d have to get up the next day and do it all over again.

When I’d finally gotten home from a shift that didn’t end until almost the crack of fucking dawn - a good twelve hours after I was supposed to have gotten off shift - there was not a thing I wanted more than to sleep. Still, even as I sat on my fucking couch, my woes could not end. There was a loud, demanding knock on the door.

The first time I ignored it.

The second time I ignored it.

The third time, an annoyed voice accompanied the knock.

“Baby, open the fucking door,” came the snarl from the other side. I groaned and ran my hands down my face. I really didn’t want to deal with Rafe today. Not like that had ever deterred him before. “Baby, come on. Listen. Please. The cops are fucking trolling around outside. Baby, please open the door.”

I groaned and pulled myself to my feet, opening the apartment door. Standing there, looking at pitiful as ever was Rafe fucking Cameron. The bane of my existence. My more-or-less on-again-off-again boyfriend—though I’d sooner bash my head against the door than admit that. I glared at the ass who had done nothing but make my life harder since he’d entered it. Then, I stepped to the side and let him in. He stepped in and closed the door quickly, locking it behind him. He turned to me and pressed an absent-minded kiss to my forehead before going to sit down on the couch.

“You look like shit, darlin’,” he said. When he even had the decency to look up and notice I was there.

“Thanks,” I said dryly. I looked down at his leg. His ankle monitor looked fucked. “What the fuck did you do this time?”

“Just a little mod,” he said casually. “I needed to get out for a minute.”

“Why did you come here?” I demanded. “Did you stash more fucking coke in my house I swear to fucking God I will kill you. I am not catching a fucking charge for you, asshole.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I leave my coke with you knowing that you’d throw it out, baby? That’s just bad business. Besides, darlin’ the cops aren’t outside for me some loser is probably getting caught selling a few doors down again. And hey? It’s a crime to want to see you now, darlin’?” he asked, winking.

“No. But it is a crime to skip out on house arrest, Rafe,” I said blandly. “And I know damn well that you’re not here because you want to see me. I’m just convenient to you like fucking always.”

He rolled his eyes as if I were being the dramatic one. “What’s wrong now, gorgeous?” he drawled. “Always seems like there’s something these days, hmm?”

I clenched my jaw. “Fuck you, Rafe. Get the hell out,” I snapped.

Rafe frowned. Stood again and walked over to me. He placed his hands on my hips, refusing to leave. I, in turn, refused to look at him. “Look at me, darlin’,” he demanded. Reluctantly I did. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer. He brushed my hair back from my face and just kept looking at me. “Come on, sweet girl. Tell me…what’s wrong.” He smiled to himself when I still didn’t answer. “You know better than anyone I’m not going to leave until you tell me, baby…so come on…what’s wrong with my sweet girl?”

“Fuck you,” I repeated weakly, pulling out of his arms. I plopped down on my couch, curling into myself and closing my eyes. “Just fucking leave when you see the cops are gone. I can’t be bothered today.” The asshole had the audacity to laugh at my words. “Shut the fuck up, Rafe.”

Dramatically, Rafe sighed and knelt down on the ground in front of me. I felt him grab my knees and pull me to face him. I had no choice but to unfurl, otherwise, I would’ve fallen into him, which I had no interest in doing. So, I leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore the heat of his hand sinking into my cold legs through worn jeans. It was hard to ignore that. Hard to ignore any of him, really. And he knew that. That’s why he only waited through my stubborn silence for a few minutes.

“Come on, baby,” he hummed. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m sorry I’m a dick, darlin’…you know I care.”

I laughed weakly, eyes still closed. “No. No, you don’t,” I said flatly.

He ignored my words and kept rubbing my legs. “It’s so fucking cold in here, baby,” he commented. “And your legs are freezing. Your heat not working?”

“No, it's working. It’s just too fucking expensive to heat this shitty goddamn apartment and I’m not forking over more money to the cunt landlord,” I said sharply, glaring at him. “Did you suddenly forget what life is like if—” I cut myself off, shaking my head.

He had the audacity to glare back if you could believe it. Then, he slapped my inner thigh. “I told you to call me if you needed help,” he hissed. He slapped my other thigh. “The fuck are you doing? What game are you playing at, baby?”

I pushed him away from me with my foot. “A game where I don’t need to rely on a man who is a fucking wannabe felon,” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Newsflash, baby, you do need me,” he said, sounding way too smug about it.

“Fuck you, Rafe. I need a bullet to the brain more than I need you,” I sneered.

“That’s cute.” He continued on like I didn’t even speak in the first place. “I could give you that, if you want. But that doesn’t change anything about it, darlin’. You need my money, you need my cock, you need my love. You’ve said it yourself that no one gives it to you as good as I do. And I know you haven’t been looking which means you’re still as invested in this as I am. So.” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “When I tell you if you need my fucking money to heat your stupid apartment because your ass is too stubborn to move in with me…then you fucking call me.”

“You are not my fucking father,” I snapped, pulling out of his tough.. “Like I said. Bullet to the fucking brain before this shit anymore. I’m sick of it.”

“I don’t know. You do call me daddy a lot,” he mocked. He smiled down at me, but there was hardly any warmth to it. “But, oh? You’re so sick of it, hmm? You want to be brainless?” He laughed. “Well, I can make you brainless without having to put a hole in your pretty little head.” He wound his hand tightly in my hair, pulling my face towards his while I sharply inhaled. “And you’ll remember exactly why you’re not done with me, gorgeous.”

I glared at him. “I haven’t seen you in two months. The last time I did see you, you called me a stupid, worthless cunt and told me that you never wanted to see me again. And you think you can just show up here and get me to listen to you?” I demanded. I felt my face heating with my frustration. “Just like that? You think you’re…you think you’re worth me listening to?” I laughed. “Like I said. Fuck you, Rafe. I deserve…I deserve so much better than this. Than you.”

There was a mocking pout on his face. He reached out and grabbed my face again, squeezing my chin. “You think you’re going to find someone better than me?” he asked incredulously. He let out a laugh. “And where do you think you’ll find someone like that?” I didn’t answer. I refused to give him the satisfaction. He chuckled, but then his face went serious. “I’m sorry that I haven’t seen you in months, darlin’. I’m sorry that I said I never wanted to see you again. I was pissed, sweet girl. I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh you never mean it,” I said, the sarcasm’s impact dampened by the tearful sound of my voice.

He moved his hand from my chin to cup my face. I hated myself for it, but I did lean into the touch. “Come on, sweet girl…don’t be like that, baby,” he said. He leaned forward and dropped a kiss to the side of my neck. “You know that I love you.” Another kiss, followed by a short nip. “I’ve been busy, darlin’. That’s all. I’m sorry. I should’ve called, sweet girl. I know that. I’m not mad.”

“You were mad,” I accused, glaring at him.

“I was mad, baby,” he said, deceptively calm. “I was…frustrated that you wouldn’t let me take care of you. I just want what’s best for you. But I’m not mad anymore.”

“Well maybe I’m mad at you,” I retorted, harshness still lessened by the teary voice and the way I leaned into him.

“That’s okay,” he practically cooed. He pressed another kiss to my neck then moved so we were face to face, just a breath between us. He smirked, eyes drifting down to my lips and then back up. “You can be mad at me as long as you want, sweet girl. Just as long as you tell me that you love me.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “No,” I said stubbornly.

“Come on, sweet girl, please,” Rafe purred, stroking my neck with his hand lazily. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you,” I said, voice breaking. My eyes popped open and I felt the tears in them.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes did soften. He let out a hum and wiped a tear that slipped. “There’s my sweet girl,” he cooed. He leaned forward and pressed a long, languid kiss to my lips. “Let me make it up to you, baby.” Another long kiss—lazier this time. “Let me apologize for calling you names, baby.” Another kiss. “Remind you that you’re my special, sweet girl.”

I huffed. “Oh so you wanna fuck me and suddenly I’m not a stupid, worthless cunt then?” I spat, voice dripping insecurity.

Rafe rolled his eyes so hard I was shocked that his eyes didn’t stick in the back of his head. “You’re not a stupid, worthless cunt. You’re my sweet girl and you know it,” he drawled. “I was a little fucking high when I said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

I gave him a withering glare. “Oh and you’re not high now?” I asked even though I could already tell he wasn’t. He gave me a flat look and I deflated, leaning back, covering my face as I leaned against the arm of the couch. I sniffled. “Okay, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean it.”

He chuckled dryly and rubbed my leg gently. “It’d be fair if you did,” he drawled. He squeezed my leg. “And it’s fine that it’s not fair, sweet girl. I wasn’t fair. So.” He grabbed my legs and lowered them both to the floor. He gently pried my legs open leaning further into my space, hands dancing up both my thighs now. “How about I be real nice and make it up to you?”

“No,” I said stubbornly, glaring half-heartedly down at him. I felt his hand toy with the waist of my jeans, dancing just over the button. “I don’t want you to.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, unconvinced considering I’d begun to lean into his space more, opening my legs to give him more space to occupy, more space to get closer. “Oh?” he posed, tone almost mocking. “You don’t want to?”

“No,” I corrected, grabbing his hand, putting it back on my hair to silently prompt him to grab it just as he did before. “I don’t want you to be nice.” I glowered at him .”It’s been two months, Rafe. I need…”

He let out a low chuckle, eyes dark with quickly emerging lust. “Fuck, darlin’, tell me…what do you need?” he asked.

I blinked slowly, still looking right into his eyes, intoxicated by him already from such a short time together. “I need you to take care of me like you always do,” I said quietly.

Immediately, his hand wound tightly through my hair and he rose to his feet, forcing me to tilt my head up. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I looked up at him, my eyes wide and wanting. I bit my lip, eyes trailing slowly down his body, to his belt at my eye level, and then back up. He chuckled again, grinning down at me. He wound his hand a bit tighter in my hair making me let out a squeak as he dragged me just a bit closer to his body.

“You need me to take care of you?” he posed, tone just shy of mocking. “Need me to help turn off that gorgeous fucking brain of yours, baby?” He used his free hand to trail down my cheek, fingers briefly touching my neck and stopping there. “Need me to fuck you stupid, sweet girl?”

Taking a shaky breath, I reached out, hand loosely holding his belt buckle. “Yes,” I said breathlessly.

I reveled in the sudden, sharp sting in my cheek. “Try again,” he warned, voice raspy.

“Yes…please fuck me stupid, daddy,” I said, batting my eyes up at him. “I don’t wanna think anymore.”

“Fuck,” Rafe muttered, his voice raspier still, thick with lust. He chuckled and loosened his hand in my hair before dropping it. He took his shirt off and then knotted a hand back in my hair. “Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of my sweet girl.” He stroked my cheek gently with his free hand before moving it to his belt buckle and undoing it with ease. He then smirked down at me, inclining his head. “Well? Take me out, darlin’.” I glanced down at his open belt but he tutted, tilting my chin back up. “No, baby. Keep your eyes on me.” His request was one that was most easy for me to accommodate considering I felt like I’d die if I looked away from him.

My hands trembled as I reached forward, taking the belt off of him. I was ready to throw it to the side but Rafe held out a hand. Without even questioning it, I placed it in his hand. He then set it to the side and gestured with his head at me to continue. Which, I happily did. I heard him let out a quiet chuckle as I undid the button on his pants and brought down the zipper without breaking eye contact. I almost hastily pulled down the fabric until it sagged the rest of the way down. I raised my eyebrows at Rafe in a silent plea.

“What, baby?” he asked, amused, tightening his grip on my hair. I let out a weak whine and pouted. “What? You gotta tell me what you want, sweet girl. Use your words.”

“I wanna see your cock,” I responded, hooking my hand on the hem of the waistband of his boxers. I tilted my head to the side, jutting my bottom lip out further. “Please, daddy.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Okay, baby,” he drawled. I hummed, pleased with myself, and looked down, prepared to take his boxers off. But, he tutted, turning my head up with his grip on my hair so I’d meet his eyes again. “Nuh, uh, darlin’. Keep those gorgeous eyes on me still. Don’t you dare even think about looking at my cock yet, baby. Just get it out.”

“But—” I began to complain before being silenced with another warning slap on the cheek making me whine and pull back slightly; not that Rafe let me get very far.

“No but, baby. You listen to me. Be a good girl,” Rafe warned, tone darkening. “You know I want what’s best for you, right, sweet girl?” I nodded through teary eyes, looking back up at him. He cursed under his breath at the sight, tightening and then loosening his hand in my hair once more. “Good girl, baby. Such a good fucking girl. Now, get my cock out. And don’t even look at it.”

I shivered at the order but complied. I reached and used two fingers to gently drag the fabric of the boxers down until they too gave way, falling down past his knees. Using every bit of restraint I had, I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to look at his dick even as it hung directly in front of my face. Rafe hummed, his free hand moving from his side to wrap around himself, pumping lazily. I swallowed, biting my tongue as a reminder to keep my eyes up. A mocking laugh fell from Rafe’s mouth at the sight and I felt my stomach tighten.

“Oh there’s my good girl,” he cooed. “She can finally fucking listen, huh? So proud of you baby. Little slut that you are, I didn't think you’d be able to do it.” I let out a tiny whimper at his words, feeling a growing, heated pit of arousal low in my stomach. I shifted slightly, just barely able to keep my eyes from falling down. He chuckled again and pursed his lips. “How about you take your clothes off for me baby? Then I’ll let you look all you want at your favorite part of me.”

“All my clothes, daddy?” I checked. He nodded. I all but raced myself to do so. I whipped off the shirt I had on with ease and shimmied out of my jeans easily enough. Sitting there in my bra and panties, Rafe told me to stop and so I paused, looking up at him. “Yes, daddy?”

“Nothing, darlin’…just wanna look at you a minute,” he said, eyes dark with lust. “So fucking pretty, baby. God on fucking high, can’t imagine what I did to deserve such a blessing.”

“Stop,” I dismissed, blushing.

“Nah, baby. You’re a fucking twelve-course meal and I plan to have all of ‘em,” he dismissed, stepping closer and grabbing my chin. “And you aren’t gonna say some dumb shit like that again. We clear, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” I murmured, feeling his thumb ghost up to trace my bottom lip. My breath hitched in my throat and he seemed to remember himself.

He pulled away and smirked down at me. “Bra and panties off. Let me see that pretty pussy, darlin’. Been missing it so much while I was gone,” he purred. I shivered at his words but peeled them off, shivering at the cold feeling of the air against my nipples and the cool fabric of the couch against my exposed core, quickly growing wet. “Fuck you’re so pretty. Look at you…all this…just for me.” He came closer again—even more this time—and his hand loosely went around my jaw, jerking my head up. “You are just for me, aren’t you baby?” I nodded immediately. He glared, his voice gruffer. “Words, darlin’. Or I might not be inclined to be too nice to you.”

“Yes, daddy,” I said breathlessly, wide-eyed. “All yours. Just for you.” I felt my heart beating rapidly in anticipation of seeing Rafe smile down at me. “Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?” he asked, hand still hooked around my jaw.

“Can I look please?” I asked sweetly, pouting up at him.

His lips quirked into a smirk and he narrowed his eyes looking at me, appraising. “I don’t know, baby. You think I should let you?” he asked.

“Please,” I said, pouting. “I just wan’ you. Want to see you. Wanna have you.”

“Awe with my sweet girl saying all that, well how could I say no?” he drawled, removing his hand from my neck to trail back and join the other in my hair. “Go ahead and look, darlin’. Take as long as you’d like.”

Ever so slowly, I broke my eye contact with Rafe, trailing my gaze down to his dick. Rafe’s confidence even as he stood bare as the day he was born was one of the things that had initially attracted me to him. But, looking at him now, lazily pumping his hand over his cock while he smirked down at me? I don’t think that I’d ever been quite so down bad for him. Which was…concerning, maybe? Pathetic, perhaps? But I didn’t care. At that moment, with his long, thick dick just hovering right in front of me, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. Of how long I’d wanted him…of how long I’d waited.

“What? I don’t even gotta fuck you to turn that pretty brain off anymore?” he said, voice an alluring growl as he let out a dark sort of chuckle. “Got you so trained to take my dick you don’t even try to fight it, do you sweet girl?”

I shifted at his words, suddenly feeling my core flutter at his words, clenching regrettably—miserably—around nothing. His smirk increased tenfold at that and he stepped closer so that there was practically no space between us, not that there had been much before. Now, his cock stood proudly just next to my face. Again, ever so slowly I raised my eyes to meet his again. And the desperation must’ve been clear in my gaze if the smug, self-satisfied look in his were anything to go by.

“And this was supposed to be for you,” he hummed. “My dumb little baby won’t be able to think for herself and tell me what she wants when I get started, will she?” I let out a pathetic little whimper. “You just need something in that sweet little pussy and your perfect mouth, huh?” His eyes trailed down to my lips, briefly displaying the heated desire he was feeling before moving to meet mine again. “Tell me one thing, darlin’, okay? Think your cute lil’ brain can take that?”

“Yes, daddy,” I said, voice coming out breathy. I squirmed slightly, squeezing my thighs together to avoid doing something like grinding on the couch and making him stop this before it even started.

“I don’t have too much patience before I gotta get in that tight fucking cunt, gorgeous,” he drawled. “So…tell me. You want me to eat that pretty pussy? Or do you want to choke on my cock?” He grinned, sharp-edged and shark-like. “It’s up to you.” An aborted moan came out of me at his words. The answer for me, right now, at least, was obvious. I glanced down at his dick and then back up. “Nuh uh, darlin’. You tell me which one you want.”

“I want you to fuck my throat,” I whined, looking up at him wide-eyed.

Rafe chuckled, hands tightening in my hair. “I’ll give you a pass on not addressing me properly this once because you said something so sweet, darlin’. But don’t do it again,” he said, half-mocking, half-warning. I nodded eagerly. One hand released my hair. He pat my cheek and then held my jaw tightly between two fingers. “That’s my girl.” The possessiveness dripped off his tone. “Now be good for daddy and open that fucking mouth.”

My mouth fell open without much thought after that. He grinned as I left it open, tongue sticking out just the way he liked it. His thumb pressed down on my tongue, head tilting slightly to the side as he looked at me. I moaned at even that simple feeling, my body practically trembling with want for him. But, for a good few long moments, that’s all he did, slowly pressing his thumb more against my tongue. But, after a few moments, he drew it away, using his free hand to lazily pump his cock—still only half-hard—in his hand. I inhaled shakily, eyes looking at his heavy cock, knowing the weight and feel of it without even touching it.

“Mmm,” Rafe said, letting out a leisurely sigh as he jerked himself off in front of me. “You want my dick, sweet girl?” I nodded eagerly, tongue still shamelessly hanging out of my mouth. “You want me to make you choke on my fucking cock, baby?” Again, I nodded and he groaned. “You’re so fucking sexy, darlin’, fuck.” I watched with rapt attention as a bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip of his dick. I heard Rafe chuckle not a moment later. “Holy shit are you drooling, baby? Fuck, you really want this dick, huh? Well, I don’t wanna leave you wanting.”

Rafe used the hand in my hair to bring my head closer and anchor it in place. His other hand still held his dick that he was bringing towards my awaiting mouth. The second I felt the tip of his dick touch my tongue I groaned in appreciation at finally having something, feeling myself growing wetter and wanting. Already, with him not even having touched me yet, I was a mess. Rafe knew it damn well too. He chuckled, slapping his dick against my tongue making me inhale sharply then let out a tiny little whimper.

“Should I stop teasing you baby?” he said, voice measured, even, and entirely unaffected—as if he were in a business meeting and not getting ready to ruin my throat. “Should I make sure you lose your voice tomorrow now?” I nodded as best I could while ensuring that his dick did not fall from my tongue which just made him let out another low groan. “Alright, then, baby. You asked for it. Time for you to put that fucking mouth to work.”

I barely had the time to inhale before I felt Rafe’s heavy member settling against my tongue. I let out a breathy moan, reflexively hollowing out my cheeks and bobbing my head to take him further into my mouth. I moved my hands to touch him and he slapped them away.

“No fucking hands,” he grunted, pulling my hair so I’d look up at him before pushing me down to the hilt of him, nose settling against his pelvis. He cursed and I felt his dick pulse in my mouth as he looked down at me, eyes dark and wanting. “So fucking pretty when I’m stretching your fucking mouth open, baby. Look at you. So fucking good.” My core fluttered again at his words, clenching and unclenching while I felt myself starting to dampen the couch slightly the wetter I got. “Gonna fuck your throat now, darlin’.”

With the minimal warning issued, he thrust heavily, pulling out of my mouth almost entirely before thrusting entirely back in. I forced myself to breathe through my nose, relaxing before something unfortunate could happen like my gag reflex being triggered. I moaned around him, using my tongue as little as I could find myself able to when he started to consistently, aggressively thrust himself to the back of my throat. I whimpered at the feeling, grinding absent-mindedly against the rough fabric of the couch, letting my tongue trace along the vein on the underside of his dick.

Rafe caught sight of my desperate rutting against the couch and he let out a dark, slightly breathless chuckle without interrupting the pace of his thrusting. “God, look at my desperate fucking baby. What, is daddy not taking care of you fast enough? Fuck,” he grunted. “You wanna grind like a desperate, needy, brainless little toy? I should make you fucking get off of my thigh without me touching you?” My choked whine of displeasure at the threat made him let out another mean sort of laugh. “Don’t worry, darlin’. That’s gonna be for later.” I let out another whine at the promise then. “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you get yourself off on my leg and then I’m gonna eat your pussy so good. Gonna make you cum for me at least five times before I stop. I’ll fucking tie you up if I gotta, gorgeous. Gonna make my sweet girl so overstimulated she’s not gonna think ‘bout anything but my fucking cock…my fucking mouth…my fucking hands.” Each word was punctuated by a pointed thrust down my throat. “As if you think about anything else, my dumb little fuckin’ baby, yeah?”

When he pulled out of my mouth entirely, releasing my hair, I reflexively gasped in a breath of air, eyes wide and watering. I looked up at him. But, Rafe was still non-plussed by how fucked out I already was. He wasn’t even pausing, barely breaking even a bead of sweat across his gorgeous, obscenely perfect body. No, instead, he knelt down in front of me, one hand making its way immediately to my pussy and finding my clit like two ends of a magnet attracting to each other. He let out a low tutting sound, shaking his head at me as I bucked my hips against his hand before I could stop myself.

“So fucking sloppy, pretty girl. Is this all for me?” he asked, his voice both teasing and harsh. “Barely even done anything to you, baby. You’re just that much of a needy little fuckin’ slut for me, huh?” I let out a high-pitched keening noise and he hummed, wrapping his hand around my throat to make me focus on him even as he slipped two thick digits inside of me. “You want me, baby?” His voice was husky, rasping and his alluring eyes were locked intently on me.

“Yes, daddy,” I whined, voice weak around the whining and moans that I couldn’t help but release as he finger fucked me into oblivion. Even with so little direct stimulation, I felt my legs starting to tremble and my stomach starting to tighten, coiling and ready to barrel quickly towards release. Rafe could tell too based on the way my pussy was practically trying to swallow his fingers whole. “Please.”

“Please what, sweet girl?” he cooed, pretending like he didn’t already know damn well what I wanted.

“Fuck me,” I begged.

“Oh but you sound so pretty when you’re whining, gorgeous,” he groaned. “And I need you to be nice and fuckin’ ready for me. So I need you to cum for me before I fuck you.” My stomach tightened further just on the edge of sweet, sweet release that I’d been missing the past two months while he was missing on fucking house arrest. “Okay, baby?”

“Okay,” I sobbed, hips trying to buck even as he used his massive hand to direct my hips to keep the rhythm he wanted, the other tightening around the outside of my throat, making my eyes roll.

“Good girl,” he huffed. He paused his speech a moment, his fingers moving even faster, making me choke out a sobbing moan, head falling back until he squeezed my throat again in warning, making me lift my head. He then issued a command. A single word. “Cum.”

And who was I to disobey?

The coil in my stomach exploded into a mirage of light behind my eyes as they rolled back. I felt a slightly shrill shriek erupt from my mouth more than I actually heard myself. And all that I could think of beyond the veil and haze of pleasure was the feeling of Rafe’s hands, his skin so close to me. He supported my body as I slumped against him, both of his hands moving to rest low on my hips.

“Good job, gorgeous. You look so fucking pretty falling apart for me,” he encouraged, his voice an appreciative, warm grumble of affection. His hands ghosted up and down my sides. “You ready for me to fuck you, pretty little thing?”

“Yes, daddy,” I said, letting out a long, shaky sigh. I reached out, hands trailing up the planes of his solid chest, leaning my head on him to listen to his steady, calm heartbeat. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Of course, baby,” he said. I could hear the smugness in his voice but I didn’t care. He leaned me back on the couch and moved to get up. I let out a whine of dissatisfaction and grabbed his hand tightly, pulling him back towards me. He looked amused as he raised a brow. “I have to go get a condom, sweet girl.”

“No,” I said stubbornly.

“No?” he asked.

“Have you been fucking bitches on house arrest?” I asked, bottom lip jutting out.

He reached out, pulling my lip down and looking at it in undisguised intrigue. “No,” he admitted.

“Well, then you haven’t worn a condom with me before. So fuck’s sake, Rafe just fuck me,” I demanded.

Rafe’s eyes had a hardened sort of glee to them. His hand moved before I registered it and my head turned as his palm made contact with my cheek. Again, my core clenched around nothing. This time, I bit back the moan that threatened to escape.

“Who?” he warned, sounding all too happy to remind me of my place.

“Fuck me, daddy,” I reiterated, still with an extreme attitude. “Fuck me, don’t pull out cum in me, I don’t care. Just fuck me, daddy.”

“Drop the attitude,” Rafe said, a final warning.

“No,” I spat, knowing exactly where it would get me. You know, right where I wanted.

Instead of slapping me again as I’d first expected, Rafe tilted my head up with just his pointer finger under my chin, his shark-like smile back again. “Do you want to be punished, baby?” he asked, sounding all too eager. I offered no answer. He used his free hand and slapped me, harder this time. I couldn’t bite back the moan this time, or the way that my hand tried to drift between my legs. He caught my wrist easily to stop me. “Answer me or I’m gonna stop. I’ll walk out the fucking door, darlin’.” My bottom lip quivered at the thought, chest heaving. “Do you want a punishment, baby?”

“Y-yes, daddy,” I admitted after another stubborn moment.

“Well why didn’t you say so, darlin’,” he cooed sarcastically.

In a flurry of movement, Rafe sat on the couch and had me over his knee. My bare, soaked cunt made contact with his hard knee and I choked on a moan at that feeling. I barely had time to register the change in position before he landed his first hit on my ass. I yelped at the feeling, reflexively trying to squirm away from the pain, even as I felt a jolt of pleasure at the feeling. Rafe held my hips in place easily with one hand, keeping me firmly on his lap, and used the other to lay a hard slap against my ass, making me yelp again.

“That feel fucking good baby?” he grunted, slapping me again. I didn’t answer, a sharp, hissing inhale coming from my mouth. Another slap. Another whimper. “You should be fucking thanking me for this, darlin’. Disciplining your unruly fucking ass. Making you my good girl.”

“Thank you, daddy. Thank you, thank you. Please,” I whimpered, reflexively trying to squirm once more when his hand made contact with my ass yet again.

“Please, what, sweet girl? Remind you that you’re fucking mine? Oh, I am gonna, darlin’. This is just part of it,” he ground out. I could feel his rock-hard cock pressed against my side and I was torn between wanting it stuffed in my mouth and my pussy. Both thoughts escaped from my mind entirely as he landed another slap against my ass.

“More,” I ground out through clenched teeth, barely able to resist the urge to grind against his thigh and knee with the desperation that I was feeling.

“Needy little slut, you are, huh?” he asked, amused. His hands stopped their cyclical pattern of slapping my ass to rub the abused flesh for a moment. I felt his hand move between my legs more, teasing my entrance with his fingers. Naturally, I opened my legs for him. He chuckled at that. “Can’t wait to be stuffed with me, can you? Already brain dead to everything but me, aren’t you, sweet girl? You’re just my little plaything right now, aren’t you?” I buried my face in the couch and let out a groan, feeling his hand circling my clit again, lazily, not creating enough friction to do anything.

“Daddy, please,” I whined.

“Don’t worry, pretty little thing. I know just what you need to cum again. I decided I need two from you before I fuck this sweet little fucking pussy,” he grunted. With sudden and almost startling accuracy, Rafe slapped me again. This time, his hand made contact not with my ass but with my pussy, the sharp slap making me gasp and jerk from the pain. I let out a half-aborted scream and rocked back into his palm, panting from surprise. He openly laughed. “You didn’t think I forgot how much you liked that, did you, darlin’? Remember that real fucking well? So I’m gonna take care of this pussy just the way I know you need it.” I let out a breathy moan mixed with a cry as he spanked my clit once more. Again and again and again he did it until I felt like I was dripping sweat on my whole body and my pussy was soaked with my juices—the couch too for that matter. “Fuck me, baby, your pussy is so pretty all puffy like this. She’s just crying for me. You want me so bad your poor fucking brain can’t handle it, can it?” I let out a pathetic little whimper, unable to muster much more. “I tell you what, darlin’. You cum from me slapping this pussy and I’ll fuck you til you pass out if that’s what you want. You wanna do that for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasped immediately, hardly even grasping the words just knowing that I wanted the pleasure that had been slowly building to finally reach its fucking crescendo.

“Good girl,” he said before unleashing a series of slaps to my pussy in a pattern that I couldn’t have anticipated if I were in his damn brain myself.

This time, as I tumbled over the edge of pleasure, I wailed, jerking against his hand. I collapsed against Rafe’s leg as the aftershock of the second orgasm washed over me. I gasped for air like I’d been drowning and I felt Rafe’s hand tracing up and down my back lazily. As I caught my breath, he placed a final sharp slap to my pussy making me let out a weak yelp of complaint. Without being too gentle, Rafe maneuvered me off of his lap and over the arm of the couch. He let out an appreciative groan and I lifted my head to look back at him. I was startled to see him lifting the belt. My eyes widened as I felt him wrap it around my wrists, quickly binding me.

“You’re not getting away from me, gorgeous. Not when I finally get to fuck my pussy again. You’re nice and ready for me,” he said, sounding almost absent-minded as he spoke to me. He grunted as he slid into me with a single thrust. When he bottomed out we both let out moans—his low and mine high and keening—and I felt my body shake. “Fuck. When you can feel your legs I’m gonna fuck you so hard in doggy you’re gonna not walk the day after. But right now I just gotta finish the job, baby. Gotta turn your fuckin’ brain off forever.”

With that, he started to purposefully piston his hips, holding my bound wrists behind my back for better leverage. I was nearly boneless, shrieking in pleasure as his hot, throbbing cock stretched me open and brushed against each and every nerve ending just right—at least that was how it felt. How he felt. His thrusts were deep and slow and pointed. I sobbed against the feeling, wanting to rut back into him to make him speed up. But, I couldn’t muster the strength. So I just let him fuck into me at his own pace and I felt myself starting to build towards another bout of pleasure—this bound to be even stronger than before if the stars already behind my eyes were anything to go by.

“Daddy, please,” I sobbed, not knowing if I wanted more or less stimulation, more or less pleasure, from him.

Regardless of what I wanted, Rafe didn’t say anything. He grunted out a noise of acknowledgment that I’d spoken then doubled down in his efforts to make me cum again. And when he wrapped his arm around my throat again, tightening quickly and entirely, it was over. This time, as he forced me to a third orgasm, I was actually sobbing, tears running down my face from the fucked up amount of pain and pleasure entwined in being so overstimulated in such a short period of time—especially after so long away from him.

“There’s my good fucking girl,” Rafe said, voice slightly hoarse as he slowed his thrusts to a stop.

He still hadn’t cum himself, his dick fully pulsing inside of me with how hard he was. I dreaded what that meant, even though I also fully anticipated what I knew would come. He gently undid the belt from around my wrists, releasing me, and then eased himself out of me. He flipped me around on the couch and I looked at him with big watery eyes.

“Please no more,” I said, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It’s too much, please.”

“Come on, darlin’,” he cooed, pressing kisses to my cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You can give me one more. Been missing my pussy so much. You know I need one more from her.” Another series of kisses, the last one a long and lingering, filthy one to my lips where his tongue entwined with mine and we both pulled back needing air. “Please, baby. One more for me.”

His hand moved down, gently tracing my clit, making me jolt. Already I was so sensitive, so overstimulated. But, the impossibly sweet and imploring look on his face? The hunger he had for me? It was impossible to deny.

“Okay, daddy,” I agreed, sniffling.

He leaned his forehead against mine, grinning. “That’s my girl,” he said softly.

He hitched my leg up over his hip, settling between my legs on the couch. He used his free hand to grip his cock, looking down at us. He gently slapped the head of his dick against my clit once, twice, a third time until I whined and he chuckled, reaching over to press a short kiss to my lips to shut me up. He ran himself up and down my slit over and over until I was shivering and he saw a tiny dribble of new arousal dripping from me. He let out a low moan of his own and then sank into me in one, hitching my leg up again so he could thrust as deep as humanly possible.

“There you are, gorgeous. There’s my beautiful fucking girl,” Rafe praised, pressing a kiss to each cheek, to my lips, and to my forehead as he steadily thrust into me. “So fucking perfect for me. So fucking good for me, baby.”

“You feel so good, daddy,” I said, eyes rolling back and then curling as he pressed down on the slight bulge in my stomach only present because of him. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Anything for you, baby. Fucking anything,” he grunted. He ground slower against me instead of thrusting for a few moments. “You don’t get to keep me from my pussy anymore, baby. I gotta fucking be with you.”

“Wanna be with you, daddy,” I babbled in agreement.

“Good fucking girl,” he huffed, pressing down on the bulge again making me whimper. I felt his dick pulsate again and I tightened around him habitually making his breath hitch. “You gonna cum for me one more time, baby? I’m so fucking close.”

“Yeah, daddy, I’m gonna cum,” I whined. “Please can I cum? Please, please, please?” I begged.

“Fu-fuck yeah,” Rafe stuttered. “Cum with me baby.”

And this time, as I fell across pleasure’s razor edge once more, Rafe fell with me. I felt as he came inside me, hot and deep. My eyes rolled at the feeling, almost addicted to the mere feeling of him being so close and intensely part of me at that moment. I held him without realizing it, nails digging into the skin of his back as I held him against me, ignoring the fact that I was trembling like a leaf.

“So proud of you, my sweet girl. So good for me, gorgeous. Love you so much. So good for me.” Those were the first things I was coherent of hearing again when the whooshing in my ears had faded. They were the sweet praise that Rafe was offering. He went to move—to pull out—but I held him to me still, almost wrapping myself around him like a koala to stop it.

“No,” I denied. “Don’t move yet.”

“Okay, baby,” he agreed. “I won’t pull out. Do you want me to hold you?” I nodded. He carefully moved us. I winced as he adjusted us so that I was sitting up and in his lap because it made him deeper for a moment still but as we settled that faded and I just melted into his chest. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You did so good.” He stroked my skin and hair for a moment. “I gotta get you cleaned up, sweet girl. Get you some water.”

“Not yet,” I denied again, eyes closed as I leaned against him, as much of my skin touching him as possible. “Take care of me in a minute.”

He chuckled. “Oh? You’re gonna let me take care of you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered absent-mindedly. “Fine. You can take care of me, Rafe. I’ll stop being stubborn.” I needed his help. He’d been right about that when he showed up, I was adult enough to admit that. And I knew that he loved me. That he meant it from the best place.

“Really?” he asked, disbelieving. “You’re gonna move in with me? Let me take care of you? Just like that? All I had to do was fuck you like that?”

“Yeah. That’s all you had to do,” I agreed, far too exhausted to explain the complex detail of it in truth. I let out a breathless laugh though, a thought occurring to me when I felt a cool bite of metal and plastic on my leg. “Well, as long as you don’t get arrested for busting out of house arrest.” I cracked open my eyes to give him a smile.

“Shut up, I'll be fine,” he muttered. His hands held me closely, tightly, possessively to him. “You don’t get to take it back. I get to take care of you now. To make sure you’re safe. You’re gonna live with me, sweet girl.”

“Okay, Rafe,” I agreed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek gently. He leaned into the touch and I smiled. “I will.” I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, laying my forehead against his.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured, so quiet I could barely hear it.

“I love you too,” I replied, just as quiet, just as simple.

He smiled at that, the sight making his eyes go warm and sweet. “Alright, then, gorgeous. Let’s get you cleaned up and get the fuck out of here,” he said. His smile morphed into a cheesy sort of grin—the kind I rarely got to see. “Let’s go home.”

For once, I couldn’t disagree. And I couldn’t help but echo the cheesy smile. “Okay, then, Romeo,” I teased. “Let’s go home.”

2K notes · View notes

14thgalerie · 8 months

Text

path to you

• pairing: theodore nott x reader

• now playing: war of hearts by ruelle

• word count: 7.3k

• genre: angst, fluff every now and then

— not proofread, i wrote this on a whim the other night and only finished last night.

Theodore Nott stood amidst the crowd of returning students aboard the Hogwarts Express, his heart heavy with a blend of emotions. His eyes were ablaze, lit with determination in search of that one familiar figure with locks he spent nights running his fingers through. However, as the last call to board the train echoed through the station, his hope was diminished when there was still no sign of you.

In truth, he knew it was futile right from the moment the both of you had left Hogwarts. The incident— if that was what he would even call it for that— was the moment that Voldemort had truly begun making his appearance known to the students of Hogwarts.

He was no innocent bystander to this, the mark that burns on his right arm is a constant, painful reminder of that. His father had mercilessly subjected him through the initiation process, appointing him watch of Draco to ensure he would follow the Dark Lord’s order just as others had been compelled to do.

However, in the brief moment that he knew your eyes had latched on to an exposed skin of his sleeved arm, a fear struck him, unlike the familiar one that had long been instilled by his father. He decided that he would rather weather the searing pain that seemed to burn deeper for every day that Dumbledore roamed the grounds than prove he was no trustworthy person to you now. He would ignore the ache that pried into his very soul as you steer a conversation away as he picks you up from your friends.

Despite this, in the dark and dreary summer, he is left terribly alone with only thoughts of you entangled in his mind. The old days of sunshine only remain in memory, as he supposes is a communal thing for all of you as Voldemort continued to infiltrate and pollute the magical world with his influence.

Theodore had written you a myriad of letters over the many days, his heart engraved with every droplet of ink that marks the parchment.

I miss you.

I beg of you to tell me that I’m not as forgettable as your silence otherwise makes me feel.

But every owl that returned carried nothing but itself. No words from you. Not a single one even from your friends, a choice he made in desperation, regardless of the consequences if his father found out he had been in contact with one of you.

He knew that they knew where you were, even if it might not be the entirety of it. If there was one thing he truly regretted before, it would be his cowardice. His fear runs deep in the thick crimson inside of him that dictated his every move. Though he shares a strong companionship with Mattheo and the others, Theo remains in awe of the camaraderie that you have with your friends at this time.

Driven purely by the need to be a catalyst; to make an end of this war.

With the sudden void torn into his at your disappearance, Theo found his heart crystallising once again, trying to preserve what little warmth is left by you.

Praying to a god he doesn’t believe in, begging that there will never come a day that he won’t know your last words.

You exhale slowly.

The morning had barely started, and the sun was still but a ray in the dim sky. You tug the blanket over your face, blinking once, twice. The stream below the knife-like hill they had taken camp in, continued its hum.

It has been roughly three months since the start of the school year started, and four months since you have made the decision to accompany Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the hunt for Horcruxes. Four, lengthy months since you’ve last exchanged words with Theo, afraid that you would let this mission slip, Merlin knows he knows you better than you did.

If circumstances were different and he was not tied by that horrific mark, maybe he would be even with you. But reality is unforgiving and you are left in sorrow for the easy times you’ve taken advantage of.

There were times it felt ghastly to keep certain things to yourself, for so long it had been you and Theo, sharing the deepest truths. Then in a snap of a finger, it seemed most of what came out of you were lies, all in the name of protecting your friends. But it was paramount to be cautious nowadays, even if Theo was careful and dedicated to keeping crucial information, you couldn’t shake off the fear that Voldemort may attempt to pry on his mind.

Harry, with all his strength, is no exception to Voldemort’s manipulation of the mind. What more of Theo?

You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if everything came crumbling down the moment Voldemort sought Theo’s memories.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but feel the urge to apparate for even just a moment. Just a minute. You found it difficult to get rid of the nagging feeling that he now despised you for doing this, for running away and leaving him, despite the promise you made only a year ago. It was a constant tug-of-war of the heart and the mind, most days leaving you drained in addition to the physical exhaustion.

I miss you.

I hate this uncertain silence that does nothing but bring you forth.

“Y/N? Are you awake?” You hear a voice call out.

You snap yourself out of your thought

“What time is it?” You mumble. Hermione’s sharp ears are used to your morning voice by now. “It’s already 8 in the morning, Y/N. Get up.”

“Goddess!” You shot up, “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, my shift was supposed to be an hour ago.”

With one less person in your team, as Ron left in his fury, the rest of you had to take shorter rests now.

“It’s fine, I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Hermione reassures her. You stand and make your way down to the table where a cup of steaming tea is left for you. “Are you alright?” You ask.

She merely hums in question but makes no indication that she will answer. Instead, she walks out of the tent to sit on one of the rocks nearby.

“He will be fine, mione.” You say, following her. “Ron has been through so much in the past, I think by this time, he would be able to get by on his own.”

You pull her into a side embrace, holding her close without saying anything as she rests limply underneath your arm. She needed it. Sacrificing the risk of her parents forever forgetting that Hermione was their daughter had taken a heavy toll on your friend. Leaving them in the house she deemed her sanctuary from the destruction, the madness that reigned outside.

With Ron having left the three of you. Although you weren’t as close with the redhead, you knew he had been Hermione’s shoulder— ever since forever. You understood how she felt or even a spectre of it, for you, too, had left someone behind.

Someone that you could only beg the gods remains breathing and unsullied by the encroaching darkness that seemed to follow him.

“And what about you?” Hermione whispered softly, the tears that lined her cheeks dry now. “What do you mean?”

“Nott.” Hearing the name instantly formed a small, melancholic smile on your face.

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. You can stop pretending to be the shield for us now, Harry and I will be here for you. You can cry.”

Your gaze remains fixed on the sight before you. Atop the hill, the pale gold ball of sunlight emerges and bathes the cold stone in warmth. Reminiscent of the days before the Triwizard Cup, before Cedric died. It all seemed so far away now.

“I’ve exhausted all the tears from me already, Hermione. I miss him terribly. I may just crumble beneath his feet the very moment that I see him again.”

“It’s difficult what you had to do. I can’t even begin to decipher it. The both of you had consistently defied, and will likely continue to do so, every misconception that the others had of you back when you were still friends."

“I hate how there was not a scintilla of hesitation and doubt in me when I had to keep so many things from him when I had to lie to him.” You croak out, voice barely above a whisper.

“You did so because you knew that in the end, it wasn't just for the best of the wizarding world that you deliberately did all of that, it’s all for him. You did it because you wanted to keep him safe from that vile, bald head.”

You nod. It's true. Ever since you found out about the abuse that Theo’s father inflicted upon him, you knew that there would come a day when he would pay the price for it. Knowing that he couldn’t escape him before he turned 17, the only solace you can provide is your unwavering companion.

It only weighed on you heavily that Theo would have to endure it all alone again so that you could work to permanently sever the ties between him and his malevolent father..

“We’re kids.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, and you clenched your fists in frustration. At Voldemort, at Theo’s father, at your parents who left you all alone, at the lost innocence of your childhood.

“We’re supposed to be ripping our hair off for NEWTS, preparing for life after we leave Hogwarts, dancing and drinking our teenage years away. Why did we have to make all these choices? The storybooks on my shelf speak nothing of this.”

Then, her gaze unwavering firmly set on you as she sat up straight. “We’re doing this so that Voldemort, or any wizard that dares follow his steps, may never inflict the kind of pain on anyone else, the way he did to us and our parents.”

Heart heavy with foreboding and unease, Theodore stands among the students of Hogwarts in the dimly lit Great Hall. The room, devoid of its warm glow and chatter, was bathed in eerie silence where Snape, now the headmaster of Hogwarts, had summoned every student. From the tense shoulders of the man, Theo could only surmise that it was something important. It was rare to see Snape truly bothered.

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you here at this hour. It came to my attention that earlier this evening... Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade.”

A murmured thrill fills the Hall. Theodore’s eyes widened, as he waited for a sign. If Harry Potter was nearby, it could only mean that you were too.

Snape continues, raising his voice a tad bit to quell the noise. “Should anyone — student or staff — attempt to aid Mr. Potter, that person will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression. Rest assured: So long as I am Headmaster at Hogwarts, Harry Potter will never again step foot in this castle.”

Theo only hears the latter of what he said, mind distracted by the idea that you could be in the castle. His feet itched to run out and find you himself. Not an ounce of care for what the man in front is saying.

“Now then. If anyone here has knowledge of Mr. Potter’s movements this evening... I invite them to step forward now.”

However, the sound of footsteps catches his attention in the dead silence, and the younger Slytherin students near him exchange glances with each other. Then a figure appears from the shadows at the back of the hall. Someone that brought forth a sigh of a blend of relief and disbelief from Theo. An action that the younger him would probably scoff at.

“I think I can help you out with that…” Harry exclaims, “It appears that, even with all your thorough defensive measures, you might have a security problem, Headmaster”

The students all stare in utter perplexity, each wondering when and how the bespectacled boy had entered the castle. A vacuous question really for Harry has proven countless times that he is, in several ways, a gifted person who is filled with more courage and resolve than anyone in this room. Even Theodore, who’s good friends with Draco, can admit that fact.

The sight of Harry struck a spark of hope in a place that had grown increasingly bleak since the death of Dumbledore— Diggory’s death if you will. But the spectacle wasn’t yet done there when the doors of the Great Hall swung open, revealing the members of the Order. Their arrival further sets a ripple among the unexpecting students, though from the looks of Harry’s friends, it seems that they were the ones to aid them.

His gaze shifts to watch as one by one, they line up in a defensive pose behind Harry. He Recognizing a few familiar faces like the Weasleys, Hermione, Lovegood, Professor Lupin, Fleaur from Beauxbatons, and even some members of the Ministry.

“How dare you stand where he stood.“ Harry shouts. “Tell them the truth of that night’”

Theodore’s breath catches in his throat. The air becomes suffocating at the reminder of those times, days that still hunt him and the others. He takes slow inhales and exhales to calm himself, knowing that now is not the right time and place.

Snape with his eyes like shards of ice, faced Harry Potter. Theodore watches as he moves as if to retrieve his wand, but before he can do so, McGonagall comes forward and sends a blast in Snape’s direction. Snape pivots and barely rebounds the spell in defence,

Chaos ensues as the rest of the staff leaps forward with their wands out. A short but intense exchange erupted in the middle of the room, making the students shuffle to the side to avoid being hit by the spells and curses that flashed through the air like crackling lightning.

Snape, ever the formidable wizard despite his attitude, held his ground with a stoic determination. But Theo couldn’t help but notice how his old professor merely deflected the curses thrown upon him and never cast his own. It piqued his curiosity knowing that he was a master of the dark arts, prominent in the way lectures were replaced by dark arts in his headship.

In the end, Snape yielded, a moment that sent shockwaves to many.

“A coward, that man.” Professor McGonagall proclaims, before turning to Harry. “Mr. Potter, do you mind telling me what you’re doing here, which, I trust you realise, is an act of complete lunacy?”

Harry replies by simply telling her that he is a Gryffindor which comes to no surprise to the woman. McGonagall then turns to the rest of the students, calling them to settle down after the whole debacle.

Just then, Harry suddenly winces, pressing his palms to his temple, before a rumble rings throughout the Hall. A dark cloud swarming in the Enchanted Ceiling, imminent that the beginning of the war will begin any time now. It is the screams and face of pain that confirms it.

A familiar voice to Theodore sounds off in a deathly whisper in his head. And by the looks of everyone, it was the same for them.

“I know that many of you want to fight. Some of you may even think this is wise. But this is folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.“

With that, the whispers recede followed by the dark clouds evaporating into thin air. For a moment, silence ensues. Pansy’s screechy voice scratches in his right ear from where she stands beside him.

“Harry’s right there! Somebody grab him!” Yet nobody gives her a second thought. Everyone’s attention shifts instead to Filch who loudly enters through the Hall, screaming that everyone’s out of bed. The man made Theo chuckle inwardly, making a tiny smirk form on his lips.

“They are supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot!” McGonagall tells him off. “Oh right, sorry.”

“Now, as you’re already here, I’d like you to lead the rest of Slytherin House from the Hall to the dungeons.” She adds on before Filch can leave.

Theodore’s thoughts returned, as they always did in the past months, to the one question that haunts the very corners of his mind: Where are you? In this whole happening, his eyes had been moving back and forth towards the group that stood near the large double doors. Trying to catch a glimpse of you in between the still figures. But as you had tortured him, you were still nowhere to be seen and he began to question if you had truly disappeared and left him questions unanswered.

As they were being ushered out of the Hall, he, like many others, was vacillating between insisting upon fighting for Hogwarts or to keep their loyalty to their Slytherin roots. But really, the prevailing choice for him is neither of those. He desperately wants to run towards Hermione and just ask her of your whereabouts.

But before he could approach a decision, Hermione made it for him. He jolts when a hand grasps his forearm, taking him by surprise.

“Nott.” Hermione begins before he cuts her off. “Where is she?”

It must’ve come off louder than he intended to from the way she jumped and the stares from the clutter of students from all directions. But he couldn’t care less, and it seemed that the girl in front of him had just now remembered when he didn't offer an apology.

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re not much different.” She sarcastically says. “Granger. Hermione. I frankly don’t have the time for this and I doubt that you do too, so I beg you to answer me now.”

Theodore’s impatience taking over him, he could not endure another moment without having you within his sight. It was a bit of an uncharacteristic burst of urgency for him and he knew it, but you were different. You, who holds all of his vulnerable entirety in your hands.

“She’s somewhere in the castle, searching for one of the remaining Horcruxes in the castle,” Hermione explains. “Y/N had suggested that we split and she began the search while we had to ward off Snape. We will be doing the same thing now, so if you have any idea of Ravenclaw’s lost diadem location, then that’s where you’ll find her.”

With a simple nod and a meek expression of gratitude, he runs off to a place where he begs must hold such a priceless object. It would be somewhere close by but nowhere that it can be easily found.

In the corner of his eyes, Theo caught a glimpse of Harry sprinting towards a distant hallway before rounding a corner. Knowing that by now he must have an idea of where it is, Theo makes a sprint for it. He cautiously peers around the hallway where he sees a door materialising in front of Harry.

Before he can approach Harry to accompany him inside the Room of Requirement, he sees the unmistakable form of his two friends, Draco and Blaise, along with Goyle, discreetly following Harry inside. He muttered frustrated curses under his breath, knowing that those three would make trouble.

He enters through the door, where he makes a dash along the stockpile of objects that seemingly never seems to lessen with every step he takes. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, but still a lingering tension persisted, as he saw Harry’s figure running.

“Potter!” He calls out to the boy, casting aside any lingering apprehension he once held for the boy. “Did you find it?”

Harry halts in his run, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding to Theo. In truth, he wasn’t surprised that Theo was here with him, but rather, more so that you weren’t the object of his first question to him.

“I think so, the sound keeps getting louder.” He answers.

“It should be somewhere near now.” He continues. “Let’s go then.”

Theo quietly takes his place beside Harry as they weave their way through the maze of ancient objects and furniture. They continue until Harry stops, causing Theo to freeze in his step.

There you stood, a presence that seemed to penetrate his very being. The only person who plagued his thoughts, you had woven yourself into every conscious moment and every corner of his mind.

Now that you were a mere five steps away from him, he couldn’t conjure the nerve to move forward, feeling himself paralyzed.

Was it the fear that held him back? The nagging thought that this might be just another dream of his? He couldn’t grapple at an answer, but by the length of your hair that now sits at your shoulders, he would like to believe that maybe this was indeed you. This was you, and before he realised it, he was all but standing still.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you nearly lose your footing, feeling a heavy weight press to your back. The sensation of those familiar long arms enveloping you in a tight embrace sent your heart racing, the shock of it sending a rush of emotions through you.

For a fleeting moment, it felt that your body had become one with the ground, immobilised by the torrent of emotions surging through you. But then when the realisation finally sinks into you, the tension that seemed to course through you suddenly dissolves and you willingly surrender yourself to the warmth of his embrace.

You turn, your hands tracing a graceful path across his back. It had been far too long, and you couldn’t imagine being apart from him for such an extended period ever again.

The background fades into obscurity. Harry was forgotten, a distant blur that moved with the others. Your eyes filled with relief and that soft, affectionate expression that he adored. All he could see was you, the person he had yearned for and feared losing in the world you both live in.

Theo’s defences crumbled, and he finally surrendered to the weight of his emotions. He couldn’t find a part of him that would care if others saw him right now. Tears flowed freely down his flushed cheeks, like a torrential downpour.

“I’m here. Theo, I’m back with you.” Your arms held him, gently rocking him as you tried to soothe his nerves.

“Never leave me alone again.” He choked on the words, his voice raw and rugged with pain. “I beg you.”

“I won’t be going anywhere, I promise. I’m sorry for having to leave so suddenly.” You whispered, your voice filled with genuine remorse. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of movement behind some cabinets— a flash of white.

“But we’ll have to talk later.” You continued, turning your focus back to Theo. “We need to get rid of this Horcrux.”

“Horcrux?” He asks, pulling back from the crook of your neck. “Hermione mentioned that when I asked about you.”

“It’s one of the many things that Voldemort has done to ensure his immortality.” You explained, your tone carrying a sense of urgency. “But if we get rid of it, we’re one step closer to finally banishing him for good.”

He opens his mouth to say something but before he can, he is interrupted by Draco, with Blaise and Goyle, stepping into view. “Well, well, what brings you here, Potter? And Theo, what are you doing with them?”

Your gaze shifts back at Harry who had only realised that you had some other company. “I could ask you the same.” You retort.

Theo, however, pays his friend no mind. Instead, he leans to your ear, his voice a hushed whisper. “We should get that thing while Draco is still preoccupied with Harry.”

You could make a run for it; it seemed that Draco didn’t care for your purpose inside the room. Rather busy demanding your friend for his wand back, the very one you had accidentally brought back with you from the Malfoy Manor.

“- its allegiance is to me now. If you want it, you’ll have to win it back. Perhaps even kill me…” You hear Harry proclaim. You silently curse your friend for his recklessness, tired of his cavalier attitude with his life simply because he’s braved the risk of death before. You kept your eyes trained on Draco, knowing that despite his hesitation before, he might act on it now.

His wand hand twitches.

Brow conflicted.

Uneasy eyes settling somewhere behind you. You look behind to see a silhouette of a girl with a wand pointed in your direction, before you can see who it is, a ball of scarlet light emerges and briefly lights up her face and hits Draco’s hand.

“Avada Kedavra!” You were pulled back by Theo, landing on the ground with his body catching the fall. You watch as the spell ricochets and sends the diadem, which was sitting peacefully in its encasement on the table, flying away.

You spring to your feet, a burst of adrenaline propelling you forward to catch the item before it vanishes on you in this labyrinth. Your hand barely grazed the edge of the jewelled headband and with a quick nod to Harry and Hermione a nod to escape this room. Meanwhile, you’re confused as to where Ron had disappeared off to.

The red-head gives you your answer when he comes running from somewhere followed by a twisting serpent made of scarlet flames. “Run! Goyle’s set the bloody place on fire!”

With your right hand clutching the crown, you secure a firm grip on Theo’s hand, which rests lightly on your waist. The five of you dash through the towering heaps of debris that would likely be a pile of smouldering ashes and soot. A quick glance behind you reveals flames that draw closer, mutating into different forms: serpents, dragons, and the like, each following you so closely that sweat beads form on the nape of your neck.

“Keep running!” Harry shouts when Hermione sees Draco scaling a mountain of furniture. You were still running for your life when suddenly Harry spots a stack of broomsticks. TO which you all took one and began to speed across the room.

The flames explode behind you, You and Theo, who decided to share, barely elude the snap of its jaw.

“Wait! What about Malfoy and Blaise!” Harry screams at the rest of you, your head turns to look back at the two who are barely hanging on as the flames continue to destroy the room. It was only a matter of time before it reached them and they would have nowhere to go.

“You grab them!” Theo replied, his voice scratchy and painful from the amount of smoke you’ve inhaled.

“Are you serious? He’s joking right?” Ron asks Hermione, to which you instead reply. “No, he’s not! Go get them!”

Harry and Ron sweeps down, swiftly reaching out to grasp Draco and Blaise’s outstretched hands. While you, Theo, and Hermione went ahead as a giant beam of light appeared in the distance, a radiating beacon. It’s Hermione, hovering on her broom with her wand raised.

Then, with Harry and Ron in tow, you all fly headlong towards Hermione’s beacon. And in an instant, your sight dissolved into a blinding whiteness.

Your eyes flutter open, your senses returning to you in a hazy rush. You felt someone shaking you furiously, and in your disoriented state, you instinctively pushed them away. But arms instead wrapped around you and pulled you into a warm chest.

“You’re fine!” The person evidently shakes in relief, before you feel a gentle bush of lips against your temple.

Blinking away the remnants of confusion, you look up to see Theo’s striking blue eyes already intently focused on you., striking a shiver across your spine “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily.” You joked weakly, a tiny smile on your face.

Theo’s expression softened, and he tightened his hold on you as if he was afraid that you might disappear again. “I thought I lost you there,” He tells you, voice barely above a whisper. “When I saw you just lying there, unmoving… I was utterly terrified.”

You reach up and gently cup his cheek, wiping away the dark ash that sullied it with your thumb. “Like I said, love, I’m not going anywhere,” Your voice filled with reassurance, and you sit properly to kiss him softly, sealing your promise in that tender moment.

But as with everything else, it was interrupted by an awkward cough behind you.

“You guys done there? We still have some things to do?” Ron retorts. To which Hermione slaps him in the chest.

You laugh and hum in tease. “Well, actually I think we could do with some more snogging here.” Ron merely groans. “No, please. I don’t wanna see that.”

The both of you stand from where you sit, your hands still entwined, hearts racing. “Where’s Draco and Blaise, by the way?” You ask Theo. “They ran off somewhere.”

As they all stepped out of the corridor, they caught you up on what happened while you were unconscious. Harry had stabbed the diadem with a basilisk fang which Ron and Hermione retrieved from the Chamber and threw it back towards the Room of Requirement where it blew up into flames.

You look at Harry who was staring into the distance, his face still bearing the trace of the agony he must’ve endured when he stabbed the diadem.

“It’s the snake. She’s the last one. The last Horcrux.” Harry speaks up.

“Where do you think he’ll take it?” Theo asks from beside you. “Somewhere safe. He’ll be keeping her close to him.”

“You should go ahead, Theo and I will stay here to help with the others.” You tell your friends, while Harry tries to locate Voldemort with his mind.

“I know where he is.” He finally comes back. “Let’s go.”

“The three of you keep safe alright?” You remind them as you all run towards the battlefield, where many of your friends stand fighting. They nod, promising you that they will and in return make you and Theo swear you’ll be careful.

In the courtyard, where students and staff trade spells with the Death Eaters that littered across the school grounds, you quickly join them, making sure that you are in sight of the other. The unspoken promise to do so served as a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos you were faced with.

From the upper balcony, your eyes scanned the battlefield, assessing the danger that lurked when you saw a Death Eater poised to send a curse to Luna from behind. Without a second thought, you unleashed a forceful flick of your wand, sending a powerful spell toward the Death Eater which sent him tumbling through the air and straight to the waters beyond the castle.

Luna, whose signature dream-like demeanour was replaced by an expression of gratitude, turns and locks eyes with you. She offered you one of her wide smiles, “Thanks! Y/n, glad to see you back here!”

Your heart swelled with warmth for your friend. “Don’t mention it, happy to see you also, Luna.” You quickly reply before returning to battle when you are hit by a deafening blast straight on the chest. You were raised to the air before you crashed into the floor below.

Theodore Nott fought valiantly in the courtyard, proving to the others that the dark mark that covered his right arm bore no significance to the man. His wand moved in a blur of motion in the onslaught of Death Eater. His thoughts were empty save for the ever-present worry that plagued him for your safety.

From his vantage point on the ground level, he does a quick scan of the courtyard, his heart pounding in his chest. The grisly sight of students and friends, along with the staff all stood their ground against the dark forces that dared penetrate their home. It filled him with a mixture of pride and fear.

And then, his eyes flicked onto a scene that made his heart skip a beat. From the upper balcony, he sees you with your wand in hand and your expression resolute as you defend Luna, a dear friend of yours. It filled him with a warm emotion at the sight of your strong determination to protect her.

But then in a blink of an eye, disaster struck. A blast struck you square in the chest, lifting you off your feet in shock and sending you crashing down. Theo’s heart which skipped a beat earlier had now wholly stopped, his blood turning to ice as he watched in horror.

With everything in him, he surges forward through the chaos to catch you before you fall down. But as he was still many steps away from you, you dropped full force into the stone ground. Panic fueled his every step as he ran towards your motionless form now with even more speed than he ever thought a human possibly could.

He feels his gut twinge at the bloody sight, a sickly feeling developing in the deep recesses of his body, the wand heavy in his hands then. His lips bore no sound as tried to call your name, his heart was twisted in his throat.

He knelt beside you, pulling you into his lap and checking you for your injuries. To his relief, your breathing was still steady for what had just happened to you and you didn’t seem to take any damage to the head, Still, he carried your disoriented body in his arms bridal style.

As he began to stand, his eyes went back to where you had previously been, searching for the source of the blast that struck you down. And then, with a shock that sent chills down his spine, he sees a familiar old face.

His father.

He sets you down somewhere safe inside the castle, without taking his sight away from his father. By the time he returns back to where you both were, his father is now advancing towards him with a sinister, triumphant grin on his face. It was a face that had been both a source of fear and disappointment throughout his life.

The face that caused his mother’s death.

“Father,” Theodore muttered, his voice laced with a blend of anger, disbelief, and a profound sense of betrayal. That despite all he’s done for him, his father still stood there with not an ounce of recognition that he was faced with his son. It was as if he had truly sunk to the depths of his loyalty to Voldemort and there was no other obligation for him except for his unwavering loyalty.

Their eyes were locked in a moment of tense, silent confrontation. He knew that this battle was only physical but also a battle of his loyalties. He had to protect you, he had to stand against his father, and he had to make a choice that would define the course of his life.

With the courtyard around them paying no specific attention to the father and son, it was only fair to say that everything else faded into the background for them too. Father and son. Standing on opposing sides, driven by their own convictions and beliefs, the younger no longer waited.

He was no, father, not in the true sense of the word. He was merely a shadow of a man, a heartless figure who stood there—grinning as if he had just claimed the grand prize in this twisted lottery.

In that moment, he had not only attacked the one person who held his son’s heart after he took away the other one but he had also torn away the last remaining fragments of the bond that tied the two of them.

His father had no time to react when Theodore raised his wand in a swift manner, hurling him violently to the cold, unforgiving wall across the castle. He rained down curses after cruses upon his father’s assailable body, each blow driven by a potent combination of anger and a fierce desire to defend.

“Stay” He seethed, punctuating his rage with a curse. “Away” Another spell. “From” The onslaught of his attack never ceased despite the dawn that slowly began to fade into view. “Her!” Each word carried the weight of an entire lifetime’s amount of hurt as Theo relentlessly battered his father until he was left into nothing but a fraction of what he used to be.

His eyes are glazed and unfocused as he continues this torture until he comes to a grip on reality when strong arms pull him away. It takes him a moment to realise that the battle has ceased.

The two people behind him dragged him away, from his father's still body. But still, his eyes remained locked onto him, unable to shift it away. The cold fire in him terrified the others that they had passed. They whispered that nothing could compare to the kind of fury and destruction that he was sure to rain upon his enemies.

“Wake up, Y/N. Please.” Theo’s voice quivered, his words trembling on the precipice of his emotions. His eyes, blurred by the veil of his tears, bore a weight drastically different than it did only hours ago.

Eyes that failed to veil the inner turmoil that plagued him. The entire battle against Voldemort had taken its toll on both of them, leaving them stranded from each other for nearly half a year, but seeing you this way…

He watched from a chair beside you as the healers worked diligently, silently begging them to look at you again, despite numerous assurances that you are now stable. His fingers unconsciously flexed at his sides, a manifestation of the anxiety that controls him.

The fear of losing you, the anger towards his father, the overwhelming relief that you are alive– it all left him in a state of disconcerting.

As he waits for you to wake, he couldn’t help but reminisce on all that the both of you had been through. The trials, the secrets, the moments of love and laughter everywhere and anywhere. You were not just some person he loved; you were his best friend, his reason.

His eyes welled up with tears, and he wiped them away hastily. He needs to be strong for both of you, just as you will in your state of unconsciousness. He knew that your love had emerged stronger than ever in this crucible of war. So he made a silent promise to himself that he would do whatever it takes to take you away from any danger that dares creep upon you.

Finally, as if an eternity had passed, your voice broke through the silence. He jumps up in shock at the sound. You had slowly begun to stir in your makeshift bed in the Great Hall, your eyelids fluttering as you emerged from the depths of unconsciousness. The world felt hazy at first. But as your senses gradually returned, you became aware of the hustle and bustle of the people around you and you tried to call attention.

Theo sees that you were trying to say something but from the scratchy tone that instead came out, you were in need of some water so he ran to the nearest jug he found and helped you sit up so you could properly drink.

Then, as your vision cleared, you saw Theo sitting by your bedside and that he was the one that quenched the dryness that lined your throat., his eyes locked onto hers with a mixture of relief and worry.

His face broke into a gentle smile as he saw you recognize him. “Y/N” He whispered, his voice cracking as he began to cry once more. “You’re awake, you’re back. Thank Merlin!”

You manage a weak smile in return, your throat still dry and your body aching from the attack on you. You tried to speak, but your voice came out raspy. “Theo.”

Theo reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from the side of your face, his touch gentle as ever. “You’re going to be okay.” He says, but it was more like he was also trying to convince himself. “You had me worried there for a while. I am this close to tying you up in a chair because you have caused me nothing but stress lately.”

As the both of you lay on the bed after you guilted him into laying beside you, your memories of the battle and the moments leading up to your injury slowly came back. You remembered Luna, the chaos, and the deafening blast that nearly took you away. But most of all, you remember the face of the person who did this to you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out to hold his hand, your fingers entwined in a silent, unspoken connection. “You must have been like a hero back there, then?” You gently try to ask him.

“More like a monster.” He mutters, unable to bring his eyes to you. The truth is he felt horrible after he finally calmed down. He was disgusted with himself and how he acted. He let his rage take control and acted like a monster. “What do you mean?”

“I was just like him, leaving him unable to fight back like he did to Mom and I back then. I just fired curses and curses at him. It was like a veil had draped over me and all I wanted was to protect you and destroy anything and anyone that dared harm you. ”

You call his name. But he doesn’t respond and continues to stare off into the distance with a glazed-over expression. You reach out to cup his cheeks to pull his gaze towards you. “Theodore, look at me.”

He hums, now staring at you but still he can’t hide the tumultuous emotions that were a storm inside him. “You are not like your father, Theo.” You said softly. “Just from what you told me, you are a gazillion ways different from him. You didn’t cower behind the fear he caused you. Instead, you faced him head on, and defended not only me but also your mother from his cruelty.”

Theo looks at you, his eyes searching yours for affirmation. “How?” He meekly asks.

“You took away the power that he boasts to have over you. '' You replied. Tone unwavering. “You showed him that you will never, ever, become anything like he is."

Your words hung in the air, a testament to Theo’s strength. At that moment, he realised that he had broken free from the shadows of his father’s influence and that he had chosen a different path. A path that is defined by love, courage, and a refusal to be controlled by his fear.

“I’m here because of you. I strived each day so that I could go back to you.” You whispered, your gaze never leaving Theo’s. “And I'm not going anywhere.”

Theo’s eyes shimmered with tears as he leaned in to gently kiss your forehead. “I love you.” He murmured, “I am in love with you, physically, rhetorically, every -ly.”

You laugh at his cheekiness, “I love you too.” You close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to drown in the wave of his love that washed over you. Giving his hands a squeeze as you raise them to lay a kiss upon the back of his hand.

In that Great Hall, amidst the scars of battle and the uncertainty of the future, they had found something precious in the very same place where two 11-year-old kids once locked eyes and found a connection.

masterlist

#harry potter #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott angst #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #slytherin #theodore nott oneshot

1K notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 3 months

Text

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine

rating: teen

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

tags/warnings: pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day @toomanystoriessolittletime! I hope you receive and give all the love you need and want! I've had this idea for a while, but once I saw that Frankie was your fave, I knew I had to do it!

one day i’m gonna do the series of all of my favorite country songs with a Pedro boy. This is one of them: Singles You Up by Jordan Davis. Had thoughts of Me and My Kind by Cody Johnson for our ever-fantastic Jack Daniels and Hurricane by Luke Combs for Joel. One day, my loves, one day.

🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Frankie Morales has a problem.

Given the life expectancy in his line of work – all things considered – it really wasn’t that bad of a problem. Sure, his knees were busted, his shoulder aches when it was cold out, and his ex keeps hounding him for money he doesn’t have. But on the flipside, his little family unit of friends and brothers united by combat are (mostly) all alive and healthy. He has a steady job and his little girl, whom he loves and adores, thinks the sun shines out of his ass. All things considered, there’s not much else he can ask for. He’s far better off than some of the men and women at Will’s talks, or in Santiago’s field teams.

So – really, truly, seriously – all things considered . . . he can’t classify this as a bad problem.

In fact, this is a problem he would willingly have. Gladly even. Not quite joyously, but if it’s a choice between this problem and not having the problem at all, he will choose having this consistent, thorny, kind-of-hurts-to-breathe-sometimes problem every single time.

And right now, it’s wearing a dress.

Uh, well, you’re wearing a dress. An off-white, hinging-on-cream, dress that sits above your knees, cuts flat and wide across your chest, and puffs out into cotton sleeves that remind him of those conchas his abuela used to make. Sweet, fluffy, and absolutely forbidden.

Until the time is right, at least. His abuela always made him wait to eat until the time was right.

He calls it – you – a problem, when in fact, it’s the opposite of a problem. There is nothing he would ever want to change about the warm, engulfing feeling that starts somewhere in his stomach and rises like conchas up his spine until it’s somewhere in his ribs, then under his breastbone, right by his –

He would kill anyone who tried to take that feeling away from him. It’s when he feels most alive, most present, most out of his head – like these things in the dark and sleeping corners of his mind that nip and bite at him can’t find him. He’s thrown them off his scent in his search for you and, even for a brief moment, he can step into the light.

There is no problem, in how you look tonight, how you look every night, with your bright shining smile, sweet-smelling hair, cowboy boots, glass of whiskey – you had such a fantastic taste in –

Wait.

That’s not whiskey. Not even a whiskey glass.

That’s –

“White wine?” Benny yelps as he leans forward and his chair legs clatter against the concrete floor. “If that’s Moscato, I’m calling the cops because you’ve been replaced by an equally hot body double.”

You roll your eyes as you sit down and take a long drink from your glass, as if to make a point. Frankie’s eyes are drawn to where your dress hangs over your crossed legs, exposing the curve of your thigh.

“It’s not fucking Moscato, Benjamin,” you say, eyes narrowed, completely side-stepping his compliment, like you always do. “It’s Chardonnay. Nick recognized the vineyard on the menu so he recommended it. Thought I’d give it a try, because I like trying something new, Benjamin.”

He rolls those beautiful blue eyes and leans forward towards you at the table, that grin that brings grown women to their knees plastered across his face. He knocks back his cowboy hat with a tap of his knuckle.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”

“The fuck outta you is excused.”

You tug his hat back down over his face, smirking back at him, just as Nick saunters over – with what looks to be a wine glass of his own.

Okay, in hindsight, you’re not the problem.

His real fucking problem is Nick.

Your boyfriend.

Frankie, who has decided to only drink beer around you since The Almost Incident, takes three long pulls so he doesn’t have to watch Nick and his stupid hands slide across your exposed back and sit down in Santi’s empty chair.

“Happy Birthday, man, thanks for inviting me out.” Nick says briefly, raising his glass to Benny. “But I gotta say, I was a little worried when my girl here said your party was gonna be at a country dance hall. I’ve never been to one of these. I had to buy cowboy boots just for the occasion.”

He sticks his leg out, and rotates his gator-skin boot back and forth as if to illustrate how important to him this whole thing is.

But Benny doesn’t look down, doesn’t approve the boots, or Nick’s attempt at fitting in. Instead, he just smirks, his smile growing fat and lazy, a bit of the warmth fading from his blue eyes.

“Your first time at a cowboy hoe-down? I had no idea.”

Nick grins, because he doesn’t know Benny well enough to see the dig for what it is. But you do. You know him and you know he’s ragging on your boyfriend. You narrow your eyes and shame coats Frankie’s chest. Because he knows also Benny and he knows why he’s giving Nick such a hard time.

See, the problem isn’t you, or even your boyfriend – not really.

Nick is actually a decent guy. He treats you right, if a little delicately, but he buys you drinks, takes you places Frankie could never afford, in a car Frankie could never ever afford. Sometimes, you’ll say something, or tell a story and it’s obvious Nick doesn’t really understand you or your jokes, but he smiles along anyway. He makes good money and supposedly he keeps in touch with his mom. Nick is the kind of guy any brother would want his sister to date.

So the problem isn’t that Nick is a bad boyfriend, but that he’s your boyfriend.

The problem that Frankie Morales has is that he is painfully, achingly, in love with you.

And he’s your friend.

Maybe that would change, if he ever could work up the guts to say something. For fuck’s sake, he’s killed people – asking you out can’t be that much worse (as Santi often reminds him). But if the guys you’re into are like Nick, or even Nick-adjacent, then what fucking chance does he have? He never thought money was important to you, but apparently it is and that’s something he definitely can’t give you.

Or maybe you like the stability of a high-paying job with fucking miraculous health-care. And that’s two things more he can’t offer: stability and health-care.

So, maybe, maybe his problem isn’t with you or Nick or the fact that Nick is your boyfriend. It’s that he never could be. He, with one failed marriage already behind him and a coke rap sheet, has nothing to give you . . .

And you deserve the world.

You deserve more than he can offer you. You deserve better than him.

That’s his real fucking problem. And one he can't ever fix.

Will couldn’t get off work to come to this, so he owed Benny a beer and a nice steak dinner – according to Benny. Santi, despite absolutely swearing up and down for a week he wouldn’t be caught dead in cowboy boots and a hat, showed up tonight in full gear, belt-buckle included because he lost a bet with Benny over the Thursday night game. Santi, like everything else in his life, researched the hell out of the two teams, their past history, older statistics of both the players and the coach. He was confident, so confident, that he put his pride on the line.

Never a good idea with Benny Miller.

I don’t know, Benny said at the sports bar when his team was whooping Santi’s team’s ass, I just had a good feeling. Presumably, Santi did three shots before leaving and with another two in his system at the bar, all anger and frustration and embarrassment and inhibition had melted away and now Santi was doing what Santi did best, especially when drunk: dancing with beautiful women.

“The son of a bitch can dance, I’ll give him that. ” Benny muses as the three of you watch Santi, who despite having been taught the moves three minutes ago by two gorgeous blondes, complete a perfect line dance of Copperhead Road.

“Oh, shit, I could never do that.” Nick shakes his head. “Not even after a hundred classes.”

“Ah, I find that hard to believe, Nicky Boy. You seem like a natural,” Benny smirks over the lip of his beer bottle. He finds Frankie’s eyes and winks.

You are not amused. You glare at him over Nick’s shoulder for the second time tonight.

“It’s really not that hard,” you smile tightly and squeeze Nick’s shoulder. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t you know your girl here?” Benny leans back in his chair, balancing against the rung of Nick’s chair by the ball of his foot. “She used to put all of us to shame. Dancing the night away, leading the crowd in line dancing. In fact, if I remember correctly, she and Frankie used to get into all sorts a-trouble on the dance floor. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie.

Don’t, man, just don’t.

Benny shrugs, swallowing his smirk with another sip of beer, hands raised. Just trying to help out.

Over the speakers, the song winds to a close and the crowd does their final spin. Across the dance floor, Santi bows, his hat sweeping the floor, to both of the girls who giggle like high schoolers.

“I’m gonna go get Boot Scootin’ Boogie over there some water before he up-chucks all over those nice ladies.” Benny stands and fixes his hat. “You guys want anything?”

Frankie shakes his head, his own hat that Benny insisted he wear, making the line of sweat across his forehead itch. You and Nick decline as well. You’ve barely even touched your drink, Frankie notes with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Benny walks towards the bar, the next song starts up and you let out a squeal. Bring on The Good Times has been one of your favorite songs since college. And Frankie should know – he introduced it to you.

“This one is the best! A classic!” You grab Nick’s forearm, but he almost immediately pulls it back.

“Ah, babe, my first line dance is not gonna be in front of strangers! I’ll embarrass you and me. Why don’t you ask Frankie?”

Fuck, why could Nick just be a raging, flaming asshole? This would be so much fucking easier.

Frankie swallows his beer empty, an excuse for a refill prepped. He hates cowboy hats, but he’d fucking set fire to the sky for Benny – he just hopes he immolates himself in the process. The giant brim makes him feel like he’s got a neon sign over his head that blinks, I Am A Giant Dork. Only further proven if he gets anywhere near that dance floor with his two left feet.

Your eyes are unreadable as he tries to coax your boyfriend into taking you dancing.

“Nah, man, you got this. Your girl’s a great teacher.” By some cowboy miracle, his voice is steady as he says those two words. On the table, your fingers curl in, your wine glass still untouched.

Nick makes a face, eyes flitting back and forth to the dancers as they start the dance.

“My feet are already killing me in these new boots. Besides, this isn’t really my song.”

Over his shoulder, you find Frankie’s eyes. He knows that look on you – he knows everything about you – and you’re trying to hide how hurt you are.

He’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing.

You and Nick stare up at him, surprised by how he practically bounded to his feet.

The sweat at the ring of his hat runs down the back of his neck. Frankie does the only thing halfway-normal and extends his hand.

“Alright, princesa, I’ll fill out your dance card.”

He doesn’t care, or even really register, the darkly confused frown Nick sends him when you stand up, take his hand, and smile at him. He feels warm all the way up to his chest.

“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.”

That was a mistake.

This whole fucking night is a mistake. God help him, he loves Benny like a brother but he should have just said no and promised to take him out later like Will. He would have bought Benny any drink, any ridiculous chicken wing plate he wanted if Frankie didn’t have to be here, right now.

Because right now, right now, that wall of self-control that he uses to stem the reservoir, to stem the flow of whatever you cause to pour out of him, it’s leaking. It’s busted holes and now he’s drenched with it – with the scent of you, with the memory of hair down the length of your neck, the heat of your skin overworked and flushed, the sweet taste of your breath in his mouth when you leaned forward, into his space, his senses, and whispered,

“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this.”

But in his defense, he couldn’t feel his feet, much less make them move when he watched you with your skirt rucked up high in your fists, your cowboy boots kicking like fish in a stream, and that smile – that fucking smile – brighter and sweeter than all the whiskey in the world.

C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this

C’mon, Frankie, you’re better than this.

C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.

Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.

His restraint, his resolve that he will never, ever have you – he can feel it throb beneath his palms. Shudder and wobble under the thundering of his heart. It’s so close to breaking. Too close. This is why he doesn’t drink anything harder than beer around you. This is why he rarely drinks around you at all.

When Nick finally calls it a night because he’s already got a blister from the new boots, you don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve danced with Benny, you’ve danced with Santi and his gaggle of girls, Nick himself went up for a slow dance or two.

Frankie only ever asked for one.

He knows he disappointed you, has been disappointing you because you can feel him layering you away, brick by brick by brick. One of his oldest and longest friends, barely visible now, and he’s going over it with caulk to make sure you can’t touch this fragile, weak, emaciated thing he calls a heart.

The instant you walk out of the bar, Nick’s arm across your tense shoulders, he all but rushes for the bar.

“Six tequila shots, please.”

You wake up where you went to sleep: curled up on your couch, your giant Florida Gators blanket wrapped around you like a mentally-supportive straight-jacket, with Golden Girls reruns on the TV. The empty bottle of 19 Crimes explains the sticky, dry feeling in your mouth and the thundering headache accompanying swollen eyes and cheeks. You’d rather get hit by a train than have to move out of this position, but Nick has always been punctual.

Which, you assume, extends to picking up his stuff from your apartment first thing in the morning, his final threat that ended your conversation last night.

The sooner, the better, you mother fucker.

You blindly grab around for your phone, knowing that it’s most likely shoved into the deepest cracks of your couch, hoping against hope Panera delivers on a Saturday morning. There’s a distinct possibility you might start swinging if Nick shows up before you get a baguette and a coffee into your system.

The things he said about Benny and Santi last night on the drive home. This break up was a long time coming, but fuck, if this is what he’d been sitting on about your friends, what the fuck did he actually think of you?

And the things he implied about Frankie – how Frankie was in love with you and you were willingly not seeing it – ridiculous.

You fight the rancid taste of hope that anything Nick implied about Frankie might even remotely be true when you close your fingers around the shape of your phone at the far end of the couch.

22%

Just enough to order then yeet this fucking thing into another room because there is no way in hell you are answering Nick’s calls.

But, as you scroll through your notifications, maybe you should have answered Frankie’s.

He had called sporadically, starting about two hours after you and Nick had left the dance hall, all the way until four in the morning.

One text at 1AM: com e hang out wit us.i mis s you u

You smile, despite the obviously drunken text. Frankie rarely texted, only if it was dire need – and apparently, you continuing to party with the boys at 1AM was very, very dire. Judging by the eight missed calls.

Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail.

Like you’re about to settle down for some good TikTok scrolling, you lean back into the pillows, rubbing your eyes to clear the hazy fog, and press play.

First, there’s noise. Lots of it. Country music and people laughing and singing. Clearly still at the dance hall. You wish for a minute it is a video instead because you’d pay hand over fist to see those guys falling all over each other.

But then comes Santi. Over the years, you’d picked up some Spanish here and there, mostly enough not to embarrass yourself if you ever went to Miami.

But whatever Santi is saying, you’re not entirely sure it is Spanish, or any human language.

“Comotuamiga, teruegoqueselodigas porfavornopuedo hacerestopormucho mástiempo. Estaríasmásfeliz y ellaestaríamásfeliz. Nomemiresasí, sabesqueloúnico quequiereesqu labeses y la beses y luegohagasotrascosas – ¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste?”

There’s a shuffling, hushed voices, the music still far too loud to make anything out.

“Déjame en paz, dude.” Frankie. Frankie, very very very drunk. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna say – voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. She’ll get it. I know–,”

“Then say something now because you’re leaving a voicemail!”

“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”

In two words and two filler words, Frankie’s whole demeanor changes. You can almost picture him curled around the phone, his hand cradling the phone to his ear as he rests his head against a wall.

“Baby, listen – fuck, sorry, I’m starting all wrong. I shouldn’t even call you that – I shouldn’t call you ‘baby’ because you’re not mine. You’re not my baby or anyone else’s because you’re so fucking independent and I love that about you but I wish you were. Mine, I mean. Not a baby.”

You don’t even remember sitting up, but your feet are on the ground. You’ve dropped the phone onto the table in front of you, staring at it as if it’s been dripping poison into your ear. Your heart is pounding.

There’s silence from Frankie for a second, the music still loud, but it’s dampened. You can hear Frankie breathing, swallow, and start again.

“You looked so fuckin’ good tonight. You look good every night but fuck, baby, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even for a second . . . he doesn’t tell you that you look so fucking good enough, you know? You should hear it all the time. I wanna tell you – tell you all the time – he didn’t say it once. Not once and that’s a fucking crime. He makes you drink white wine when I know you fucking hate it – I know you, baby. I know you more than I know myself because you’re all I fucking think about. You’re in here, all the time, all up in my chest, my throat, my gut – and you can have it. You can have it. You can have all of me, if you just . . .”

His voice breaks and your fingers clench around the edge of the cushion.

“If you just . . . look, I know this is so fucking outta line and I wanna say it to your face and I’m gonna but . . . when that fuckin’ moron forgets how good he has it, I’m gonna be there. Gonna be right there. Because –,”

And then like someone shoved a speaker right up against Frankie’s phone, as clear as day, you hear Benny yell:

“IF HE AIN’T HOLDING YOU TIGHT, IF HE AIN’T TREATIN’ YOU RIGHT, I’MA BE THE FIRST ONE CALLIN’ HIM CRAAAZY–,”

“Benny, fuck off!”

And then the call drops, along with it your stomach. In fact, it slides out of your body, slouches off the couch and melts into the floor.

Oh, Frankie, do you even mean a word of it?

The hangover rubbing your nerves raw, tears spring into your eyes, the silence and fear and terrible hope tightening like a band around your head and infinitely increasing the pressure in your temples. You want to cry but your eyes already feel too puffy.

You’re stuck, frozen by every single possible outcome or single next step spinning out like chaotic webbing you can easily catch yourself on.

This was a mistake, it had to be. He didn’t mean to call your phone. He had accidentally called you when he meant to call another girl . . . also with a boyfriend named Nick. Frankie, sweet Frankie, who you’ve all but outright begged to take an interest in you – said it with your eyes hundreds of times – Frankie couldn’t actually have feelings for you.

Not like you had for him. Not like the ones you’ve slowly plucked out of your ribs over the years because god, even just looking at him seared a scar across your heart.

Fuck. Fuck!

You snatch up your phone, wiping your teary eyes and frantically hoping he might have said a name or anything – he couldn’t possibly have meant you – when three loud bangs on your front door sends your phone into the air and your heart into your throat.

The way he calls your name is frantic, verging on hysterical. In a daze, you glance at the clock. 9:04. Frankie’s had about four hours of sleep, if any at all.

“Please, open the door! We gotta talk – there’s something – there’s something on your phone you shouldn’t hear – please, baby, open up –,”

You stare at the phone on your floor.

Don’t they always say you can’t tell the moments that irrevocably change your life until after they’re gone?

Not this time.

You open the door and either way, everything changes.

“C’mon, please, let me explain.” His voice has quieted, no longer shaking, softer as though wounded. “Just five minutes and I’m gone. I swear. We can forget the whole thing –,”

You open the door to a hungover Frankie Morales, still in the same outfit you saw him last in, but his eyes are rimmed with black circles, his patchy beard even more patchy as if he had rubbed the bristle clean off. He reeks of beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke. His shirt is loose, wrinkled, his belt isn’t even on all the way, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“What if I don’t want to forget it, Frankie?”

You see the realization strike him through the eyes, the throat, the chest, his gut, his brown eyes swimming with shame and horror. He leans over as if kicked and presses a hand against your doorway. His thumb rubs the corner and he swallows.

“So you listened to it already?”

“Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes briefly, hanging his head, every apology in every language he knows sitting right behind his teeth. “But did you hear what I said?”

He frowns at you through those thick eyebrows. “What?”

“When I opened the door, did you hear what I said?”

“You said –,” that beautiful bottom lip parts from its sensual top and Frankie blinks at you. The oily blackness of shame has evaporated from his eyes, but that stormy fear rages on.

You inhale, breath getting caught on every knot in your spine, and step back.

“We need to talk.”

He glances once over his shoulder, as if taking in the hallway to your apartment for the last time, and he steps inside. Immediately his height and broadness fill out every empty space in your tiny living room and you’re launched back into the memory of when the boys came over for Christmas and there was hardly enough room for anyone, but somehow you all made it work and after four rounds of DDR, everyone was so tired and drunk, you passed out pillows and blankets and you spent your first adult Christmas at what could have been mistaken for a thirteen year old’s slumber party. It was one of the happiest times of your life.

His thick fingers clench and unclench when Frankie spies your phone on the floor, like a bomb waiting to go off.

Your brain struggles to default to hostess mode because you can’t think of anything to say.

Do you want coffee?

Do you want some cereal?

Do you want to–

“Tell me what happened last night.” You surprise yourself, Frankie, and your whirring brain by cutting right to it. As with the first question when you opened the door to him, there’s something inside of you that has taken on wings, spread them wide, and threatens to soar out of your body. Frankie’s here, he’s here, and he said he wants you –

He called you baby.

You breathe in, trying to scrape up some courage from the bottom of your lungs, wishing in the back of your mind under everything else that you’d chosen literally anything else to go to bed in than your Tweedie Bird shirt from Six Flags.

“I don’t understand, Frankie. Please help me understand.”

With a monumental sigh, he rubs his wide hand across his face and up into his hair, his other hand lifting his cap up off his head so his fingers can dig into his curls. It’s only then that you realize Benny’s cowboy hat he wore last night is gone and his tried and true Standard Oil ball cap is back. Meaning he must have gone home at some point. When did he realize (or remember) that he’d left you that voicemail?

“I’m gonna get my ass kicked,” he murmurs, eyes darting like a fox to your bedroom door. “Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.”

“He’s not here.” This great thing arcs between you, the emptiness a presence and clarity all at the same time.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“We broke up.”

“When? Why?”

“Last night, after we left the bar. We got into an argument. He doesn’t like the way . . .”

Frankie – physically, mentally, emotionally, fundamentally – overwhelms you. He’s across the room in an instant, closer than you think he’s ever been before. But maybe this is the first and only time you’ve ever allowed yourself to enjoy it. Revel in his closeness and let this caged feeling in your chest break free. You touch his chest with the flat of your palm, the size of it, the breadth of him, staggering. You literally feel weak at the knees.

“He doesn’t like the way what?” His voice luxuriates in his throat – warm, deep. He sounds like what you imagine a hot spring feels like against your skin.

“He didn’t like the way I looked at you.” Your fingers make circles where they did into his shirt. His hands have found their way, after all this time, to your waist. “The way I always look at you, Frankie.”

His breath, subsequent to the ghost of his lips, across your forehead is so gentle it makes you close your eyes, to block out one sense to encourage another.

You feel him swallow even though he’s a foot away from you.

“Why –,” he stops, and starts again, just like on the phone call, “why do you look at me . . . when you have him?”

“Oh, Frankie.” His grip on your waist tightens as if you’re about to disappear forever. “I took him because I can’t have you.”

You blame the tears on the hangover, the headache, and the way he takes your chin between his thumb and knuckle.

Grateful.

He’s looking at you, eyes soft, mouth curved into a disbelieving smile, with gratitude.

“He’s the furthest thing from you because I tried to get you out of my system – I did – I promise. I can’t lose our friendship, Frankie, but it’s killing me . . . not having you. Nick said it was obvious the way I felt about you and that was a problem for our relationship, so he tried to make me choose between you and him and every time, without a doubt, I’ll always choose–,”

This is the right time, he supposes.

Hand over your cheek, he holds you still in silence to press his mouth to yours. The final word of your sentence dies on his tongue, muffled by a soft groan of surprise. Your breath is terrible, your skin is oily and damp, he knows he stinks like the bottom of a wet bar, but he can’t find himself to care. Your mouth opens to take him and the hand on your cheek sinks to your neck as you both move past the initial shock of I’m finally getting to do this and you’re not pulling away and into an actual, proper, deep kiss that sends sparks into his toes. Your tongue marks the bottom of his mouth, your arms going around his neck like you want more – you need more – and Frankie pulls back.

Not only because he’s slightly dizzy but because he a) won’t fuck you for the first time on your living room floor and b) absolutely will not do it hungover.

“Breakfast. Do you like . . . uhm, breakfast?” He can’t quite focus on a single spot on your face, eyes half-lidded and gaze blurred.

You giggle, letting his beard tickle your nose as you sneak your face into his neck. He sways a bit with you, his arms around your back, and you don’t think he’s even realizing what he’s doing.

“Yes, Frankie. I like breakfast. I eat it almost every day, in fact.”

He grunts, neck suddenly flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I mean –,”

“I know what you mean, baby.” You lean back and run your fingers through the thatch of curls at the back of his neck. Both of you are so grimy but you can’t care. “I’d love breakfast.”

Frankie smiles his Frankie smile and the thing in your chest is illuminated in gold.

“How do you feel about conchas?”

Translations:

Como tu amiga, te ruego que se lo digas. Por favor, no puedo hacer esto por mucho más tiempo. Estarías más feliz y ella estaría más feliz. No me mires así, sabes que lo único que quiere es que la beses y la beses y luego hagas otras cosas. = As your friend, I beg you to tell her. Please, I can't do this for much longer. You would be happier and she would be happier. Don't look at me like that, you know all she wants is for you to kiss her and kiss her and then do other things.

¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste? = Idiot! Did you call her?

Déjame en paz. Voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. = Leave me alone. I am going to tell her. She will know.

#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #pedro pascal characters

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woahjo · 2 months

Text

The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear.

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit."

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.

"Got a name?" he asks.

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?”

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."

He nods his understanding.

"Come with me."

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost.

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising.

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it.

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."

"Well, I'm back," he says.

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.”

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone."

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?

"Sounds like a good deal," you say.

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.”

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it.

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.”

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.”

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”

You nod.

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.”

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks.

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them.

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge.

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit.

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?”

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.”

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group.

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder.

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.”

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.”

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues.

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.”

“Mhm,” Mina says.

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.”

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.”

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy.

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.”

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever.

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.”

You swallow thick and nod a little.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.”

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree.

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from.

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.

“Nothing really,” Mina says.

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?”

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask.

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?”

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides.

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.”

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?”

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond.

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.”

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.”

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds.

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.”

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in.

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.

—

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation.

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it.

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough.

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize.

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.”

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.”

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?”

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.”

You recognize Katsuki’s voice.

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.”

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman.

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.”

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays.

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?”

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?”

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.”

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg.

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.”

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find.

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod.

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.”

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.”

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.”

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary.

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.”

You listen as you eat your crackers.

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.”

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.”

Mina laughs a little.

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.”

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.

“You’re really forthcoming with information.”

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers.

“Can you blame me?”

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.”

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper.

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.”

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering.

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at.

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now.

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask.

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it.

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it.

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him.

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward.

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks.

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.”

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.

“Got everything?”

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe.

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk.

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says.

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?”

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?”

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?”

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world.

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.”

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way.

��I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.”

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb.

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be.

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet.

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.”

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.”

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.”

The group grows quiet for a moment.

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.”

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says.

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?”

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?”

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?”

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.”

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?”

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.”

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds.

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it.

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.

—

“Need some help?” You say.

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?”

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably.

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?”

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.”

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly.

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively.

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.”

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?”

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.”

You tilt your head.

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is.

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.”

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little.

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-”

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.”

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task.

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.”

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out.

“You’re doing laundry.”

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?”

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.”

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.”

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering.

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid.

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.

“Were you?”

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you.

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.”

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway.

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?”

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?”

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.”

“She’s pretty,” you say.

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.”

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little.

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?”

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused.

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little.

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.”

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.”

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.”

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier.

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?”

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #mha smut #bakugou fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #apocalypse au #tw.violence #tw.blood #tw.loss of identity #tw.derealization #tw.depersonalization #tw.exhaustion #cal.writing #char.bakugou

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 months

Note

Can i request a hotch fic where he and reader had a fight but they cant sleep if the one isnt in bed with them so they end up cuddling and its just fluff🥰

fem!plus size reader, wc: 525.

a/n: i really hope that you guys can feel the playful and kind of "crack-fic" undertones that are in this fic because i felt like back to back angst might kill me! 😭

You really needed to stop being impulsive when you were mad.

You attempted to shift off of the loose spring in the sofa that was digging into your back, but reigned unsuccessful because another one just ended up digging into your shoulder.

Now that you were lying here and had time to reflect on the course of tonight's events, you realize that you may have acted a little ridiculous.

You and Aaron didn't really fight a lot. Sure there were arguments or light bickering here and there, but that wasn't anything unexpected to come from two lovers.

But this total fucking blowout takes the cake.

It started over nothing really, the wrong comment on the wrong night; which then turned into nitpicking and finding anything to argue about until someone's feelings got hurt. Those feelings being yours obviously.

So, you dramatically snatched a pillow and blanket off of your shared bed and stormed out into the living room, loudly announcing that you were sleeping on the couch tonight.

That had been an hour ago.

You missed your boyfriend even though he was literally in the room across from yours. You could apologize yes, but if you were going to be honest, you were embarrassed by how immature you were.

You groaned, slapping your hands over your eyes and rubbing them in frustration.

You should have known better than to do this, because it was basically an acknowledgement between Aaron and you that you guys had a hard time sleeping without the other. It slipped your mind in the heat of the moment!

As if he had read your mind, you heard the bedroom door open.

“Honey?”

You could hear the tiredness in his voice and it had almost made you tear up, but ever the stubborn woman, you turned over onto your side with an exaggerated huff.

It was silent for a moment before you heard the slight cracking of his knees, and the light thumping of his feet. The blanket that was splayed over your body was lifted, and you jolted in surprise.

Aaron had tucked himself as far into your back as humanly possible, forcing you to move forward a bit so he wouldn't fall over the edge and onto the floor. He rested his head in the crease of your neck and shoulder, throwing a large arm over your mid section and intertwining his legs with yours.

Oh, he was using your weakness against you.

“Sweetheart, I'm sorry.” Aaron mumbled.

You grumble a bit before sighing and gripping his hand resting on your stomach.

“I'm sorry too.”

“I didn't mean to freak out on you. It's just, I'm just stressed with my job and-” You cut him off. “Aaron baby, my heart, my soul and the love of my life. I mean this when I say that it's fine. I didn't act all that rationally either.”

He places a kiss on the naked skin of your neck, the sensation causing butterflies to swarm in your belly.

“It's okay. I just want to go to bed. Will you come with me?”

“Of course… but I'm the little spoon.”

He chuckles lovingly, “Of course.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

579 notes · View notes

43qh · 2 months

Text

Come A Little Closer (M)

quinn hughes x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff ! (happy ending, don’t worry)

word count: 3.1k

warnings: unprotected sex, insecure quinn, reassurance, so soft it hurts

summary: ‘there is a halo in your mouth, and i like how it burns.’

truly, there was nothing more beautiful than the sight of seeing quinn come home. right back to you. it was a snowy morning, and his eyes squint in a smile as he reaches you, a bag over his shoulder. there’s momentary silence, almost like this moment felt unreal, just like all the others.

“i’ve missed you so much, you really have no idea.” his voice rasps. you look at him with your own soft smile, noticing the small bags under his eyes. you knew he was too excited to sleep the night before.

there’s something so bittersweet about him coming home. you can feel the exhaustion, the tiredness that exudes from his body. you can tell he’s barely holding on. the sigh he let’s out the second he enters your shared home is a telltale that he could drop from exertion any moment. it makes you sad to see him that way. to know he overworks himself.

your thoughts are interrupted when quinn wraps his arms around you, giving you hug. not a hint of selfishness behind it. you fall into his embrace, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours again. it was nothing but sweet. soft.

quinn kisses your temple, “i’m so glad to be home.” he meant you. he couldn’t care where you were. you were where home lied.

you kiss his cheek, “i’m glad to have you home.”

the week without him felt torturous. your calls were minimal, texts barely coming through every now and then. but you would sacrifice it for the rest of your life if it meant he got to come back to you.

quinn rests his head on your shoulder. this was a version of himself he could only be around you. this was a different him. his world becomes one again the second he’s in the same room as you. he swears he leaves part of his soul with you when he leaves. and he waits to be tenderly in your arms again, kissing your lips like it was his own air he breathed.

quinn’s lips are on yours before you can say anything else. before you can ask how his trip was, knowing how he’d reply anyway. mumbling something about how it would have been better with you there. his kiss burns. aches down to your feet and the ground below you. it was a sensation you never really got used to.

his lips were cold, the snowy air still evident on his lips and tongue. he takes his time kissing you, almost like it’s his last. he always kisses you that way. it’s an endearing part of him. something that makes you want to stay.

quinn fears you’ll run one day. realizing how crazy his schedule really is and how you can’t take it anymore. his fears leak into his affections, and you can feel them. it’s almost as if you’ve been connected from the start. you want to reassure him that you’ll never run, but you know words would fall on deaf ears for him. so you kiss him back the same way he kisses you. with tenderness, fervor, want. something you know he desires.

and fuck, is quinn grateful for it. your kiss seals his insecurities, locking them away for another day. and when he pulls back, looking into your glossy eyes and seeing the way your lips shine from spit, he smiles to himself. quinn searches your face, looking for doubt or reason. but he finds none. it’s love circling your eyes and he knows his are swimming with you.

it’s a delicate affirmation. something he doesn’t take lightly, but knows is a soft gesture. quinn knows you know him like the back of your hand by now, and it impresses him.

he sighs, “yeah, i’m so glad to be home.”

your giggle surrounds the room and envelopes his body in a warm hug. his fingertips burning back to life from the cold and his ears ringing in familiarity.

there was nothing like coming home.

waking up beside you was like seeing an angel the first time. every single time. your body was rested snuggly against his own as he watched your breath rise and fall. he could watch you forever. he admired the way you carried grace even in your sleep.

he feels you twitch to life, rubbing your face into his chest, making a chuckle rise in his throat and come to life. your eyes squint up at him, a soft and lazy smile gracing your features. he watches you, his smile widening when you lean up for a kiss.

but he wants more, and you know this.

morning lazy sex was quinn’s favorite. he loved how your guard would fall with the way his touch set your skin ablaze. his hands explored beneath your night shirt, making you whine into his kiss. quinn flips you over, breaking the kiss and making you gasp. his eyes glaze over, watching the way your breath rises and falls in a different way this time.

you still had sleep in your eyes, a haze clouding your mind as he works your shirt over your head. he’s quick to remove your panties with it, his own clothes following suit. quinn doesn’t like wasting time in the morning. he’s eager, ready to please.

you run your fingers alone his shoulders and one hand goes to his neck, pulling him down for a lazy and sloppy kiss. quinn groans when your fingers softly grasp his locks, sending shivers down his spine. quinn loved your touch. it never failed to make him quiver with delight.

quinn couldn’t wait much longer, though. he runs his cock between your folds, collecting your slick and covering his dick with it. he pulls apart from your kiss to catch his breath, listening to the whine you make when he runs his tip across your clit, stopping there to add pressure. he loves the way you buck up your hips, neediness starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

“quinn..” you breathe, voice light and airy.

“i know, baby,” he huffs, lining up with your entrance, “i’ve got you.”

your fingers dig into one of his shoulders, nails probably leaving a print. not that he minds really. he pushes into you, the anticipation practically killing the both of you as he slowly slides in. you’re so tight, and he’s so big. he swears up and down you were made for him, though. it’s like he’s right where he belongs when it comes to you.

“oh, fuck.” you gasp, listening as you hear the soft squelching noises fill the room. your moans soon follow as he begins to set a nice, slow pace.

it was lazy. he rests himself on his elbows, and you can hear his hitched breathing directly in your ear every time you clench around him. it’s heaven. god, it’s heaven.

he wants to be impossibly close to you, make up for lost time. make up for all the times he couldn’t be there for you. make up for missing out on so many things that were important to you. you may never mention some things to him, but he knows he misses things. he hates it. he hates that he has to be apart from you for even just a game, even when you’re right there in the stands watching him.

he never wants to miss a thing again. despite it being unrealistic, he pushes it aside and focuses on the way your moans make his cock throb and the way your touch makes his body react.

he pushes into you with more force, finding that special spot and making you arch your chest into his, “oh, quinn.”

he loves the way you say his name. “yeah? feel good, baby?”

you can only nod dumbly, and he smiles to himself, biting his lip and trailing kisses along your jaw and neck. he feels the way your walls contract around him, pulling another groan from him.

quinn never realizes how quick you can make him cum until he’s finally inside you, filling you up and feeling just how warm you are. the same goes for you. you can feel his veins, the way his cock twitches when you moan. it’s nothing you both haven’t felt before, but it never stops feeling like the first time.

“you’re gonna make me cum,” he rasps in your ear, his thrusts becoming more eager and sloppier. you whine back, lightly biting his shoulder, “want you to cum on my cock. want you to make a mess.”

his words build a tension in your core, “fuck, yeah, gonna cum.”

quinn speeds up, desperately wanting your release all over him. he wants to watch as you fall apart, feel as you fall apart. and he does. god, he does. he hears you chant his name like it’s the only word you know, tightly gripping his cock with your pussy and triggering his own release. he wants to roll his eyes back, but then he’d be missing the show of your own rolling back.

he watches you intently, almost like time slows down for a bit. heavy breathing fills the air, and he’s back to reality before he wants to be. he kisses your shoulder, neck, jaw, lips. he’s tender taking care of you.

he never wants to stop taking care of you.

quinn drags his feet as he enters the front door, a long game resting on his shoulders and you stop what you’re doing to rush towards him. he feels like sunshine has suddenly hit him, his aching bones starting to cure at the sight of your sympathetic smile. it’s so damn easy coming home to you.

“hi quinny,” the nickname rolls off your tongue and he can feel the heat run up his ears. he enjoys it, but no one else could ever call him that and get away with it.

“hi, sweetheart.” he opens his arms for your embrace. when you fall into him, you smell the post-game shower on him. some of his natural musk still lingers, his soap mixing with it and making you sigh. he smelled so good. and you fit so perfectly into his life.

“you were so good out there,” you kiss behind his ear, standing on your tippy toes for just a few seconds to reach. he smiles to himself at the action.

“thank you, did you watch the whole game?” he questions, knowing you had a job from home.

“i did.” you reply back, and there’s a silence that lingers. nothing that suffocates or builds tension. it’s just quiet. so quiet and peaceful. a place where quinn can rest.

if quinn could have you closer, he would. you feel him squeeze you againsr his chest, causing a small squeak to escape your lips, making him laugh. and when he pulls back, he seeks your smile before kissing you. it felt like too long since he last had your lips on his. call him clingy or whipped, he really didn’t care. quinn is in love. so in love.

the kiss is sweet and soft, no lingering intentions. he pulls back to stare at you, “what did you do today?”

and he listens as he walks to your shared bedroom to undress into something more comfortable. he asks questions every now and then, but making a point not to interrupt you. he hears a yawn between sentences every now and then, smiling to himself. he knew you waited and stayed up just late enough to greet him home. he sighs as he walks to the bed, sitting on the edge.

you stand between his legs and his hands immediately go behind your thighs, looking up at you. his world spins. you have a glow on your cheeks as the moon shines through the window in the bedroom. it knocks the air out of his chest.

to have gained an angel like you, he wasn’t sure what he ever did to deserve you. but he’ll thank the universe for fate or whatever it was that brought you to him.

“ready to lay down?” you tilt your head, eyes glossy from your constant yawning.

quinn softly smiles and lightly nods, “yeah.”

the feeling of holding you as you both drift to sleep is something he considers a privilege. especially when he’s away and you can’t come with, he thinks about it often. the way your perfume started to print into his sheets, the way your soft breaths eased his soul, the way your shampoo brought him comfort.

he kisses your forehead, feeling as you start to fall more and more limp in his arms as he closes his own eyes.

love entangles the both of you as you fall in a slumber, holding the both of you together.

quinn can’t take his eyes off you.

you have happiness in your eyes, and you both have been laughing at random things the both of you have said with spontaneous drunken kisses. quinn was only slightly buzzed, watching you throw your head back at a joke he expresses.

how wonderful it is that you both laugh because your bodies cannot contain joy.

quinn tells you locker room stories, looking at the glint in your eyes. he tells you all the times his brothers caused him trouble that he had to fix. he tells you past stories of the both of you that make you both laugh in hysterics.

it’s his first night home in awhile, just you and him.

there were no distractions, no practice, no worries hanging off his shoulders. it was just you and him. and he couldn’t have asked for better, for more.

for he is too soft and too easily devoured by his love.

your warm hands clutching his own when you laugh. your teeth shining under the light. eyes twinkling on the brink of tears of joy. he soaks in the moment, making sure to keep it in his mind forever. like he keeps a lucky chain in his pocket that you gave him for christmas.

when quinn falls silent, eyes watching you, you tilt your head, “you okay, quinny?”

he’s fast to smile, teeth on display for your eyes only, “of course.”

he could go on forever about how beautiful you look in that moment. your eyes curious and big, your body facing his in a criss-cross position on the couch, the lick on your lips as you lick away the drops of wine that spilt from laughing too hard at one point.

it was all too surreal for him.

he had the girl of his dreams sitting in front of him.

when did his life become this way? playing a sport he loved, coming home to the person he was sure he loved more.

this was his bliss.

and in your absence, he would grasp desperately for anything, hoping it speaks to his soul like you do, but nothing ever does. nothing ever will. you were one of a kind. so he waits to come home to you. and the wait feels like a lonely house, until he sees you again and and lives in you. and until he sees you again, it’s like the house he built in his mind that’s surrounded by you aches for you. like the windows ache.

quinn’s love runs deep. god, it runs deep.

“i love you.” he spit it out into the warm air, like a gospel. he feels the tightening in his chest as you smile at him.

“i love you too, quinn.” you’re so genuine. he can feel that you love him the same way he loves you. that’s all he can really ask for.

he was always afraid he would love someone more or less than his partner. but, with you, it’s a complete balance. something he has craved the minute he met you.

the rest of the night is a room full of laughter, his ears ringing to the sound of your beautiful voice. he’s swallowed whole by his own love.

he could live this way forever.

“you’ll never leave me, right?” quinn asks, looking for reassurance as you drop a dish in the sink at the sound of his voice. you hadn’t heard him walk in, yet alone enter the house.

“you scared me,” you breathe, turning around to face him. his eyes are a bit bloodshot, his face a bit puffy and his cheeks and nose red. he looks vulnerable, almost like if you were to make the wrong move, he would break. “no, never.”

your words are firm, shaking your head as you dry your hands before approaching him. you rest your hands on the sides of his face, making him look at you, despite him wanting to turn away in shame.

“i-” he starts, swallowing shallowly, “i just want to be good. good for you.”

you run your thumbs across the scruff on his face, smiling at him with a twinge of love that makes his body fall weak, “you’re more than good. especially for me.”

quinn exhales softly before pressing his forehead to yours, eyes closed as he leans into your touch. his own hands finally raise from his sides, softly grasping your waist and holding you both there for several minutes. it’s like he needs this. needs this moment to ground himself.

quinn doesn’t mean to be so vulnerable, so emotional. he’s never been like this with anyone, felt like this with anyone. it’s new to him, insecurities building on their own at the new found feelings. but your embrace proves enough to reassure him. your firm affirmations making it easier.

quinn wasn’t the type to ask for reassurance. he wasn’t the type the really ask for much at all. he wonders what makes being around you different. what allows him to drop his stoic facade for you? what makes him want to be this way with you? just with you?

it’s love, he’s sure.

it’s always love.

you press a soft kiss to his lips, breaking away his thoughts and sending him somewhere else. sending him back in the present and back down to you. your lips so soft, so captivating. your lips tingle in an ache again, sending shivers down your spine as you both bring each other closer.

the sigh he let’s out makes you look at him, his exhaustion turning into a relaxed state, “thank you. for always being here.”

you nod, “thank you,” you repeat, “for always being good.”

the closeness between the both of you makes you smile.

if you could come a little closer.

you would.

#nhl #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes scenario #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #nhl smut

689 notes · View notes

pocketjoong · 4 months

Text

❥𓂃𓏧WHAT IS A SOULMATE?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): You and Seonghwa go on a trip across Europe and you use this as an excuse to make a little birthday video for him. But on the day of his birthday, Seonghwa feels nothing but grief as he watches the video you made for him.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!Seonghwa x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. angst. meet-cute. nsfw.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) NSFW! MINORS DNI. oral. fingering. unprotected sex (it’s a big no guys, please use protection and stay safe). pet names (mc is called dove). mentions of food. allusions to and mentions of a serious accident. angst. fluff.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 4.3k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) @pyeonghongrie-main :) Here's the promised reupload hehehe

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

London

Outside the confines of your hotel room, silence blankets the city much like the fog that hangs overhead. The first light of dawn is yet to break through the ink-black sky as the metropolis cradles its inhabitants in the silence of the night. This part of the city is still asleep, each soul embraced by the arms of Morpheus, awaiting daybreak to rouse them from their slumber.

Your gaze fixates on the horizon from between the sheer curtains. A pang of anticipation stirs within you, for out of all the alluring sights of nature, sunrise has always been your favourite. After all, regardless of wherever you are in the world, the sunrise is the only constant in the transient nature of life.

Today, however, as the dark black of the night fades to inky blue and splashes of pinks and purples bloom in the east, the only sight you focus on are his eyes. Seonghwa’s eyes are brighter than any galaxy and softer than the cherry blossoms that have begun blossoming on the tree just beyond the terrace. In that moment, you are happy to forego the sight of the beautiful sunrise to watch the coffee and hazel in his eyes melt to form the most gorgeous shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

It won’t be an exaggeration to say that sometimes, you feel like all of your life—each second, each breath, and each step—amounts to Seonghwa. Every decision you have ever made has been a stepping stone in your journey to meet him that one day six years ago when he was only a trainee.

Close to dawn, you had been wandering through the streets of Seoul to find a spark of inspiration for your first-ever project as a photography major. You knew you wanted to play with the idea of light and dark meeting together to form the most beautiful of sights, and what was a better time to do so than twilight?

So there you were, braving the winter chill for a decent grade while your friends were sleeping soundly, snuggled up in their warm beds.

But it seemed that fate had other plans for you that morning. You took a sip of the coffee you’d bought from the only cafe open at this ungodly hour, forgetting for a moment that it was piping hot. With a wince, you glared at the beige paper cup as if the liquid energy had personally done something to spite you.

A snicker caught your attention, and you turned around to narrow your eyes at the person, only to freeze in your tracks. Wearing a brown, fuzzy coat coupled with dark skinny jeans, the male looked like an angel sent from heaven. The thought that he was a hallucination of your sleep-deprived and cold body crossed your mind, but you discarded the thought when he realised that you’d heard him, and he scrambled to apologise for laughing.

You didn’t know then, but your life was for him. And, it won’t be an exaggeration to say that your life is all him. As winter melted into spring and spring made way for summer, you fell in love with the colour brown: the lush cocoa of Seonghwa’s eyes, sweeter than any hot chocolate you could find, and the tan of his skin, reminiscent of the buttery sweetness of roasted chestnuts. As the weather became humid and the days turned longer, you didn’t even register the beginnings of love taking root in your heart.

It began slowly, like the dripping of water from a tap. Drop by drop, your heart filled with adoration for him. Starting with an appreciation for the awe with which he experienced the world as if doing so for the first time. Then, it became more serious: you found yourself yearning to be around him, to listen to him talk about anything and everything, to be the only one he’d think of as being worthy of his heart.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you fell for his voice, a deep baritone with the consistency of honey that you couldn’t get enough of. And the best part? You got to hear it every day before sunrise, for that was his designated time for you in his busy schedule as a trainee and then later as an idol. Dawn was yours, had always been yours, and would always be yours as long as Seonghwa was beside you.

And so, without your knowledge, you fell in love with him bit by bit. You fell as if falling under a spell you couldn’t find a counter for. Not that you wanted to anyway, not when he was there to catch you.

A year later when spring arrived, love and hope sprouted in your heart when Seonghwa’s lips pressed against yours for the first time under the cherry blossoms. He etched himself into the deepest crevices of your soul and your heart. His touch was like that of the sun against your skin after a dark night, igniting your soul in a way that reminded you of fireworks. Under the light of dawn, as he kissed you, you learned a truth. Like the sunrise, Seonghwa is the only constant in your life.

“What are you thinking about?” His soft whisper pulls you out of your reminiscing, and you find yourself gazing into his wide eyes that are brimming with affection and curiosity.

Even after years of being with Seonghwa, the way he looks at you as if you are the one who hung the moon in the sky always floors you. Your skin tingles at the warmth and adoration in his gaze.

“You,” lost in way his thumb grazes against your waist, the word slips out of your lips without a second thought. You almost curse at yourself for being so taken with him when you see a devilish smirk pull at his lips.

“Is that so, my dove?” Chuckling, he lets himself get closer to you, if that’s even possible, considering how you’re basically pressed against him. His hands rise to cup your face, drawing you to his lips.

You lose yourself in the warmth of his mouth. His kisses are softer at first, but soon, his lips are moving insistently against yours. His teeth sink gently into your bottom lip, and he swallows the moan that leaves you almost hungrily. Seonghwa’s hand slides up the side of your body to slide your nightgown off you, exposing you to the chilly morning air.

He pulls back from you momentarily, the loss making you whine, but the protest dies in your throat when he gazes at you with nothing but love and adoration. In what little light filters through the sheer curtains, he looks ethereal with his glowing bronze skin. His dark hair is messy, and yet he manages to look as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a manhwa. As if knowing what’s going through your head, a soft smile pulls at his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he breathes, voice thick with sleep and desire.

“Like what?” You ask, your own hands finding purchase against his shoulders.

“Like I’m the damn sunrise.”

“You’re more breathtaking than any sunrise I’ve ever seen, Hwa,” you cradle his cheek in your palm, words ringing with sincerity as you gaze at your boyfriend.

Seonghwa ducks down at your words, hiding his face in your neck as you chuckle at the way he reacts to your compliment. Your amusement doesn’t last long, however, when he leans down further to lave his tongue against the marks his teeth had left against the column of your neck the night before. His teeth sink into your skin, cutting you off mid-laughter, while his palms come to cup your exposed breasts, and you find yourself arching into his touch.

You watch Seonghwa descend the length of your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips can reach. His hands slither downwards, fingers digging into your thighs to spread your legs open for him. Bringing his mouth to your core, he smirks when you let out a broken moan, bucking into his mouth. Seoghwa keeps his eyes on you as he devours you.

“Hwa—” you choke back a moan, reaching for him with a trembling hand. You pull him to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Want you. Please.”

“My beautiful dove.” Seonghwa breathes reverently. His hands are gentle against your waist, cradling you close to him while his lips trace their way up your jaw to meet yours in a sloppy kiss.

As the sun rises over the Thames River, he ravishes you with a gentleness that feels like the first touch of warmth of the morning light.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Madrid

“Are you recording me?” Seonghwa laughs, walking backwards on the sidewalk as you fumble with the camera—it’s heavier than what you’re used to—but you don’t mind because you’re more concerned about the quality of the video than anything else.

You can’t help but grin at the sight in front of you: Seonghwa in a beret and a long, dark coat that he has paired with jeans contrasts so well with the potted geraniums in front of the restaurant you had stopped to get breakfast at. The flowers herald the happiness blossoming in your chest at the sight of your lover glowing like the sun while surrounded by the the tell-tale signs of the approaching spring.

Seonghwa jokes that these flowers are blooming because it is his first time visiting Europe with you. You laugh off his silly comment, but in your heart of hearts, you can’t help but agree with him. It’s almost as if nature wants you to document the most beautiful sights while you record Seonghwa in the cities you are visiting.

Before you can answer him, something catches his eyes, and before you know it, he is dragging you to a toy store he has spotted on the other side of the road. His smile as he eagerly scours the store for something to buy reminds you of sunlight upon the tides, bright and blinding as the sun itself on the waves that lap gently at the shore.

Seonghwa makes his way to the sunglasses, trying on the goofiest ones, making you giggle. Encouraged by your laughter, he continues to make a fool of himself, pulling funny expressions for the camera and not caring if people are giving him funny looks. At one point, he tries the poison green alien sunglasses, and despite you laughing at how atrocious the design is, you can’t help but think how easily he can pull off even the most ridiculous of accessories with grace.

Behind him, you spot something that makes you gasp, and you rush to the shelves to grab one of the Toothless plushies. Turning around with purpose, you’re caught off guard by how close Seonghwa is, but you don’t let it faze you.

“Look, Hwa! I found you on the shelf,” you giggle at him, holding the plushie up so that it lines up with his face.

He rolls his eyes fondly, used to such jokes by the rest of ATEEZ and his fans. Despite that, he takes the plushie from your hands and puts it on his head, allowing you to capture him with ease. His touch is careful as he holds the plushie, similar to how he handles everything he lays his hands on. Delicate and light, he touches everything he comes across with care, and that’s one of the reasons you find him endearing—for he’s one of the few people who truly take the time to appreciate the beauty the world has to offer.

“If I’m Toothless, doesn’t that mean you’re my Light Fury?” You watch the way his eyes scan the shelves for something.

“I guess,” you shrug, chuckling as you help him in his search for a plushie of the said dragon.

“Do you think we should buy these?” Seonghwa asks, interrupting your search, and you turn to find him holding up the two plushies. He glances at the two stuffed toys—Toothless and the Light Fury—with his eyes furrowed as he weighs the pros and cons of buying both.

“You have multitudes of these back home, Hwa.” You remind him, in fact, he has so many plushies and figurines that he had to store some in your apartment because his manager had threatened that he would throw them out if he saw one more of the HTTYD-themed merch.

“But—”

“Hwa.”

“Fine, break my heart, why don’t you?” And with a pout, he places them back on the shelf reluctantly. You know he’s joking because when you gesture towards the plushies later on, he shakes his head with a smile.

Throughout the day, you explore the city with him, telling him everything you had learned about the places from the little tourist booklet you had snagged from the hotel that morning. He listens to you earnestly, watching you talk with a smile as admiration settles under his skin.

Later in the night, you find yourself in a cafe. Taking a deep breath, you inhale the scent of coffee that permeates your immediate surroundings. Since the cafe is basically empty at this time of the night, a sense of tranquillity surrounds you, much like the warm coat Seonghwa has draped over you. You watch late stragglers making their way home from their jobs through the window you’re seated against, hands curled against a warm cup of hazelnut latte.

“Dove,” Seonghwa’s quiet voice comes from next to you, causing you to snuggle into his shoulder, humming for him to continue. “Don’t fall asleep. We have to walk back to the hotel.”

“Shall we leave, then?” Stifling a yawn, you ask, causing him to nod.

He leads you out of the cafe, keeping his hand on your lower back as you walk through the sparsely populated streets. The very next moment, however, it begins to rain out of nowhere, and before you know it, you are being drenched in the downpour.

Seonghwa laughs in surprise but turns his face upwards to allow the raindrops to kiss his cheeks. Even though the world is blurred around you and your vision is warped by the drops in your eyes, you can still see him clearly. He basks in the rain, lets himself get drenched by the droplets cascading down his face, neck, and shoulders. The rain is so heavy that the raindrops make streams as they make their way down his body.

Watching him like this, you find yourself reaching out for him. As if on the same wavelength as you, Seonghwa takes your hand in his, lips curling up in a smile when you entangle your fingers with his. Reaching out, he cups your face gently, and it seems as if the world stops around you, your senses failing to register anything beyond his touch. Seonghwa trails his thumb along your lips, wiping the raindrops that have settled across your skin.

Drenched in the downpour with him, it’s easy to think of Seonghwa as the rain and yourself as the earth that craves rain after a dry spell.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Seoul

The wallpaper drips with grief, mimicking the gloom that has taken root in his heart and doesn’t seem to want to leave. The glow of the streetlights filters through the windows and is the only source of light in his dark room. In the centre of the whirlpool of dread and darkness lies Seonghwa, curled up against the messy sheets he can’t bother to straighten.

The silence is uncanny. He’s not used to it—for years, he has shared a room with Hongjoong, and even though, more often than not, the younger male wasn’t actually there because he preferred the studio or the living room couch to the bedroom, the mere idea of sharing a room with someone always made him feel at ease. Hongjoong has been Seonghwa’s anchor in the years he roomed with him, but now alone in his room, the walls seem to press in around him like waves trying to drown him, leaving him breathless.

If Hongjoong is his anchor, you are his beacon, his guiding light, his polestar. And tonight, as his ship is battered by the biggest storm he’s ever faced, you aren’t here either. Desperately, he searches for something to ground him, but too many days and nights filled with sorrow and false optimism have built up and around him, crushing him with a weight he can’t handle anymore. When love wasn’t enough to save you, how can it be enough to help him stay afloat in the rough seas?

Outside of his room, spring touches everything with its delicate hands. For Seonghwa, however, winter still lingers, and the beautiful weather outside just irks him further. He hasn’t been in love for the last week, and even nature cannot revive him this time around. Without love in his heart, the only thing he feels is despair.

Even now, he can’t forget the way red painted his hands as you lay in his arms. Sometimes, when he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, he can see your smile. In the very same moment, his heart opens and breaks when the image of you in his arms dances across his vision, and he dies again and again, bleeds until there’s only a shell left behind.

The beeping of his digital clock startles him. The digits read 00:00, distorted from the tears that line his lashes but never seem to fall. For a long time, he had thought today would make the pain bearable, but it persists, lingering in his heart and his room like stubborn rain clouds that linger even after the storm has passed. It is possible that you may not return to him, but he tries to remain optimistic. If he doesn’t believe you to be strong enough to fight for him, for your love, then who will?

His phone dings, and he looks at the device for a moment. Each beep of his phone has, till now, started him into a sitting position, and every time, it has not what he expected. But foolishly, he still hopes for a miracle.

His phone dinging again with the custom notification he had set for you has Seonghwa scrambling to check his phone. It’s a scheduled email, but your name lighting up the screen renders him breathless. At the sight of your name, the storm raging around him quietens down, leaving him in calm seas. There’s a video attached with the email, and he clicks it open.

[Exterior. Mid-morning. Shots of the streets of London from a car. In the foreground, the text reads Happy Birthday, Seonghwa! A female’s voice is heard speaking in the voiceover.]

Y/N: What’s a soulmate?

[The camera pans and focuses on Seonghwa as he looks out of the window, pointing at all the things he remembers from the few times he has been there with ATEEZ for concerts.]

SH: And that’s the cafe Jongho liked a lot. He said the coffee there was amazing. We should definitely visit it after we’ve settled in hotel room, you look like you could do with some caffeine in your system.

Y/N: [laughing] Not everyone is used to sleeping in aeroplanes.

SH: [shaking his head, he sniffs as if wounded by your comments] Well, if you toured with me, you’d be used to it. You’re the only one who keeps declining when I ask you to come with me! My poor self has to live without you for months just because you won’t agree.

Y/N: Your idea of bringing me along includes you stuffing me into your suitcase. Sorry if I don’t want to be thrown around with the other luggage.

SH: [snorting] It’s your fault for being so small.

Y/N: [sighing] Whatever, Hwa.

[Midday. The video cuts to a shot of Seonghwa walking along the Thames river. He has his arms wrapped around himself. The sky is covered with fluffy clouds, and one can tell that spring is fast approaching with the way little green buds are seen on the trees in the background.]

Y/N: It’s a… Well, it’s like a best friend, but more.

SH: It’s so cold!

Y/N: Should we go and get something to warm us up from the cafe you pointed out earlier? I think it’s close to where we are right now.

[The video cuts to the two of you inside the cafe. The camera is placed on one side, allowing it to capture both Seonghwa and you. You’re laughing at Seonghwa, who took a sip from your iced americano and immediately made a face at the taste. The video skips a bit and Seonghwa can be seen humming along to the music from the speakers while you watch him, enraptured by his vocals.]

Y/N: It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else.

[The video cuts again. This time, Seonghwa is in a hotel room, standing against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and posing goofily while you are laughing in the background. He waddles over to the camera, forcing you to put it on the table as he twirls you around, dancing to a song he’s humming.]

Y/N: It’s someone who makes you a better person.

[The video cuts to a closeup of Seonghwa’s head in your lap as you sit on the couch. He’s sleeping soundly while you run your fingers through his soft hair. His lips quirk upwards in a smile, causing you to halt your motions, but a whine from him has you resuming your actions.]

Y/N: [soft whisper] Did I wake you up?

SH: [hums and shakes his head] Not really… [yawns] I wasn’t fully asleep.

[There’s silence for a while as Seonghwa shifts around to get comfortable.]

SH: I love you.

Y/N: That was so random, Hwa.

SH: Hey! You’re supposed to say you love me too!

Y/N: [snorting] I love you, you overgrown child.

SH: I’ll have you know that’s Wooyoung.

Y/N: Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll bite your arm off or something.

SH: [laughing hard]

Y/N: Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself… because they inspire you.

[The video cuts to Seonghwa amidst the geraniums in Madrid before he drags you to the MINISO. His shenanigans from the store can be seen, with him wearing goofy sunglasses and playing with the Night Fury plushie.]

Y/N: A soulmate is someone who you can carry with you forever.

[Seonghwa can be seen busking with a guy playing the guitar. He sings Angel Baby by Troye Sivan, smiling wide when you start swaying one of your hands in beat with the music, causing people to follow your actions. When he’s done, people come up to him, telling him that he’s an amazing singer, and he thanks everyone with a bashful smile while watching you look at him with a look of pride on your face.]

Y/N: It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you… Believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would.

[Seonghwa excuses himself from the crowd and makes his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your frame and sways the two of you as the busker starts crooning a song in Danish.]

SH: Thank you for always believing in me, dove. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself.

Y/N: [smiling] I love you, and I’ll cheer you on, especially during the darkest days.

Y/N: And no matter what happens, you will always love them.

[The camera pans to you in your editing studio, and you wave at the camera with a smile on your face.]

Y/N: It’s quite late [glancing at the clock on your desk], 3 a.m. to be precise, and I’m working on your birthday video. [Laughs] I hope you like this little video I put together with clips from our trip to Europe. Give me a call once you’re done watching this. I love you so much, Hwa! Happy Birthday, my star!

Y/N: Nothing can ever change that.

Seonghwa wipes his tears, sniffing as he gets up from the bed. With a meticulousness characteristic of him, he goes through the motions of dressing up to pay you a visit. That’s the only thing that seems to make sense, so with bleary eyes and heavy feet, he walks through the deserted streets of Seoul.

The staff members at the hospital allow him to see you, used to his untimely visits. The nurse watching over you gives him a sad smile and leaves him alone with you when he enters your room. He notes that the pallor that had settled beneath your skin is now fading, albeit slowly.

Maybe you’re getting better? But you still haven’t woken up, and seeing your face, he finds himself falling, falling through the memories of the day of the accident. His eyes close of their own accord, and he sighs, trying to get those images out of his mind. Unable to stop his thoughts, he relives the day all over again.

Logically, he knows the accident isn’t his fault but of the person who was behind the wheel.

Or maybe it was, the voice in his mind tells him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t forgive himself for the events that led up to the accident. If he hadn’t called you to pick him up from the company that night when it was raining, you’d be safe in his arms, celebrating his birthday with him.

No, it wasn’t. Seonghwa desperately wants to believe his own words. But there’s still that small voice of doubt that rears its ugly head, and before he knows it, fresh tears are rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Seonghwa is too emotionally exhausted and too choked to speak any louder. “My dove, I’m so sorry for this whole mess. I’m sorry. Please wake up soon. I can’t do this alone—I can’t live without you. Please. I love you.”

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 month

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These Hallowed Halls

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Based on this ask x

Summary - You had begged Cassian not to leave you again, you had begged him to stay, and you had fallen apart when he had left without saying goodbye.

Warnings - swearing, ANGST, depression, weight loss, fluff, Cassian being a raging prick, Azriel being a softie, mentions of blood

The Mother was certainly mocking you.

Rain smacked against the stone balcony beyond the glass doors which were rattling in the wild wind, harmonising with your own sadness as you stood in the centre of your room, finding little to no comfort in front of the fire you were usually curled in front of.

Grey skies loomed overhead. It was rare for such a storm to descend upon Velaris, so rare that most didn't know what to do when it arrived. Most opted to stay in doors and wait it out, wait until starlight flooded the streets in welcome and fae journeyed on in their lives.

Cassian stood before you, dishevelled and tired, deep sunken patches under his one shade darker than usual eyes, his lips curled into a snarl, body lax and weary. The Illyrian ran his hands over his face, grazing his fingertips over his growing beard, and he rolled his shoulders and his wings with them before he looked to you and sighed, "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Y/N."

You had been joined at the hip, had a relationship that no one could ever understand, not even Rhys or Az could figure it out. Cassian was your lighthouse in an ocean of fog, he had the ability to be your happiness or shatter your soul, and you clung to every piece of affection and attention that he gave to you. When he was gone, you felt as though you were on fire, like every single one of your nerve ends were being cauterised and there was no anaesthesia.

Brown waves fell from his loosely wrapped bun, drifting over his face which was illuminated by that golden glow emitting from the fireplace. Cassian had come to you right after he reported to Rhys like he always did, but instead of hugging you tightly and cracking open a bottle of wine to tell you his next enthralling tale, he stood before you to tell you he was leaving again with a cold and distant accent taking over his entire body.

"But, you've only just gotten back," you told him, fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper that you had stolen, just needing to be surrounded by him for one moment, it drowned your body since Cassian was a large framed male, and you adored his jumpers, they made you feel precious.

"I know that," he bit, his muscles tensing in a different order every few seconds.

He was exhausted, you knew that, it rolled off him in waves, no, tsunamis, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his unbound hair and tell him it was okay. But you had missed him, too much.

The fire crackled at the head of your bedroom, a blanket lay strewn over the arm of the sofa from when you had flung it off of your body the moment his scent filled your lungs from down the hallway.

"Do you have to go? I've missed you Cass, it's been horrible without you," you pleaded, each one of your words made him feel heavy.

Cassian adored you, you were his shadow, clinging to him for comfort, he always found you in his clothes, he always found you waiting for him whenever he returned home to give him what he needed. Whether that be someone to laugh with or someone to hold until he fell asleep.

You were his person. In the most platonic way possible. Cassian couldn't say that about anyone else but you.

"Rhys had ordered it. So yes. I have to go," his words were harsh and laced with venom, a pure annoyance that radiated from him as he rolled his neck, unmoving from his place in front of you.

You were confused, he hadn't even smiled at you when he had entered your room, he hadn't hugged you or asked how you had been, he hadn't offered to tell you a story or let you know what he needed to feel better. The Cassian in front of you wasn't the Cassian you recognised.

It was the first time you felt small in front of him, the first time where his gaze made you cower and feel uneasy, "I can speak to him if you'd like? He might let you have some rest at least-"

"Fuck, Y/N. Will you just stop?!" Cassian shouted at you, the sound of his voice made you flinch backward as he took a step toward you, "I don't need you to do anything for me. I don't need you to stroke my hair or fight my corner, I don't need you to talk to Rhys for me like your words will make any difference in what my High Lord requires me to do. I don't need you suffocating me and wearing my fucking clothes. I don't need you, Y/N."

Water blurred your vision as his words sliced through you, deadly enough to make you feel as though you were dying, "I'm sorry, I was just trying-"

"Stop trying. Just stop. I am the General of the Night Court's armies, it is my duty to go where I am needed and I'm very sorry to say that it's not with you Y/N. Others need me more than you. Stop fucking clinging to me and find something else to obsess over."

Cassian was panting and breathless, fury blazed in his rich hazel orbs and you let out a pained sob, wrapping your arms around yourself and stepping backward again until your legs hit the back of the sofa, you rested your weight against it and let out a shaky breath.

You didn't dare look up when you heard Cassian shuffle, his feet scuffing against the floor breaking the silence that had consumed you. You had expected him to realise what he had said, you had expected him to rush to your side and apologise. But no. Cassian dragged his feet behind him and opened your bedroom door, allowing a gust a cold air to circle the once warm room before slamming it behind him, slamming it so hard that the canvases on your walls rattled at the force.

Sleep that night had not consumed you like it usually did, the ghost of Cassian's touch lingered on your skin and you cried until your throat was raw and head was pounding. You cried until the words he spat at your drowned you into the abyss.

The morning had come around quickly and you had groaned whilst getting out of bed, the little sleep you had gotten clear on your face and body, your tear stained cheeks were puffy and red, and your hair was a mess from your hands clawing through it, begging for some pressure to take your pain away.

You had to find him. You had to see him. You had to say goodbye.

But when you had entered his room without knocking, you gasped, his bed was askew, the scent of him lingered in the air, but he wasn't there. Cassian had left. His bedroom a haphazard sign that he had left in a hurry and as soon as he had woken up.

You hadn't realised that you had fallen to your knees sobbing until cedar and night-kissed mountains flooded you, Az's arms wrapped around you and he held you close, hushing you and whispered to you that everything was going to be fine. Rhys had appeared next, frowning at you with sad eyes before cradling you carefully to his chest, stroking your hair as he carried you back to your room and fitted your sheets over your frame. Rhys continued to hold you until your mind was weak enough to allow him in to put you to sleep.

They had tried everything to coax you out of bed the weeks following Cassian's abrupt exit, Amren had offered to take you to the library countless times, promising to buy you every book that you wanted. Mor had tried to get you to go to Rita's, to drink and dance the pain away. Azriel's shadows peppered kisses over your face and had done their best to curl around the edge of your sheet to pull them down, to which you had whimpered and pulled them back up to your neck. Rhys had even offered to take you dress shopping, he told you that if an expensive garment was going to make you smile then he would spend his entire fortune on it.

Nothing made you want to move.

Your soul felt empty, every fibre of your body felt dead and cold, like the crisp forest in the middle of a harsh winter. Nothing made you want to live your life. Cassian's words to you played over and over in your mind, maybe you were too much, maybe after all your years together in your family had made you too comfortable.

It took everything within you to not ask for one of his jumpers, he had made it clear that he didn't want you to be like that anymore. He didn't want you.

Your body felt heavy, the weight of your despair crushing your limbs into dust. You felt the weight dropping off of you, you felt your stomach cry for nourishment but didn't wish to satisfy it, you didn't want anything, anyone, but him.

"Please get up, Y/N. It's been three weeks, you've hardly eaten. We're worried about you," Azriel had settled into the space behind you and smothered you with his heat, he noticed how cold you were, how tired and lost your eyes were, how you wore an expression of pure heartbreak and loneliness on your beautiful face.

Azriel sighed at your weak grunt, pulling you back into his chest and doing his best to make you feel loved and cherished. He couldn't admit it but he had heard the words Cassian had so carelessly thrown at you that night, and it took everything within him to not burst through your door and pummel his brother into the ground, even his shadows wanted a piece of the General, how dare he say those things to you.

The Shadowsinger couldn't even put into words the relationship between you and Cassian. You had never been lovers, but you had never been just friends. Friends didn't peck each others temples or stroke each others hair. Friends didn't wait up for the other to return home and then scurry into one of their bedrooms to hold one another and talk. Friends didn't act like you and Cassian, two kindred spirits of chemically perfect harmonisation.

Azriel missed your smile, he missed the way that they all lit up when you laughed, or entered the room, or even looked at them. You made life feel lighter, you made life feel balanced. But now, now it felt disjointed, and they all felt it.

When you didn't move, or even tear your gaze away from the world beyond your window, he sighed and left the room with a soft click of the door. Cassian wasn't due to return for another couple of weeks, and Azriel feared so badly that the damage would be too severe for even Cassian to repair.

The days ticked on, days where you didn't eat or bathe, days where you only left your bed to use the bathroom before finding another nightgown to wear, days where your only sustenance were a few almonds and some water. Mor had gasped when she had seen your body through the crack in your door, the grey tinged sickly paled skin, the outline of your ribs, the deep hued sacks under your eyes; it was too much for her to witness, and she had to take herself into her own room and cry for you.

Azriel had knelt in front of you two weeks later, tears in his eyes, and you felt his sadness rippling off of him as his face entered your weak vision, it was the first time you had really looked at any of them since that day. He had taken your limp hand in his own, he had allowed his shadows to slither up your limb and coax you gently into smiling softly at him, "Please get up, Y/N. Please. I'll do anything you want. I can't watch you kill yourself anymore. We love you, we love you so much. Please."

You had squeezed his hand as hard as you could, which to him was nothing, and shifted in your bed, wincing as you pushed your legs over the side of the mattress. Azriel was beside you in a second, crouching in front of you and helping you to your feet, "I want to feel the sun," you voice was hoarse, Azriel was surprised that you still knew how to talk, "Take me to summer."

Cassian had sped home as fast as he could once his job was finished. The feeling of leaving you had broken him more each time he had thought about it, that pained look on your face had haunted his dreams. He never should have said those things to you, he never should have left you, he should have told Rhys to go and fuck himself instead of what he really did.

You had cowered like a wounded animal in front of him whilst every word cut you like a knife, if it were a knife you'd surely be dead.

He had to get back to you.

Cassian had landed on the lawn of the River House and he felt the atmosphere shift, what was once light and warm was now cold and ominous. The house held no joy, your laugh did not stalk the halls, it just felt lonely, abandoned. Just like you.

The door had flown open and Mor had stalked from the hearth, eyes blazing with hatred, pale and tired, and she wasted no time in bounding right up to him and planting her fist right in the centre of his face. Cassian lurched to the side at the impact, cradling his busted nose in his hand, "You prick," she seethed, Amren and Rhys had flown out of the house after her but were to late to stop her from jabbing Cassian right in the nose, "Today was the first time she's even spoke after what you did," her finger was in his face, her eyes were wild and frantic, "How could you do that to her? She's your person, she's your best friend and you did that?"

Rhys grabbed her wrist before she could land another blow, Amren had swooped in and guided Mor back into the house, not before growling at the male in front of her, leaving Cassian and Rhys out on the lawn, the latter of which was glowering at his brother.

"Count yourself lucky that she got to you first," Rhys was dead behind the eyes, Cassian had never seen a void like it, he looked to the house, hoping that the foundations would peel apart so that he could see you, Rhys scoffed, "Azriel has taken her to Summer. She needed the sun, she hasn't been out in it for four weeks."

"Four weeks?" Rhys hummed, his power throbbing around him, "Rhys I fucked up, I need to see her."

"I'm sure you can wait, like she waited for you. I hope you're proud of yourself brother, I really do."

Rhys turned on his heels and disappeared into the depths of the home, leaving Cassian stood in the grass cursing himself for ever taking his anger out on you.

Rhys had called to Azriel, had told him that Cassian was at the River House and that he should take you to the House of Wind instead. Azriel had obliged without question, not wanting to put himself in the situation where he would harm a member of his family.

You had figured it out, the reason why your residence had been moved so abruptly, and it shattered you. Your afternoon in the sun had been lovely, you felt the sun seeping into your pores, you felt the waves kissing your feet, you felt the sand between your toes, and you felt safe pacing beside Azriel who only spoke when you did.

Soon enough, you had found yourself in the deep tub of you House of Wind bedroom, you had always loved the view there, you could see the valley of gold at the foot of the mountains, you could hear the childish laughter drift upward from the streets, and you could see the starlight cascade across the sky.

Oils and warmth washed your grime and paleness away, the heat giving a new lease of life to your skin. You were sure that you still looked awful, that much was obvious from the longing stares your family had bestowed upon you over the past few weeks.

The tub rippled as you stood from it, you dried yourself off and pulled one of Azriel's jumpers over your figure as well as a pair of lax cotton pants that hung from your hips. Azriel had done his best to make your room feel cosy, he lit the fire with his own hands and refused to cower away, he wouldn't cower away from it for you, he had brought you tea and fluffed your pillows, but you still ached, you still yearned for something else.

Loud voices echoed from the hallway, the padding of feet drew closer and you frowned softly at the noises floating to your ears. The door of your bedroom flew open and you found Cassian stood before you, nose smeared with poorly wiped blood, he looked frantic and boiling with worry and fear, and his face contorted when he saw you.

Rhys had entered after him, he had surveyed you carefully, noticing the towel you must have been drying your hair with now a pile of cotton on the floor, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I can make him leave."

It was like your soul was burning with that aching fire, only this time it wasn't painful, your soul was singing a symphony of emotion, "No," you said weakly, your eyes moved to Rhys and you nodded, he told you he was only a shout away if you needed him and then left.

Cassian drank you in, the lifeless eyes and limp hair, the greyish hue to your skin, the dark bags under your eyes, he noted the way the clothes you wore hung from your frame and the way your cheeks sunk into the bone, and he broke, "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I never should have said those things to you, I don't know what I was thinking," Tears streamed down his cheeks and it hurt you to see him that way, "You're not clingy or obsessed, I know you were trying to look out for me. You always look out for me."

"I love every single thing about you. I love the way my jumpers drown you and coat you in my scent, I love it when you wait for me to come home, I love the way fire spreads through me whenever you touch me. I love everything that you are. I'm so sorry that I've done this to you. You deserve the world and everything good in it, you deserve so much better than me," his words were floating between broken sobs, he tried to move to you and visibly winced when you took a step back, "You are my everything. You are the one who completes me, you are the one I search for whenever I enter a room, you are the only one who I feel safe with."

"My home is wherever you are, you are my home and I know I've fucked up and I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I just need you to know that I'm sorry. If I have to leave Velaris for you to feel safe then I will, I-"

"Why would you do that?" you voice called to him, you took a single step forward and examined him, he was distraught, "I went to find you that morning, to apologise for being so suffocating," you cringed at the word, at how it had made you feel when he had thrown it at you, "But you were gone."

Cassian took a step closer to you, "I knew what I'd done, I saw what I'd done to you and I couldn't see you look at me like that again. I wanted to protect you from me, I needed to get you away from me."

You wrapped your arms around your frame and found his eyes, his beautiful pools of rippling sadness screaming for you, "I don't need protecting from you, Cass. I just need you," you tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear and continued, "I don't know why I cling to you, it hurts to be away from you, I feel like my body is dying when you leave me. It feels like my soul is being ripped from my body and I can't breathe when you're gone. I'm nothing without you. I can't live without you."

Cassian had closed the gap between you, his hands finding a place on your hip and under your chin and he tilted your head upward, his eyes searched your face, delving into the deepest depths of your thrumming soul and his eyes widened, "Y/N," his voice was a whisper, his thumb glided across your cheek and you found yourself leaning into the touch, soaking up the affection like a sponge in the ocean.

Bottom lip wobbling, he took your face in his hands, "I think I know why you've been feeling like that."

Cassian's breath fanned across your face and you inhaled deeply, you felt your soul melting, all of the sadness now a painful memory, you felt hot white starlight and the shifting of those golden threads, webbing your essence together until it jolted into place. The snap. Cassian continued to hold you in his arms and your fingers brushed against his jaw, "We're mates," it was a fact, and he nodded.

"We're mates," a tear slid down his cheek, and you knew he felt all of your pain in that moment, "I promise that I will take care of that heart of gold for the rest of my days. I promise to love you endlessly until you tell me to stop," he rested his forehead against yours, "I knew it was you, I knew it was us."

"Meant to be," Cassian huffed out a gentle sigh and brushed his nose against your own before dipping his lips to meet yours.

It was better than you could have ever imagined, you felt your souls merging together into one, you felt the world grow lighter and your heart grow fuller, you felt your scent combining into something that could drown continents. You felt him.

And as long as you both lived, there would never be a day where either of you felt unloved.

Authors Note

Jeeeeez!

Love these requests, they make me so happy x

@jenniferpendragon @acourtof-wingspan

366 notes · View notes

yrbladie · 5 months

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♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎THE WAY THEY HOLD YOU IN THEIR HEART PT2ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ ayato, xiao, baizhu, wriothesley, al haitham

warnings ：maybe ooc in some parts (mostly al haitham), gn!reader, slight pining, reader is called endearments multiple times, tooth rotting fluff, implied marriage, established relationships, very slight angst in some parts, indirect mentions of death (xiao, baizhu), reader is called beautiful (wriothesley), non fluent writer

ㅤThere you were, standing in the sunlight in all of your glory and your beauty. And he wondered, was life always so bright and cheerful or was it just because now he had you?

ㅤAyato fell in love with you for the first time during spring. The flowers bloomed so beautifully as they flew onto your hair, and he wished for nothing more than to be the one to pluck each of the petals gently from you, with every petal a kiss.

ㅤThe second time he fell for you was during a warm rainy day in summer. As he watched you hiding from the rain in a store, your hair was already soaked. There, he spoke with you for the first time ever.

ㅤHis first words to you were, "You'll catch a cold like that, dear.", and the endearment slipped past his lips so easily like it was already your name.

ㅤHe even started to wonder if your name had always been written right besides his in the sky. Always destined to meet somehow someday. Like the gods had taken pity on him and sent you to ease his burdens.

ㅤThe third, and last, time he fell for you was the most impacting for him. It was on a lonely night during winter, when you still looked like spring itself while quietly sitting on a bench, warming a freezing dog with your jacket.

ㅤHe could see from where he was standing that you yourself were trembling. Still, you sat on the bench with snow covering your hair while hugging the dog to your chest, pouring all of your wishes for it to be well.

ㅤOn that starlit night, it was like something pushed him to approach you again. Offering his two hands to carry the poor dog to his house. It was everything he could do for now, but as you settled down on the floor of his house, a warm blanket enveloping you and the dog wagging his tail now by your side, he thought of how well you looked right there.

ㅤIt was like his home was always supposed to be your home, ever since the start.

ㅤNow, he could barely remember the days he hadn't met you yet, shouldering the rain and the thunder in his life by himself. Could barely remember the days where all he did was work so that his family could have a better future. He focused on paperwork so much he forgot to learn about anything else. Even the most basic things like love.

ㅤAyato had always thought to himself that love had to come with a price. That love had to hurt even if a little, that it would be troublesome and destructive. That it would eat away at his everything and destroy his being starting from his heart. That love would burn and make him bleed, leaving only the scars when it left.

ㅤSo at first he didn't want to fall for you, except spring came again and at every sunrise your name was still upon his lips.

ㅤAnd contrary to his first conception of what loving meant, your love was peacefully kind. Like the gentle warm winds of summer that brought the smell of the ocean with it. It was calming, and instead of burning him, it was more like water, nurturing his being and planting flowers in his soul by the day.

ㅤAnd Ayato could slowly feel it, the inevitable sense of belonging to each other.

ㅤYour love for each other was much like that. Sometimes loud with laughter and bright smiles, other times it was quiet with the held hands and shared glances.

ㅤHe always told you "I'll give you one last chance to run away from here before you get stuck with me forever, my love." and you knew that if you truly asked him that, if you really didn't want to stay by his side anymore, Ayato would always let you go, because he loved you that much, that your happiness and freedom mattered more than anything else in the world to him.

ㅤInstead you would tell him, "Then you should get used to me, because I'm not going anywhere, darling." and he would grin so widely like he knew you were going to say that.

ㅤBefore, he was drowning in the things he had to do. Always having to be one step ahead of everyone, always keeping to himself. And he's glad he was able to meet you before it was too late, because he realized you were everything he ever needed.

ㅤJust you being part of his small, little family.

ㅤEvery time your birthday came up, Ayato tried something new. Last year it was a bouquet of flowers he cultivated himself, instead, all the flowers he tried to plant wilted before they could even bloom. This year it was supposed to be a homemade dinner, but all he managed to do was get kicked out of the kitchen by Thoma without a single plate of edible food.

ㅤ"I'm so sorry, my beloved. You have such an incompetent husband." He laughed quietly while sighing to himself.

ㅤ"Oh, don't say that. You just don't have the aptitude for... certain things, is all." You held your tongue before you ended up saying that he didn't have the aptitude for most things, instead.

ㅤAyato caught on to what you meant but instead of replying he simply grinned at your attempt to comfort him somehow. Even though you knew he was perfectly okay.

ㅤ"Then why don't you teach me, my love? I'm sure I would learn lots with such an incredible teacher such as yourself." And you knew he was teasing you, perhaps it was just an excuse to spend more time by your side and less time doing his job.

ㅤBut you also could read the subtleties behind his light hearted words and joking tone.

ㅤHe missed you a lot.

ㅤBeing always busy with his work, he often expressed his sorrow at not being able to always be there for you when needed. The last drop to the storm was when you had gotten sick last time and it only got to his knowledge by a letter sent from Thoma that already had been taking care of you for the past week.

ㅤHe rushed home at that only to find out that you were already almost completely healed. And he wondered how could he have let you slip past his priorities so easily.

ㅤYou knew Ayato felt guilty, by the way he caressed your skin, a touch lighter than a feather while he thought you were already sleeping, and the longing kiss that he would leave at your nape before snuggling closer to your body, his arms enveloping you as if he wanted to shield you from the world.

ㅤYou never really blamed him for anything. You knew what you were compromising for when you accepted his marriage proposal with the happiest of hearts. The proposal that Ayato until this day joked you only accepted out of pity for his sopping wet cat look outside of your doorstep on a rainy night. So many things had went wrong that day that led up to it, but he still called it the most joyful day of his life.

ㅤAnd you would tell him that you accepted him wholeheartedly because you loved him. It didn't matter to you whether he was a pitiful cat in a storm or the Yashiro Commissioner. And you knew you would never regret your decision as you stared at him now trying to conceal the hopeful glee in his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that carried so much emotion sometimes were the exact reason you fell for him at first.

ㅤSo, you just gently tap him in the nose while smiling, "Really now? I'll teach you if you promise you'll be a good student."

ㅤ"Of course. Don't worry, I'll be the best." he replied back, taking the hand you used to touch his nose to kiss your open palm before pressing his cheek onto it. He did it so lovingly it made your heart leap out of your chest.

ㅤHis eyes were filled with tenderness and you knew you were the only thing in his mind now.

ㅤThe flowers faint fragrance lightly pick at your nose as you see Ayato gently closing his eyes to lean onto you, his blue hair softly swaying in the breeze prompting you to raise your other free hand to stroke it affectionately. As you felt him leaning more and more into your body, until you were both intertwined in a tender and gentle embrace, you couldn't help but love him even more.

ㅤHe was a little insufferable sometimes, yes, and sure, he didn't know how to cook or how to take care of flowers, but he was still your little mess of a husband at the end of the day. For as long as you could hold him in your embrace.

ㅤAnd for as long as your love for each other still persevered, and just like in your vows, until the moon fell, forever.

ㅤXiao was the type of lover that one had to take time to understand his hidden intentions with certain actions. He wasn't exactly open to every single experience nor did he feel comfortable at first with many things, so you took your time to unravel his feelings and to nurture his love for you.

ㅤIn the way you would always catch his eyes watching you from afar in a mountain while you went about your way with your shopping, and even when he said he wouldn't accompany you this time he was always there by your side to carry the groceries in an instant.

ㅤIn the gifts left by your bedside table, and the protective talismans you would find inside your bag. It was subtle, in the slow and hesitant way Xiao started to open up to you.

ㅤAnd you could know the extent of his love for you when after a long night, when you laid by yourself on the bed, before you could even fully close your eyes Xiao was already there.

ㅤ"Sleep. I'll watch over your safety", he would say. Even for a minute you wished for his tranquility, that he would lay beside you, but you also knew Xiao was not one you should hurry on these issues. He had been lonely for a long time and all you wanted was for him to take how much time he needed to accept reality.

ㅤYou were fluent in silence and in his quiet presence, after all.

ㅤStill, one night, you stayed up a little bit later, your eyes still closed and your breathing calm despite being awake. You could feel and hear as the adeptus approached your supposedly slumbering figure to tenderly touch your cheek, his touch timid and unsure, like he was scared that even something like that could hurt you.

ㅤ"I'm sorry.", you thought you heard him say at that moment although his whisper was almost inaudible. Your heart hurt and instead of waiting, you hugged him on that night, no words being exchanged between you.

ㅤAll you heard was his mumbled gasp before he finally relaxed on your touch, awkwardly patting your back while leaning his head slightly on your neck, his hair tickling your cheek.

ㅤYou don't exactly know what he was apologizing for, but you decided not to press further and just let him embrace you. Although you had a faint idea of what was on his mind.

ㅤXiao was someone prone to blame himself for things that were outside of his responsibility. He blamed himself when you tripped on the street and he wasn't quick enough to catch you before your knee hit the ground. He blamed himself for falling in love with you and for allowing you to fall in love with him. In his mind, he probably still thought that everything around him was destined to perish one day, and that he was cursed to forever wander alone, his immortality like a tight chain holding him against himself.

ㅤSo on that night, you didn't let him go as usual, and he also didn't try to leave either. That was how he thanked you for your love that night, with his touch that, although ticklish and clumsy, made you feel so loved by this adeptus that had such a big heart but that was often misunderstood.

ㅤFor you, he wasn't the scary guardian of the mountains, nor the Conqueror of Demons, or the noble adeptus. He was simply Xiao, with his wounded heart and fallen shoulders bearing the responsibility of eons of loneliness and pain.

ㅤThe one that would shyly accept your hand as you guided him through streets filled with lanterns and the smell of food. The one who would go above and beyond if only to ensure your safety and happiness.

ㅤHis every little smile was stored in your heart and mind as your fondest memories, and his love for you was as gentle as a feather's touch.

ㅤXiao remembers the first time he met you, it was during the Lantern Festival, and while everyone was enjoying themselves you were by yourself, folding paper with a lonely plate of food by your side. He watched for a while, curiously. Although alone, you didn't seem sad. In fact, you were smiling and happily humming to yourself.

ㅤHe didn't know why, but he felt entranced and approached you slowly, not making contact with you since he didn't want to scare that peaceful moment away. Yet, you turned to him and your smile somehow got even brighter, as if you had been waiting for him for a long time.

ㅤAfter that, you never once left his life.

ㅤFor him, you were his weakness, but also all the source of his strength. You were a mere mortal, your fragile body could barely stand the force of wind itself. And that was one of the reasons that for a long while made him want to keep his distance, but with every smile, every laugh, wave from afar, and plates of Almond Tofu left on the railing from you, just made him want to get closer.

ㅤAnd you fit him so perfectly. In the way you weren't scared of his demons and instead trusted him with all your heart, never failing to still surprise him. In the way you never stood for defeat, always kept trying and also gave him many chances.

ㅤXiao learnt to enjoy life a bit more, to smile a tad bit more often beside you, and he was still amazed at how much he could still learn new things every day with how long he already has lived.

ㅤYou smiled each time he got angry while fretting over your safety, he hated it but he could never take it too seriously for so long. All he could do was protect you as long as he lived, while not wanting to know about how fleeting your life would be.

ㅤXiao knew your time together would flow past him in a second, but allow him to be selfish, even if for just a while, and keep you by his side for a while longer. Just a minute more, just one more eternity.

ㅤIf he could choose, he would choose you in all lives, in all the universes you always spoke about that you believed existed. If they really do, allow him to follow you into all of them. Even if it takes everything out of him.

ㅤHe just doesn't want to lose you too. So, just love him until the stars call your name back to them, and even then, don't forget him. Call his name again, once more.

ㅤAnd he promises you, he'll find you, no matter where you are.

ㅤAt first, Baizhu thought that he definitely shouldn't fall for you, no matter what. There was many more things far more important than a simple chemical reaction of the brain. It would eventually go away if he just focused on something else.

ㅤInstead, the feeling only grew, like roses wrapping itself around his heart, it's thorns picking at his body each time he saw you, standing by yourself from afar.

ㅤIt was to the point even Changsheng started to complain, the doctor's brain seeming to fog up at every moment, his every thought showed him you. Every word that came out of his mouth when alone were words about you.

ㅤEvery time you two interacted was like a new rose bloomed in his chest, a newfound hope of a better tomorrow. With each of your smiles he felt like he could live for a minute more. Your presence was healing and like a breath of fresh air in his tight schedule.

ㅤEvery encounter became longer and longer, until you decided to stay and never really left. Until his things became yours, and now there was a space for your clothes in his closet. Until he could kiss at your hair anytime he wished to and none of you flinched at the contact anymore, for it was never accidental now.

ㅤBaizhu found himself starting to look at another path to follow besides the one that laid before him all his life. Baizhu biggest desire was to search immortality, but now, he sometimes had the foolish thought of what would immortality mean if he lost you in the end?

ㅤIt was a short path, but it had you. Holding his hand for as long he had left. And he wondered, was it worth it? But how could he hope to be this selfish?

ㅤSo he found himself at an impasse, stuck at a crossroads, where none of the paths ended in happiness.

ㅤChoosing immortality, he eventually would see you pass before him, your life going away at a minute's time for him. While choosing you, he would forfeit all chances to save so many more people. And also possibly cursing you to be without him in the end.

ㅤIt was an impossible choice that hung heavily over his heart. But all you did was smile while remaking the braid in his hair, your fingers still as gentle as ever even with the pass of years.

ㅤAnd you would tell him, your voice only but a whisper, "Dear, no matter what, I'll love you to the end."

ㅤAnd he believed you. For you was one of the last things he had that he truly loved in this life.

ㅤTime was oh so cruel, withering away things before they could even breathe properly. Taking things without permission and always leaving with no apologies.

ㅤBut time was also the one who brought you to him, and also the one that seemed to stop, even if for a little while every time he saw you smile.

ㅤAnd Baizhu realized, it didn't matter if it was only in an ephemeral life, or the flow of a thousand lifetimes. He would still love you in the end. To the end, and even after that.

ㅤThe doctor would eventually have to choose between you and the undeniable fate. But for now, allow him to be oblivious. To dream of something he never dared to, a tomorrow that had you in this little life together. Of a family.

ㅤAllow him to hold you closer, until you're engraved in his entire being. So that no matter what happens in this future, he'll always know how your love tasted. And how it was to love your thoughts, and the way you softly spoke his name, to ache for your presence and wish to be by your side.

ㅤSo that he never forget how your hands felt while caressing his face and his back when he got tired and sick. How it felt to finally be taken care of, after years of lonesomeness. That he never forgets how you looked like when you smiled whenever he woke you up with breakfast in bed, or how your hair smelled after the shower.

ㅤBaizhu knew either way his time was running out, and that even forever doesn't last long. But he figured it would be fine, because getting to meet and love you was worth it all. So allow him to offer you his last breath of life before the end.

ㅤThus was eternity, an everlasting feeling.

ㅤWriothesley had met you so long ago, even before he knew what the Fortress of Meropide was. Before, when his life was more full of life and starry skies. And he still remembers how you looked, your smile with a few teeth missing, and the way your knees were always bruised.

ㅤAnd he also remembers when everything fell apart. The day you slowly changed, when you felt like growing up faster, and time took away your innocence far too quickly.

ㅤWhen your smile disappeared and all there was left were apologetic looks from afar and your presence vanishing from his life.

ㅤIt started there, and thus his life was over in a blink. And he was stuck in the Fortress, no more than a teenager.

ㅤWriothesley also grew up after that, your face slightly fading out between memories and responsibilities.

ㅤUntil, he was met with sunshine one day again. When his body was weary and fallen. The first time the Duke ever fell sick, it was then he saw you again. A dreamlike presence between his fever thoughts.

ㅤYou looked older now, but you were still as beautiful as the day he saw you last.

ㅤThe last thing he heard before passing out was your voice, telling him to sleep a bit. And he thought, "What an idyllic dream."

ㅤBut you were still there when he awoke again and it took his breath away in an instant, still thinking that maybe now he was hallucinating. And it took you the longest time to explain that you were working in the Fortress now.

ㅤSometimes, Wriothesley would still suddenly ask you, "Why here?" and to that you would say, "Just because.", but you knew and he also knew that deep down, it was for him.

ㅤHe couldn't help the way his heart still fluttered like that of a teen experiencing his first love, just at the thought of you. He couldn't help but think the Fortress looked a tiny bit more bright with your presence there. That his life was replenished with so much tranquility.

ㅤAnd he would forever cherish every word you said to him.

ㅤHe was so stupidly in love with you, he knew. And probably had been for the longest time now.

ㅤAnd it didn't take long for the love between you both to flourish, and everyone would be a fool to say now that in the murky and damp Fortress of Meropide no flowers could bloom.

ㅤHis infatuation for you was like the gentlestest of lullabies, and the way he cherished you filled your heart to the brim until it overflowed. And no matter how much it spilled, you never minded it too much.

ㅤYou both had lost so much to the ebb and flow of time, and had sacrificed so much to arrive where you are now. So, for today, and the days that'll still come, you allow each other to this serendipity.

ㅤDancing under the faint lights and the seawater smell, while staring into a vast ocean through the giant window. To Wriothesley it was like watching an endless sunset by your side, even though there was no sun to be seen. None of you was especially skilled in dancing, your arms intertwined in all the wrong ways and your legs kept getting tangled up. But still, you remained joined in this messy dance.

ㅤWriothesley felt at peace whilst listening to the calm beating of your heart, and you eased up while hearing his relaxed breathing.

ㅤThe sound of your loud giggles filled the hall with happiness, and the faint music coming from the speakers was all that could be heard for now. And all the guards knew to keep to themselves and not approach that place, not to break the dome that seemed to envelop you both, like your love for each other was an entirely different reality.

ㅤStill, they smiled between themselves. Their boss, the ever so collected Duke, finally the happiest he could be. And they had no one to thank but you for it.

ㅤAnd if Wriothesley knew what they all thought and whispered among themselves, he would agree. For you had brought back his soul from the pit not even he knew it had fallen to. He entrusted his heart wholeheartedly to you, and he would do it a thousand times again.

ㅤSo break his heart a million times, and he would still look at you with a smile on his face and tell you, "Thank you, sunshine."

ㅤAnd if you choose to love him back with all you have, oh be prepared, for he will definitely, without a doubt, never let go of your hand again.

ㅤAnd to you, he wishes to be forever bound. For forever is contained in even a minute and your souls were akin.

ㅤLove was something that made people irrational and out of their minds. That's what Al Haitham thought. So why, why was he constantly thinking about you and felt like he was finally out of the darkness, like a blind man trying to follow the sound of a beating heart. And your heart out of all.

ㅤAl Haitham hated fate more than anything, for if it existed, it meant the choices humans made were all already prescribed somewhere like a finished book with no room for change. Although he didn't really mind living a life like that, he also couldn't help but sometimes feel a bit rebellious.

ㅤBecause there was simply no way to explain the way you were always within the vicinity, no matter where he went to escape from this wretched play and relax, besides fate itself acting. You, and your dense smiles and thoughtless words.

ㅤHe held no hostility towards you, he told Kaveh one day, to which the blonde man could only but sigh in despair and exasperation.

ㅤ“Yes, yes, sure. Whatever you say! Not like you're just feeling this way because you can't understand them like you wished.”

ㅤThat made Al Haitham stop and think for a while. Was that really the real reason that seeing you and talking to you ignited such a flame in his heart? That he simply wished to understand why you had such innocent ways to see the world?

ㅤThe Scribe was known to be a blunt man, someone no one ever wished to cross paths on a normal happy day. But why, he just couldn't seem to want to break your worldview, and he could never say any harsh words to you. The shine in your eyes always stopped him before he could even open his mouth.

ㅤAnd before he even realized, he would get himself staring at you one too many times in silence, while you waited for his opinion on some book you had read. He would do things he never would before merely because you mentioned you liked them.

ㅤ“I like this brand of tea from Fontaine very much! It is very sweet.” Al Haitham remembered what you said one day while sitting by his side in the library, while he was pretending to read again.

ㅤ“It's bitter…” What was even wrong with your taste buds after all?

ㅤHe now could only stare at the romance books piling up on his desk, and the way you seemed to be scribbled on all of the sentences there. Your heart was ascribed to him in all his favorite pages and you were written with all his favorite words.

ㅤWhat was special about you and what made you different from others? He wasn't so sure, but at the same time he dared to say he didn't care.

ㅤHe even sometimes would write his name along yours before catching himself and wondering if he was going insane. And now, he could just smile helplessly.

ㅤIt was a wonder to everyone how sudden Al Haitham seemed to change, not knowing how much he had mulled over it before. The fact he loved you was something he eventually had to come to terms with, and once done, it was quite easy to go on.

ㅤIf someone told him before that one day he would fall this hard for someone, to the point that their presence would be like an apricity in his life and the panacea to all his woes, he would've scoffed at them.

ㅤHow foolish. He thought, but he still allowed you to intertwine your arm with his while strolling around the city. He still stroked your face with gentleness whenever he was close to you, still twirled your hair in his fingers when he got bored from his paperwork, while you sat by his side, involved in your own work.

ㅤEven so, Al Haitham didn't mind it at all. In fact, if fate gave him a chance to go back, he would do everything the same way again for it led to you. He didn't mind the looks people gave him after seeing his love for you, for even before he was already a lunatic. So may he be even more of a lunatic for you.

ㅤIndeed, fate didn't seem all that bad after a while. If it allowed you both to stay together for as long as he could, then Al Haitham, and you, didn't mind being entangled on such unexplainable and pointless things.

small extra:

“You're so troublesome, you know?”

He had once again been dragged into one of your shenanigans around the Akademiya, and obviously you had gotten caught. If it wasn't for his position as the Scribe, he could only fathom what would have happened instead.

It definitely wouldn't include you cheerfully walking besides him like this was the happiest day of your life.

“But you still gave me a very long speech about why you love me anyway on that day during my break from studies, remember?” No matter what, your words never failed to make him shut his mouth immediately.

If there was anyone in the world that could win an argument against the Scribe, that would be you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ《☆》

˖ ࣪ Guys, thank you so so much for the 100 followers and the 1k notes on "when they lose you" post hehe, I never imagined myself getting this far into writing as I have always been quite insecure with the way I write the things that come into my mind but still, THANK YOU!!

also, thank you for reading this too 💗

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #ayato x reader #xiao x reader #baizhu x reader #wriothesley x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin x gn!reader #ayato fluff #kamisato ayato x reader #xiao fluff #baizhu fluff #wriothesley fluff #al haitham fluff

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sunshine-daisies-library · 4 months

Text

emergency contact | calum hood x fem!reader

FUCK this took so long and took so many twists and turns but i have finished lads

summary: you end up in the hospital after an accident, only to find that your emergency contact number hadn’t been updated. you are yet to find out if it’s a blessing or a curse.

word count: 8.9k

warnings: self doubt, talking down about oneself, she/her pronoun usage, swearing, breakups, angst, drinking, car accident, hospital mentions, injury mentions, mentions of weed, partying, fighting

author's note: it might be rushed at the end and there's no set timeline of events, so it might not align with the true events IRL.

i also would like to say that we support girls here! no hate toward anyone, girls support girls!

In defense of yourself, you hadn’t expected to be back in Los Angeles so soon. Nor had you anticipated an accident like this to update your contacts on your phone. It was on the back of your mind, yes, but you had intended to change your emergency contact list on your phone for events like these. It was something you’d remind yourself occasionally, only to push it off for the next day, then the next day, then forget about it altogether.

And perhaps you were too cowardly to change the list. You didn’t admit this to another soul since it had been nearly a year since the two of you broke things off. Your friends time and time again had persuaded you to put yourself back on the market, to get over the musician. But how could you? You had dedicated the best years of your life to him, nearly six of them. You thought you were going to marry the man, but life had other plans.

That being said, you still loved him. The small act of removing him off your emergency contacts list felt so final to you. Like that was the end of your sad little love story with him. Truth be told, it was the end. It was the end from the moment you broke things off with him. You were just too stubborn to admit that to yourself.

It was your doing, wasn’t it? You were the one to tell him it was over. He had just gotten back home from their tour and went to greet you with open arms. You had been wretched enough to deny him that, pulling away immediately. You ignored his eyes when you told him you were tired of your lifestyle. Of waiting on him like a dog for him to come back from tour. Of relishing that one month of being together like it was the last thing on earth, only for him to leave once again for tours or writing retreats.

And most of all, you were tired of not feeling enough for him. In the world of popular and beautiful stars, why did he stay with you? Calum never made you feel so ordinary, not on purpose, at least. You had nothing to offer him other than your love. You feared that wouldn’t be enough in the end. The more years that passed, and the closer the possibility of marriage became, you thought it would be better to let go of him first before he ended up resenting you for not choosing someone better when he had the chance.

You didn’t listen to his pleas for you to stay. Or his professions of love for you, or how his promise to leave the band entirely if it meant you staying. You felt so cruel to let someone who loved you so much go so easily. He was willing to give up his music for you, so how could you ever claim that you were second best to his music?

But that was the very thing, you were afraid. He loved you so much that he was willing to let his entire life go for you. You couldn’t let him do that to himself, to let go of his happiness. But you had enough self dignity to know that you deserved more out of life than waiting in an empty home to fill up again.

—

Calum wasn’t sure what to make of the phone call he received just a moment ago. He never thought he’d hear your name again, much less be summoned to the hospital to see you.

“Mate, why are you still here?” Ashton asked, tucking away his drumsticks. “The nurse called you a half hour ago. Aren’t you going to see her?”

“I don’t know,” Calum uttered truthfully. “It’s been so long since I last saw her. It was probably a mistake, right? Why would they call me up?”

Michael rolled his eyes from the couch where he was tuning his guitar. “Because you’re still down as her emergency contact,” he drawled sarcastically.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Calum deadpanned. “I mean, why would they call me and not her parents or something? Or her new boyfriend,” he muttered under his breath.

Luke approached the group from the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair. “Easy there, tiger,” he teased, grasping Calum’s shoulders from behind. “One might assume you’re jealous.” The youngest of the group quickly dodged the bassist’s shove, laughing while doing so. “To calm your worries, no, she doesn’t have a new boy in her life. And her parents moved to the east coast three months ago so they can’t come over.”

“Well aren’t you the stalker,” Ashton snickered.

Luke shot the drummer a glare. “I’m not a stalker,” Luke defended himself. “In case you actually wanted to know, I still keep contact with y/n. At least Sierra does for the most part. Though, last time I heard she was in Boston.”

“Boston,” Calum spoke up in confusion. “What’s she in Boston for? And how did she end up here?”

Luke clicked his tongue, a knowing look on his face. “If you want to know, you can ask her yourself,” he sang in an annoying tone.

Michael set his guitar down and stood up in defense of his friend. “While that’s true,” he began. “What about..you know?”

“What about “you know?”” Ashton piped up. “There’s no harm in Calum going. She could really be hurt and need someone with her. If what Luke said is true and you’re the only nearby emergency contact, it’s better safe than sorry that you go to her.”

The boys shared a look with each other. In their heart of hearts they knew it was a bad idea to let Calum go, especially after everything that had happened. But a selfish part of them wanted their best friend back, so what harm was in that notion?

“I’ll go,” Calum finally relented. “But she’s coming with me.”

–

When Calum arrived at the hospital, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. The doctor explained it was a car accident, and although you were recovering okay you still had to be observed after minor surgery. A part of Calum’s heartstrings tugged at the thought of you alone and afraid during the accident, thinking he could have done something if you hadn’t broken things off, but he pushed that feeling down. It’s been a year; you’ve probably gotten over him and he’s started a new chapter of his life without you.

Calum followed the nurse to the recovery room where you were still unconscious. At the sight of you, he instantly lost all air in his lungs. Frozen, the bassist stood before you with a mix of emotions flooding through his face.

It was as though you were entirely different but still the same in some way. Your face, albeit bruised, looked more peaceful than Calum had seen of you. Hell, even before you broke things off you always had a furrowed brow or frown of some sort. It broke Calum’s heart to know that he was the cause of that stress.

Calum sat down beside you, instantly grasping your hand like second nature. It was just as soft as he could remember, and your nail polish was chipped and stained the skin surrounding it. Calum chuckled to himself, a tearful smile on his face. He knew your nail polish was your own doing, seeing as you had always asked him to paint your nails since he had “more precision.”

“Oh y/n,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “What the hell did you get yourself into now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Calum jerked back to see your eyes staring back at him. “Hi, stranger,” you managed to crack a smile. “What brings you to this hospital?”

Calum choked out a laugh, his thumb grazing against the top of your hand. “Oh you know me,” he said. “Always hanging around these parts whenever I get the chance.”

“You idiot,” you snorted, shaking your head and wincing in pain.

“Easy now,” Calum reached over to cup your cheek. “The doctor said you have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle, but nothing a bit of rest can’t fix.”

Your hand met his on your face, instantly warming to his touch like nothing had changed between the two of you. “Why are you here, Hood?” you asked curiously.

“You tell me.” Calum pulled out his phone and showed his past calls list. “I got a call from the hospital saying I was your emergency contact.”

You dropped his hand and covered your face in embarrassment. If your headache wasn’t killing you, the sheer embarrassment was. “Oh my God,” you groaned. “I’m so sorry, Calum. I had meant to change it but I never got the chance and–”

“It’s alright,” Calum calmed you down. “Relax. I’m not mad or anything. If anything, this gave us a great opportunity to reconnect and catch up on things. It’s been what, a year?”

One year, three months, twenty eight days, and twelve and a half hours, the both of you thought subconsciously. But who’s counting?

The both of you were. Clearly.

“Something like that,” you lied smoothly. “How are you? How are the boys? I’ve kept contact with Crys and Sierra, but I haven’t had a chance to meet with them both. I was actually planning on shooting them a text as soon as I landed here, but obviously I haven’t had the chance.”

Calum laughed at your blunt humor. He missed that a lot about you. “I’m alright,” he replied. “The boys are great, too. They send their love, by the way. We’ve been cooped up at the studio writing and producing music, though you probably expected that from us.”

Ouch. Was that a dig toward why you broke up with him? “Naturally,” you grinned. “Do I make a special feature in this album? The trashy ex that broke up with the bassist as soon as the tour ended? You best get back to the studio, I’m sure this whole debacle has given you something to write about.”

“You are far from trashy,” Calum countered, continuing the light banter. “And I’m not going to throw your dirty laundry out like that, I have some taste, you know.”

“Oh come on,” you pressed. “That hoe called me back, gave me a heart attack,” you sang terribly, making Calum cover his ears. “Oh yeah she broke my heart, that’s not even the start-”

“Oi, quit that!” he laughed. “Leave the songwriting to me because good God that was terrible. Any more of that and you’d put me in the hospital bed next to you. And please do not call yourself a hoe. That’s worse than Luke calling Ash “daddy.””

Once your laughter had died down and you ran out of lyrics to spew, a comfortable silence filled the room. His chocolate brown eyes rested down at your joined hands.

“Thank you, by the way,” you spoke to break the silence. “For coming. You didn’t have to do that.”

“For my trashy ex?” he teased, a smirk dancing along his lips. “I’d do anything.”

God why did you break up with him? He was perfect, still is. Why does he still tug at your heartstrings and make you weak with one smile. How could you still feel this way after a whole year? Do you still love him-

“Babe, there you are! This place is a maze, I could barely understand the nurse’s directions.”

You turned your head so fast, you nearly got whiplash again. Standing before you was a beautiful girl with the most luxurious beach waves and tan that every girl dreamed of.

She bent down to kiss Calum’s cheek swiftly, making your breath hitch without you realizing. The girl smiled at you, taking your hand -that Calum instantly dropped at the sound of her voice- and squeezing it. “You must be y/n,” she concluded cheerfully. “I’m Tia, Calum’s friend.”

–

“They are so not friends,” you grumbled to your friends, days after the initial encounter.

Your friends chuckled at your gray demeanor, each of them taking sips of their coffee or bites of their breakfast. After being discharged from the hospital, the band and their significant others thought it would be perfect to catch up with you during brunch. You had agreed, eager to learn about everything you missed, especially the new couple.

“You’d be right and wrong, n/n,” Michael replied, setting his mug down. The group was significantly more relaxed to talk about the subject considering Tia needed to take a phone call and Calum insisted on accompanying her. “The way they’re friends isn’t the same as how he’s friends with us–”

“Speak for yourself, baby, Calum keeps my bed warm whenever Sierra’s out,” Luke teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Sierra rolled her eyes playfully, elbowing him in the ribs.

“And Luke keeps mine warm when they’re both gone,” Ashton chimed in without missing a beat.

Michael sent the youngest and oldest members a glare before continuing. “As I was saying,” he huffed exasperatedly. “They’re in the weird phase between friends and dating. They met a little after the tour and were friends for a while. It was Tia that made the move on Calum, like, two months ago.”

Noticing the stark difference in your facial expressions after hearing Michael’s explanation, Crystal came in to quickly finish the story. “He hasn’t confirmed or denied anything, but they have been on a few dates. He’s taking it very slowly.”

“That’s..nice to hear,” you slowly began. “But the more I hear about her, the more guilty I feel about feeling this way.” Your shoulders caved in as your friends shared a concerned look. “She seems sweet, and Calum and I are old news. It was my own decision to break things off in the first place.”

Sierra reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Why did you break things off with him?” she asked in a quieter voice.

You couldn’t help but notice how the rest of the group leaned in to hear your answer. “You mean Calum didn’t tell you?” you inquired the boys.

“He just said it was mutual,” Ashton raised his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know you broke it off with him.”

“Why didn’t you tell us she broke up with Cal?” Luke whisper-shouted to his partner.

Sierra only shrugged her shoulders. “I thought you knew,” she responded, her hands grasping around her mug as she took a sip.

“No one knew,” you settled. “And it’s going to stay that way.”

The group let out shouts of disapproval that were instantly quieted once Calum finally returned and took a seat. “What’s the fuss about?” he asked curiously.

You shook your head, taking an overly healthy sip of your mimosa. “Oh you know,” you sighed. “Typical group shenanigans, as per usual.”

“What kind-?” he pressed before being curtly interrupted.

“Where’s Tia?” Luke cut in, saving everyone’s necks for the time being.

Calum took in a draw of breath after stealing Luke’s cup of coffee, much to the singer’s distaste. “Oh you know,” he copied you teasingly. “Manager calls, as per usual.”

“She’s been getting plenty of calls lately,” Crystal commented.

You tried to not show immense interest in the conversation. After all, you didn’t know much about Tia and the group had been too distracted to show you her Instagram profile, damn Michael and his random tangents. In the meantime, you absentmindedly twirled your straw between your thumb and forefinger as the conversation continued.

“Tia’s getting a lot of public interest, what can I say?” Calum responded. “Her videos are getting more views every day. Her manager’s been calling her nonstop since companies keep reaching out to offer brand deal after brand deal.”

Ashton let out a hopeful sigh. “Imagine having a brand deal set for life,” he pondered aloud, setting his salad fork down. “I’d adopt more goats and expand the garden.”

“Cool it, Old McDonald,” Michael snickered. “I can’t imagine the band doing brand deals. Remember One Direction and their Pepsi commercials during the Super Bowl? Louis hated them.”

The table laughed, recalling the memory. Recognizing your confusion regarding Tia’s profession, Sierra leaned in. “She’s an Instagram influencer and interior designer. She went to school for design but has branched out since. Last time I browsed her page she was doing promos for some yoga company.”

“Great, so she’s perfect,” you grumbled to yourself, quiet enough for only Ashton to hear since he was right beside you. The drummer snorted, elbowing you roughly.

Calum, thankfully deaf to your comment, nodded along to Sierra’s explanation. “She’s great,” he hummed.

Your heart clenched at his words, but a hopeful side of yourself couldn’t help but perk at his courtness. Of course, it could be just to spare your feelings to not speak much about her. But a selfish part in your mind wondered if it was because she wasn’t his missing piece, the way that you fit perfectly for him.

Stop that, you scolded yourself. Calum is no longer yours, you made sure of that. You were the selfish one who pushed him away. Why do you continue to torture him when he’s finally happy, no thanks to you. You can’t continue to pull him back, that’s why you broke up with him. And here you are, falling back into old habits.

You blinked back your tears, the tears you had so desperately fought back since the day you broke up with him. You didn’t deserve to shed these tears when you caused the problem in the first place. Instead, you sucked in a breath and maintained your rigid composure. It’s better than falling apart, which you more than desperately wanted to do at the moment.

“y/n, you alright?” Calum asked, breaking you from your trance.

You jumped slightly, lifting your head to face the group. Forcing a smile, you nodded. “Perfectly fine.”

–

You weren’t sure why you were called here. After becoming mutuals on Instagram (and thoroughly stalking her pristine profile) Tia was quick to invite you out for yoga. You weren’t too keen on attempting yoga with a certified instructor, much preferring to save face in front of the already perfect girl. However, you found her nice and sweet enough to befriend despite the heartache it caused you.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come with me today,” Tia told you honestly as you finished your session for the day.

You settled yourself onto the mat, easing yourself into a simple stretch. “I’m glad you offered,” you replied, grunting at the ache panging slightly in your ankle. You were careful not to apply extra stress on your injured foot since it was still tender to the touch at times. “I’ve been eager to relax, especially after that accident.”

“And you deserve it,” Tia reassured you, beginning her own routine. “Yoga’s good for recovery and stress, I’ve always tried to convince Cal into joining but he wasn’t the most graceful learner.”

You giggled, recalling how clumsy the bassist would be. “Yeah, I’d leave that to Ashton.”

Tia nodded in agreement. Her fingers danced down her leg as she continued to stretch. Even as jealous as you were of her, you had to admit she was graceful in everything she did (and you were sure of it with a simple browse through her Tiktoks).

The two of you stepped out of the yoga studio, mats in tow as you continued to talk about random nonsense. On the walk back to your friend’s house -you had been staying there for the time being-, you came to realize that Tia was as genuine as they come and found it very difficult to dislike her out of jealousy.

“So you know how Cal and I met,” Tia began, referencing the story of how the two met at an awards show. “How did you and Calum meet and get together?”

Your mouth went dry. She knew you and Calum were a thing in the past? “I-“ you stammered.

Tia laughed at your sudden awkwardness. “I’m not dumb, you know,” she joked. “I knew about yours and Cal’s past. He talks a lot about you, you know? More now than ever now that you’re back.”

You had to stop the butterflies forming in your stomach. “He does?” you catch yourself saying instantly.

Tia nodded, uncapping her bottle and taking a sip of water. “Oh yeah, big time,” she answered. “It’s really sweet to know that you made such a big impact on his life.”

Your cheeks began to warm at her words. “He did the same,” you responded with full honesty. Tia patted your shoulder and grinned. “To answer your question, I met Calum a little over ten years ago, once the band started getting famous. I was just a senior in high school when they moved to L.A. I interned at their studio and that’s how we formally met.”

Tia gave you an impressed nod. “You guys got history,” she mused.

You couldn’t help but smile. The memories of the past always brought a smile to your face. Dyeing Michael’s hair and staining your bathtub red, constantly buying Ash bandanas whenever you came across one you knew he’d like. Luke coming to you when he had writer’s block, and Cal crawling through your bedroom window whenever he felt homesick and wanted someone to talk to.

“We do,” you agreed.

Turning a corner down the street, Tia continued to ask you questions. “Who asked who out?” she questioned. “Three years of being friends turned partners was clearly not an overnight thing.”

“It wasn’t,” you said. “It was Calum who asked me, but it took a whole lot of convincing from the boys.” You laughed quietly to yourself, recalling how he asked you to be your girlfriend.

You heard music playing softly in the night air. You had been studying nonstop for your college finals and hadn’t seen the outside of your dorm all day. You hadn’t called the boys in a while either since they’ve been touring the world after releasing Sounds Good Feels Good. You were significantly proud of them but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss your boys. Now, hearing the soft guitar strumming from outside your window made you feel more longingful for them than ever.

Especially Calum. You had a soft spot for the bassist, everyone knew that. You spent the most time with him when you interned at the music studio. He trusted your opinion above everyone else’s, and reached out to you the most while on tour. To say you had a little crush on him would be an understatement. The boys teased you relentlessly and teased Calum much more. They always said it was a matter of time until one of you would cave in and confess to the other. But they were wrong. You’re here in a small college dorm with no air conditioning single as can be while the boy you loved was halfway across the world.

“Thinking of you,” you texted Calum with a heavy heart. “And the boys, ofc :P”

You set your phone down and attempted to go back to studying when your phone pinged again.

“You don’t have to feel so blue, n/n,” he responded. “Look outside”

You hopped out of bed and opened your window as much as the old rusty thing could go. On the campus grass were your favorite boys flashing lights from their phones at you. Calum was resting on Ashton’s shoulders, waving at you with the wild boyish smile you loved with your entire being. Michael and Luke were beside him, Michael playing the guitar and Luke grinning and filming.

Concentrating hard, you recognized the sweet melody. It was the very song you wrote with him, Beside You.

“She sleeps alone

My heart wants to come home

I wish I was, I wish I was

Beside you”

Your heart did somersaults at the presentation before you. You had always begged Calum to sing more for the album but the boy was too shy. It took some pushing but you helped him get his confidence up. Taking a cardigan, you ran out of your hall and joined the boys on the lawn, tackling each of them into a hug.

“What the hell’s wrong with you!” you shouted out with a grin. You didn’t care if your yelling woke up your peers. Your boys were here in the flesh.

“We missed our girl,” Ashton told you, giving you a strong bear hug.

“One of us more than the rest,” Luke added with a cheeky smirk.

Calum had long been off Ashton’s shoulders, awaiting your hugs he missed so much. You, on the other hand, hesitated to do so.

“Come on!” Michael playfully shoved you. “We’ve come all this way, give the boy a hug!”

Your face was on fire. The extra pairs of eyes made you embarrassed. Calum took an extra step forward, his hands bashfully in his pockets.

“Didn’t you miss me, sunshine?” he asked you, awfully shy now after his confession of love. He was nervous he put you off and that he read the signs wrong.

“I did,” you whispered back, equally shy. “But I think I want something more than a hug.”

The boys let out whoops and cheers of joy as you decided to bite the bullet, grabbing Calum by the loops of his jeans and pulling him into a kiss.

Once you had pulled away, Calum’s lips formed into a dazed smile. “Be my girl, sunshine?” he asked you softly.

You pressed your lips against his once again, though this one was much shorter. “I was always yours, Calum.”

“Why did you and him end things, y/n?” Tia asked you, bringing you out of your thoughts. You seemed to be stuck in a trance these days, always pondering over the past and what could have been.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, truly at a loss of words. What could you say? That you had been selfish and pushed him away so that he wouldn’t end up hurting you first? That you drove the knife deep into Calum, twisting it in every way shape and form out of self preservation? There was no other way to put it than that in your mind.

“Time heals but also kills,” you told her with a broken smile. “Cal and I decided to put ourselves out of our misery and end things while they were good before it got worse.” It wasn’t completely a lie. Sure, he had no say in your ending things, but you spoke the truth about putting him out of his misery.

“Do you still love him?” she asked.

You glanced over at her. Her eyes shone in the light, curious and innocent. She didn’t know the pain you both had endured that landed you in this position.

Yes, your heart cried out. You love him. You love him with your entire being, that’s why you let him go. Because you’d rather kill your soul every single day of your life than stop him from reaching his life goals. If you had to go through that awful night that you broke your own heart again, you would, just to ensure that he is happy.

Even if that meant that he would be happy with someone else.

“He’s my first love,” you told her tearfully. “Of course I love him. But I am not his love, and that is okay with me. Life goes on, and so should I.”

The two of you stopped in front of your friend’s house. Tia took your hand and squeezed it. “I really do appreciate you coming along with me today,” she said earnestly. “And I’m glad I got to hear about you and Cal’s history. It really puts things into perspective.”

You smiled back at her. “Thank you for having me,” you responded. “I hope my words haven’t changed anything between the two of you. I meant what I said; him and I are in the past. I truly want the both of us to move forward and grow in our own separate ways.”

Your butterflies in your stomach turned into fierce wasps, stinging you sharply. Lies, your heart hissed. Tell her you love him and still want him.

You forced the bile rising in your throat down. Tia, blind to your inner troubles, continued to speak. “That’s actually what I wanted to ask you,” she chuckled nervously. She grabbed your other hand, bringing them together.

“I wanted to ask Cal to be my boyfriend,” Tia confessed.

Crack. There goes your heart.

Tia seemed to notice the dip in your lips and immediately retracted. “But I don’t want to overstep or anything!” she rushed. “You and Cal have history, I’m not stupid enough to deny it. And that’s okay, that’s no one’s fault. If you still love him and want him, I’m not going to get in the way. Calum, well, it’s clear he loves you, too. I’ve heard countless amounts of stories about you to not get the memo. I really like Cal, I do. But that can’t go up against love.”

This was your chance. To right your wrongs from the past and take back what you truly wanted. Calum. You could take this moment to run to his house right now and take him back, and you’d have Tia’s full support. Zero guilt.

But why did it hurt so bad?

No. You made your bed, you have to sleep in it. It doesn’t matter if the bed was built of blades of self doubt and hate, you have to slip into the sharp sheets and let it pierce through your skin. You created your own mess. It is you alone that must deal with it. Not Calum, and surely not Tia.

You’ve made enough problems for everyone as is.

You mustered enough strength to let go of Tia’s hands and instead cup her cheeks. “Tia, honey,” you whispered calmly. “Our love is in the past. I’ve missed my chance, and I have learned to live with it. I’ve seen the way Calum looks at you, and that’s something that can blossom into something beautiful. There’s no need to dig up something that has already run its course.”

Tia’s lip trembled at your words. You nodded carefully. “You don’t need my permission or anything to date Calum. You don’t owe me anything. You both deserve to be happy, and clearly you make each other happy.”

“Are you sure?” Tia asked. “I promise you, it won’t hurt my feelings or anything if you still want him.”

“No, Tia,” you reassured her, despite the burning feeling in your chest. “Please, make him happy. Make him happier than I could ever make him. He deserves that much.”

–

Two weeks have passed since your encounter with Tia. Last thing you heard was that the two were very happy indeed, but you didn’t hear if they made it official. You had plenty of dates with the girls, but you insisted on changing the subject whenever they brought Calum up. You feared that if you heard about him one more time, you might burst into tears or do something stupid.

You finished up your work from the office in your friend’s house. Grateful to be able to work from home for the time you stayed in L.A., you had to admit that sitting on a chair from 9 to 5 made you quite sore. Eager to stretch your legs, you decided to take a walk to the local park.

However, it wasn’t any random park. It was the place you and Cal used to have endless dates when he was back from tour or the studio. You’d lay on the blanket he took from his apartment at the time and stare at the stars. Back when you both didn’t have much, you’d snack on soup crackers you took from each time you went to the diner across the street and share a can of Coke Cal took from the vending machine after work. So many secrets were shared at this park, and so many memories were made, too.

“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who still frequents this place.”

You jumped to see the last person you expected at this place. Calum gave you a bashful smile before sitting beside you on the grass. You took in the last hour of sun beaming down your skin before the sky went dark, closing your eyes and tuning out the sound of the infamous L.A. traffic.

“How can I not?” you quipped. “This park is the only place in L.A. that isn’t stuffy or gross.”

Calum let out a laugh, quietly agreeing with you. “So what brings you here, Hood?” you asked, nudging his shoulder.

The bassist could only shrug his shoulders. “Could say the same about you,” he hummed. “Sometimes I like to sit here and write music. Other times I just sit here and listen to the ambiance.” You nodded, crossing your arms on your chest and making sure to keep a safe distance from him. His touch was mesmerizing, but you had to remind yourself that he was no longer yours.

“This place reminds me to stay grounded,” he told you truthfully. “When I get too in my head, I always go here, even after we broke up.”

You dropped your hands to the grass, braiding the blades absentmindedly. “I’m glad,” you spoke up. Calum looked over at you, awaiting an explanation. “It’s too good of a place to let go after a silly little relationship.”

“It wasn’t a silly little-” Calum fought back.

“Let’s not talk about it, Cal,” you sighed exasperatedly.

Calum instantly frowned. “Why not?” he pressed. “You never seem to want to talk about the good old days.”

“Because it wasn’t “the good old days,”” you insisted, lying through your teeth.

Calum let out a stubborn huff. “Now that’s a lie,” Calum shot back. “But whatever, I won’t push.” A pregnant silence took over the two of you as Calum tried to find something to say. “Have you found yourself a new boyfriend yet?” he decided to ask.

“Calum-” you began.

“You said not to bring up the past,” Calum argued. “This is the best I can do.”

You shook your head at his words, giving in nonetheless. “No, I don’t,” you answered.

“Are you not ready for one?” he asked.

“I-” You took a moment to find the right words. “I need to work on myself before moving forward with someone else.”

“Well, I don’t get that,” Calum commented with a snort. “You’re perfect, what could you possibly work on?”

You choked out a dry laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Quite a bit, I’d say,” you confessed. “Calum, I was a mess, I still am. I can’t put someone through that again.”

“You didn’t put me through anything,” Calum persisted. “And now that you mention us, I can’t recall anything that you did wrong in that relationship. It was all me.”

“No Calum!” you raised your voice, standing up abruptly. He quickly followed, standing up to meet your frustrated, tired eyes. “It was me. And I’m tired of you insisting otherwise.”

“You said that I was always gone,” Calum reminded you, his voice matching the same volume as yours. “I don’t see anything that involves you in that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Because I was needy!” you exclaimed. “And I was pushy, and I hated being alone all the time–”

“But I’m right here!” he yelled back. You took a step back in shock. He was never one to raise his voice at you, even when you fought in the past. It was your throat that got raw in those arguments from having a shouting match against yourself and losing hopelessly. “Goddammit y/n I’m right here. And I promised you that night that I would always be here if that’s what you wanted.”

Tears began to stream down your face as you pulled your hair in anger. “You don’t understand, Calum,” you cried out.

“Then help me understand!” Calum took a step closer to you, taking your hands in his. His brown eyes were desperate, searching yours for an answer. “Please, sunshine, let me in.”

For a moment, you almost faltered. You nearly gave in at his sweet words and use of that old nickname. But Tia remained in the back of your mind, and guilt sunk in once more.

You released yourself from his touch, looking away from his eyes. “You can’t call me that anymore,” you whispered to him. “I can’t, Calum. I just can’t.”

Calum watched you back away hopelessly. “y/n,” he sighed.

“I’m leaving for Boston in two days,” you told him. “I’m sure Ash told you that already, though. I overstayed my welcome at my friend’s house. I should start packing.”

The bassist followed you to the gate of the park. “But I feel like we should talk about this,” Calum pleaded.

Your fingertips grazed the gate, the cool metal sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll see you at the party, Calum.”

–

When you told the boys the date you were going back to Boston, Ashton jumped at the opportunity to throw you a goodbye party. In addition to catching up with you and spending every moment available with you, the boys insisted on planning the “biggest party of the century” for your departure.

“I still don’t see the necessity for all of this,” you told the three boys with a shake of your head.

“Trust us,” Ashton said with a wild grin. “We all need this.”

So here you were, casually sipping your cocktail in the corner of Ashton’s home while their exquisite rager took the house by storm. Sierra and Crystal stayed by your side throughout the night, insisting to keep up with each other while you were away. This time, you made sure to not end contact with them the way you did last time. Tia had also been in the group but left some time ago to deal with something.

“Are you sure you have to leave?” Luke asked, pouting dramatically. “L.A. isn’t the same without you here, n/n.”

You ruffled his hair playfully. The singer was always a little brother to you, no matter how close in age the two of you were. “I do, bub,” you said in a sorry voice. “I don’t think my boss could stand another week without me in the studio.”

“Then move back to this location!” Michael proposed, raising his glass and nearly spilling his drink on the floor. “Transferring wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it? The studio would love to have you back, producing and doing whatever else you do.”

You laughed at Michael’s drunken state. You were having a lot of fun relishing in the last few moments with your friends before leaving them once again. You almost didn’t realize the shouting that was going on in the dining room of Ashton’s home.

The entire group ran to the source of the noise to find Calum standing on the dining table with Tia pleading for him to get down.

“Calum, babe, please,” Tia shouted. “You’re causing a scene.”

All guests turned to see what was going on, especially to see why the bassist of 5 Seconds of Summer was shouting complete intelligible nonsense.

Ashton ran towards the edge of the table. “Mate, you need to get down,” he begged hurriedly. “You’re not thinking straight, you need to get down before you get hurt.”

“No,” Calum insisted, his words slurring slightly due to his inebriated state. “I need everyone to listen to me.”

Someone had managed to find the speaker and turn it off so everyone could hear Calum. Your heart was beating out of your chest, not from the alcohol buzzing through your system, but because of the drunk boy standing before you.

Calum raised his cup to the crowd. “I’d like to raise a toast to the girl who broke my heart,” he announced sloppily. “The “heartbreak girl” herself, y/n l/n.” Calum clapped loudly. He was the only one who was clapping while you stood there in shock and humiliation. “I loved you, you know?” he sniffed. “And I bloody well still do. Tia’s great, though. Absolutely nothing wrong with you, Tia, I hope you know that. But you’re not the one. y/n right here, she’s the one.”

His brown eyes, red from drinking and smoking God knows what, teared up as he looked down at you. “But what I can’t figure out is why won’t she love me?” Calum threw back the rest of his drink and winced at how strong it was. “I was getting ready to propose to you, you know?” he told you. “I had the ring in my pocket, and I was just waiting for the perfect moment.” Calum chuckled to himself bitterly. “Guess I fucked that up tremendously.”

“Calum, stop,” you pleaded.

“Why should I?” he asked you incredulously. “You didn’t stop packing your things when I asked you to. You didn’t stop running when I chased after you in the dark. You didn’t stop when you booked that flight across the country to run away from me.”

Tears were streaming down your face now. “It wasn’t like that, Cal,” you cried. “W-we broke up for a reason-”

“And that’s what I can’t wrap my head around!” he shouted. “You barely gave me a reason! You told me you never saw me anymore. I was willing to make more time for you, to end my career for you, to get down on one knee and be with you, and that wasn’t enough! There had to be another reason-”

“There wasn’t, Cal!” you sobbed. “So drop it, please.”

Silence spread throughout the whole house. No one moved an inch, too shocked to make a single sound or move. All that could be heard was the sounds of your messy sobs that you failed to keep in. Cal dropped his cup and gestured his hands at you.

“The Heartbreak Girl, everyone,” he announced with a broken sigh. “Hope you enjoyed this one hell of a show, with your heartbroken host, Calum Thomas Hood.”

You ran out of the house as fast as your feet could take you. The air was brisk in your lungs, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care when the man you loved poured his heart out to you, only for you to squash it like it was nothing.

“y/n!” you heard a voice call out for you. You whipped around to see Tia, scrambling to catch up to you. In the back, you could see the band -minus Calum- and their significant others peering out the glass door to see what was going on.

Tia grabbed your hand tightly. “y/n, fuck, I’m so sorry about Calum,” she apologized, swearing profusely. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. First we were talking about our relationship then-“

“Please, don’t bring up your relationship,” you cut her off, roughly shaking your head. “I know I gave you my blessing, but please I can’t bear to get my heart broken again.”

“You don’t understand!” Tia pushed. “We don’t have a relationship to begin with! y/n, I never asked Calum to be my boyfriend, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t interfere with a love as great as yours and his.”

You stumbled backwards. “What?”

Tia nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “y/n, you and Calum are endgame, don’t you see? I only talked to him tonight to explain that you still loved him. I guess he was too caught up in the alcohol to think rationally.”

“Tia,” you said, voice dripping in disappointment and dread. “That wasn’t your secret to tell him.”

“Were you going to say anything?” she shot back. “You weren’t, so I had to take matters into my own hands. n/n, I’m a firm believer in fate and second chances. This is your chance at making everything right-“

“But I can’t!” you cried, ripping your hand away from hers. “Don’t you get it? I’m the one that’s killing him! I put him through hell and I can’t continue to do that. Why can’t you see that I’m a fucked up mess that ruins everything I touch? I love Calum, I’ll never stop loving him, but I’m not blind enough to not see that my love is torturing him slowly.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Tears reappeared in the corner of your eyes, but you were too tired to wipe them away. “I’m never going to be enough for Calum,” you confessed. “That’s why I broke up with him. I can’t watch him waste his life away on a girl that’s only going to disappoint him. I’m not like you, Tia. I’m not perfect, or beautiful, or smart, or anything remotely interesting. And one day, Calum is going to see that and realize he missed his opportunity to find someone good for him, someone that he deserves.

“I don’t deserve him, Tia,” you finished in a broken whisper. “I never will. So I’d rather fade into the background and be a distant memory than become a face he can’t stand to look at.”

“That’s not true,” Tia insisted, tears gracefully falling down her beautiful face. “y/n, you have to believe me when I say that’s not true.”

A car drove down the street, approaching the two of you. You let out a sigh of relief, recognizing it as your uber. “I don’t have to believe you,” you replied, opening the car door. “My word is all that I need.”

—

Calum woke up the next day with a pounding headache. He groaned aloud, sitting up on the couch and cradling his head. He wished he was drunk enough that night to forget everything that happened, but he remembered every single detail. From the beat of the bass from the stereo to the way your dress hugged your curves he loved to kiss and hold.

He finally pushed you away, he realized. And for good, this time. Calum felt dread and regret rush through his system, and all he wanted was to crawl into his bed and sleep his life away.

“You know grumbling isn’t going to cure a hangover,” Tia’s reprimanding voice rang through the living room.

Tia. Calum jumped up to face her where she had been leaning against the door frame.

“Oh Ti,” he sighed, covering his face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for last night, I must have humiliated you. I’m a right idiot, and I’m so sorry I put you through that.”

“Oh shut up,” Tia laughed, walking over to him and sitting him down. “I can’t say that I wasn’t hurt, but I also can’t say I was surprised with how things turned out.” Calum hung his head low, ashamed of his behavior. He never wanted to hurt either of you. “Cal, you don’t have to be so sullen. It’s okay, there’s no hard feelings or bad blood between us.”

When Calum couldn’t bring himself to respond, Tia decided to take it a step further. “I always knew you loved her,” she confessed. “That’s why I brought it up to you last night. I wanted both of you to work things out. She really does love you.”

Calum let out a bitter laugh. “She sure has a way of showing it,” he muttered. “Tia, don’t make me feel worse by feeding me lies. It hurts enough that I hurt both of you, don’t make it worse by saying that bullshit.”

“I’m telling the truth!” she fought back. “y/n still loves you, she told me that herself.”

“Then why did she break up with me?” Calum retorted. “If her love never left the table, where was it when she broke things off? Correct me if I’m wrong, Tia, but I don’t think that’s how you treat the people you supposedly love.”

Tia screwed her eyes shut, heaving out a sigh. “She loved you so much, she thought you deserved more,” Tia finally explained. “She let you go so that you could find someone better, someone who makes you happier.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Calum shook his head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “How could she think that? No one could be better than her, um, no offense.” Tia snorted at the last part. “If anything, I thought I didn’t deserve her.”

“Well you’re both idiots,” Tia deadpanned. “You two clearly love each other more than life itself but were too blind to see you were perfect for each other.”

Calum’s shoulders caved in as he drowned in his thoughts. His hangover headache was piercing his skull but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t process why you’d ever think so lowly of yourself when he praised the ground you walk on.

“How can I go back to her and repair things when I never realized she was hurting?” he asked. “Why would she ever want me back when I wasn’t there at her lowest? All the signs were there. She stopped calling me every night to talk about her day while I was away. She’d dodge my Facetimes with bullshit excuses that I failed to point out.” Calum huffed to himself, beating himself up critically. “What makes you think I won’t fuck up again when she needs me?”

“Because you’ve learned from your mistakes before,” Tia told him, rubbing his arm soothingly. “And you can learn from them again. That’s what I like about you, Cal. You always made an effort to better yourself, no matter the challenge. And if you truly love her, you’re going to end up fine.”

Calum smiled softly at Tia’s words, raising his chin to look her in the eyes. “I love her so much,” he whispered. The bassist took her hand, squeezing it affectionately. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with us, Ti,” he apologized genuinely. “I really do hope you find someone who is willing to lay down their life for you.”

“I’ve watched two lovers reconnect like no time has passed at all,” Tia smiled back. “Trust me, I have the groundwork laid out for what’s ahead of me.”

Suddenly, Calum’s phone began to ring. Lunging towards the arm of the couch, Calum pulled his phone off the charger and read the caller ID. Eyes wide, he looked at Tia who gave him a knowing look.

“I’ll start the car.”

–

You opened your eyes, immediately squinting at the bright light. You were met once again with the familiar feeling of a skull splitting headache and aching ankle.

“Must you always get yourself into these situations?”

You turned to face those brown eyes and cheeky smile you adored. Calum shook his head in disbelief, taking your hand in his. “I thought you said you’d change your emergency contact,” he said in a scolding tone.

Your face was on fire at his words. “I forgot,” you told him honestly.

Once again, you ended up in the hospital with similar injuries to what you received at the beginning of your trip. But instead of a car accident, you’d clumsily fallen down the stairs on the way to your Uber to the airport. Luckily a neighbor next door heard the ruckus and loaded you into the Uber straight to the hospital.

“Or it’s fate,” Calum suggested, resting his hand on the side of your head.

“Calum,” you tried to counter.

He stopped you instantly. “I know why you ended things,” he simply told you. “And I think I deserve a say in it.” Closing your mouth, you let him speak. “You’re wrong, y/n. You do deserve me as much as I deserve you. And I love you no matter what. I don’t need a famous celebrity as my partner when I have you in my life. None of that superficial stuff matters to me, y/n, you know that. And I know that for as long as I live and you forget to change your emergency contact list, I’ll always come for you.”

Your heart fluttered, and you allowed yourself to feel hope for the both of you. “But what if someday down the line you want more?” you asked in a small voice.

Calum blinked away his tears. “What more can I want?” he said in response. “You’re all I want, y/n. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you laughed, tears beginning to fall, too. “It was my stupid brain that made me doubt in the first place.”

Calum leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “So is that it?” he asked. “Are we done doubting? Will you finally come home, y/n? Be with me forever?”

You raised your hand to cup his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your touch. “With you,” you told him surely. “I’m always home. I’m yours, Calum Hood.”

–

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