#I'm writing this before going to bed so i apologize for any wrong use of words

[halohalona]

Beanie

in which you crochet a cat beanie to match Logan's hair

Logan Howlett x reader

i decided to turn this into an imagine instead of a fic cause there's nothing much to it, and the idea is pretty much straight to the point. i wanted to add a picture of the beanie but i'm still making it and i could not wait to post this.

not beta read, this is the first thing I've written in a long while, so bear with me

warnings: none, just fluff cause we need more fluff with this man

"What's that?"

"Oh, it's something I've been working on." You say as you finish the last of the stitches that join the two edges of the crochet rectangle you made. "It’s a cat beanie."

"Hate to break it to you, bub, but It doesn't look much like a cat."

"Just wait." You put the beanie on your head the top corners standing up on the sides of your head. "See? It looks like cat ears! It reminds me so much of your hair, I thought to make one so we could match."

A small smile formed on Logan's lips, finding the sentiment endearing. "Cute."

[saintrosalyn]

BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths. 

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep. 

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him. 

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room. 

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself. 

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine. 

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge. 

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift. 

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside. 

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you. 

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst. 

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate. 

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels. 

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Fright.

Fright. 

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver. 

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence. 

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him. 

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in). 

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone. 

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again. 

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong. 

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.” 

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments. 

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head. 

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall. 

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach. 

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

[organic-bloodbath]

Hi, I apologize in advance for any mistakes, English is not my native language.. I like the way you write. may I ask salesman and his wife. A semi-nswf story about his wife saying the safe word in the process? A little fluff and comfort 👉👈 If you don't write this, then I'm sorry, have a nice day

Pumpkin

Salesman x Wife!Reader

Summary: As above.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut -> minors get tf out

A/N: This is a little shorter than my usual fics i think. He might be a hot psycho with others, but he's a total softie with his wife ❤️💙

"Pumpkin," you gasped quickly. "Oh, fuck, Pumpkin!" He immediately stopped and looked at you with a concerned look on his face.

♡♡

He was thrusting in and out of you with as fast pace as he was able to, pinning your hands above your head.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked quietly and let go of your wrists, cupping your face with his hand. "Was i being too rough? Did i hurt you?"

"It just," you panted. "It was becoming too much to handle."

"Do you want to stop? We can end this here if you need to."

"No, no," you hurried to say before he managed to pull himself out of you. "Just, a little slower, okay?"

"You sure you want to continue?"

"Yes, please," you nodded and kissed his lips. "Can we switch?"

He lifted his eyebrow but moved to lay next to you on his back. You were almost always the bottom, so he was surprised by your request, though wasn't against it at all. You sat on top of him, burying his cock back inside you, soft moan escaping your lips as you sat down. You put your hands on his chest, and he grabbed the side of your thighs, helping you move your hips back and forth at a right pace.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back, enjoying every inch of him inside you, nails digging on his chest.

"My god, you feel good," he gasped. He didn't close his eyes, unlike you, only looked at your gorgeous figure as you moved on him on a little faster speed now.

He sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist as you kept moving up and down on him. He started peppering kissed on your neck and along your collarbone, sucking marks on your skin on exactly the right spots. You slid your hand in his hair, pressing on the back of his head and gently massaging his scalp.

He brought his face up and took you in a rough kiss. As you let out a deep moan, his tongue found its way inside your mouth. You were starting to get tired, and he seemed to notice it by your slower movements now. He put his hands firmly on your ass, helping you move better.

"Oh my god, i'm so close," you whimpered, breath hot against his face.

"Come for me, baby," he muttered, locking eyes with you.

Soon after, you felt pleasure waving through your entire body like sparks of electricity. Both of you were complete moaning messes in the end, until he collapsed back on the mattress, pulling you with him, his arms tightly around your back. You were panting hard and he brushed your hair with his fingers as you laid on top of him, not able to move a muscle for a moment.

"You were amazing, honey," he whispered and planted a kiss on your temple.

"You too," you said quietly, completely out of energy and breath.

"I love you," he whispered and pressed his chin on top of your head. "I'm sorry if i hurt you."

You turned your head upwards, looking directly in his eyes. "I'm alright, don't worry." You pressed a short kiss on his lips, causing a small smile to spread on his face.

"You sure?" he repeated with furrowed brows, looking concerned.

"I'm good, honey."

"Good. I'll go and make us a hot bath," he said and got up. You pouted a little when he rolled you away from him and left you to lay there alone.

You stayed lying on the bed, wrapping the blanket around you tighter. He always had a bath with you after you'd had sex, every single time, unless you didn't have much time left to spend together. That was usually if he had to leave for work soon, but tonight he was all yours. Even if you would be left alone, he would still prepare a bath for you.

It would take a while until the bath was going to be ready, so you took your phone from the bedside table and noticed a few messages you had received.

Jae: "i'm NEVER again going to a blind date."

Jae: "call me asap i gotta talk."

Mom ♡: "Did you ask your father about the plans next weekend?"

Mi-hee: "i got the day off, wanna do something on sunday?"

You managed to answer to two of the texts, not having the time to deal with Jae right now, and then only stared at the ceiling, slowly gathering your energy back.

Sooner than you expected, your husband came back and you put your phone back to the bedside table.

"Come on, the bath's ready."

"Carry me." You bit your lip. "Pretty please."

He rolled his eyes, but smiled and took you into his arms, bridal style. "How could i ever say 'no' to you?"

You had been married for the past 7 years but it felt much less, like you were forever stuck in your honeymoon phase.

When you reached the bathroom, he gently let you down to stand on the soft bathroom rug instead of the cold tiles. You noticed that he had poured you two glasses of red wine.

He went into the water first, you right after. You leaned your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. You let your head fall on the crook of his neck. The water was warm, and you knew you could fall asleep in his embrace right there and then if you closed your eyes any longer than a few seconds.

"Darling?" he said softly after a short silence and rubbed your shoulder.

"Hm?"

"Would you be ready to... try again?"

You knew what he meant. You had waited for him to start this conversation again, but was also afraid of it.

"Really? You want that?" You turned your head to look at him, and he was looking down at you.

"Of course," he said. "But only if you're ready for it."

Both of you wanted to build a family and have a kid or two. You had been pregnant once, but miscarried your baby couple of years ago on your second trimester. After coming home from the hospital, you had been a total wreck for weeks, even months, and felt like you could never have children, even though it wasn't true, and it would be too scary to try again.

"I mean," you mumbled. "Can i be honest?"

"I want you to always be honest with me," he insisted and caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"I'm just," you started, trying to find the correct word. "Scared."

He pressed a kiss on your temple. "I know. I'm scared too, but it could work out this time, you know."

"What if it doesn't?" you asked, brows furrowed. "I don't think i can handle that a second time."

"If anything bad happens, i'll be here for you on every step," he promised.

You didn't say anything and looked away from him. To be honest, you had thought about trying to get pregnant again, but you felt like you had lost all hope in that area. You knew women could experience miscarriage many times and eventually give birth to a healthy baby, but you didn't have the strength for that.

"Should we go to a doctor first?" you asked, feeling nervous. "You know, to see if i have any problems getting pregnant and with pregnancy overall."

"I can book an appointment if you'd like," he smiled.

"Okay."

♡♡

A/N: I wrote this rather fast but hope it turned out okay. I'm trying to get another part for the Ddakji series but struggling to figure out where the story goes so it'll take a while 👉🏻👈🏻

[egcdeath]

off the beaten path

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: what could go wrong with a non-refundable honeymoon and a broken engagement?

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no sex scenes), exes to lovers, idiots to lovers angst, fluff, there was only one bed MULTIPLE times, jealousy!! (like a lot), slow burn, no use of y/n, so much use of the word fuck, a little toxicity, some facts about landmarks are inaccurate for the plot, lots of arguing and making up, miscommunication, seasickness, patrick & reader kinda have no social awareness, a lot of hotels and buses, alcohol, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

word count: 18.4k

author’s note: this was so much longer than i expected it to be, but i loved writing it so so much and i'm gonna be sad to see this pairing go! also, a special thank you to the tour website whose itinerary i used for their trip. i hope you enjoy!

JFK AIRPORT

You scrolled endlessly on your phone as you sat at your gate, trying your hardest to fight off the combination of sleepiness and anxiety that had been slowly creeping up on you for the past hour.  

You should be happy—excited to spend the next month of your life traveling throughout Europe on the trip that you had dreamt about since you were a child. Instead, you were filled with dread at the prospect of your quickly approaching trip, leaving your leg bouncing and your eyes flitting between the device in your hands and the entrance of the gate, anxiously anticipating the arrival of a man that you really really did not want to see. 

Once it was announced that first class was boarding, you quickly hopped out of your uncomfortable seat, hoping that if you boarded quick enough, you might be able to miss your unwanted companion. As you stood in line, you tried your best to be casual about your endlessly swiveling head and wondered if it was too late to simply call the whole thing off. 

Boarding had gone smoothly enough, and as you settled into your seat, you still hadn’t seen any sign of your former fiancé. For a second, a spark of hope lit up in you. Maybe you’d get to experience Europe without that pest in your ear after all. Maybe you could even arrange a friend to come fly out and be with you for a few days, or find someone to have a romantic summer fling with. 

But just as soon as your hope arrived, it departed with the sound of a familiar voice walking down the aisle and directly towards you.

“They wouldn’t let me switch my seat.”

You couldn’t believe that those were the choice of words the man you’d intended to spend the rest of your life with had decided to start with. After months of radio silence. No apologies, no awkward small talk, no sugar-coated words about your situation, just a complaint about the conditions the two of you would be in for the next eight hours. Classic Patrick. 

“That’s too bad,” you replied, already annoyed by his presence. You had underestimated how much of a challenge this trip was going to be, solely based on the speed at which your negative feelings had come to the surface. 

“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered under his own breath, putting some luggage into the overhead bin above your seats. 

“You’re the one who insisted we still go,” you argued, not wanting him to get the last word—even if his last words were meant to be a snarky comment to himself more than anything else. 

“The hotels, tours, and all the other tickets were non-refundable!” he argued right back to you. 

“So?” you shot back like a petulant child. 

“So I didn’t want to waste your money.”

“Oh, how considerate,” you scoffed sarcastically before beginning once more. “You’re rich! You don’t even have to be here!” 

“Just because my family is comfortable doesn’t mean I want to waste my money.”

You openly rolled your eyes at his words. Comfortable was the understatement of the century. “So you didn’t actually want to waste my money. You didn’t want to waste your own.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he asked, sounding exasperated by your line of thinking. You hated when he did that. You kind of hated most things he did now. Maybe you just hated him. 

“I never said it can’t be both, I just think you should stop trying to act like you’re so charitable for doing me a favor. As if our relationship wasn’t filled with me doing you favors.”

“Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?” he asked. 

“Sorry, you’re right. We have the next thirty-five days to talk about it.”

The two of you sighed in a synchronized breath at the mention of the amount of time you had to spend together. You hated that the two of you were still in rhythm after everything you’d been through. Or maybe you just hated Patrick. 

“Who plans a thirty-five day honeymoon anyway?” he huffed. 

“Us, apparently. I mean, you were all for it, what? A few months ago?”

“Only because you wanted it.

“Oh, how could I forget. The ever-charitable Patrick Zweig. Taking a month-long break from hitting balls to be with me. I’m forever in your debt,” you mocked with a dramatic hand to your forehead. “At this rate, you’re gonna send me a list of all of the nice things you’ve ever done for me. What do you want me to say? Thank you for doing the bare minimum as a boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” he corrected you, earning a very nasty side eye from you in the process of doing so. 

You were beginning to get dirty looks from your fellow first class passengers, which temporarily shut the both of you up. It was never a good idea to piss off people on a plane. You didn’t want to end up on the no-fly list just because you couldn’t bite your tongue around your ex. 

“Remember when you said we could still be friends after this?” Patrick spoke once more after your moment of silence. 

“Of course I remember, but you stopped that from happening when you…” your voice trailed off as you made eye contact with a very displeased looking middle aged woman “Whatever. Let’s just… try to get through this flight. And try not to make any more of a scene.”

“Fine,” he replied, shrugging in your peripheral vision. 

“Fine,” you said back, not wanting him to have the last word.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you think you win every argument just because you said the last thing.”

“I’m not doing that,” you lied. “You think you know me so well.”

A familiar agitated smile broke out on his face, something that you unfortunately missed seeing. “I do know you well, though. I see right through you.”

“You actually don’t, though.”

“I do,” he insisted, the smirk creeping onto his face telling you that he knew you were actively proving his point. 

“Not really,” you dismissed and attempted to casually pull the headphones that were currently sitting on your neck up to cover your ears. You were always grateful to have noise-canceling headphones when you were traveling, but they were coming particularly in handy for you to win this argument. You tried to hide your self-satisfied smirk as you pressed play on your phone, but you could instantly tell that you were failing. 

When you looked back up, Patrick was clearly saying words to you that you weren’t able to hear. Knowing him, he was probably saying something along the lines of, “Real mature.” 

The truth was that he wanted the last word more than you did–which made it particularly rewarding when you gestured to your headphones before throwing your hands out in a shrug to indicate to him that you couldn’t hear him.

Your vacation was already off to a chaotic start. You couldn’t help but fear what the next thirty-five days would be like. 

BARCELONA, SPAIN

Despite the flight only being eight hours long, you were absolutely exhausted by the time that you checked into your hotel room. So exhausted that you failed to remember to request to switch rooms to one with two beds rather than one.

This predicament only came to the forefront of your mind once you and Patrick had already swiped into the room, suitcases lying on the floor and one king-sized mattress presented in front of you. 

“Should I go back down to the front desk?” he asked as he looked from you to the bed. 

“I’m too tired to get a new room,” you replied. You could handle one night next to your ex. You’d slept in a bed together for years. Granted, during those years you were also sleeping together, but this wasn’t all that different. 

“Fine. Don’t complain if I hog blankets, then.”

“Fine,” you replied. “Just stay on your side of the bed.”

You shucked your backpack from your shoulders and walked over to what was typically the side of the bed where you slept when the two of you had been a couple. Not wasting any time to get ready for bed, you began to take off your clothes and search for your pajamas. Once you glanced over your shoulder, you were quite displeased to find Patrick rather openly ogling at you. 

“Stop looking at me,” you demanded.

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He said with a smirk. 

“You’re such a creep,” you muttered, throwing on an old shirt and crawling into bed. 

As you laid in bed and texted your friends and family that you’d arrived at your hotel safely, you took a peek of your own at your former partner as he got ready for bed. He seemed to be going with his classic bedtime attire of just boxers. Bold move. 

Your eyes were momentarily stuck on his abs and enticing happy trail. You’d planned your trip during Patrick’s off season while he was training for his upcoming season, so you were pleasantly unsurprised that he was in such good shape. Your breath caught for a second as you thought about the rest of him, and you desperately tried to repress the low, fiery feeling rising in your stomach. 

“And I’m the creep?” he asked with a laugh, pulling you away from your objectification as he got into bed next to you. 

“Yeah,” you replied, as if you hadn’t just given him the same treatment he’d given you. 

“Well… like what you see?”

You scoffed at his audacity, though you did like what you saw. “I’m not fucking you. Goodnight.”

You hit the light on your nightstand and you swore you heard a quiet sound of disappointment come from Patrick. Bastard.

You turned your back to him and closed your eyes, finding that sleep took you under surprisingly easily.

When you woke up in the morning, you were greeted by a far too familiar feeling. Despite your request for Patrick to stay on his side of the bed, the slow, steady breaths being breathed into your ear and the solid wall of body behind you indicated that he had not only traveled into your space over the course of the night, but was actively spooning you. 

You were shocked to find that you didn’t necessarily mind it. Yes, you were mad at Patrick for everything that had gone down between you, and because he was such a pain in the ass, but you also hadn’t realized just how much you missed being held. Particularly, how much you missed being held by him. 

The more alert you became, the more you realized that you couldn’t really move. Despite that, you found that you didn’t really want to move. Sure, you were beginning to get uncomfortably hot, and yes, you could feel Patrick’s morning wood pressing against your ass, but none of it was particularly unpleasant. 

Part of you wondered if your trip would go differently than you expected. Regardless of how you acted towards one another, you clearly both missed each other. 

Your shrill phone alarm suddenly went off, startling Patrick awake behind you. 

“Mmm, fuck, sorry,” he sleepily slurred as he rolled away from you. You turned over to look at his tired face, eyes still lidded and speckled face looking far softer than you remembered. 

Out of the blue, he opened his eyes, catching you in the act of looking at him with barely-concealed affection. Before he could make some sort of snarky comment, he shot out of bed, adjusted his boxers, and made an urgent beeline towards the bathroom. All of which would’ve been far funnier if his actions hadn’t been disrupted by the loud message ping of his cellphone. 

You weighed out your options. You were curious about what was waiting for him on his phone, but you weren’t sure that you’d have time to properly snoop. As if the universe was listening to your thoughts, the sound of the shower began, telling you that you had all the time that you needed to do some adequate investigation. 

You wondered who was texting Patrick so early in the morning. Knowing him, it was probably his mother, checking in to make sure he made it to his destination safely. You were sure that whatever message she left would also be inquiring about you. She’d always had a bit of a soft spot for you, especially compared to some of the other people that Patrick had brought home. That, of course, was an observation shared to you from Patrick, so you couldn’t be sure how much of it was flattery compared to truth. 

Regardless, her fondness for you had carried into the end of your relationship, with her occasionally messaging or calling you to make sure that you were still doing well, and more importantly, to check in on the status of your relationship. 

Much like you and your friends, she’d been holding out hope that your relationship may repair itself. With you and Patrick being as passionate as the two of you were, you were no strangers to seemingly serious arguments that resolved themselves in a matter of days. While calling off a wedding was far more drastic than any of your other disputes had been, after being together for years, it was hard to imagine a world where the two of you weren’t a couple. 

But his call never came. You didn’t hear an apology or explanation or even an excuse from Patrick—just a suggestion of when you should pick up the items you’d left at his place.

You hated to admit it, but there was a naïve part of you that was still holding out hope that this trip would be exactly what you needed to reconcile. And maybe that naïeve part of you was less delusional than you might’ve originally thought. Surely cuddling into the morning and Patrick’s poorly hidden morning wood were signs that this vacation was already going in the right direction. Maybe being in such close proximity was exactly the push you needed to get your relationship back on track. 

After a halfhearted internal debate, you grabbed his phone from the night stand on his side of the bed. Attempting the passcode he’d been using while you were together—the digits of your birthday—you were pleased to find that the password hadn’t changed and that you were granted access into his phone. What you weren’t expecting to see was Tinder on the homepage of his cracked device. 

You paused for a moment and attempted to reason with yourself. Your former fiancé probably didn’t even use the app. He’d likely been pressured by his rebound-obsessed friends to download it, and hadn’t even opened the app since setting up his profile. Besides, you didn’t get on his phone to see what new apps he’d downloaded, you were snooping to see what his mom had to say about you. 

When you opened his messages app, your mouth promptly fell open in shock. Patrick had always been loyal to you—at least to your knowledge—while the two of you were together. Seeing him be so openly flirtatious and suggestive with an attractive woman that you hadn’t ever heard of was more than jarring. 

Your stomach churned as you scrolled through the conversation, flirty messages and images from both sides that left little to the imagination disturbing you in a way that you hadn’t ever realized was possible. 

In the midst of your distraught state, you nearly missed the background noise of the shower coming to a halt, informing you that your time snooping had come to an end. 

You set his phone back down where you’d found it and desperately tried to push down the bile in your throat that was tasting more and more like jealousy and anger by the second. 

You knew it was irrational for you to be feeling this way, considering that the two of you had been broken up for a few months. Nothing legally or morally tied the two of you together anymore, but that didn’t make you feel any less unsettled by what you’d just seen. 

It was just that… you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to fully move on from Patrick. He’d been part of your life for so long, and the way things ended had been so abrupt that it almost didn’t feel real. Even if you did move on, it was going to take you more than three months to do so. It wasn’t fair that Patrick’s name seemed to pop up every week in your therapy sessions, while he was sending pictures of himself in gray sweatpants to random hot women. 

You wanted to shrink into the mattress and never come back up. You wanted to yell at Patrick the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. You wanted to turn on your side and wail dramatically, at least until all of your big feelings felt a little smaller. 

But you were in Europe on vacation. You were on vacation, damnit, and you weren’t going to let one mildly disturbing text thread ruin your entire experience. Better yet, if Patrick was already moving on, there was no reason that you shouldn’t do the same.

You told yourself this as you rolled out of bed and dug in your suitcase, pulling out a sundress that had driven Patrick wild in the past. While you may have packed it with less than realistic expectations, your goal was far more grounded now. 

Both of you could play this game. 

You stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed after a shower of your own and instantly registered the almost cartoonish look he was giving you. You guessed that some things never changed, even when the two of you had decided to actively pursue other people. 

“The tour guide said to meet in the lobby soon, so I’m gonna head down,” you explained, not giving him a second look as you began to search for your purse. 

“The tour doesn’t start for another half hour?” he replied, sitting up from where he was laying on the bed. 

“Well I wanna socialize with the people we’re gonna be traveling through Europe with,” you said a little snappily, still a little perturbed about what you’d found on his phone earlier. You conveniently left out the fact that you wanted to scope out any potential summer flings. 

“I’ll come with you,” he insisted.

“You really don’t have to. Remember, this isn’t actually a honeymoon,” you slipped on some comfortable shoes and headed to the door. “I’ll see you around.”

You were probably being far more rude than you really needed to be, but your anger had only intensified as you showered and put on makeup. At this point, you were fully pissed—even if you didn’t have the right to be. 

You made small talk with the people you met in the lobby as they began to filter into the room, and tried your absolute best to dispel the anger that was flowing through your veins. That proved harder than you anticipated, as Patrick was one of the last people to join you all in the lobby, and for the life of you, you couldn’t stop imagining him sitting in your shared hotel room and sexting his mystery girl. 

Luckily, you couldn’t dwell on that ugly thought for too long, as your tour began soon after. Your friendly guide took your group around the city, explaining rather riveting information about the landmarks you visited and the city itself.

After being dismissed for a quick break, you found yourself sitting on a bench and chatting with a man in your group. He wasn’t really your type, but he was extremely conventionally attractive, and from the peripheral glances you caught of Patrick, you could tell that he wasn’t exactly pleased with what was going on.

While making him jealous, or annoyed, or whatever it was that he was feeling, wasn’t your expressed goal, it did feel nice to give him a taste of his own medicine. What felt less nice was glancing over and catching him typing on his phone furiously. You could only imagine whose boobs were on the other end of the line. 

Reacting out of a bit of desperation and frustration, you began to play things up. You leaned over more to show off more cleavage, laughed a little harder at jokes that weren’t all that funny, and set a scandalous hand on his arm. You were determined to have that vacation fling now, and you were going to get it by any means necessary. 

You laid it on thick for the rest of the afternoon, sitting next to him during lunch and flirting casually with him as your group walked through Park Güell. 

You wondered if he noticed you throwing glances in Patrick’s direction after every interaction. You hoped that he didn’t. 

It felt good to be getting even with Patrick—but not as good as you expected it to feel. The realization sunk in as a portion of your group visited a bar that was apparently very popular with the locals. Or at least, that’s what a very handsome man purred into your ear after sitting down next to you at the bar.

You’d been keeping an eye on Patrick as he socialized with a couple that he’d been talking to for the majority of your day, but you almost instantly lost track of him as you became consumed with this handsome stranger. 

Everything happened in a bit of a blur—one moment you’d been nursing a Marianito, and the next you were holding the hand of a man whose name you couldn’t remember as he led you to his apartment. 

By the time you’d left his apartment, you were nothing short of a mess. You were pretty sure that the only way you could’ve been more obvious about what had just happened to you was if you had the words “JUST HAD SEX” written across your forehead—and with the way the people in your hotel elevator were looking at you, you couldn’t be completely sure that those words weren’t on your face. 

You made it back to your room safely, quietly opening the door and doing your best not to make too much noise, since at this hour, Patrick was surely asleep. 

It did feel weird to be going back to his bed less than an hour after you’d been with another man, but you couldn’t necessarily say you felt bad. Patrick had started it, and you simply finished it off. If he didn’t have any issues with seeing other people, there was no reason for you to have an issue with it either. 

Your efforts to be quiet had proved themselves to be for naught, as Patrick was very clearly wide awake, sitting up in bed and already looking at you disapprovingly. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you to speak, rather than ignoring his presence and heading straight to the shower, but your mouth was open before you could stop yourself. 

“Were you just gonna wait here until I got back, like I’m a kid who just snuck out or something?” you asked in disbelief, partially annoyed because of his action, but more ashamed to have been caught in such a state. It couldn’t have been more obvious to Patrick what you’d just done, considering that he’d seen you in a similar state hundreds of times. 

“Baby, we are on a whole different, unfamiliar continent,” his tone was condescending and cold and it made you want to crawl out of your skin. “Why wouldn’t I wait to make sure you got back safely?”

“Don’t call me pet names. And I would’ve been fine. We were just at the bar,” you lied. Going to the apartment of a random man you just met probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but you made it out alive, and that was what mattered. 

“Huh. The bar?” he smirked at you in a way that screamed that he was pissed, without really having to say a word. 

“Yes, I- what does it matter to you anyway?” you hoped that the question would be enough to get you out of the situation. If you were going to argue, you at least wanted to argue after you were showered and in pajamas.

“What does it matter to me if you fucked someone else?” he asked, sounding like he was in complete disbelief. 

“Yeah, Patrick. Why does it matter if I fucked someone else? We’re not together anymore. Did you forget? I mean, it seemed pretty obvious to you when you stopped speaking to me completely a few months ago.”

“Please, enlighten me. What did I have to speak to you about?” 

“I don’t know! Maybe an ‘are you okay?’ would’ve been nice. Or something. Anything, really. We were together for six fucking years and you just dropped me like I was dirt!”

“I…” he trailed off, catching you by surprise. He almost always had a quick clever response that managed to piss you off in a way no one else ever could, so seeing him not knowing what to say next caught you off guard. “If our relationship meant that much to you, why were you all over that guy? I mean, seriously. I’ve never seen anything so desperate. You were practically rubbing yourself on him in the park like a bitch in heat.”

Contempt dripped from his words. You had never been so enraged.

“Are you joking?” you laughed out of sheer anger. “Patrick, you started it! How many Tinder girls have you seen since we broke up? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me. I saw everything you’ve been sending to Amelia. Amelia, I’m so lonely. Amelia, I’m so horny. Amelia, I love you so much,” you mocked.

“You went through my phone?” he asked in disbelief, not even bothering to address the rest of your statement. “Fuck. You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable? How long did it even take you before we split for you to start seeing other people? I mean, knowing you, you were probably just waiting for the day we broke up to go get your dick wet.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” for a second, he looked genuinely wounded—something you were only able to recognize after years of being in a relationship with the man. You didn’t like that you were actively hurting him, but he’d been inflicting pain on you from the moment you broke up.

“Fine,” you conceded on that front, knowing that he was right. It wasn’t completely true. If you hadn’t gone through his phone, you never would’ve guessed that he had already moved on. “But you’ve still been seeing other people.”

“We’ve been broken up for months now,” he replied, as if that was supposed to make things any better or more reasonable. 

“Then why do you care so much about me having sex with someone else? It’s fine when you do it, but suddenly it’s an issue for me?” 

Patrick’s face immediately paled. “You really fucked him?”

“Well, yeah,” you paused. “Well, not who you’re thinking of.”

“You fucked someone else?!” The hurt and disbelief buried under his words made your stomach churn. “You were flirting with that other douchebag all day, I don’t-“

“You’re acting like I’m some whore for reacting to something that you did first!” you cut him off. 

“And you’re acting like I wanted to get rid of you this whole time!” he shot back out at you. 

“Clearly you fucking did,” you hissed. 

“Fuck you,” he huffed. 

“Fuck you,” you shot right back. “I’m leaving.”

“Good,” Patrick replied with a shrug as if he didn’t care, although you were very sure that he cared. “Go run back to your little fuck buddy.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” you replied as you gathered your items back into your suitcase. “He was better than you, by the way.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he said snarkily as he watched you pack up your items. Luckily, you didn’t have much to pack up and were already heading towards the door. 

“He had a bigger dick, too,” you said as you swung open the hotel room door, fully satisfied with a lie that you knew would bother Patrick. 

While leaving your hotel room seemed like a wonderful idea in the moment, as you went down the elevator, you started to realize that you really did not have many options for where you’d sleep that night. 

You figured your best bet was the hotel lobby. Maybe you could pretend to be someone who’d drank too much and passed out on the first floor before you made it up to your room. You sat down in a comfortable looking chair and grabbed your keycard—in case anyone asked you to verify who you were—then set a floppy hat on your head to cover your face from the bright hotel lobby lights while you attempted to sleep. 

Sleep was already going to be difficult to accomplish, thanks to the argument that you were certainly going to be ruminating on for days to come. That was only made more difficult by the uncomfortable seating and position you’d found yourself in. Somehow, you managed to fall asleep, being woken up by a hotel employee and a friend you’d made from your tour group.

“Long night, huh?” she asked you with a playful smirk. 

“Mm, something like that,” you mumbled sleepily. 

“Well, you can sleep on the coach. It just got here, so we’ll have the best pick of seats. C’mon,” she extended her hand out to you and you gladly took it, in desperate need of something grounding. 

You dozed off on the coach once you’d gotten settled, headphones securely on your ears and sunglasses covering your closed eyes. You were vaguely aware of people boarding the vehicle around you, but didn’t pay much mind to anything. Eventually, you heard the faint sound of someone taking attendance of the people on the bus, followed by the commotion of someone getting on the bus late. 

Something compelled you to open up your eyes, and when you did, you were displeased to find that Patrick was the source of all of the drama. Likely thing for him to be. He scrambled down the aisle, looking desperately for empty seats. To your own horror, you realized that the seat next to you was vacant, and perhaps the only vacant seat on the entire coach. 

As if your minds were connected, you watched Patrick face that very same dilemma as he eventually decided to sit down in the only empty seat, right next to you. 

Neither of you said anything at first, not addressing your blowout argument the previous night, or your awkward current situation. 

“You look like shit,” Patrick finally said as the bus took off. 

“Thanks,” you replied, mentally preparing yourself for a continuation of the argument you’d had just a few hours ago. It was only a matter of time before he brought up your promiscuity or started blatantly texting his Tinderella. 

But none of that ever came. In fact, he just looked a little sad. It was weird to see Patrick so openly defeated. He was always one to put on a smirk or a challenging smile when you argued, letting the façade fall once he was alone, or once the two of you finally discussed what the issue was like adults.

You weren’t sure that you liked it. You preferred annoying asshole Patrick to sad, moping Patrick. 

“You look like shit, too,” you added. “Which is crazy, since you had access to a shower and I didn’t.”

“And whose fault is that?” he asked, looking at you with the slightest hint of that devious smile. You had to fight the slightest inkling of a smile on your own face. 

You felt ridiculous knowing that your mood was still being influenced by your former partner. Even when he was insulting you. Even after he’d spent the night arguing with you. Even after you’d slept with someone else. Even after the two of you had a messy split. 

You still loved him. 

“Yours, mostly,” you shrugged and put your headphones back on. 

PARIS, FRANCE

Despite your brief conversation on the bus, you and Patrick didn’t speak to each other for the entirety of your commute. Although you clearly cared about him, it didn’t change the fact that he had upset and hurt you deeply. And even as upset as you were, you knew that you’d hurt him just as badly. 

You had a particular dread for what awaited you in France, knowing that this part of the tour was very couples-activity heavy. When you’d scheduled your trip, this aspect of the tour felt like a major selling point. The two of you always seemed to be falling more in love with each other, and having a candlelit dinner by the Eiffel Tower felt like an exciting way to kick off your marriage. 

Now, you just felt like an idiot.

The two of you did your absolute best to avoid getting paired up with each other for all of the activities that you could. You found yourself spending most of your time with a solo traveler who was close in age to you. She made a surprisingly fun companion to your cheese and wine taste test, popping cubes of fragrant cheese into your mouth and making a competition out of who could detect the most accurate notes in your wine. 

While you found luck in your first few activities, you weren’t so lucky when it came to an evening ride of the Roue de Paris. Whether it was fate or just bad luck, after the pair in front of you had dipped out of line for reasons unknown to you, you had the shocking realization that Patrick had been in between them the whole time. So much for meeting new people on the massive ferris wheel. 

You tried to look busy so he wouldn’t notice that you noticed, and did your best to think of some sort of game plan. Although you’d essentially been giving each other the silent treatment in the hours leading up to this moment, you’d caught Patrick looking at you multiple times throughout the day—something you only noticed because you’d been looking at him as well. 

After a moment, the two of you were let into an empty passenger car. Sitting across from one another, it was hard to ignore the very obvious elephants in the room, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try. 

At first, you simply looked out the window, not saying a single word as the ferris wheel began to move. 

“You should put that safety belt on, just in case,” Patrick commented from his side of the car, pulling his eyes away from the window to look at you. 

“I doubt anything will happen,” you shrugged. “It’s fine.”

He eyed you suspiciously for a moment, before leaning over and strapping you in anyway. Your breath caught in your throat, his simple action putting you into serious psychological pain. It wasn’t lost on you how much Patrick liked to take care of you. It was far more obvious when the two of you were dating, with him covering the bills for dates and doing your laundry for you. It had been so ironic to you at the time, how a man who could barely take care of himself always went out of his way to make sure that you were going to be okay. 

Now, his small act of kindness just made your stomach turn. But it wasn’t like you could express any of those feelings. 

“Thanks,” was all that you managed before looking out of the window once more. 

An awkward, heavy silence filled the passenger car once more as the ride began to take the two of you higher. 

“The view is so beautiful,” you commented, unable to remain silent anymore and hoping that your words were neutral enough not to stir any pots. 

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” his gaze remained fixed out the window, before he looked at you once more as if there were words on the tip of his tongue. 

“I honestly don’t know how we managed to get in line in time to see the sunset,” you continued with your boring, neutral small talk. 

“I’m glad we did. This is the perfect spot to watch it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, continuing to look out the window instead of at the man across from you. “It’s so pretty tonight, too.”

“It is,” he agreed. 

The two of you sat in silence again, only the sound of a soft whirring filling your ears. Then suddenly, all at once, the whirring stopped—and so did your passenger car. 

“Are we stuck?” you asked, looking out nervously at the very tall height that the two of you were currently definitely stuck at. 

“We can’t be. It’ll probably start back up in a second.”

It didn’t start back up in a second. In fact, after a series of announcements in French, an announcement in English suddenly declared that it would be at least an hour before the ride could be fixed. 

At the sound of the announcement, both you and Patrick sighed aloud, still synchronized even after everything you’d been through. 

“Maybe this is a sign,” Patrick piped up. 

“What are you talking about?” you laughed at him, hoping desperately that this didn’t mean that he wanted to continue arguing with you. You genuinely did not have it in you to do so again. You also didn’t have it in you to sleep in another hotel lobby. 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day,” he confessed. 

“Is that why you were staring at me all day?” you teased, a weak, slightly hopeful smile creeping onto your face. 

“I was looking at you because I could feel you staring at me,” he clarified, as if he was setting the record straight. “I don’t want things to be like this between us anymore.”

“Yeah?” you asked, the pit of nerves in your stomach tightening at wherever he was going with his spiel. The anticipation of his words alone made you nauseous. 

“So I think that we should talk about last night,” he suggested. 

That was exactly what you didn’t want to hear him say. You had barely processed the argument yourself, let alone think about anything else that you had to say to Patrick that didn’t involve trying to hurt him as much as he hurt you. 

“We don’t have to. It’s fine. The past is in the past,” you dismissed. 

“It’s not fine, though. Not really,” he countered, all earnestness. You didn’t detect any harshness to his words or any blood in the water that indicated to you that he wanted to do anything more than have an honest conversation with you. “I was so out of line. I can’t- I don’t want you to think that I really believe the things I said about you.”

“Patrick, please…” you trailed off, hoping that he would understand that you didn’t really want to talk about this. Though, you were relieved to learn that he’d only said those things out of the heat of the moment. 

“No,” he stood his ground. “We need to talk about this if we ever want our relationship to improve.”

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you start, so I can collect my thoughts.”

“Of course,” he leaned forward so he could get a better look at you, and you were immediately drawn into some intense eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for acting like a dick yesterday. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have let you leave our hotel room. That was really stupid of me. I worried about you for the rest of the night and spent the morning looking for you.”

This was surprising information to you. While you did find it to be a bit of a dick move that Patrick would just let you leave like that after lecturing you about being unsafe in a new country, you hadn’t realized that he’d been late to boarding the coach because he’d been searching for you. You could only imagine the sick feeling he had as he realized he couldn’t find you anywhere. 

“I’m sorry for what I said, too. Insulting you for trying to move on was really unfair of me. I was just… hurt, I guess. When I don’t even have the right to be.”

“You do, a little. We were together for a really long time, so it’s gonna feel weird that we’re starting to see other people,” you shrugged. “That was an excellent apology, that I accept, by the way.”

“Thank you. I really got a chance to practice my apology skills with the last woman I was with,” he explained. You tried to repress the feeling of jealousy that was already bubbling up in your stomach at the mention of another woman. 

“Yeah?” you asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the brief twitch of your eye.

“Yeah. She’s super opinionated and outspoken, so we would butt heads a lot. But that was always something I really liked about her. That, and her magnificent ass.”

Finally, it occurred to you that he was talking about you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, despite the fact that you were secretly very flattered by the way he was speaking about you. “Ew. Shut up,” you laughed. 

“Well, if you’re done objectifying me, I would love to apologize to you too.”

“All done objectifying you. For now, at least. Go ahead.”

You were a little nervous about the words that were about to come out of your mouth. You just had so much to say, and you weren’t sure that it was all going to come out correctly. 

“I’m sorry for the things I said last night. I genuinely did not mean what I said, I just got caught up in the moment. And I’m really sorry for going through your phone, because that’s seriously none of my business. It was such an unnecessary violation of trust, and I understand if you’re still pissed at me for that. And it was really ridiculous for me to overreact the way that I did over you seeing someone else, because again, it’s really not my business. I feel like I’m kinda the worst,” you confessed. 

“You’re not the worst,” he countered. 

“Fine, I guess. Maybe you just bring the worst out in me,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood slightly. 

“That sounds more accurate. We bring out the worst in each other.”

“Right. That’s why we’re such a good pair,” you paused, then corrected yourself. “Of friends.”

“Is that what we are now?”

“I never said we were good friends.”

“Frenemies?”

“Something like that,” you said, before the familiar whirring sound of the ferris wheel began once more. 

“Huh. Who would’ve thought that the only thing the wheel needed to function was an apology to each other?”

“You’re so annoying,” you laughed and shook your head. “How are we gonna make it through the rest of this trip?”

LONDON, ENGLAND

Your final few days in France had been made far less awkward by your conversation on the ferris wheel. Deciding to fully embrace the couples activities the tour had reserved for you, the two of you were having a good time re-establishing your friendship. 

Your trip to London had gone mostly without a hitch, with your group arriving in the city in the evening and immediately checking in to your hotel. At this point, you had given up on even attempting to get separate beds. It seemed like every morning now you woke up cuddling with Patrick, but you weren’t necessarily mad at the unintentional intimacy. 

In some ways, your relationship was beginning to feel similar to how it felt before the two of you broke up. While you were sure that things wouldn’t be exactly the same—especially since you still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room that was your breakup—it was nice to return to the comfort you’d found in your relationship with Patrick. 

Like clockwork, the morning after your arrival in London, you woke up with Patrick pressed up against your back, nose buried in your hair. As he woke up, he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline out of what you were sure was just habit rather than genuine affection. 

“Morning,” he greeted you groggily, rolling away from your side. 

“Morning,” you replied, turning to face him. You ran a hand through his messy morning hair and looked at him fondly. It was taking far more self control than you had to not lean over and kiss him. “What time is it?” you asked, in part to distract yourself, but also because the digital clock was on his side of the bed. 

“It’s…” he trailed off as he went to read the time. “Oh shit, we’re gonna be late.”

“What?” you asked, shooting up from your relaxed position. 

“It’s 8:25,” he explained, already rolling out of bed. 

In a rush, the two of you got dressed in record time, making it down to the lobby in the five minutes that you had to make it on time. You shared a high-five in the lobby, and tried your best not to dwell on how the simple action felt far more domestic than it needed to. 

Your tour began not too long after that, getting your day off to a strong start. Your day of exploring London was by far your busiest. You were sure that you’d accumulated thousands of steps as you went between large museums, beautiful parks, and massive landmarks. By the time that you returned to your hotel room, you were pretty sure that your legs were mush. 

You returned earlier than Patrick, who had gone out to a gastropub with a group of tourists in your group that he got along well with. You took this as an opportunity to have some alone time, taking a long and steaming hot shower, frolicking around the room in a soft hotel robe, and watching a movie while you waited for your room service to arrive. 

After you’d thoroughly enjoyed your alone time, finishing off your room service and opting to scroll on your phone, the door cracked open and Patrick strolled in. 

“Looks like you made yourself right at home,” he observed. 

“I had to after today’s tour. So much walking,” you groaned. 

“It wasn’t all that bad,” he shrugged, sitting down next to you in bed. 

“Well, not all of us are professional athletes,” you laughed. “How was the pub?”

“Fun. It’d be better if you came.”

“I’m sorry, I was exhausted,” you sighed. “You could’ve stayed in with me and had a spa day.”

“We can have a spa day anywhere. We can have a spa day right now.”

“Mm, I’m all spa’d out. But the water pressure in the shower is excellent, so you should definitely check that out.”

“I will in a little bit,” he said. “Did you try out the actual spa here?”

“They were closed when I checked, which really sucks, since I was in desperate need of a massage.”

“Do you still want one?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah. I’ll probably try to stop by when they’re open tomorrow and get one.”

“No, I mean, do you want a massage now?” he added. 

It had been a long time since Patrick had offered you a massage—or to put his hands on you in any capacity—but you remembered him being criminally talented at giving them. You also remembered his massages usually making for great foreplay that left your knees weak and your brain a pile of jelly, but that clearly wouldn’t be the case now, and you needed to get your head out of the gutter. 

“I mean, sure. That would be nice,” you tried not to sound too excited, though the prospect of a massage from him sounded very, very nice. 

While the prospect of a massage sounded nice, the actual massage was heavenly. You were sure that years of having personal trainers and physical therapists work knots out of his body had made him an expert at finding knots and kinks in your own, which was now leaving you sighing happily as he ran his hands over your back. 

You tried your best to ignore the dull, fiery feeling growing in your lower stomach that was surely a result of experiencing a type of intimacy that you hadn’t in quite some time. As you let out an involuntary soft sound at a particular knot being rubbed out of your shoulder, you wondered if this massage was affecting him nearly as much as it was affecting you.

You promptly received an answer to this question when something hard and phallic brushed up against your leg. You turned your head to glance back at Patrick, and his face immediately grew red. 

“Sorry. I can stop, if you want. It just happened because of the noises you’re making and- whatever. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Part of you felt a little satisfied knowing that you still had that type of impact on him. It gave you a tiny glimmer of hope to know that you were still, at the least, physically attracted to one another. 

“It’s fine. I’ll shut up.”

“You don’t have to. I want this to be as relaxing as possible for you.”

“Well you’re doing a great job, if you couldn’t tell from all of the moaning and groaning on my end.”

You both somehow made it through the rest of the massage without spilling all over the bed, but as you melted into the bed, feeling every muscle in your body relaxed from your excellent massage, you couldn’t help but note the suspiciously long time Patrick was spending in the shower. And maybe it was just your imagination, but if you listened hard enough, you swore you could hear the sound of a soft chanting of your name coming from the other side of the bathroom door. 

While part of you regretted not suggesting that the two of you help each other out with your mutual problems, you were pretty sure that it was for the best. You genuinely didn’t know where the two of you stood, as far as your relationship went. Hooking up would surely further complicate an already complicated situation, since you were pretty sure that ex-fiancés didn’t typically sleep together. But then again, ex-fiancés also didn’t usually go on a honeymoon despite not being together. Your complicated feelings on the matter only further proved to you that you made the right choice by not giving in to your baser desires. 

By the time Patrick joined you in bed, you were already half asleep. Yet, even in your delirious state, you didn’t miss the way he came up behind you, pulling you into a loving embrace. It brought warmth to your chest to know that he couldn’t even wait for your automatic sleep routine to hold you, and that he felt the need to take matters into his own hands. 

You were pretty sure that exes didn’t do that either. 

AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS 

You didn’t know what you expected from your first ferry ride, but being face deep in a barf bag while soothing circles were rubbed into your back was certainly not it. 

Given that you weren’t a frequent rider of large vessels on bodies of water, you had no clue going into the ride that things would go so sideways so quickly for you. If anything, you thought you might have the opportunity to stare peacefully out into the water, or to force Patrick to take a few cute pictures of you. Unfortunately, you were currently doing neither of those things—and it didn’t seem like you’d be doing them any time soon. 

You heaved once more, now almost totally sure that you had nothing left to give. Patrick continued to hold your hair out of your face with one hand and use his other to comfortingly rub your back, not at all fazed by your sickness. If you weren’t currently fighting off another wave of nausea and didn’t have the taste of bile lingering in your mouth, you probably could’ve kissed the man. 

Once your brain finally told you the coast was clear, you leaned your head back and took several deep, gasping breaths of air. 

“You alright, honey?” he asked you, and you didn’t even have the strength—physical or mental—to correct his use of a pet name. 

“I could be better,” you replied, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tilted your head back. “There’s medicine for this, right?”

“Yeah. Let me go see if I can find some.”

As you fought off a war of nausea and headache that was currently beating you on all fronts, you could faintly hear the sound of Patrick asking the people around you if they had any medicine for motion sickness. He eventually returned after what felt like a lifetime, but was probably more like a few minutes, carrying a bottle of Dramamine. 

He helped you take the pill, putting it in your mouth then holding a bottle of water up to your lips to help you swallow it. The action felt oddly romantic, though it was more of a matter of practicality compared to anything else. You were clearly not in a stable enough space to get the pill down on your own, so his assistance wasn’t really anything for you to be over analyzing. 

“Look at you, keeping that down,” he teased, running his hand up and down your arm. The motion was soothing, a bit of bodily comfort amongst a plethora of other awful physical pains you were experiencing. “You’re doing great.”

His soft caresses turned into a full-blown hug, with Patrick pulling you into a tight embrace. While the action itself was rather cute—especially since it seemed to be completely impulsive on his part—it instantly brought on a new wave of nausea. 

“Pat?” you squeaked. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“You’re sweet. But if we stay like this, I am going to be sick all over you.”

He pulled away from you with concern, careful not to move too quickly to set off another bout of sickness. While he let go of your body, he continued to hold your hand, as if he were attempting to ground you. With how anxious he was looking, he might’ve been trying to ground himself as well. 

It was cute seeing him so worried about you. You tried your best not to read too much into it, and luckily, your slowly fading nausea was the perfect distraction from doing so. 

“Thank you for the drugs. It was fun watching you scramble all around asking people for help. You’re such a good…” you paused, not really knowing what you were or what to say. “Ex.”

Now wasn’t exactly the ideal time to have the, ‘what are we?’ conversation, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind. And if he did mind, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it. 

“Only the best for my ex.” Maybe you’d just been imaging it, but you swore you sensed a bit of hesitation on his end as he called you his ex. Admittedly, it would be significantly easier for both of you to be calling each other spouses, or even partners. But alas, you weren’t either of those things to each other anymore. 

As if you’d read each other's minds, the two of you quickly moved on from that conversation. 

After you’d arrived and gotten settled into Amsterdam, you set off to explore the city. When presented with a few options of things to do, Patrick insisted that the two of you go on a bike tour, much to your own chagrin. As much as you weren’t sure your legs could handle any more strenuous physical activity, you’d known that Patrick had wanted to take this bike tour since your trip was an actual honeymoon. Who were you to deny him of that?

As the two of you toured the very beautiful city, Patrick made sure to make a show out of his biking skills. While he was no professional cyclist, he certainly had the ego of one—which translated to him going a little too hard at times and nearly falling off of his bike more than once. 

Each time he almost fell, you found yourself also almost falling, the onset of laughter at the ridiculous man riding next to you nearly being too much to handle. Without fail, every time the two of you did your almost falling, then break into a howling laughter routine, you were given dirty looks by your fellow tour mates. Unfortunately, that only made the situation funnier to you and Patrick. 

By the time the tour had wrapped, it was clear that everyone was sick and tired of you. But at least this time, the people around you were sick of the girlish giggles Patrick pulled from you, rather than the rude words he provoked you into saying, like he’d done on the plane. 

It was refreshing to be spending time with him like this. In the time that you’d been so upset about your break up, you forgot about just how good it felt to be around Patrick when your relationship was going well. 

It was also nice to be spending some alone time with him, away from the rest of your tour group. As the two of you looked at strange knick-knacks in an antique store, you realized just how much you missed being alone with him. While it was nice that the two of you had made friends within your group, your dynamic as a duo was obviously something really special. Maybe that’s why the two of you had been together for so long. 

You spent the majority of the afternoon doubled over in laughter, playfully teasing Patrick, or being on the receiving end of subtle, gentle touches. As you really began to think about it, this day of travel had been your favorite—by a long shot. It also happened to be the day that felt most like one from a honeymoon.

Although it had already been clear to you for some time that you still had feelings for Patrick, the day you had spent together had completely sealed the deal. Once Patrick had surprised you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers over dinner, you’d only been more sure that you were sick with love for your ex.

It was a small miracle that you’d rounded out the day without confessing your feelings, particularly since you ended the evening with a movie playing on the television of your hotel room that the two of you barely paid attention to, as Patrick held you and talked about some of the things you’d missed while the two of you were separated. 

In the morning, you woke up to the soft sound of chatter, rather than your loud alarm clock or the sound of deep breaths in the shell of your ear. 

From what you could faintly make out from the words and the lack of a warm body beside you, Patrick was on the phone with his mother. You wanted to feel bad for eavesdropping, especially since you’d just had an argument with Patrick over your snooping habit just over a week ago, but it was far too difficult not to listen in. 

“I’m glad you liked the picture,” you made out from the muffled words behind the doorway. You were sure he was referencing the selfie the two of you took in front of Big Ben a few days ago. You also liked the photo a lot, with the two of you looking particularly good and particularly happy. You’d also taken a more baity photo of him kissing your cheek, specifically to send to his mother who he knew would be overjoyed to see you. While Patrick had explained the idea behind the picture as his mom simply wanting to see you, you knew the more accurate statement is that his mom wanted to see the two of you together. 

After a beat, there was a soft chuckle. “No, we’re not back together. No mom, there’s no ‘yet.’ I know. I’m an idiot, I know- aren’t you supposed to take your child’s side? Well, I don’t know if you know this, but we never ended up getting married, so no, she’s not your daughter. How could she possibly be your favorite child! We just talked about this. I’m gonna hang up. I’m serious. Alright. Love you, bye.”

When Patrick returned, you were already sitting up in bed. 

“Can you tell your mom I say hi next time?” you asked with a cheeky grin on your face, still coming off of the high that was the romantic outing you’d had the day prior. 

“I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” he replied, getting back into bed beside you. “She probably wants to hear from you more than she wants to hear from me.”

You laughed and shook your head, not bothering to argue with his words since you both knew they were pretty accurate. 

“I mean, I’m sure she’ll be inviting you to Thanksgiving and Christmas long after we’ve moved on with other people and have our own families.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were sure of it. You thought you could genuinely feel the movement of your most vital organ slowly sinking into a pit of stomach acid. 

You tried not to let your smile falter, considering that Patrick was looking right at you with a sweet look of his own plastered on his face. You wondered if this was some sort of test, to gauge how you felt after a day of rekindling the love the two of you thought had burnt out. 

Or maybe, more realistically, he’d already come to accept the reality that you’d been stalling on accepting: your relationship was truly over. One fun day wouldn’t change the fact that your wedding had been called off, and that the two of you said things to each other that would alter the foundations of any solid relationship for years to come. 

Your heart was such a traitor. She refused to accept the simple fact that Patrick wanted to move on, and that your relationship was a thing of the past. Maybe, if you couldn’t convince your heart to accept that truth, you might be able to force your brain to. 

“And I’ll still be accepting that invitation, thank you very much,” you stated, trying to sound confident in your words. “In the meantime, let’s get ready before we miss this bus. You can tell me what your mom’s menu is gonna look like this year on our ride over.”

SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL GERMANY

It was stupid for you to be torn up the way that you were over just a few simple words, but the more you thought about it, the worse you felt. 

In reality, it wasn’t just what Patrick had said to you in the hotel room. It was the fact that he’d been actively trying to move on with other people since who knew when, and the way he seemed to frequently verbally reiterate the fact that your relationship was over. By holding out hope that you might somehow be able to repair your relationship, you were being much more naïve than you even realized. 

You felt stupid. But you also felt confused, because as much as Patrick swore he was over you, and pursued other people, he was also far too comfortable acting like nothing had changed between you two. After all, he was the one flirting with you, and trying to attach himself at the hip to you as you traveled. He was the one who always managed to end up spooning you over the course of the night and woke up kissing whatever part of your body he was closest to. For god's sake, he’d just told you yesterday about how he’d searched high and low to find a bouquet of flowers that he thought you would genuinely like. And most damningly, you hadn’t forgotten the look of hurt on his face when he found out that you had slept with someone else. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who was over their partner.

To say you were receiving mixed messages was a complete understatement. You couldn’t understand how it was possible that the man who was currently leaning against you very affectionately, despite being on a cramped bus, was also totally over you and wanted to move on.

You didn’t know what you wanted to do about the situation, but you were sure that you couldn’t keep going like this. 

Your bus stopped somewhere in Germany for the evening, letting you all out to have dinner and do some light sightseeing before regrouping in the morning and heading to Prague. Somehow, that translated to going to a bar to try out German beer for you, Patrick, and a few of the friends you’d made while traveling. 

After a brief intermission of checking into your hotel room, your small group met up in the lobby, then set off to find a bar. 

Drinking while you were feeling a little upset probably wasn’t your brightest idea. The speed and volume at which you were consuming alcohol was a little concerning, but not nearly as concerning as how much Patrick was drinking. Eventually, even in your drunken state, you realized that you should probably slow down—if nothing else, to take care of him. 

But the two of you continued on, going from bar to bar, getting drunk at a level that probably would’ve been acceptable when you were younger, but was certainly going to take a major toll on you now. 

Forgetting about the repercussions of the future, you two were having a great time. Despite you being out with a group, it felt a little bit like the two of you were in your own little bubble. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter as the two of you took shots and danced together. Not the people around you, not the fact that you had to be up early the next morning to make it onto your coach, not even the fact that Patrick had implied that the two of you would move on and have families with other people only a few days ago. 

By the time that the rest of your group had called it quits, explaining that they wanted to be up and functional in time for your ride the next morning, you and Patrick were still in your own little world. It was only after you’d shared a few drunk cigarettes that the two of you decided that the fun should end, and that it was time to head back to your hotel. 

Unfortunately for you, midway through your trek back home, your drinking buddy had given up on walking, leaving you tasked with literally dragging him all the way back to your hotel. While a sober version of yourself would’ve been annoyed by the inconvenience, all you could really think about was how nice it was to have his body so close to yours.

After a tumultuous journey back, the two of you finally made it back to your hotel room. You had only been in the room for a matter of seconds before Patrick collapsed onto the bed and let out a loud sigh of relief, followed by an even louder yawn, as if he was the one who had just carried you down the road.

It was annoyingly endearing. 

You had half the mind to at least get somewhat ready before getting into bed, shedding your outermost layer of clothing before joining Patrick in bed. 

“Thank you,” he said to you once you laid down next to him. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, your head still pleasantly buzzing from the alcohol. “But I’m never doing that again.”

“Aww, why? We had so much fun,” he practically whined. “I always have so much fun when we’re together.”

“I had fun, but you’re so heavy. You’d never guess it. All those muscles,” in the midst of your complaining, you reached over to grab his bicep to demonstrate his point. 

He laughed, which made you laugh, though you didn’t exactly know what you were laughing at. Then, out of the blue, he randomly said your name in a very serious tone. 

“Can you help me with something?” he asked, sounding very genuine and giving you a look that you couldn’t quite place in your drunken state. 

“Anything,” you replied earnestly and meant it. You would probably do literally anything that he asked you to do at that moment. Move a mountain? You’d start pushing. Marry him? You’d wake up an officiant and come up with vows on the spot. Help him hide a body? You were sure you could find a shovel somewhere.

“Can you help me get my shoes off?” he lifted a foot as he spoke to demonstrate his point, a little pout on his lips. You were a little disappointed that he hadn’t asked you for anything else, but you also weren’t quite sure what it was that you wanted him to ask you for. 

You groaned playfully, a long and drawn out sound that you hoped would communicate that you were exhausted after dragging him through the city and comfortable where you were laying. Still, you leaned over and untied his shoes before gently slipping them off. When you looked back up at Patrick, his pants were newly half undone and halfway off, but it looked as if he had given up fully taking his pants off. 

“Need help with that too?” you asked, though you were already working on slipping the article of clothing off of his legs.

Though you tried to push the thought out of your mind, you couldn’t help but recall a similar night the two of you shared several years ago. Your relationship was still relatively new, but you were already very obviously in love. So in love that you’d gone out of your way to set up a surprise party to celebrate a particularly successful tennis match, decorating your apartment with photos of him with trophies and other tennis paraphernalia and inviting as many of his close friends that you could track down. Still riding the high of winning and his all-consuming adoration of you, Patrick had partied a little too hard, leaving you in charge of tucking him in at the end of the night. 

After bringing him a glass of water, the man snuggled into your sheets and slurred out a comment about how they smelled like you. You felt your cheeks warm as he continued on in a disjointed ramble, talking about how much he appreciated you and how no one had ever gone out of their way to make him feel like that before. He ended his monologue with a request for you to help him take his clothes off, and you happily obliged. It was tender and far more intimate than you’d expected, and ended in a drawn out kiss that left you giggling as you told Patrick that he tasted like Smirnoff Ice. 

Even as inebriated as you currently were, the nostalgia made you feel a little dizzy. 

By the time you’d finished helping him get his pants off, Patrick had clearly given up on getting his shirt off, too. Once again, you moved your hands up his body and helped him out with the piece of fabric. 

“Look at that. All ready for bed,” you commented, setting a hand on his bare chest. The small action made your heart soar, and you promptly decided that it was probably better for you to avoid touching him altogether. 

“My watch?” Patrick asked, lifting his wrist up to show you the accessory. 

“You can take your watch off yourself,” you replied, leaning back into bed and finally laying down. 

“Fine.”

“Night, Patty,” you said, reaching over to turn out the bedside lamp. 

“Wait,” he paused pensively, as if he was digging deep in the recesses of his mind to conjure up what he was about to say. “A kiss?”

“Patrick!” you gasped, sounding far more scandalized by the proposition than you actually were. Of course you would give him a kiss, you just weren’t sure you were ready to open up that can of worms, especially after you’d had a minor crisis at the realization that he genuinely wanted to move on.

“No goodnight kiss? C’mon. Fully commit to tucking me in,” Patrick insisted, as if it was the most logical thing ever. As if either of you had the self control to not let something as simple as a kiss spiral out of control. 

“Fine,” you sighed before pressing a gentle peck to his forehead, figuring that was the safest place to do so. A forehead kiss was about as platonic as it got with you.  “Sweet dreams.”

“Thank you,” he said, rather sweetly as his eyes shut. “Love you.”

Those words instantly gave you pause, causing you to suddenly feel very alert and very sober.

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“I said I love you?” Patrick repeated, looking at you with confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” though it was very much not nothing. In fact, if his confession was true, it would change everything. “Go to bed.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick grabbed your arm, looking very worried in the low light of the room. “You’re mad. You’re mad that I love you?”

You didn’t even know how you were supposed to react to that admission. While it had been exactly what you’d been dying to hear from him for months, it only further complicated your already very complicated situation.

“I’m not mad, I’m… I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”

Your explanation seemed to placate Patrick enough to let it go and go to sleep. He shuffled around to get comfortable behind you, before pulling you in to hold you as he’d done for the entirety of the trip. Except, tonight, it didn’t feel quite right. The mixture of his frequent rejections of you, paired with his casual confession that he still loved you made your head spin. 

The following morning, you woke up with a pounding in your head and a gross taste in your mouth—only one of which, you could fully attribute to the drinking you’d done last night. You clumsily reached for your phone, and found yourself pleasantly surprised to find an announcement about the delay of the next bus you would be getting on. 

You got out of bed with a grunt, your entire body aching with the reminder of having to drag Patrick through the city last night. Somehow, the sore muscles didn’t hurt nearly as much compared to the memory of being told that Patrick still loved you. 

You slowly paced back and forth around your hotel room, desperately trying to organize your racing thoughts. Did Patrick actually mean what he said last night? Or had been caught up in the heat of the moment? If anything, the latter seemed more likely, since he’d been very obviously trying to distance himself from you. But had he really been distancing himself from you, or just talking about distancing himself from you? If his care for you on the ferry had been any indication of how he really felt about you, it was possible that his drunken words were more honest than you were trying to convince yourself that they were. 

Finally, you decided to stop annoying the person staying in the room under you with your increasingly frantic pacing, and to go outside to walk. Some fresh air would be good for you anyway. 

“Where’re you going?” a muffled voice, heavy with sleep asked. You paused the tying of your shoes to look over at the bed, where Patrick was currently squinting at you.  

“I’m just going for a walk,” you told him. “Go back to sleep. The coach is coming late.”

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you.”

That was probably the last thing you needed or wanted. After all, the whole purpose of your walk was to help you sort out your thoughts about Patrick. To say he wasn’t a welcome addition to your trip was an understatement.

“Okay,” you said anyway, against your better judgment. It seemed like you hadn’t been using much of your judgment at all on this trip. What was one more poor decision on top of a series of poor decisions?

You watched him get ready from where you were sitting, quietly impressed with his ability to get up and be functional despite surely being just as hungover—if not more—than you. He also seemed wholly unaffected by the conversation you’d had last night, which was something that you certainly couldn’t say for yourself. 

With sunglasses perched on your nose and the weight of your entire relationship placed on your shoulders, the two of you headed out into the city, walking on the same sidewalks that you’d practically carried Patrick down the previous night. 

“Last night was fun,” Patrick commented, making small talk with you as you began to head down the street. 

“Some parts,” you agreed, hoping that he’d recall you grunting as you lugged him down the street, rather than your shock when he told you that he still loved you. 

“I honestly don’t remember most of the night,” Patrick said with a chuckle that almost sounded a little forced. You couldn’t be sure if he was being honest or searching for a cop out for the things he’d told you before you went to sleep, but you weren’t sure that it really mattered.

“Unfortunately, I do,” you replied. 

“Oh no. I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain.”

“You were like, slightly above average in terms of being a pain. Nothing I’m not used to.” You figured that maybe you could banter your way out of this situation. Perhaps if you just pretended that everything was okay, things would magically become okay.

But that didn’t feel alright. In fact, it wasn’t alright. If you ever wanted to improve your relationship with Patrick, you had to stop beating around the bush with him. You were both adults. You’d been together for years, yet you felt like you wasted far too much time not being straightforward with your thoughts and feelings. If there was going to be a next time for the two of you, you wanted things to be different. 

“You did say something kinda interesting last night, though.” While it had been easy to talk up a big game in your head, you immediately regretted the words that came out of your mouth. Regardless, it was too late for you to back out. 

Patrick laughed nervously before asking, “what?”

“You just… you kinda told me you still have feelings for me, or whatever. I just think, maybe we should talk about it. Or at least talk about us.”

The man next to you paled at your words. Your regret for bringing the topic up immediately grew exponentially. 

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Patrick said, though he was lying through his teeth and both of you knew it. You wanted to approach this topic with civility and an open mind, but his blatant lie was making that a rather difficult task.

“Are you kidding? We’ve been tip-toeing around it this entire trip.”

“We’re broken up. You called off our wedding. I don’t think it gets any more straightforward than that,” he dismissed with a gross simplification of the state of your relationship.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. And even if it was, all I said was that I didn't think I was ready to get married. You put the final nail in the coffin when you told me you fell out of love with me. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to interpret you not being in love with me anymore when you still act the way that you act with me.”

You could tell the direction this conversation was going, your discussion quickly veering into argument territory as Patrick began to invade your space as he always did when you argued. 

“And how exactly do I act with you?” he challenged, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were talking about.  

“Do you want me to give you a list or something?” you asked, his anger becoming contagious.

“Sure, why not,” he said drily. 

“Fine. Let’s start with the cuddling, then. Please enlighten me, do you know any exes who spoon regularly? I mean, I certainly don’t. I don’t even touch my friends like that. So I don’t know what that really makes us. Or maybe how jealous you got when you saw me with someone else. I really can’t think of any sort of platonic explanation for that, and trust me, I’ve tried. And while we’re at it, I guess I should mention those showers. I respect the hell out of your faith in the thickness of these hotel walls, but I actually can hear you moaning my name while you’re in there. I’m honestly a little flattered, but I’m mostly confused.”

“Like you’re not doing the same,” Patrick scoffed. You knew him well enough to recognize that he was masking his true feelings with hostility, and though you wanted to engage in an actual conversation with him, you weren’t sure you would be able to take the high road in this conversation.

“Sure, but I’m not the one in denial of what’s going on here!”

“I’m not in denial. Have you ever considered that maybe I want to move on?”

“Do you, though?” you asked, pausing on the sidewalk.

“Clearly, I do,” he stopped right along with you, now really getting in your face.

“Clearly,” you repeated with a laugh. “Maybe you should start acting like it.”

“Maybe you should stop clinging to the past.”

His piercing gaze was unwavering as he waited to read your reaction. You knew how he liked to play this game, looking for an indication of any sort of weakness from you. You refused to give him that, though his words cut deep. 

“Okay,” you said calmly, though you were very much not feeling calm on the inside. “Well, thanks for letting me know how you really feel. Or how you think you feel. I don’t really know anymore. And I don’t think you know either.”

PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC

If you had known that telling Patrick that he drunkenly confessed to loving you would’ve broken the already very delicate relationship the two of you had built back up, you never would’ve said anything at all. As it turned out, having some of Patrick was better than not having him at all.

The contempt he now felt for you had become so strong that he didn’t even seem to be able to look at you. He sat next to a different person on the bus to Prague, not even sparing you a glance. When you arrived at the hotel, he made it a point to ask for separate rooms—something the two of you hadn’t done the entirety of your trip. As your tour began, he seemed to make a strong effort to separate himself from you, standing in the back of your group when you were in the front and vice versa. 

Usually, even after your worst arguments, you’d been able to find the time to talk out your feelings, but now it seemed like Patrick couldn’t even find it in himself to give you that.

You wanted to be mad at Patrick too. You were mad at him. But you missed him more than you were angry with him, and you yearned to be with him, no matter how crazy his constant antics drove you. 

Part of you felt frustrated that your relationship had become so cyclical since your breakup. You weren’t sure you could handle another cycle of fighting to the point of real anger, then making up with your relationship still a little more strained than it was in the past. You just wanted Patrick. Why did things have to be any more complicated than that? 

You desperately clung on to any bits of hope that your relationship might persist, coming out of this argument altered, but still existing. You snuck peeks at Patrick while you toured a beautiful castle and tried to bite your tongue until you stopped thinking of how badly you wanted to grab him and joke about his home looking like that castle. You wondered if he wanted to put your initials on a lock and put it on a bridge as much as you did. You wished you could ask him if he missed the warm body in bed beside him the way you did. 

But every time you looked at him, he was pointedly not looking at you. As your group paused on the bridge to allow couples the time to make their own locks, Patrick didn’t even spare a glance in your direction. You were sure that even if he did miss you in bed, or wherever else, he would never tell you about it. 

You didn’t want it to be over—but you couldn’t keep clinging to hope that it wasn’t. 

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

Getting to view the breathtaking scenery of the Swiss Alps as you sat on a cable car had been a dream of yours for years. What wasn’t included in that dream was dodging the glare of your ex-fiancé as the two of you sat in silence on that very gondola. 

Unluckily for the two of you, you were stuck together for the afternoon. Private skiing lessons in the Swiss Alps sounded like a great, even romantic, idea while you were planning the trip, but it was far from romantic now. 

The two of you stood on opposite sides of your instructor, the tension between you so thick that in the midst of his safety spiel, he paused to ask if everything was okay between you. After a stilted reply of yes, your instructor looked at you both skeptically before carrying on. 

Seeing as Patrick was an athlete who spent his childhood school breaks in Aspen, he was pretty decent at skiing already. Far better than you, a novice who was moving a little bit like a giraffe standing on its feet for the first time. 

While it wasn’t your first time skiing—that had been on a family vacation you’d tagged along on with the Zweigs—you certainly were not experienced enough to be keeping up with Patrick, who had the experience and the ego to give even your instructor a run for his money. 

It was entertaining to watch him in his element, his competitive side coming out despite the fact there was no competition anywhere to be found. He was significantly faster than you wherever you went, and skied with a confidence that you doubted you would ever be able to exhibit. In the past, this behavior may have been slightly endearing to you, but right now, it was mostly a little annoying. 

You and your instructor stood above Patrick, watching him effortlessly glide down the mountain in front of you. If you weren’t so agitated, you might actually have been impressed. As if your instructor was actively reading your mind, he leaned over to say something to you. 

“I think he’s trying to impress you,” he said quietly, though the subject of your conversation was an entire slope away. 

You nearly choked on your own saliva at the observation. “No way.”

“What do you mean no way?” he laughed. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years, and I’ve seen it all. Couples, crushes, friends, coworkers. I know posturing when I see it.”

“Trust me, he could care less.”

He looked at you with a doubting squint.  “Why don’t we go down there and ask him?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed. The thought of asking Patrick anything after the interactions you’d had seemed absolutely ridiculous. At this point, you wouldn’t even ask him what time it was. 

“Sorry. Let me rephrase that. That was me telling you that it’s time for you to go down the slope.”

You looked downhill at where you needed to go, noting that it was far steeper than what you’d been practicing on leading up to this point. You had been looking for an excuse to stall going down it, but now that your instructor had said something about that, you couldn’t not go.

After taking a deep breath, you began to go down. Gaining a bit of speed, you also found yourself growing slightly more confident, closing your eyes and feeling the cold air press against your body. While you were enjoying your speed at first, it was quickly growing out of hand, and you began to panic as you realized just how fast you were going. Desperately trying to pull your skis into a V shape to slow down, you were horrified at the realization that you were far too late, and actively heading towards a cluster of trees. You didn’t know what to do other than to accept your fate, and everything had happened so fast anyway that you found yourself tumbling into a tree, a searing pain on your ankle and tailbone as you laid out on the rocky ground.

Everything felt like it was moving slowly and quickly at the same time. One second, you were alone in the snow, and the next, Patrick and your ski instructor were hovering over you, goggles on their foreheads as they looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” you were finally able to make out once the slight ringing in your ears had ceased. 

“Did you see how hard she crashed? Of course she isn’t fucking okay,” Patrick’s voice huffed, though slightly muffled from your helmet covering your ears.

“My ankle,” you said, as if that gave them enough context. You wondered if they could see the tears beginning to pool under your goggles. The pair looked at your limb, though with your snowsuit covering it, they really couldn’t see much. 

“Can you walk?” your instructor asked you. 

“I haven’t tried, but I’m gonna go with no.”

“We’re gonna have someone check you out. Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,” your ski instructor told you. You blinked a few times and mustered all the strength you could to nod. 

The longer you sat, the more you began to realize how badly everything hurt. From your head down to your surely swollen ankle, you weren’t feeling too hot. You closed your eyes, suddenly feeling very exhausted. Maybe a quick little nap was exactly what you needed to feel a little better.

“Hey, don’t do that. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell, so you might have a concussion.”

“I don’t, I’m just tired,” you explained, though you didn’t know for a fact that it was true. In fact, with the pounding in your head, you more likely than not had a mild concussion. 

“Well, you kinda have to stay awake,” Patrick told you, though he surely knew it was easier said than done. You were surprised when you felt his gloved hand take yours and squeezed your hand softly. “Hey, why don’t you tell us a story?” he suggested, clearly just trying to keep you awake.

“Do you wanna hear the story about how he proposed to me?” you asked the instructor. You weren’t sure why that was the first thing to pop into your head, but it was a long enough story to keep you awake until help arrived. You wished your goggles were slightly less tinted, so you could at least see the scandalized expression Patrick was probably making. You loved when you made him react like that, since the roles were usually reversed. 

“Well, yeah. Of course,” your instructor responded with a hint of a laugh. “You guys are engaged?” he directed towards Patrick.

“This is our honeymoon,” you replied before Patrick had an opportunity to respond. You wished you could see the confused look that your instructor was surely making.

“So what happened?”

“When he proposed?” you asked to clarify. 

“...Sure.”

“Well, for a little context, Patrick here is a professional tennis player. He’s really good too. So given my athletic ability, as you got to see today, I never really played with him. Like, he would always ask me to just play a fun, quick little round and I would always tell him no. Mostly because I knew he would crush me. I did play a little bit back in the day, but I was nowhere near his level. I mostly preferred to be on the sideline while we dated. I mean, I came to every single one of his games. I’m pretty sure my office introduced remote work to us because of me, since I was traveling all the time to see him.

“Anyway, one day, after a day of buttering me up, and I mean, he was really laying it on thick. I don’t know how I didn’t think something was up,” you laughed as you recalled the day, how Patrick had scheduled a nail appointment for you, then wined and dined you during a very romantic midday picnic. “But he asked me to play a little bit of tennis with him. I think I just thought he spent the day buttering me up so that I would play tennis with him, not that I would agree to marry him, but I digress. 

“We get to the tennis court and Patrick’s nervous like I’ve never seen him. He was a little jittery all day, but this was a different beast. Looking back, I really don’t understand why. He should’ve known I was going to say yes. Anyway, we’re playing, and somehow I win, even though I’m extremely rusty and have absolutely awful form. Obviously I knew Patrick threw the match for me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna gloat at him. 

“So I’m doing my victory spiel and I walk over to his side of the court, where he’s digging in his bag. He’s so quiet, which should’ve been a sign that something was up, and I’m thinking he’s about to pull out more tennis balls and tell me we’re doing a rematch, so he can really crush me. Instead, he pulls out a box and gets down on one knee. He gives me a speech about how he didn’t care if he never won another game of tennis in his life, because as long as we were together, he was a winner. It was really sweet. Obviously I said yes.”

You finally looked over at Patrick, though you couldn’t perfectly read his expression through the darkened lens of your goggles. You wondered if he felt any of the same feelings that were currently simmering in your own chest. Though, you didn’t get to stew too long, as help arrived just as your story came to a close. 

You were taken to an infirmary and given a series of tests, some to see the state of your head and other to see how the rest of your body was doing. Surprisingly, you made it out without too much serious damage. Your ankle was sprained, but nothing that would make it take too long to heal. You had a concussion, which surprised you, given your ability to recall so many details earlier in the day, but it was a very mild one. At least you’d made it back into your hotel in one piece. 

You really just wanted to relax for the rest of the evening, and you had plans to do exactly that, when there was suddenly a soft rapping at your door. 

You got up, and with help from the crutches you were provided, you hobbled to the door and opened it. On the other side was Patrick, who you were both surprised and unsurprised to see. 

“Hey. I got your room number from the front desk,” Patrick told you. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Sure, but I’m probably going to sleep soon,” with some effort, you sidestepped the doorway to let him in.

“Do you need anything? Want anything?” he asked as he made himself at home in your room, evaluating what you already had. 

“I’m good, I think.”

“How’re you feeling? They wouldn’t let me see you at the infirmary.”

“I’ve been better,” you shrugged, sitting down on the foot of your bed to take some pressure off of your aching ankle. 

“I bet. Are you icing that?” he asked, gesturing to your most obvious injury. 

“I haven’t been able to make it out to the ice machine,” you confessed, though the doctor had suggested ice for the inflammation. 

“Let me go grab some for you,” he said before disappearing out into the hallway. Once he left, you laid back in bed, letting out a sigh of relief at how much better being flat felt. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being taken care of this way. It seemed like no matter how bad things got between the two of you, you would always care for one another in some capacity. You wondered what had gone through Patrick’s mind when he saw you hurt yourself. You wondered if that changed anything in the way he felt about you. 

He knocked on the door once more to tell you he was back, though the door was already unlocked. 

“If there’s anything else you need, I mean anything at all, just call me. I’m just down the hall from you,” he told you as he bagged up the ice he retrieved. 

He sat down on the foot of the bed, where you’d previously been sitting, and tenderly set the bag of ice on your ankle, clearly not wanting to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He looked at you a little sadly before standing back up, not wanting to linger in your presence too long. 

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he explained, already turning to head towards the door. 

“Thanks, Patrick,” you paused, looking for any other words you had for him. “Good night.”

“Night.”

SOMEWHERE IN ITALY

The next few days in Switzerland had been extremely boring. Due to doctor’s orders, you mainly stayed in bed, avoiding screens by reading books, and looking out the window to view the mountains that you were currently missing. 

Although you had to miss a lot of the fun your tour was going on, like a cheese and chocolate tour, you somehow still received an anonymous delivery of cheeses and chocolates—though, you were pretty sure you knew who was responsible for that. 

Patrick didn’t seem like he wanted to overstep any boundaries, which you respected, though you really could’ve used some company whose ear you could talk off. Hell, you’d even take another nasty argument over the resounding silence of your room. 

Luckily for you, by the time your group was traveling once again, you were starting to feel slightly better, concussion and ankle-wise. Though, your head was starting to hurt from listening to a person at the front of the bus go on about how much they needed the bus to pull over somewhere. 

After a period of incessant complaining from someone on your bus, the vehicle finally came to a stop at a small rest stop in the middle of the Italian countryside. 

Not willing to pass up an opportunity to stretch your legs, you got off at the stop, briefly stopping inside the building to look at what they had to offer before stepping behind the building, watching the wind blow through the overgrown weeds. 

Your attempt at enjoying the quiet, idyllic countryside was disturbed when you were joined by a smoking companion. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said. 

Before you could stop it, a sad smile appeared on your face. The two of you hadn’t spoken since your brief conversation in your hotel room, despite the mystery snack deliveries and the promise of coming if you called.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he said plainly.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” you dismissed. 

“You’ve spent the last few days all alone in a room with a concussion.”

“It’s mild.”

“You fucked up your ankle.”

“It’s healing. It’s not all that bad.”

“Well, I’ve been worried anyway,” he passed you his partially smoked cigarette and you took a drag from it, though you were sure that was one of the things you shouldn’t be doing with a concussion. 

“Thanks, I guess.” you said. “So is this just a wellness check, or…?”

“No, well, yes. Obviously I was worried about you physically, but I also was wondering about how you were in general.”

It was strange to see him clumsily mince his words, given how bold he usually was.

“Oh? What changed between here and Germany?”

“What changed? What changed was that I watched you almost die.”

You laughed aloud at his over dramatization of the event. “Patrick, I did not almost die.”

“How would I have known that? I just saw you flying downhill out of control and crashing and it terrified me. I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to interpret his words, especially after the wild ride you’d been on throughout the trip. You weren’t sure you could handle another emotional bait and switch. 

“Pat, maybe we should talk about this later. The bus is probably taking off soon.”

“No,” he stopped you with a hand on your arm, calling you back with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. “I don’t want to waste another second without you.”

“Okay,” you said, though you weren’t sure that you should buy into it yet. “Go ahead, then.”

“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you or don’t want to be with you,” he confessed, which genuinely took you by surprise. With the way he’d been dodging your attempts at building a connection, you certainly didn’t think he’d tell you something like that. 

“Then why have you been pretending?” you asked, hoping that your somewhat harsh words didn’t betray your genuine curiosity behind his behavior. 

“I don’t know,” he said. It was a terrible, unsatisfying answer. One that didn’t explain a single reason behind his behavior. “I guess I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that anyone would want to keep me around long-term.”

You looked at him with shock in your eyes, your mouth slightly agape at the confession. You couldn’t imagine Patrick, overconfident, bold, and self-assured, who you’d been dating for years, not feeling secure in your relationship–to the point where he’d been actively trying to push you away out of anticipating how you’d feel about him.

“When you told me you weren’t ready to be with me, it just confirmed everything I’d been worried about—that one day you would wake up next to me and realize that I wasn’t the guy you wanted. I guess it just happened sooner than I anticipated.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “If you felt like that, then why’d you tell me you weren’t in love with me anymore?”

“I thought if you were gonna leave me anyway, I might as well beat you to the punch.”

You were giving it your all to keep it together at this point, feeling slightly vindicated to know that Patrick was lying about no longer loving you, but mostly devastated that your whole relationship had been uprooted over an assumption that Patrick had made about you. 

“I… I don’t even know what to say,” you looked out into the grass, then back at Patrick. “I wish you’d stop assuming that you know what I want all the time.”

“Hey you two, last call for the coach,” your tour guide suddenly interrupted, looking very obviously annoyed that the two of you were holding the bus up. 

“Sorry. We’ll head back now,” you apologized to the guide. “We’ll continue this conversation later?” you directed towards Patrick. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

VENICE, ITALY

Putting a hold on your conversation probably wasn’t the wisest idea you’d ever had, considering that your next few days in Italy were set to be your busiest this far. 

Between gondola rides on different boats and exploring historic palaces, the two of you didn’t have much time to stop and have as serious of a talk as you wanted to have. Even if you did somehow manage to pick up where you’d left off, there were so many people around you that it didn’t even feel worth it. 

Luckily for you, your hotel had a private beach attached to it, and as you spent your evening by the beach, watching the sun go down, you were pleased to find that you were joined by familiar company. 

At first, Patrick didn’t say anything as he sat down on the same chair next to you. The two of you enjoyed the serene sunset and privacy that the beach afforded you in silence, though you were sure that things wouldn’t stay that way for long. 

“I love you, you know?” he finally piped up, breaking the silence with a very bold declaration. 

You looked at him calmly, though you weren’t feeling very calm on the inside. You’d been waiting to hear those words from him from the moment that the two of you broke up. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to react to it now, though the confession was better late than never. 

“I love you too. I never stopped,” you told him simply, as if the realization that you were stuck on him hadn’t been haunting you for months now.

“I never did, either. It was cruel of me to ever tell you that I did.”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if Patrick would ever understand the full extent of the damage his words had done to you. “It was, but I understand where you were coming from. If I had known that you didn’t think I was going to stick around, I would’ve gone about what I did differently,” you began to explain. “I think it came across as me not wanting to marry you at all. Of course I wanted to marry you. There was just so much else going on in my life then that the timing didn’t feel right.”

“But the timing might be right someday?” Patrick asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice. 

“The timing will be right someday. Maybe sooner than either of us know,” you shot him a wink, then broke into a grin as he pulled you into a firm, loving embrace. 

ATHENS, GREECE 

The rest of your time in Italy mainly consisted of making up for lost time, with the two of you partaking in far more PDA than what was ever necessary and thoroughly documenting your time abroad together as a couple. 

Thanks to your injury, you were slightly slower than the rest of your group. But that certainly didn’t stop Patrick from lagging along with you, letting you lean on him for support when you needed it and pausing to sit and take breaks with you whenever you noticed that walking was taking too much of a toll on you.

It was nice to be back with him, to not have to feel stupid for feeling what you felt or feel the pressure of knowing that you should probably be trying to move on. The only unfortunate part was how little time the two of you had left on vacation, with you heading home after spending a few days in Athens. If only the two of you had been upfront about your feelings earlier, then you could’ve been having as great of a time as you were having now during your entire trip. 

The two of you briefly floated the idea of having somewhat of a shotgun wedding, but scrapped it after realizing that you would prefer to have your family and friends there to celebrate with you. After all, many of them had been on the emotional rollercoaster that was your relationship right along with you. 

For the time being, the two of you were perfectly content with being together, and knowing that neither of you had any intentions of leaving. 

Somehow, that made your last few days of vacation feel infinitely better. 

ATHENS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

You scrolled endlessly on your phone, sending out a few messages to friends and family to let them know that you were heading back home. While you typically felt a few nerves before boarding a plane anywhere, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of excitement, both at the thought of being able to go back home and sleep in your own bed, and at the potential your newly reformed relationship had. 

Your scrolling was interrupted by Patrick’s presence, carrying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in his hands with a slightly goofy look on his face. 

“Sorry for taking so long. I think everyone and their mother wanted coffee today,” he explained as he sat down, passing you your items as he got comfortable next to you. 

“No worries. I’m just glad you were running late to grab us breakfast, instead of trying to switch our seats like last time.”

The two of you shared a laugh before Patrick said, “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It basically was,” you dismissed. 

Once it was announced that your group was boarding, the two of you stood up quickly, attempting to gather your bearings before getting on the plane. 

“‘Till next time, Europe,” you bid the country goodbye as the two of you made your way to the line. 

“Should we come back to Europe? I was thinking our next honeymoon should be somewhere else. Maybe Bali.”

“Oooh, Bali sounds nice. I think anywhere warm and with a beach is good,” you explained, though you really didn’t care where you went, as long as Patrick was there by your side.

[pyrodolls]

SUPERFAN! AND STALKER! YANDERE BOYS X READER HCS

WARNINGS: obsessiveness, sfw, murder, mentions of corpses, just overall unhealthy behavior cuz they're yanderes. (i do not condone yanderes irl and this is for writing purposes) gender neutral reader, no use of y/n.

A/N: guys idk why i havent updated in so long. ig i just havent had much motivation?? anyways ummm i'm still super busy right now and i have 400 assignments due in 3 days but i don't wanna do them soooooo how about i write some short and cute headcanons for y'all? 😁

if bayani was a puppy hybrid...

clingy clingy CLINGY

bros going wherever you go. even if u gotta take a piss he's gonna hold your hand. wait, you don't want him in the bathroom with you? at least let him sit outside!

he is very easy to distract, though. if you ever want to be alone for a while but he just won't leave your side, throw a tennis ball somewhere and it should keep him busy for a solid 10 minutes.

loves snuggling with you. he literally distracts you and takes up at LEAST one hour every morning trying to keep you in bed with him. if you leave him alone in bed, he'll be whining until you come back.

he's also very talkative, and always yapping your ear off about random nonsense, until you tell him to shut up. problem is, if you tell him to shut up, he isn't going to open his mouth again for a few days. he'll be very sulky about it and look up at you with those big puppy dog eyes of his, silently hoping you'll allow him to speak again. as much as he loves hearing you yell at him, he still doesn't want you to be mad at him for long periods of time.

he'll eat anything you cook. you could be the worst cook in the world and burn your dish to a crisp, and he'd still eat it up like it's nobody's business. he doesn't even notice if it's well cooked or not, he sees anything you create as a masterpiece.

but this also means he's like a guard dog! even though he is quite small and his face isn't very intimidating, he tries! he goes to the gym frequently so he can be stronger for you. he wants to be able to defend you if anything goes wrong.

he is very patient. if you have any work or assignments you need to get done, he'll sit and wait however long you need him to. he'll even bring you beverages and snacks so you can keep working without getting up.

overall, he has some similar traits to a puppy, but he's still the same optimistic (and obsessive) bayani.

if victor was a cat hybrid...

LMFAOOO good luck getting away from him.

bros a silent killer. he watches from afar. if you happen to feel his eyes staring at the back of your head, and you look to see if your feeling is correct, he'll snap his head the other direction so you don't suspect a thing.

he follows you around, but unlike bayani, he wouldn't stop if you asked him to. and he isn't in your personal space, he is much farther away so it's harder to tell when he's tailing after you.

and like a cat, he proudly brings you dead things and is convinced that you would like it. usually he kills anyone that seems to be too close to you, and shows it off like a trophy of his affection and strength.

victor would kill someone and be like: "this week's new corpse looks awesome. they'll totally love this, i gotta show them!" (you did not, in fact, love seeing the rotting corpse of your friend on your doorstep.)

he guards your house as if he's a soldier at war. if he sees anyone break in, or if it's an insect that happened to fly in through your vents, he'll eliminate the threat before you even notice it.

he's also quite moody. sometimes he's affectionate and kind to you, then the next minute he'll act like a brat and expect you to cook and clean for him.

and if you called him out on his behavior, he'll act all pouty and mutter: "i don't do that.." then he'd get up and silently do some chores around the house as an apology. if you brought up his acts of service, he'll get flustered and say you were "too lazy to do it yourself" or something along those lines.

overall, he's quiet, moody, and does things his own way. unlike bayani, victor doesn't do anything you ask him to do, but he still shows his affection for you in his own subtle ways.

[hencheri]

— true love never dies

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. husband!hendery x fem!reader

| warnings. noncon, infidelity, mean!hendery </3 (he's really not how i'm used to write him), toxic relationship, breeding kink.

| wc. 4k

a.n.: i've been thinking about this for soo long pls i'm only finishing it now :c i love him oops.

the stain on the stove doesn’t seem to want to go away no matter how fast and hard you scrub. you do it over and over again, hoping each time you pull the cloth away, it’ll be gone, but it isn’t. it’s there, taunting you, frustrating you. 

but you keep going, determined to clean it, to make it disappear. it doesn’t help that hendery’s phone keeps buzzing on the counter behind you, making you go mad at every notification he receives. who the fuck is sending him so many messages? 

as you scrub harder, the stain still there, his phone buzzing, your grip tightens on the rug and you swear you see red. 

you throw the soiled cloth away and groan out, clenching your fingers around the edge of the stove. why do you have to do all the cleaning anyway? it’s not because he works all day that he shouldn’t lift a finger once home. you sigh and turn around, your eyes falling on his phone. it’s facing down, hiding the flashing screen. 

it’s tempting to look, just see who’s bugging him so much. what if it’s important? hendery would like to know. 

but it’s wrong. if he left it in the kitchen it’s because he had nothing important. 

you shake your head lightly and go back to your chore, but another ring startles you. your heartbeat quickens and you feel your nerves picking up, that familiar knot forming in your stomach. the same one you feel with your husband as of lately. anytime he enters a room, your pulse accelerates, as if you did something wrong, like you’re about to argue with him once more. 

it’s been like this for a while, maybe for a couple of months—or probably more. it’s going downhill and the two of you know it. harsh glances from across the room, curt and snarled answers, tension in the air whenever he’s close to you. 

your doubts and curiosity take over and you reach for his phone, looking down at the screen. it’s locked, of course, but you can see the notifications are all messages, but from different numbers. you frown, sliding your thumb up and checking how many times each number sent a text to your husband. at least 5 times each… in the span of one hour. 

you exhale through your nose, closing your eyes for a long second. it’s weird, but this can be explained easily. it’s just your brain making you believe things that are obviously not true. 3 numbers texted him, it can’t be all from different mistresses. it’s stupid.

after taking a shower and brushing your teeth, you head to the bedroom. hendery’s already in bed, a book in his lap. the bedside lamp casts shadows over his face, his glasses hanging on his nose, black bangs framing his head. 

he doesn’t look your way when you enter and you act like you don’t know each other, not uttering a word. when you see him like this, it hurts. you just want to cuddle up beside him like you used to, but you hold back, as if touching your own husband is inappropriate now. 

you turn to your dresser and drop your bathrobe, letting it fall on the chair near the furniture. you take your pyjamas set and slip it on. contrary to your belief, hendery does look. his eyes linger on your naked back and then the curve of your ass. he appreciates how your panties hug it perfectly, accentuating the roundness of your butt. but when you’re done, he’s focused on the page of his book.

you join him and slip under the covers, silence heavy between you. you stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before deciding to speak up. 

“who… who was texting you?” you ask and his eyes leave his book, landing on you. “it kept distracting me,” you lightly chuckle, but it sounds unsure, unnatural—like you’re trying to avoid any fight.

“sorry,” he apologizes curtly, “it was dejun. he wants to work out this week-end,” he explains and you feel a little shameful for thinking hendery was being unfaithful. he’s just planning to hang out with his best friend.

“and… the other two?” you gulp, looking at him then back at the ceiling. 

it’s your husband, you have the right to know. you should be—you are—allowed to ask, but having doubts, isn’t it wrong? with everything that’s happening though, who can blame you? it’s like you’re living with a stranger sometimes. a stranger you love to death. 

“work buddies,” he answers quickly, no hesitation. “you know we follow the scores together.”

“there was a game tonight?”

“yesterday.”

you hum lightly in response. right, you’re just the worst wife, doubting your husband’s fidelity. you feel so dumb. tears appear in your eyes, but you wipe them away before hendery can notice anything and turn the other side. not long after, you hear him closing his book, putting his glasses on top of it, and turning off the lamp, finally burying the room in darkness. 

the silence weighs down on your chest and you feel like suffocating. it hurts. it hurts so badly. you can’t help it, you just really can’t.

“...dery?” you call and you think he’s already asleep, but the rustling of bed sheets proves he’s not. 

“yeah?” his voice is raspy, soft like a hush. 

you turn around toward him. “i’m sorry. i’m…” broken, hurt, sad… you don’t know what to say, but you want to say something, anything. “sorry,” you tear up, looking at his face in the dark, his eyes meeting yours. 

he says nothing, but you hear him swallowing, his breath quickening. no words come out of his mouth as you fit yourself closer to him either, placing your hand on his cheek, feeling his skin under your palm before bringing his lips to yours. his arms come around your waist like it’s a habit—and it is, really, with how many times he encircled your body with his arms before—pulling you flush to his chest. you burn in desire, burn for your husband, burn for his touch. you love him so much.

the kiss is slow, passionate, almost desperate. he’s pressed so close to you, and you cry into his mouth. it feels good, the knot in your stomach going away. 

his hands subtly sneak under your shirt, his groping disguised into gentle strokes, and you grow needy, pushing yourself on top of him, knees dipping into the mattress on each side of him. you want him as much as he wants you. 

his cock in you is familiar and a relief. you grind on him as moans slip past your lips, his hands guiding your hips over his. your soaked cunt squeezes him like a vice and his eyes glint with lust, watching you—his wife—taking his cock so sweetly and lewdly at the same time. his lips are parted, groaning when you lift your hips up until only his tip is inside, dropping back down to take all of him. 

you lean down on him, his chest sticky with sweat, lazily rolling your hips, tears of pleasure falling from your eyes. your nails rake down his shoulders, leaving red trails on his skin. your mouth moves to his neck, kisses and bites eager to mark him, to see deep purple plotches bloom on his pale skin. he moans at the feeling of your teeth, tilting his head and exposing more of his neck to you. 

what could have been called romantic sex turns into violent fucking when hendery rolls you off and underneath him. his hand finds your throat, and as he looks into your eyes, you think for a moment he’s mad, but he quickly dives down to capture your lips, making you moan into his mouth. 

when he pulls back, you let out a high-pitched gasp as you get thrown on your tummy, hendery bringing your ass up to his crotch. he aligns his cock with your entrance and thrusts all the way in at once. he can feel your pussy flutter around him, your slicks coating his length, more sticking to his pelvis and the inner of your thighs.

“you get so fucking wet every time,” he says, gripping your hips, admiring your body, how you present yourself so well to him. “you’ve been thinking about me all day, weren’t you?”

if only he knew how much time you spend thinking about him—he wouldn’t need to ask. 

“missed you-” you moan, interrupted by a particularly deep thrust, “so much.”

he grunts, “i know you did.”

his right hand reaches out to take a handful of your hair, pulling harshly, the left one holding your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh. he pounds into you relentlessly like he’s getting some pent-up frustration out, fucking you like he actually means it—showing you his emotions, opening up to you and proving his raw, truthful love for you. 

he loves having you under him helpless and dumb, no desire whatsoever to have any control, letting hendery handle you how he wants—throwing you across the bed to pick you up and put you in the position he wants to see you in, always all teary-eyed and panting, drool escaping from the corner of your mouth once he’s forced his cock all the way inside of you. you give up so easily, no resistance, no thought, just desperation for the man that you love so numbly. 

his hips snap against your ass, sounds of skin slapping skin echoing in the room joined in with the squelching of your pussy, gushing around his cock, making a mess of your thighs. you’re desperate, really desperate. 

then, he feels the urge to see your face, stare at it—having sex the only time it feels appropriate to look at you like he wants you all to himself, body and soul. he pulls out of you briefly, and he doesn’t miss on the disapproving whine that leaves your mouth, but you’re rapidly satisfied when he flips you on your back, pushing his cock back into you in one thrust. 

he picks up his pace, no time to catch your breath, whimpering loudly as he rams his cock between your tight walls. he looks down, worrying he might have hurt you, but he’s amazed to see the subtle bulge in your stomach, moving at the same pace of his hips. you squirm underneath him which brings back his attention to you. 

he leans down over you, his head just beside yours as he takes a hold of your hand, placing it over your tummy. “do you feel me, baby?” he whispers into your ear and you nod, moaning, crossing your legs behind his back. “i feel you, too,” he says in a low voice, “so tight around me. so fucking wet and warm.”

you feel the knot in your stomach clenching, both from your near orgasm and the overwhelming rush of emotions. hendery feels that you’re close and puts his thumb over your clit, circling it until your legs shake and your hips buck into his. 

“fuck,” he slurs out, licking his dry lips, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, “gonna cum,” he breathes out, panting. 

he glances down and sticks his forehead to yours, his bangs hanging in front of his eyes. he watches as he fucks you till orgasm, your cunt tightening around his cock and making him groan. you moan when you feel him filling you up, a sensation you’ve terribly missed. 

you bring his lips to yours, hands behind his neck, pulling on his hair desperately. he stays in you until morning, only losing his warmth when he has to leave for work. 

—-

the space in the car is cramped and you struggle to move, the steering wheel hitting you in the back as you grind your hips over hendery’s, messily kissing him, his teeth biting your bottom lip. your dress has ridden up over your thighs, little to no fabric covering your ass except for your panties that has been pushed to the side to welcome his cock inside of you. you’re parked just outside of your house, but the desire to jump in his lap was stronger than you. he’s been looking too good all evening. 

his hands trail over your thighs, fingers fitting under the hem of your dress, touching you in the way he knows it makes you needy and desperate. he grips your hips and guides you over his lap, taking his cock so well, filling you up just right. 

you moan into his mouth, pulling back ever so sligthly, his half-lidded eyes staring at you drunkenly, as if completely enamoured of you. your stomach twists into knots and it’s like living your teenage crush all over again. 

but the illusion gets interrupted by hendery’s ringtone, phone vibrating in the front pocket of his pants. you smile at him and he seems a little confused until you reach into his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

you read ‘qian kun’ as the contact number and you frown, but you don’t lose your smile. “kun? i thought you told him we were dining out,” you say, looking at the phone in your hand.

“i did…” he responds, extending his arm to try and take his phone out of your hand, but you pull back.

“what? don’t you want to pick it up?” you grin, feeling playful. he smiles, letting out a small laugh, but for some reason he doesn’t seem to be keen on the idea. he attempts to take the device out of your grip once again, but you don’t let him. “come on, maybe it’s important…”

he doesn’t have time to say anything back as you pick up the call, bringing the phone to your ear. “hey, kun?” your voice is light, holding back your laugh. you look at hendery whose face is expresionless and this makes you lose your smile, feeling your heart tightens. why does he seem so tense?

as soon as you speak, the call ends. your husband is now avoiding your eyes and you see his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps down. you glance at the screen of his phone, utterly confused and worried—your doubts coming back, but you don’t want them confirmed, anything but that. 

“he just hung up,” you chuckle, but there’s no humour behind it. hendery remains silent, looking outside the window. “unlock your phone,” you order, but he doesn’t even blink, so you insist. “open it!” you say louder, hitting his shoulder with your palm. 

your eyes fill up in water and your vision starts to blur, feeling so powerless, betrayed. you decide to do it yourself and clasp your hand around his jaw, pulling his head forward and placing his phone right in front of his face, finally unlocking it. 

with trembling hands you go through the last people he called. 

‘qian kun’, ‘kun’, ‘kun-ge’... 

why would there be 3 of them?

“why… why are there 3 numbers named after kun?” you ask, teary-eyed, throat tightening. 

he looks at you and it’s almost like his gaze is full of pity. pity for you. before he can take his phone you raise your arm up out of his reach, pushing his back against the seat, keeping him in place. 

“answer me.” 

as he keeps his mouth shut once again, you feel your hand itching, and without thinking twice, you slap your husband across the face. he scrunches his eyes shut, his head tilting to the side at the impact. his cheek slightly reddens, burning from the sharp hit. 

“it wasn’t kun who called, was it?” you question and he lightly shakes his head. you scoff and you instinctively recoil, your arm falling back to your side.

you tap on his messaging app and as expected, his most recent conversation is with ‘qian kun’. you quickly go through it, scrolling up and catching words he promised to only use with you. words that have meanings he should solely share with you, his wife. 

hendery does nothing, accepting to let you know the truth. giving up on the secrecy of his unfaithful relationship. 

you swallow and feel your tears rolling down your cheeks when you come across explicit pictures of himself and of the number he’s exchanging with. a woman your age, someone you don’t know that he probably met at work. 

the reality of the situation hits you hard, realizing what it means. 

your husband is cheating on you. 

you open the door to the passenger seat and get off of hendery hurriedly, his cock slipping out of you. when you feet land on the curb, you tug down on your dress, your cheeks hot and wet, feeling so, so shameful and hurt. 

“baby-” he calls after you as he tucks himself back into his pants, buckling up his belt. 

you storm off to the front door, throwing his phone away, not caring one bit if it shatters to the ground. hendery struggles to follow after you, but he manages to, entering the house behind you. you’re already heading to your bedroom when he closes the door, hearing your heels walking on the wooden floor. 

you take your suitcase out of the closet and set it open on the bed, scrambling to collect your things, throwing in clothes and random beauty products. you don’t even notice when he stands by the door, watching you put your stuff away in your suitcase in tears, looking so pathetic and totally destroyed—for real this time. 

your legs are wobbly in your heels and you trip over your feet, falling to your knees, failing to catch yourself up on the bed, but hendery is there to make sure you’re okay, reaching out to your sobbing form. 

“don’t touch me!” you burst out, your elbows knocking into his body and turning around to face him, putting distance between the two of you. “you- you cheated on me!” you accuse him, and you’re right this time. you weren’t crazy or a bad wife. your doubts were real. “you brought me to dinner, smiled at me, complimented me… and you- you touched me,” you say, looking up at him with glossy eyes, lips shining in your spit and tears. “all while knowing you were fucking some random bitch behind my back.”

you hate how he looks at you now, stoic and stern, his expression unreadable, always so unbreakable. he’s standing up while you’re crying on the floor, clutching to your chest that hurts badly, heart beating so fast it pounds in your skull. you almost wish he was trying to explain his actions with stupid excuses, or begging you to forgive his mistake, but he isn’t.

“i really thought things were going well again between us,” you admit. “i purposefully ignored all the signs because i was so desperate to have your attention…” you sniffle, looking down at the floor where a pillow lies. “but guess what, i was a dumbass thinking my husband would never be a fucking cheating piece of shit!” you grab the pillow and throw it at him before it falls pathetically to his feet, a lame attempt at getting out your anger. “how stupid am i to believe my husband loves me, right?” you say ironically, the first time he shows emotion on his face, his brows furrowing.

you get up to your feet with difficulty, taking you a second to balance yourself. “i do love you, baby.” his voice is soft and genuine, but you know better than to believe him after all those lies he told to your face without even flinching.

“cut the bullshit, dery.” you pass by him with the clothes in your hands you wanted to take, but you gasp out of surprise when he grabs you, bringing your back to his chest. you accidentally drop your clothes, his head finding a spot just beside yours. “i told you to not touch me!” you hiss, wriggling in his arms. “let go of me!”

but his hold only tightens, ignoring your nails scratching at his arms. “and i told you i love you,” he repeats, but his voice is not soft anymore. it’s a growl, an affirmation you can’t question. 

he walks you to the bed, then kicks your feet off the floor, planting you on the mattress under him. fear settles in you, feeling caged and helpless. what is he doing?

“dery, stop,” you say, trying to sound firm, but he doesn’t leave you any space, his body weighing down heavily on you. 

“don’t tell me what to do,” he warns, gritting his teeth as he speaks. he locks your arms behind your back, holding your wrists in one hand as the other fumbles with the buckle of his belt. you try to swallow the lump in your throat, more tears rolling down your cheeks, understanding the intention behind his actions. “i’m your fucking husband,” he states loud and clear, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and making you shiver uncomfortably. “you don’t get to just leave me on a whim.”

you squirm, wanting to escape his grasp, but it’s useless as he holds you down forcefully, his strength easily surpassing yours. his free hand goes under the hem of your dress and he hooks two fingers under your panties, dragging them down without any effort, the band snapping against your thighs. 

“please, stop,” you cry out, “i- i don’t want to!” you try your best to convince him, but he’s determined to finish what you started in the car. “you cheated-”

he grabs your jaw, fingers pressing down painfully on your cheeks, making you stop what you were saying. “i swear to god,” he slurs out, “if you don’t shut your mouth, baby… i’ll have to be rougher than i actually need to be.”

his warning startles you long enough for him to free his cock out, prodding at your entrance, and with your slicks from before, he thrusts in effortlessly. he’s sheathed all the way in and you feel him pulsing in you, your walls clinging to him. you flinch, letting out a piercing sob, when he pushes the suitcase out of the way, colliding with the floor in a loud thud. 

he drives his cock back and forth inside of your pussy, but you don’t like it, you hate it, knowing everything that he did, what he’s doing. as much as the feeling of him is pleasurable, the betrayal is atrocious, your once cold and stoic husband now your abuser, pretending to love you and care for you. 

“feels so good, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, tucking your hair behind it, seeing how red and watery your eyes are. “you’re the only one i want, my love,” he coos, “the only.”

his words don’t make you feel how they should, they make you even sadder than you already are. it’s like a stab in the heart, again and again. but you take it. you keep your lips sealed unless it’s to cry or moan, you don’t fight, let him defile and use your body, let him fill you up with the promise of making you a mother. 

—-

a.n.: i realized i didn't specify it lol but the 3 numbers are all the same person, not multiple. not that it makes him less of a jerk lmfao but still...

[traveler-at-heart]

Hello there, how are you? I don't know if you take requests at the moment but i want to ask you if you could write something with Liho?

Maybe something like, Liho didn't like any partners Nat had before Yn, and since they got together Liho likes Yn, Nat thought that maybe more than the cat loves her.

And maybe Yn left some clothes in Nat's house and when Liho misses her, she went to i don't know, a jumper, and sleep on top of it. And when Nat found Liho, she send a picture to Yn, and went next to Liho like saying "i'm gonna marry her soon"

So, this isn't exaaactly the request, but it is where the story took me! In any case, I hope you enjoy it and thanks for the prompt :)

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Natasha knew how to protect herself.

Don’t trust anyone, always look over your shoulder.

It’s what kept her alive for so long.

But it’s what made her lonely too.

The few people she dated took her dettachment as a challenge that they happily accepted but soon abandoned.

Others were disinterested in complicated affairs from the start, and so things didn’t move past a couple of dates.

Then, you.

Medical staff came and went around the Compound. Most of the team had enhanced capabilities to heal themselves; for her part, Natasha was too stubborn to go on her own.

That’s how she knew she was seriously injured.

“Agent Romanoff” you greeted, a wary smile on your lips as Natasha struggled to focus, the white lights hurting her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused”

“Yeah, that tracks” you nodded, turning away from the chart to look at her. “Do you remember anything?”

“An explosion…“

“And before that a bullet to your side. We were able to fix it by resecting a small portion of your liver and spleen, but you’ll need rest. For now, I’ll monitor you. Let’s think about discharging you in a couple of days”

“I can take care of myself” she objected, but struggled to sit up, pain invading her right side.

“That would be the feeling of cracked ribs” you nodded torwards her side. “I’m not asking if you want to stay, Agent. Your teammates are coming and going for missions or other engagements and you need to be monitored 24/7 for possible complications”

“What you’re saying is, I’m a prisoner here”

“Of course not” you closed the chart, smiling. “We don’t let the prisoners watch tv”

—

It had been mere hours, and Natasha was restless. There was nothing interesting in the tv, her phone was dead and it was ridiculous she was held captive here for “observation” when no one had checked on her for the last three hours.

“Sorry about that. Busy day here” you said with a smile, checking her blood pressure and the chart. “Any discomfort, pain?”

“No”

You nodded, asking for her permission to do a physical exam. Natasha scoffed but agreed with an eye roll.

“Bowel movement?” you asked, checking her pupils.

“No!”

“Ok, no need to get defensive” you placed your hands on each side of Natasha’s head. Your gentle touch made her squirm, and she was able to inspect you closer.

“You’re pretty” Natasha blurted out. You chuckled. “I am so sorry, I don’t know where that came from”

“No need to apologize” you smiled. “It’s the concussion”

“Right”

“Vitals are good, I’ll come back to check up on you in a bit” your pager went off. A large group of agents had just gotten back from a mission. “Squeeze the button if you need anything. Enjoy your stay with us, Agent Romanoff”

“When will I be able to go… home?” Natasha said, but you closed the door before she had a chance to finish her sentence.

—

Natasha hated being wrong. At midnight, the pain got bad and yet, you had to convince her she needed some medicine to ease the discomfort and rest.

But whatever you gave her worked wonders. When she openes her eyes, you were on the couch next to her bed, going through some charts and reports.

“Hey” she said. “I don’t know your name”

“Y/N” you looked up, smiling.

You sat next to her, checking her vitals as she drifted in and out of her sleep stupor. By the time she was fully awake, it was almost noon.

There you were again, munching on a cookie as you scribbled on a sheet.

“You don’t have to stay here all day”

“Oh, it’s no bother” you said, not looking up.

“No other patients right now?”

“No, it’s actually because every medic and nurse is afraid of you and they won’t bother me when I’m here”

“Glad I can be of service”

“Are you hungry? We can get you something very light to eat” you finally looked up, trying to hold back a yawn. It had been an intense night in the emergency medbay.

“What are my options?”

“Oatmeal and that’s about it”

“No coffee?”

“Nu-uh”

Natasha shruged her shoulders and nodded. You smiled, walking out of the room. At least three interns were waiting for you, asking all kinds of very stupid questions. You turned to her, as if saying, “I told you so” and left.

—

For the rest of the day, Natasha was the perfect patient, which obviously made you suspicious.

You repeated your physical exam, asked the same questions, got the answers minus the hint of sarcasm. You were about to turn and leave when she asked again.

“Wait! I can go home now, right?”

“Your hemoglobin is still a bit low and I’d like to wait at least another day”

“I can’t wait another day” Natasha said, glaring.

“Agent Romanoff, you can’t even go on missions right now. Whatever it is you’re so eager to do, I’m sure it can wait” you insisted, trying to avoid an argument after a 48 hour shift.

“It can’t” she insisted, and the monitor began to signal the rise of her blood pressure.

“Calm down” you asked, walking back to her bed. “Please tell me how can I help”

“It’s complicated”

“I’ll tell you what’s complicated. Pulling out bullet fragments from your stomach while I try to keep you from bleeding out. I was in that OR for eight hours and would like to guarantee you recover fully”

Natasha looked at you, and you sighed, sitting by the edge of her bed.

“I have a… cat”

“Oh”

“I need to feed her”

“Can’t someone else do it? A neighbour? One of the other Avengers?”

“Liho doesn’t like anyone, but me. If she hears or smells a stranger, she’ll freak out and attack them or try to run away” Natasha explained. “It’s not ideal considering my profession”

“Yeah” you nodded, thinking about what to do. Moving Natasha was not an option right now. “Let me try”

“Try what?”

“Try feeding Liho, is that her name?”

“It’s dangerous” Natasha warned you, sure it would end in disaster.

“My shift is ending, I can go right now” you ignored her warning. “If I could discharge you right now, I would. Don’t want a cat starving on my watch”

Natasha nodded, and gave you her address. You were surprised she had moved out of the Compound, but then again, a chief surgeon wasn’t privy to the Avengers every move.

The spy made you swear you’d call her if anything went wrong. As you opened the door to her apartment with the spare key, you were expecting to find a giant, feral animal waiting to sink its claws in your flesh.

“Liho” you called a couple of times, making sure the door was closed so she couldn’t escape. “I’m a friend of your mama, she’ll be back in a couple of days”

You were looking around the living room, when a thud behind your back made you jump. And there she was, a black cat with beautiful green eyes -that strangely, reminded you of Natasha’s-. You stared at each other, waiting for someone to move.

Liho did.

She let out a meow and rubbed herself against your leg.

“You’re the cutest” you cooed her, relaxing as she purred in your arms. “Why would Natasha even say you’re scary?”

While the cat jumped around, you searched for her food, cleaned her water bowl and her sandbox. Once you were done, you called Natasha.

“You owe me an apology”

“Did she scratch your eye out like Fury?” she sighed.

“No… wait. Is that how Fury lost his eye?”

Liho jumped on the kitchen counter, purring and rubbing herself against your arm.

“Is that Liho?”

“Yes. She has been purring and following me ever since I got here, Nat. She’s the sweetest cat and you were calling her crazy! In fact, you don’t owe me an apology, you owe it to Liho. Come here, gorgeous”

The cat responded to your words and Natasha smiled.

“I’ll stop by again before I go back to the hospital. Anything else you need?”

You filled a tote bag with everything on her list. Once you were done, you said goodbye to Liho. Thinking it might be funny, you took a selfie with her, smiling as she snuggled on your chest.

You sent it to Natasha, not thinking much of it.

Natasha’s blood pressure increased as soon as she saw the picture. No nurse dared to comment when she turned off the monitor with a smack.

—

“Is this really necessary?” Natasha said, fidgeting on the wheelchair.

“Humor me, Agent” you asked, pushing her to the entrance of SHIELD’s medical facilities. “This is the last time you have to follow my medical advice”

Clint was waiting for Natasha, and he looked as you wheeled her his way, clearly amused.

“How did you manage to get her to sit?”

“I have my ways” you winked at the man. Agent Barton was a far better patient, if only because you had his wife on speed dial.

“Remember, rest. Take your meds and call me if anything feels off. And say hi to Liho for me” you helped Natasha to the car, closing the door as she settled in. You waved as they drove off.

“What was that about your cat?”

“Oh, Dr. Y/L/N went to my place twice a day to feed her”

“And she survived? She must be special” Clint chuckled.

Natasha had to agree with that.

—

Liho was happy to see her human again, roaring like an engine as she rubbed herself on Natasha’s legs. After she came back from the hospital, the cat would never leave Natasha’s side.

The Russian also noticed that you had kept her place clean, and left some groceries and food for the first few days of her home recovery.

It was a strange feeling, being taken care of. Not unpleasant, truthfully, when it came from you. As she stayed in the confines of her apartment, Natasha pondered if it meant something else or if it was just wishful thinking.

You checked on her via text message, and that was all you could really manage to do, as you had back to back shifts and emergency procedures throughout the week. Still, you made sure to send some food to Natasha through delivery apps.

By the time you finally had more free time, it was a chilly Thursday night. As you were leaving the hospital and walking to your car, your phone rang.

“Please, not another emergency” you sighed, surprised at the name on the screen. “Hey, Agent Romanoff. How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing ok… but I might need your help”

“Nat, what’s wrong?” you dropped all formalities, rushing to your car.

“I’m fine, it’s Liho. I left the window open and she climbed all the way up the emergency stairs. And I tried but can’t go out and reach her”

“What do you mean you tried? You should have called me right away! Anyway, doesn’t matter, I’ll be there. Don’t do anything stupid, those are doctor’s orders”

By the time you got to Natasha’s apartment,  a storm was fast approaching.

“Hey, sorry for bothering you”

“It’s not… blood!”

“What?” Natasha looked down, at the place where you were pointing. Right on her stitches, there was a small stain of blood. “Oh, must have happened when I tried to reach for her”

“I knew I should have kept you for another week at the hospital” you grumbled, leading her to the couch. You found a gauze in your emergency kit and lifted her shirt, applying pressure. “Do not move. I’ll be right back”

“The stairs are slippery” she warned you as you stepped out the window. Natasha was surprised at how graceful your movements were.

You looked around, calling for Liho, but the clouds were covering the moon and the sky was dark, making it almost impossible to spot her.

“Ok, fine” you climbed up the steps, holding on to the rail. Taking a deep breath, you let out a high pitched call. “Kitty. Where’s my kitty?”

There small beads shone in the middle of the darkness, and you reached forward. Liho complained, clearly scared about the height. A thunder made her jump, climbing a lot higher.

“Liho, I take it back. You are crazy”

By the time you were able to reach her, it had begun pouring. You placed the cat inside your sweatshirt, to protect her from the rain and have both hands free to climb down.

“That was fun” you said, going inside soaking wet. You almost slipped and Natasha caught you by the waist. “Thanks” you said, feeling warm as her hand went around your back. You couldn’t help but look at her lips, and Natasha caught on, leaning forward.

In that moment, Liho peeked her head from the collar of your sweatshirt, protesting at the uncomfortable feeling of being drenched.

“Here, you need to dry” Natasha offered while you closed the window.

“Thanks, Nat”

She came back with a towel, yoga pants and a t-shirt. You tried not to swoon at the idea of wearing something of hers. Still, you said thanks and disappeared in the bathroom to get changed.

“Let me have a look” you asked when you came back, inspecting her abdomen. “Looks like it was just a small stitch on the edge of the wound. I’ll fix it if it’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, sure” Natasha nodded, and laid back as you prepared the sutures and wore gloves. You applied some local anesthesia and began to work.

“My technique is flawless. The scarring will be almost invisible” you promised.

“So, I can still wear bikinis?”

“Yeah” you nodded, trying to stay focused while the image of Natasha in a swimsuit floated around your head.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Liho” Natasha said in a low voice, which almost made your hands tremble. “Too bad my doctor hasn’t officially discharged me, or I’d take you out to dinner”

“How about some take out instead?” you smiled, cleaning the wound and helping her up.

“That can be done for sure”

You had pizza with beer, sitting on Natasha’s living room while Liho jumped from your lap to hers. It was the best date you ever had.

Pretty soon, the alcohol and exhaustion caught up to you and when Natasha came back from the kitchen, you were fast asleep in her couch, Liho snuggled up in your chest.

Natasha smiled, covering you with a blanket. Liho purred, and your hand went up to scratch behind her ear on pure insctinct.

“I like her too, Liho” Natasha said with a smile. “She’s definitely a keeper”

[midnightfiction143]

ilyt

kinich x g!n reader, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, sfw, slight ooc kinich cus I'm still getting used to his character, not proofread as usual

a/n: well this is something.. stayed up til 2 to write what was supposed to be a quick one-shot that I would edit in the morning hahah. mostly testing the waters to see if people prefer hcs or fics. also I kinda wanna change the font so it's not boring but I'm a bit lazy.. enjoy ig?

“and don’t even deny it, i can see the look in your face when you’re weighing your ”cost” of a decision. god, you have it on your face right now!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him.

it was true - even at the very moment, in the middle of an argument, kinich’s face was scrunched up, eyebrows furrowing as he weighed the consequences if he argued back with you.

kinich sighed. “y/n. let’s not do this now, please. i’m tired and you’re tired - we should do this when we both have a clear head.”

you suppressed a groan of anger and stared at him accusingly, eyes spilling with annoyance. “no, i want to do this now. i’m sick and tired of running away from this conversation that you keep pushing back! do not blame this on just me being tired!”

kinich’s fist curled up in irritation. he was trying really hard to not lash out at you - nothing good would come out from that except for both of you getting hurt. his restraint was like a rope slowly fraying in the middle, waiting to be broken at any time.

instead, he placed his gaze on the floor so he wouldn’t have to see your face at the moment, and gritted his teeth. “y/n, you’re angry but it’s not-”

“stop stalling, for god’s sake! did you even hear me when i sa-”

the rope snapped.

he looked up at you with a piercing glare that radiated fury. startled, you cut off midway through your sentence, jaw still hanging wide open. a wave of nervousness quickly washed over you. kinich had never stared at you like this before, ever. you were too used to the small, affectionate gazes when he saw you smile or do something silly. no, this couldn’t be kinich. he wouldn’t st-

“no, y/n, I have been listening. if you don’t like that, then just leave.” he hissed.

you tried to tell him, despite the rising, underlying fear of your own boyfriend. “no, wait, but-”

if your throat didn’t close up at that exact moment, you wouldn’t have heard the words muttered under his breath as he stared back down at the floor again.

“i wish you’d just go already. you’ve been an nuisance from the start anyway.”

you froze. you could already feel the hot tears pricking at your face near the start of the argument, but now they spilled out, ruining your makeup and you had to bite your lip to refrain yourself from sobbing in front of him right then and there.

where did this come from? what happened to your loving and subtly caring boyfriend, kinich? you felt guilty now, you wanted to say sorry that you shouted out at him and started this whol- no, that’s what he wants you to do. then he wins.

so you swallowed down your apologies and forced your head downwards, not daring to meet his gaze. “fine.” you barely choked out, and clenched your fists as you stormed off to your (unfortunately) shared bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the door creaked open slowly, and you could feel him shuffling in before gently closing it again.

“..hey.”

you were curled up on the bed, hugging your knees, and kinich could tell you had been crying. he moved over to just behind you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder.

“y/n.. i’m sorry for all the things I said. I didn’t mean them.. it was- I was just frustrated in the moment, and.. I definitely shouldn’t have said the last part, i’m sorry. i’m.. not so good with words, but know that i’m speaking the truth when I say you mean a lot to me. i’m so lucky to have you in my life. I want you to know that I love you.”

there was silence after that. kinich paused, worried he said the wrong thing.

“i’m here for you, if you need me.”

the dam holding in all your tears broke.

you turned around, tears welling in your eyes, and flung your arms around him. kinich, although a little startled by the abruptness, wrapped his arms around your body warmly. you sniffed, blinking out tears as you pressed against him. “i love you too, kinich. it’s not all your fault - I shouldn’t have bursted out at you. you were right, I was tired, but I didn’t want to admit it just because of my pride.”

kinich rested his hand on your back, patting it softly. “it’s okay..”

you looked up at him, and he almost wanted to laugh. the contrast between his face and yours with tears staining, red eyes and nose and messy hair was.. kind of adorable. you spotted the small curve upwards on his lips and smacked him lightly. “stop it, i was tryna have a serious moment for once!”

you could feel him smiling as he pressed his lips gently against yours. “yeah, yeah, love you too.”

[xoxo-sarah]

Foolish One

Read Part 1 to better understand.

↝a/n: got the idea from @thefanfictionkingdom 🩷 hope you enjoy. I'm not good at titles, so I just used the song that you said part one reminded you of. Hope that's okay.

↝pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

↝warning: angst, talk of previous breakup, heartbreak, not my best writing, not proofread, Steve regretting letting you go

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 7.20.24

A year has passed since Steve had last talked to you. A year since you had to put yourself, your emotional state, first. He didn't blame you, he couldn't. But he would be lying if he said he didn't miss you.

The times you spent laughing, goofing off, and even just sitting in silence, he missed it all. He didn't realize how much those moments meant to him.

It wasn't until after Nancy had broken up with him, that he wasn't blinded by love for Nance. He saw that he hurt you.

He couldn't just show up at your house and tell you how sorry he was. Mostly because you weren't at your house. You had moved away for college right after senior year. Spending that summer with friends you had met when visiting the college campus.

You had moved on.

Steve thought he had.

If so, why did he think about you so often? Driving on the familiar road that he took when going to your house, his mind always came back to you, the sad look in your eye the last time he saw you. The spot of his couch that you always cuddled. His bed, that once smelt like you, until it didn't, and then smelt like Nancy. He missed when it smelt like you.

You were always on his mind. The determination as you stomped away from him at the last party you had attended was always on his mind.

You didn't find time to go to silly little highschool parties, mostly in fear of seeing Steve and Nancy being all lovey-dovey–your heart couldn't take it. Becoming more of a homebody was the best decision you could make, given your situation.

Walking down the next aisle of the grocery store, Steve's feet glued themselves to the floor.

His eyes raked over your figure. You were turned away from him, but he couldn't deny it was you. His fingers twitched against the shopping basket, the memory of him running his fingers through the strands flashing in his brain. The sway of your hips when you walked further down, bending over slightly to look at the different boxes of cereal.

You had to be back home to visit family for Summer.

Mouth agape, he took you in. How you hadn't changed much, but he could tell you were happy. Happier than you were with him.

Steve couldn't deny that he had changed as well. He had grown and matured. Enough to see what he had lost when he let you go. He treated you wrong and he saw that now.

Maybe that's why his feet moved before his brain could register it. Walking closer, Steve held his breath, going over what exactly he was going to say to you, how was going to apologize.

He didn't register someone walking down the aisle, right toward you. He did however register it when a hand secured itself on your hip, and a beaming smile lit up your face.

Stopping in his tracks, Steve could only watch as you looked up to the guy, leaning into him.

You used to do that with Steve.

You used to cling to him, wanting him around you in every way. Cuddling up to him, kissing at the spot right under his ear, holding his hand.

The thought of you doing that with the guy that stood beside you made him sick.

Gawking at the look in your eye, the same one you once had for him, Steve felt himself stepping back, glancing at the stuff on the other side on the aisle to look busy.

Hearing your laugh, Steve felt a pang in his heart. Why did it hurt so much to simply hear you finally getting what you deserve? It wasn't fair, Steve knew it. You deserved to be happy. Even if it wasn't with him.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby (special chapter!)

alastor w/ angel daughter reader

(notes: This special chapter gives us another glimpse at Alastor's relationship with his only daughter, you, and how unique his parenting skills are. Currently set in the 30s where you two are still living and breathing so far.)

( Welcome back to my fellow angel baby readers! Also much welcome to any newcomers!

Here is a new chapter for my alastor and daughter series, I know it's been such a long while and I understand if a lot of you have moved on qwq I did take quite awhile so I can't blame you. But school finally ended and it's summer! I have much more time on my hands now! If thee are people still interested I'm totally willing to focus my time on updating!

Thank you so much for staying tuned! Let's start then shall we!)

(caution: alastor being manipulative(?), more or so cruel, he makes you cry :( )

(Tags: @maksdust @willowwillflower @sunshinesetsstuff @0willowwisp0 @projectdreamwalker @1potato2rulethemall @just-here-reading @avitute @pooplyface1423 @insomniacfigure @mo-0-o @thekanrojimitsuri2 @nevermorekisses @wildfire153 @sirenetheblogger @potaturkey17 @barrythestrawberry041)

(p.s. NOT PROOFREAD, I also apologize if the pacing and writing is a bit weird qwq I have written in awhile so I'm slightly rusty..!)

It was yet another particular day in the 30s of New Orleans.

Word of mouth of politics, money, entertainment.. everything was nothing but as normal as it could possibly be for a seventeen year old girl.

You woke up to the sound of soft birds chirping yet soon being covered by human made sounds like chatter and metal clanking. You fixed yourself up once you got out of your puffy bed that kept you in sweet dreams each night.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you fixed your chosen outfit for the day, a small smile cheering yourself up at how you felt a soft gleaming feeling in your chest.

'today will be a good day.' you thought.

...

Something was missing, there was a little gleam of excitement that you couldn't wait for.

You could start it anytime soon but-- it felt wrong.. it was wrong.

'maybe later, I can wait much later...'

Walking out of your bedroom and down the hall, passing by your father's study and your family bathroom ended up in between the kitchen and living area, your nose led you down to the kitchen.

It was a fairly early morning but your nose could smell your father's presence despite him leaving half an hour ago, your feet tapped against the hardwood floors as you went up to the stove with your eyes also noticing a note with writing on it on the counter beside the heating appliance.

Eyes flicked between the warm pot on the stove and the note, your nose took another long whiff of the comforting aroma to be a dish you absolutely love to have in the mornings.

Your hands went on to pick up the note and raised it up for your eyes to see, your father's neat and sophisticated writing made you smile as you started to read:

'Good morning my dove, I do hope you had the sweetest of dreams last night. I know you over exerted yourself the other day and I just hope you aren't slugging like a sloth this morning!-'

Giggling slightly, you continued reading.

'Nevertheless, I made you your favorite before I left off to work. Don't forget to tune in soon!

Love, Father Dearest.'

Right.. his radio show will be on soon!..

You smiled as you folded the note and tugged in into a small pocket/spot on your person before going on to plate yourself breakfast that your dad made and getting a glass of your preferred drink before skimming past the dining table to eat on the living room.. you weren't exactly allowed to eat here but it's not like your father was here to scold you.

Carefully yet hurriedly sliding your glass and plate on the small coffee table your father recently bought to 'bring more life to the house'. You would then scramble up to the home radio and flick with it for a bit until you finally reached your father's signal.

Turning up the volume to hear it loud and clear you proceeded to go back to your break fast and set yourself nicely.

A small opening of music played, his show's theme was a tune you knew by heart and you never missed a day where you wouldn't hum it to yourself.

"Good morning New Orleans!"

Cheered a familiar voice, your own responding back to him despite you fully knowing that he cannot hear you at all.. yet a part of you knows that to a certain extent he knows you're very much present.

"Morning papa!" you smiled as your father's voice continued on to start his daily morning schedule. You proceeded to pick up your eating utensil to start eating.

"This is Alastor! Your favorite radio host here to join you on today's morning broadcast to start off your day with the latest news and weather! Today it's described to be of a nice warm sunny day with little to no clouds, yet it is said to get very chilly once the sun starts to set. So prepare those coats and scarves ladies and gentlemen!-"

You took note of the weather for today, remembering that you needed to have a fire on in the fireplace by the time father came back as well.. he’d probably arrive cold.

He continued on talking about small updates on politics but more or so on the music and entertainment industry, maybe even a little bit of 'gossip' talk about famous figures in pop culture at the time.. talking about latest trends and such.. you sorta admired that about him.. you ate your breakfast whole as you listening to him while sometimes he faded into background noise here and there.

During both your times alive, Alastor always kept up with the latest rages and knew as much as he could about the most recent fads while he was kicking it, even as he raised you he somehow always kept up with all these details.. it was almost fascinating.

Speaking of fads..

You couldn't help but frown slightly.. you were home alone, you could just sneak a peek and father wouldn't know.. but guilt ate at you.

'..I'll do it after chores.. ' you thought.

You finally finished your food and drink and placed your glass and silverware on your empty plate, prepared to pick it up and take it to the sink until you couldn't help but listen to him a little longer until his broadcast ended, which should come to a break segment.

You sat on the sofa and rested your arms and head against the arm of the furniture, feeling slightly full and a bit sleepy from what you ate but in the end it was all worth it.

You let out a huff of air from your lungs out your mouth, the sigh full and heavy.

Your father's voice deafened slightly as your eyes closed for a few seconds, your mind wandering off to your current life and how you were mostly content with everything.

Mostly everything.

You were mostly satisified with your life, you were happy. How couldn't you? You have a warm home, a bed, food, a caring father, caring friends-

Well..

Everything minus the friends.

Sure, you have befriended a few people but your father never let you ever hang with anyone your age. Ever since you no longer needed babysitters, you would lack communication with young people such as yourself.

It was nice that a few people around your age recongnized you as being your father's daughter, you enjoyed people seemingly knowing you off the bat simply because of who raised you but.. father would constantly deter you away from befriending others.

According to him, because of your connection to him there could be people in the world who want to do you wrong.. of course you believed him, you never really knew any better.

Sometimes the loneliness kicks in, you yearn to befriend those similar to you and to have the life of the average ordinary teenager.

But father wouldn’t let that, not for a second.

That is- of course if he never finds your hidden teen fashion magazi--

“And to my lovely daughter, ______, who must be leisurely resting at home.”

Your eyes opened up as your head perked up at the mention of your name. Your heart skipped a beat—

“Ughhh.. daaadd!..” embarrassment creepep up your neck into your cheeks, highlighting the red in your face while you groaned and shoved yo ur face back into the arm rest.

“Don’t forget that we’ll be heading out soon! Get your shoes and coat ready! Don’t forget, father loves you dearly!

And with that, our morning broadcast concludes as the afternoon is now setting. Don’t miss out on our evening broadcast where we’ll be singing a few gentle tunes to soften your night!”

Right.. it’s been a few short hours. You always wondered how your father could never stop talking or run out of words while on air, another talent of his you supposed.

You sighed as you dragged your arms and legs to pick up your dirty dishes, head back to the kitchen and clean them up before father came home.

Oh! And you almost forgot— you also went to set up that small fire in your home’s fireplace. It was rather easy for you to install, you’ve done it many times. Alastor wouldn’t let you do this unless he knows to trust you well and that you know exactly how to do it without burning yourself or the house down.. so you did this part without a hitch.

Even let your arms warm up to the soft ever glowing flames as well..

You knew that he was now wrapping things up with his coworkers and heading back home so you sped slightly so you would be able to get ready on time.

Once you were done you checked the time,

‘1:51..’

You read on the nearby clock, father gets here at exactly 2:00 at most times.

You stood there for a minute, pondering if you should scratch that hidden itch to the back of your head or if you should patiently wait.

But you’ve been waiting since yesterday to look at it..

Should you risk it??..

"One second wouldn't hurt.." you mumbled to yourself, and just like that you were gone in a flash into your room.

You sped so fast to the point that you almost stumbled slightly as you tried to carefully slide down to your knees and your head peeking under your large and heavy dresser.

Your hand reached under and moved side to side with your fingers trying to grip onto the familiar texture of flimsy paper-

"Aha!-"

You exclaimed as you felt your fingers curl around the sudden sound of crunchy paper.

Pulling it out you were met with three various magazines that you saw around the shops as the ideal fashion magazines for teen girls such as yourself.

You remember how you wanted one before but father says that it's not appropriate for a 'pure and gentle soul' such as yourself.

Oh boy if only he knew you had them now.. he’d absolutely go bananas! He would never let you out to get groceries again!

You quickly flipped through the first few pages of the first magazine, it's thin pages full of color and various designs of trendy clothes, accessories, make-up, hair, even love and school advice here and there.

Heck- even the celebrity photos caught your full attention, stars like Clara Bow, Louis Brooks, Anita Page, Madge Bellamy, Jean Harlow, Constance Bennett.. the list could go on forever!

It captivated you, making you curious of the outside world.

You stopped at a certain page, one where you purposefully bent the corner of the page as to remember the spot you wanted to go back to.

It was a particular piece of clothing, one that was all the rage. You stared at it for a bit in admiration and yearning.. you wished father would let you wear something like that. It was that unique shape, style, color/pattern, accessories and other smaller details that simply made you want to wear!

You slowly flipped the page over to the back, a part of the magazine you haven't yet explored, and your eyes widened.

'Call ****! And get your free order of this piece's sewing pattern straight to your home as to make it yourself at home with your own unique choice of fabric, colors, and/or patterns! CALL NOW!'

"No.. way.." you mumbled breathlessly, the sudden realization hitting your head like a broken wine glass to a skull.

Free sewing pattern?.. make it at home?? This is just a GAS! Perhaps you could order it and while making it you could most definitely tweak it a bit!.. to make it into something father would approve of or even let slide!

"I.. I've GOT to get this!-"

Before you knew it you were yet again scrambling on your feet to run towards the living room to the telephone with your magazine in hand, excitement rushing into your veins up your face as you now knew what you had to do!

"With the patterns maybe I can make it myself! make it my own!.."

Your hands esthetically rested the magazine with the number attached on the table the telephone rested on and you quickly started to dial the numbers to the device one by one. You awaited eagerly..

"Cmon cmon.. pick up pick up..!"

...

"Hello this is Everygirls Magazine, what can I help you with?"

"H..Hello! I—“

The phone was snatched right from your hand, you still tried to reach for it due to confusion but then realized who it was that took the phone from your hand.

"Hello there! My apologies for the disturbance-" rang Alastor's voice, sweetly apologizing to whomever was on the other side of the line.

"-but we accidentally dialed the wrong number. Thank you!"

Alastor gently placed the phone back on it's stand, in an almost threatening type of way.

There was silence, your father stared at the magazine before slowly picking it up. You couldn't bear to look at his face, not with that smile you were sure was plastered across.

Minutes passed that felt like hours, the silence was deafening with the only thing cutting it was the sound of paper rustling.

"Father.. " you mumbled, your hands curled and resting onto your chest in slight fear "Are you.. alright?.."

With no words he turned towards the hall, his steps sharp and loud as if confirming his presence and his title in the house.

He was going straight to your room.

"Father?... Father!.." you rushed to follow him, lagging a bit behind him. "Father where are y--"

You couldn't help but softly gasp as you saw him walk into your room and bend down to grab the rest of the magazines to take a closer look. He did all this without saying a word-- and that smile never faltered either.. not for a second.

He flipped through the pages a bit erratically but eventually just clenched the thin booklets in his right hand before suddenly walking up to you and grabbing your wrist with his left. He dragged you with a sudden uncharacteristically harsh and aggressive demeanor.

He was getting tired of your growing rebelliousness. He hated it.

Why couldn't you just listen?.. he was trying to keep you safe! In how own way!

"Father!.. hey!-- that hurts!--"

“Listen here young lady.”

Alastor’s voice was stern and commanding, as if intending to intimidate you.

And it did, you stood there in disbelief and fear.. yet you haven’t fully realized that the both of you were now in front of the fireplace. Its flames dancing, waiting.

“There will be absolutely no secrets under my roof, no misuse of your allowance, no misuse of your time outside that you are more than privileged to have." He was angry, fuming even despite the vaguely cool tone he tried to emit--yet..

His smile, was still there.

As if he was mocking you..

"I told you many, many times that these magazines are full of garbage only intended to rot your head with silly and useless ideas.."

You feared him.

"You've been disobeying me more than I hoped. you're rotting from the inside--"

what.

"Father--"

It wasn't until you saw him turn only to throw your magazines into the fireplace, tossing them mercilessly as he knew you'd watch with distraught eyes.

Tears were brimming in your eyes, your hands held together against your chest as to hold back any sobs.

To him they were just magazines, to you was everything you wanted to know and more.

"I'd hate to do this to you little dove, but no daughter of mine will get consumed by filth that'll decay your pure little mind."

His neck snapped quickly towards you, making you jump slightly and how fast and abrupt it did so.

"Do you understand, dear?"

You opened your mouth to speak but to your dismay nothing came out, but you cried.

Just cried, without warning the tears you tried so hard to hold back just spilled out the moment there was silence after his last sentence.

Your hands snaked up to your face to cover your eyes and tears from being more visible than it already is.

"Oh, darling. Shh.. no need to cry.." Alastor said, you heard his footsteps come closer and you couldn't help but have your shoulders stiff up when you felt his arms go around your shoulders, one of his hands gently patting your head as if trying to soothe you.

After destroying your things.

Even while speaking, you could hear him smiling.. you just knew he was.

"I saved you, little dove. You truly have the world's greatest father.."

(THANK YOU FOR READING THIS SPECIAL CHAPTER OF MY ANGEL BABY!!! AAAAAAAA thank you sososos much! for anyone who's still reading this now thank you so much for looking for my pics yet again and thank you to anyone new for checking this out! much thanks! I once again apologize for the lack of proofreading this time and any other potential issues, I'll try my very best to get back in the zone!

I hope to see you in the next chapter of My Angel Baby! Where we will continue with it's current story in hell and the usual format of the flashbacks at the end as a treat, bye bye!!)

[leighsartworks216]

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x gn!Reader

I was working on a longer form version of this that just Was Not Happening, but this came out so easy so it's the version you're getting

@midiplier You sent your ask while I was writing the long-form version and I wish I got it out sooner but fuck it Christmas angst I guess

Warnings: grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, Christmas, childhood friends, cuddling, crying, not proofread, possibly OOC

Word Count: 839

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First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

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The lights twinkle in a little dance around the tree. Glass ornaments hang delicately along its branches. Tinsel shimmers and shines. The star at the top stares down at you.

You wipe your cheeks with your sleeves and the back of your hands. The tears keep coming, no matter how hard you try to stop them. They pool without ceremony in your eyes and slip free without even a sob to accompany them.

Zayne lowers himself to the carpet beside you. He doesn't speak. Doesn't say that you should be in bed. Doesn't need to ask what's wrong. What he does do is offer you a box of tissues. You grab a couple and hold them to your eyes, hoping they'll suck up the moisture.

This is the better alternative. Only a couple days before, Zayne visited your apartment to find it woefully devoid of any decoration. Dishes sat untouched in the sink, laundry overflowed the hamper, and the bags under your red-raw eyes spoke volumes. When Zayne asked you to spend the holidays at his place (practically running down an entire list of your excuses to convince you to please get out of your house), you packed the essentials and settled into his guest bedroom.

"I’m sorry for waking you," you croak out with a pitiful sniffle.

He shakes his head and offers you another tissue. "You didn't wake me," he assures. You can't tell if he's just lying to make you feel better or not, but it's a lot easier to believe he is. A whole lot easier to blame yourself than odd coincidence. "If you're about to apologize for being a bother, I'd rather you just blow your nose."

You take the tissue and turn your face away as you blow your nose. "That obvious?"

"You've apologized seven times already for intruding, even though I'm the one that invited you to stay," he gripes, but there's no real frustration behind it. He reaches for a blanket off the couch. It's barely used. He unfolds it and drapes it around your shoulders. "You don't have to apologize for your grief."

You shoot him a sardonic look. "Even if I'm mean to you?"

He smiles slightly. "Especially if you're mean to me. I know you well enough not to take it personally."

"You're so weird."

"If you say so."

You can feel the exhaustion in your back, your shoulders, under your eyes. You want to go to sleep. You want to curl up in bed and shut your brain off and pray it doesn't show you anything worse. But you don't. You turn back to the tree, trace your eyes over the same ornaments you've already memorized by now, and let the tightness in your chest weigh you to the spot.

You exhale shakily into the still air. The lights become a blurry bokeh as your eyes unfocus, staring at the ornaments Zayne's parents sent him from their travels. You'd numbly helped him set it all up a few days ago. You were so checked out that the loss didn't register. Now it keeps hitting you in full force, over and over.

Zayne must recognize your internal plight because he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side. You fall easily into his chest. His shoulder makes the perfect pillow to cry into. He rubs your arm up and down, doing his best to ground you and comfort you in one.

"I'm scared to go back to sleep," you admit in a choked whisper. "I'm scared I'll see their faces. And then I'll wake up and they aren't here."

He rests his cheek on your head. Josephine and Caleb had meant a lot to him, too, especially growing up, before he left. Countless memories of life when being carefree was expected. When getting into trouble was the norm. Days when he was still struggling to use his Evol, much to Caleb's amusement. Days when more time was dedicated to using it to form popsicles out of soda and poor attempts at sculptures to cheer up a certain other child.

Time truly does not change much.

"We'll stay up all night, then," he whispers back, feeling awfully like two children hiding under a blanket from the monsters of the night.

You scoff even as you turn further into him. Your wet cheeks are warm against his neck. "That doesn't sound like something a doctor would say."

He chuckles. "What if I said it was doctor's orders?"

A mangled sound escapes you. Zayne can only be sure it's a laugh with how your lungs spasm with the burst of exhaled air. "Then I guess I have no choice but to listen."

It's not ten minutes later that you're fast asleep in his arms, uncomfortably sitting on the carpet as legs fall asleep and backs ache. Zayne doesn't move from this spot, the silent aegis against all your fears. He will be here when you wake up. That means more to you than any gift under the tree.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[verystrxxwberry]

Hi, I'm the person from the sick/upsed guardian request. I must have missed the sick headcanon while searching in earlier posts before. I would really appreciate if you would write the upsed headcanon.

Thanks for your time, really appreciate your work it's great. Have a nice week : )

ELDARYA; Ezarel and Valkyon when you’re upset

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Sfw, Ezarel x reader, Valkyon x reader, individual headcanons of them when you’re angry/sad/unhappy. You might find the post about the other routes here. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hi! Thank you so much for your support. Sorry for any misspellings. I hope you enjoy this! Have a nice week too <3

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

EZAREL

He doesn’t need you to talk to know that something is going wrong the moment you enter the dining hall. The way in which you let your jacket to the side badly folded, the little knock your plate did when you placed it on the table, the absence of your gaze on him. Everything you do screams that something is wrong. Ezarel might swallow whatever he was chewing and look down at his plate, trying to ease the situation by saying “you will get wrinkles if you frown so much.”

The stare you gave him made his balls smaller, feeling how you threatened him with that gaze. So something is really wrong…

Ezarel might stand up and walk towards you, sitting by your side and asking “who was it?” with a stern tone, as if he was ready to go and have a talk with them. You tried to avoid the subject, but he was already up to solve stuff. Ezarel might be ready to intervene but definitely won’t if you ask him to not. He stayed there, arms crossed, listening to you explaining the problem with his full attention. The elf just stays around you as if he was your guardian.

However, if it is his fault, things change… he might deny it at first with a slow pronunciation of his words, as if he’s just trying to suppress the guilt of making you feel mad. But he hesitates and that inner guilt starts to show up, even more when you stay quiet. Quiet enough to let the echo of his words to bounce on his consciousness. He looks at you and something on his stomach twists, not used to such awkwardness. He sighs and says in a low tone, “maybe… I shouldn’t have said that,” almost too whispery to be heard, but your attention was fully on him. He was doubting whether to justify it or apologize, but justifying it would only make it worse. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, looking away with shame. But the ice didn’t melt yet.

Ezarel isn’t good with cute acts or big apologies, but is very attentive. He subtly spoils you with the things you like. He might appear on your bedroom with your favorite drink, might bring you a flower that he “accidentally” found in the forest, as if he hadn't walked 30 minutes to find that exact flower to give to you. The moment you let him go into your room, he feels both scared and happy of being there. So when you rest your back against the headboard of your bed, he lies down and rests his head on your belly, embracing you gently.

“Are you gonna stay mad for so long...?” He mumbles, clearly regretful from what he has done. He is almost like a sad puppy, his hands gently resting on your sides and looking up at you. And how to say no to such cute face...

VALKYON

He can tell you’re upset the moment you greet him with less energy than usual, by how your expression is generally sad, and your smile seems too forced. Valkyon would stop whatever he was doing and ask directly, “did I or someone do something?”

Yes, he goes straight to the point. Normally, he’d know if he had fucked up your mood as he is very observant of your reactions to be aware of how his words affect you. But there is the card of stress that can make him be colder just because he is focused. So whenever he has been suddenly stern and made you upset, he wouldn’t take too long to stand up and go get you. Valkyon isn’t ashamed of recognizing his mistakes.

Valkyon doesn’t only apologize with words, but also with himself, his whole being. He might approach to you, kneel and grab your hand as if he was about to ask you for marriage. But he looks at you with a firm expression and apologizes about his actions, making sure you know that he never meant to be that rude, he was just too focused on his work to think about his tone. But he hated he had acted that way with you.

He prefers that you let him know about his mistakes immediately than to seeing you struggle with your emotions later. 

But if it wasn’t his fault, he might listen to you, give you a few hair strokes, his eyes focused on you and his attention only placed on your words. Valkyon might help you to distract, giving some reassuring words for you to calm down a little. As he places a kiss on your forehead, his eyes stay open, a little bit distracted by some thoughts on how to solve that. Unlike Ezarel, he doesn’t let you know that he is going to act, but he is going to do it subtly. After making sure that you’re doing better, he'd excuse himself to leave “to the bathroom,” but he might actually go find that person and have a firm conversation with them.

Then that person started treating you gentler and kinder on the next days. Valkyon might be more protective about how others treat you, always making sure at the distance that they aren’t being rude just because they feel like. 

✩; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[urfavefelon]

New towns, new faces.

Cairo Sweet x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of student-teacher affairs. Daddy and mommy issues for Cairo. Your mom died when you were young? I guess. Author's note: Sorry I haven't posted in so long, but I really hope you like this, and come back for more while actually enjoying yourself in my God awful writing. "I am eighteen, and entire unremarkable." She'd written in her book, though the very name, 'Cairo Sweet', suggests otherwise.

... You had never stepped outside of Southern California in your 18 years on this earth; it was all too new. It was exciting of course, but what did you know about Tennessee? Or where you were supposedly moving to?

You had asked your father about it as you two packed your last bags for an early flight the next morning at a motel.

"Where we're going..." He started, finding the words. "It'll be good for us. The town is small, but it's quiet and really quite beautiful. There's even a small forest next to our new house that I think you'll like."

You nodded along, not entirely listening.

You loved your father, you really did, and you were grateful for his efforts to give you a better life. But you would miss your city, your friends, and your best friend, your cousin Hannah. Whom you've known since before you could recite your ABCs.

"Glued to the hip, those two," your aunt would chuckle to your father at the mischief you'd get into. You'd miss her too.

"--Y/N?"

Your head snapped to your father, who was now zipping up his suitcase. That amused, worn smile adorning his tired face he got every time he caught you zoning out.

You had been so consumed in your self-pity you forgot to pay attention. You tried for a sorry smile. "Sorry... You were saying?"

He sighed, moving the case so he could sit on the bed.

"Nothing of interest it seems," He smiled, then turned to a more serious tone, "But I do want you to know something about the school you'll be going to."

Now were you interested. "What is it? Is it bad?"

He nodded, "It is, mostly. There was a recent student-teacher affair. Some English teacher engaged in inappropriate conversations with an 18-year-old girl, and apparently more."

"Oh."

"I just want you to know," he reassured, "And I need to know that if anything like that happens, if any teacher asks you questions or makes you do things that make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, tell me. Or anyone. Getting pressured to do something wrong doesn't make you a bad person. Just... promise me you'll be smart?"

You smiled. "I promise. And I know that." He sighed, at least a little relieved. "Good, I'm trusting your instinct."

---

That was four weeks ago, and you're now starting to become accustomed to the ways of this town. The wilds of nowhere, Tennessee. People here are nice, tight-knit. It was a small town, and most of the people knew each other. It was cozy, you could reach a farmer's market in just a mile or two, and finally, your father let you get a cat.

So that was where you were currently, at a pet store.

You were walking across the store, cooing and wanting to squeal at all the cute furry faces. You were a bit of an animal person. And your father was asking the employees about every animal you seemed to like a little more than normal.

You bumped into someone as you passed by a particularly adorable kitten, and immediately apologized. "Oh my God I'm so sorry, I should've looked where I was going."

"No, no it's all right," She chuckled, her voice smooth and soothing. Her smile was charming and beautiful and had a slight accent. You wanted to stare but didn't. "Well, I'm sorry anyways. Were you looking at this cat too?"

"I was," She confirmed, a light smile on her lips as she looked back at the kitten staring curiously at them. "It's adorable, isn't it? I'm Cairo, by the way. Cairo Sweet."

"Y/N L/N." You shook her hand when she offered it, smiling kindly. "I was thinking of getting one, my dad finally let me," You chuckled.

"Really? I came here since, well, it's a little lonely in my home," Her voice was a little distant, but it quickly disappeared.

"And I think I could use the company." She put her hand to the glass of the enclosure, smiling as the kitten pressed its face to her hand over the glass. "I don't want to steal it from you, so I suppose if you want, it's yours."

"I don't really think of it as mine," Your nose scrunched up ever so slightly at the thought. "It.. oh, how do I explain it?"

"It dehumanizes them?" Cairo tilted her head, smiling.

"Yes. Exactly," You agreed. "I've never liked how people think they own them, per se. Pets are companions, not objects."

"That's an interesting take," She remarked, hands in her coat pockets. "You're very empathetic." "Y/N," You heard your name and turned to see your father

"Have you chosen one yet?"

"I think I have," You smiled, glancing at Cairo who had an unreadable expression on her face. "Can we get this one?" You asked, motioning to the kitten licking it's white paw. It was black, with it's paws and ears white.

"All right," He sighed, relieved to be done with this. "Excuse me? Can we have this one?" He asked one of the employees, and Cairo turned back to you.

"Is that your father?" She asked.

"Yeah. And I guess I have to go now. It was nice meeting you." You gave her a smile, then began to go with your father as he now held the cat to sign the paperwork. Before she called to you.

"Y/N," She beckoned calmly, steady.

You turned, seeing her still with her hands in her coat pockets, no expression on her face but you could swear you saw curiosity in her eyes. You waited for her to speak.

"Can I have your number?" That surprised you. "I would like to keep talking to you, you give good company."

"Oh. Um, yeah, okay," You managed to get out, taking her phone when she held it out and typed in your phone number, handing it back.

She stared at it, then smiled and put it back in her purse. "I'll see you around." "I guess so," A small smile formed on your lips, and you gave her one last look before leaving with your father to the counter.

Soon you were out the store, a kitten in your arms, your father carrying some cat feed and a small list of things about the cat, and a new friend. You could say it was a surprisingly pleasant day.

--- So I want to know what anyone thinks of this. I think I've gotten better at writing, and I hope you enjoyed it. It actually took me a while, I had writer's block for a hot minute :/

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎThe Final Act⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: copious amounts of angst, death, graphic description of blood pairing: billy the kid x fem reader author’s note: guys...what if I quit writing and delete my blog this hurt so bad Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

You lived in everything.

Billy saw your essence tangled in wildflowers, swimming amongst the glitter of the sun reflecting off the surface of water. All that was good in the world, everything that brought forth a smile was rooted in you, he was convinced.

The one object of his affections, the recipient of his love, you were an angel of the highest order. In Billy's life, he'd never expected a woman to find it in her to love a man like him, let alone one as kindhearted as you. Open armed, endlessly forgiving. At the start of this, he had resolved to humble himself before you, to give you what little he had. It would never be enough, he knew. Not for a woman so beautiful she turned heads, so lovely that people were drawn to her like a hummingbird to a wildflower.

Holding you was paradise, kissing you was a strange kind of rush that he'd never get used to. To love someone so purely hadn't been in the cards for him. No, his hand had been repeatedly unlucky, robbing him of any pleasure life had to offer. But the universe had been holding out on him for now he had the best thing in it.

Billy's guilt nearly ruined the whole thing. He knew he was a whole lot less than you deserved, knew he was on borrowed time with you. Sometimes he wondered if the act of having you was a buildup, some new kind of cruel torture where he'd get to taste bliss only for it to be ripped away. With the law on his tail at every turn, he feared the life he'd built would be ripped away at the seams.

Every night when he crawled into bed, weary from the day's work, uttering quiet apologies for making it back so late, you would roll over and burrow into his chest. No words exchanged; they didn't have to be. He'd press grateful kisses to your head and you'd smile sleepily with your eyes closed.

This was heaven. This was a haven. Life with you felt like a dream. He couldn't have imagined it in his wildest fantasies, not in the years he'd spent galloping aimlessly along the prairie with no end in sight. Until he'd stumbled upon an eternal sunbeam bound up in the skin of a beautiful woman.

Now, in the sacred hours of the morning, when waking was laced with dreams, Billy traced the contours of your face with a single finger. Newborn sunlight was seeping through the cracks of the thin curtains, outlining your halo in delicate lines. He held you carefully, as if with one wrong move you'd crack under his hands and disappear into dust.

Your eyelashes fluttered and lifted as the first breath of waking drew from your lips. He watched, transfixed by your every detail, as you began to stir, turning sleepily on your side to snuggle deeper into his arms. It was a routine, one that would never take its place on the shelf of the mundane. He treasured it. Safety, one of the few things in the world he possessed that was adequate to give to you.

Lifting his hand to your hair, he ran two fingers over where it met your forehead like the tide to the sand: tracing the expanse and tucking a strand behind your ear. Billy loved your hair, fingered it like strands of spun gold, twisted it around his fingers in leisurely moments. He leaned down, lips meeting your temple as a quiet good morning.

Outside, the birds were chattering, speaking amongst themselves about the course of the day. The earth was coming alive as you were, as if it had waited for sleep to lift its heavy head from your shoulder.

"Mm," you hummed, nudging your head against his chest. Billy rubbed a hand up your back, where your sleep shirt had ridden up- one of his shirts. He drew hearts into your skin, his fingers the pen.

"Sleepy?" he murmured, using one hand to pull the blanket up over you without letting go. You were always tossing and turning in the night, no matter how sound you slept. It wasn't an uncommon sight for the sheets to be tangled around your legs come morning.

Nodding hazily, you rested one hand flat on his chest. Your left hand, perfect and smooth, only void of one thing: his ring. Billy had it hidden in a special place, waiting for the absolute perfect moment to ask the most important question he ever would. Maybe it was silly, maybe it was old-fashioned, but he wanted it to be special. His mama hadn't raised a gentleman for nothing.

For now he resolved to hold you tight, relishing the angel in his arms. The needs of the day were creeping close, and he didn't want to lose a single second he could be with you. Life gave and it took away-for every task he did reluctantly, he received another day with you.

When it was finally time to relent and drag himself out of bed, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, squeezing you one last time and rising. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Billy drearily donned his work clothes, buttoning his shirt and pulling each suspender up over a shoulder. He sat at the edge of the bed to tug his boots on one by one.

From where he was sitting, Billy rolled over onto his stomach, crawling back to you without letting his boots touch the bed. Positioned half on top of you, he folded his arms, pressing gentle kisses to your cheeks. "You'll be okay, hm?"

"I'll be okay," you promised, one hand dragging up to his hair, fingers combing through it. Your smile was still lined with exhaustion, and his own lips turned up at the sight.

"Sleepy girl," he muttered, eliciting a breathy laugh from you. Billy leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Rest your eyes a little longer. I'll be back in a couple hours, mkay?"

"Mkay," you echoed, and he smiled, thumbing the side of your face once before crawling off the bed and getting to his feet.

With one final lingering look at the pretty girl nestled all cozy in his bed, Billy plucked his hat from the hook on the wall and crammed it on his head, opening and shutting the door gently. His boots clunked a comforting rhythm on the wooden floor, and already he was looking forward to coming back home.

The windows were broken.

That was the first thing Billy noticed when he returned. Gaping holes in the glass, the clear substance scattered across the surrounding grass.

His foot nearly caught in the stirrup as he struggled to get down, paling when he noticed the door was ajar, swinging lazily from previous motion.

In an instant, he was scurrying up the steps, only one thing on his mind. You were still home...he'd left his girl all alone... Flinging the door open, he shouted your name hurriedly, eyes blown wide open as he searched for you. You weren't in the kitchen, nor the bedroom, though the sheets were messy, bed still unmade from this morning. From the paradise he'd separated himself from.

The house was empty, that much was clear. Void of any sign of you. It was both relieving and terrifying. A raw, biting feeling gnawed at his gut. Something's not right. Had you gone for a walk in the nearby forest as you often did, narrowly avoiding the break in? Or had you heard the commotion and managed to escape? He found himself praying, a pleading in his heart to whatever higher power was kind enough to listen. Please let her be okay. Please let her be safe.

Billy tossed his hat aside and rested a hand against the doorframe, any previous energy sapped from him like syrup from a maple tree. His heart pounded an echoing beat into his ribcage, mind overwrought with worries. Where were you?

His prayers began to change. I'll leave her behind so she's safe forever if that's what it takes. All this time he'd thought his presence was protecting you, but if it wasn't he would disappear without a backwards glance, no matter how much it would pain him and you to do so. Maybe you would be better off, without the ever present threats hanging over your heads.

He had been careless to show you off the way he did, to put a target on your back like that. Yet another reason you didn't deserve him. You were a treasure of the highest value, one that shouldn't be kept locked away. It was an impossible situation that he nearly brought himself to tears over. Where was a solution where he could love you and have you and keep you safe at the same time?

Billy wandered over to the kitchen window, despondent and fraught with anxiety. He lifted his eyes wearily to the garden, before something he spotted made his body freeze.

Time went motionless, the seconds seeming to tick backwards and forwards all at once. Billy could have sworn he felt his heart stop for just a moment as the realization carved him open from the inside, bones on display, vulnerable to the attack of emotion beating at them like hail.

His body reacted before he did, feet carrying him out of the house, down the porch steps and into the garden, where your broken body lay like a fallen bird in your beloved patch of flowers, the ones you'd planted early spring. They had begun to wilt at the end of the summer, and now they were your deathbed.

Blood spilt from the gaping wound in your chest, spattering the surrounding petals with crimson. Your white dress, the one you'd always giggled about marrying him in someday, was ruined by the sticky substance, like your heart was bleeding out.

In an instant he was kneeling before you, sliding his arms under your body and lowering himself to you, resting sideways in the flowers like he had this morning in bed. Your eyes were wide open, breathing no more than a whisper, but still there. Achingly, you choked, "Billy...Billy..."

Every portion of his body was drawn taut, the pure shock of the sight before him rendering him useless for anything except holding you. He stroked your hair, trying to soothe you despite the circumstances wearing away at time. "Baby..."

Now you were practically choking on air, brows drawn together, lips parted as you trembled, reaching for him. "I don't wanna die...Billy..."

He could feel tears stinging at his eyes, but held back for your sake, calling on every slight of resistance he possessed. "It's okay, sweet girl," he breathed, bringing you up to his chest with no more than a whimper from you. "Shh, I've got you. You're not alone. I'm here 'n I ain't leavin' you ever again."

"I'm sorry," you managed, chest trembling as tears soaked your cheeks. "I don't wanna...leave you...alone..."

He bowed his head, burying his nose in your hair, body rocking back and forth to soothe you. The last thing Billy wanted was for your final moments to be in distress. Not when the way in which you had lived had so clearly been the opposite. "Shh, sweet girl. You just rest. You were so tired before-" Tears pricked the back of his eyes and he cut himself off, swallowing thickly. Unable to keep the emotion from his voice, he continued. "Everything's okay, my love. I've got you."

Even his love had to be tainted by violence, from beginning to end. Billy smoothed your hair, dried your tears with his fingers, did anything to distract himself from the fact that he'd have to love you longer than he had you. He slid his hand under your jaw, all the while cradling you against him, ignoring your blood seeping through his clothes. Though his chest was heaving and his voice was broken, he found a melody on his tongue, the only thing he could think of to comfort you now.

"As Kathleen fair beyond compare, asleep upon a bank I spied." Tears seeped into each word as he tried to carry the tune. "All upon tiptoe I sought her side, and kissed her down in the daisies." Your breathing grew steadier, and he tried to smile for you, assure you in some way. "But up she starts and on me darts, the shafts of scorn from lip and eye."

Sometimes when you had trouble falling asleep, he'd gather you in his arms and hum quietly, relaxing your body and slipping you into your dreams. This song had been your favorite of the folk tunes in his repertoire, the ones his mother taught him.

Indeed now, it was working its magic, and you looked up at him, your lips turning up just slightly, tears like crystal pearls sliding down your cheeks like rain on a windowpane. He continued to rock you back and forth, grasping you tight as life drained from you quickly as your blood had. "Then in a storm goes sweeping by, and leaves me alone with the daisies."

Your body grew heavy, eyes hazy in a way that made him want to beg, plead, scream at the sky for some kind of answer. You were all he had in the world, his purpose, his love. Desperately, he grasped at you, leaning his forehead down to press a single kiss to your lips. It was the last kiss that mattered. But he hadn't thought it would come so soon.

Now the tears on your cheeks were not only your own. His salt mingled with yours, and he reached his thumb up to brush them away, finishing the song in a cracked whisper.

"But when next day I chanced that way, there Kathleen blushed in all her charms, with sighs she sank into my arms, and we told our love to the daisies."

Billy didn't open his eyes, but the moment you took your final breath he felt it. For a moment he pretended you were only sleeping, that his singing had done the trick and eased you into a dream from which you would wake in the morning. You would snuggle into his side like you always did, ask him for five more minutes before he left. And he would give it to you, never deprive you of anything ever again. "My girl," he breathed raggedly. "Please-"

If you were smiling at him, heart beating steadfastly under his hand when he opened his eyes, he'd give up the gun forever and marry you and relocate somewhere secret and never go another day without showing you how absolutely you consumed him. He'd do all the things he should have done before, everything he'd been putting off. He'd forget about the bastards who'd ended your life simply because you loved him and just be grateful you were still here.

But when he finally lifted his lids, yours were shut, already deep into an eternal rest from which he could never wake you. Not even with his softest kisses, his gentlest of touches. Billy didn't know that he would ever be able to accept what would never be. He would never get to slide his ring on your finger, never see your belly round with his child. He would never see the first strands of grey in your hair or hear your laugh or see your smile directed at him like sunshine in this life.

Still, he grasped at you, held you tightly to his chest, supporting your head when it lulled backward limply. Still, he rocked you back and forth, comforting you when you were long gone. His girl, his baby, his love and light. Right now he clung to every memory in fear that he would lose it. Billy knew how the aftermath of death went. He knew someday he would forget how you smelled, what your voice sounded like, how it felt to hold you. Even though he'd spend whatever time he had left missing it.

There was nothing stopping him from digging your grave and flinging himself in it beside you, no outside force preventing him from finding who'd killed you and begging them to take him too. Your last words: I don't wanna leave you alone.

At that, his tears began to fall, pouring torrentially down his cheeks and silencing any logic. Destiny was cruel, mistaking you for star-crossed when you were meant to be written in the stars. Billy wept into your hair, hoping your spirit wasn't watching. The crush of emotion cracked his being open and let forth everything he'd tried to keep underneath. His strength was fraying, its heart silenced.

You made a mistake, he wanted to shout. You were never supposed to take her. Suddenly the rest of his life stretched out before him like a woeful march, highlighting everything he would have to do without you. What was a soul without its mate, a lover without his love? Loss consumed him like a wildfire, flames licking at his chin. He let himself burn.

Your body was growing icy, and he squeezed you tight to him, rubbing his arms over your body. You hated being cold. His darling sweetheart would cuddle up to him no matter the weather if you felt so much as a goosebump. Billy sheathed you into him, passing you his body heat fruitlessly.

He had to let go. The thought probed Billy unwillingly, and he shook his head, feeling like a child. He didn't want to. He didn't want to dig you a crude grave and lay your broken body down, letting the earth hold you instead of him. He didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't want to wash his hands and body of your blood and burn the clothes it had stained. It felt like tossing aside a piece of you, when there were scarcely any left. Soon, the only thing remaining would be memory.

Billy set that dreadful idea adrift, letting it float out to sea. The waves would lap at it and bring it back to the shores of his mind eventually, but for now it was far away. He breathed in a shuddering way, lips finding your temple and pressing there.

"I've got you, sweetheart," he breathed, caressing your stiffening body. At the very least, he was glad you hadn't been alone. "Just rest."

No longer in an ocean, it drifted around him like coyotes circling a lonely traveler, baring its teeth and poising to strike, launching itself at him and consuming all that he held dear. He squeezed his eyes shut, having hoped shoving it down would erase its fruition. But it bloomed in his broken soul like the flowers you'd died atop.

The final act of love is letting go.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 1: (Caramel Apple) Vincent Sinclair

Welcomer everyone to day 1! There's not much to say that I haven't already so I hope you all enjoy day 1 as well as the other fics I have prepared for this month! <3 Notes: Minors DNI, Canon typical violence if any. Vincent used sign language in this, the sign language will be in Italics. Support me: KO-FI

The half rotted door to Vincent's basement workshop groaned out a long winded squeak when you pushed it open. You grabbed it before it could slam against the wall at the top of the stairs. It was about 2am and you could never be to sure if Vincent had fallen asleep down in the workshop or not.

You stepped on each stair one at a time. You had been down to the basement so many times in the middle of the night you had the spots that creaked memorized and you knew how to meticulously step around them or at least cause the least noise. You counted each stair in your head until you reach the bottom step, you peered around the dimly lit workshop before your eyes landed on your target.

"Vince"

A soft, near whisper cut through the silence. A white masked face shot up from where he was sitting. His shoulders untensed and he quickly rose from his seat, wax project quickly forgotten on the table in front of him as he made his way over to where you were standing.

"I came to get you, It's like 2:30 in the morning Vin."

Vincent froze for a split second, his eyes darting to the usually wrong digital clock he kept by his work space. Years prior Vincent didn't care when he finished work, most nights sleeping in his workshop for lack of having any real reason to go back to the house. It all changed when you fell into his lap, his muse, his reason.

"Sorry, Clock never works right, meant to come home hours ago."

One of the greatest things about you, Vincent had decided, was that you had taught him sign language. When the two of you had first met Vincent hated not having a way to communicate besides writing messy, barley legible scribbles on a piece of paper. Though to be fair you didn't want to talk much to the man who was once your captor when you had first ventured into Ambrose all those years ago.

Bo had sworn to him you were only getting close to try and escape. Bo had yelled, screamed and bitched about how much time Vincent was spending with you, how every time Vincent would let you out, or go to see you that he was putting Ambrose at risk.

Vincent didn't really care though, having grown up with it his entire life he was used to Bo's incessant yelling about nothing of any real substance. Eventually and very, very begrudgingly, Bo relented and you were integrated into daily life in Ambrose.

"Vince?"

Vincent jolted, realizing his mind had wandered. He signed you an apology and then motioned for your hand.

"Wow your actually listening and coming to bed? I'm honored Vince"

Vincent rolled his eyes, and you could tell his face under his mask held something akin to a "Really?" expression. You drag him along by his hand, leading him up the stairs and out of the wax museum into the cold Louisiana night.

"I saved you a plate of dinner I can heat up when we get to the house"

"You don't have to do that"

"Why wouldn't I? You haven't eaten like all day"

"I've eaten"

"A granola bar that was probably expired from the gas station doesn't count"

Vincent shrugged again, He had a terrible habit of taking care of not taking care of himself and he knew you knew as well as he did. You shot him a smile and weaved your fingers together as the two of you walked home. Vincent pulled his hand away to sign something quickly.

"You're such a mother hen"

"If wanting you to be taken care of makes me a mother hen, then a mother hand I shall be"

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as Vincent slotted his hand back into yours and walked the rest of the way home. He knew you'd heat up his dinner plate, tsk at him for not eating and tell him to start taking better care of himself. He knew that he would nod but wouldn't listen and he knew that you knew he would do exactly that but at the end of the day you would never really mind.

Vincent liked being taking care of, you knew he liked being taken care of. If he wanted to call you a mother hen, then a mother hen you would be.

[ohwellp]

Hello everyone! This is my first time writing a story, be warned that it is NOT FINISHED. This is just what i have right now of what is going to be a very long story and maybe eventually a book. I was hoping to get some feedback from those in the fandom, those who write and those who read. Constructive criticism is encouraged and simply saying something is bad will be ignored. I appreciate actual advice. This is the introduction to the story, very rough draft, will end up heavily edited. THANK YOU FOR READING! <3

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Silence. Right on cue, like clockwork, ever since I’ve moved here, as soon as it strikes midnight. The town falls quiet, save for the chirps of crickets and occasional dog bark. Everyone in town falls asleep simultaneously. Except me.

For some unknown reason, I'm not affected. Maybe it's related to my bouts of insomnia I've had only once I entered town. Sleep has never found me easily, but here even less so. This is why I'm up right now instead of peacefully snuggled into the warm duvets of my queen sized bed. I watch as the clock ticks by the seconds, the minutes.

12:01.

12:02.

12:03.

12:04.

12:05.

Just like the odd silence, a void purple fog rolls into town from the outskirts. I’m not sure where it comes from or why it appears, the same as everyone falling asleep. It’s confusing and yet intriguing at the same time. I’ve always been curious by nature. Not much happened in the city that I hadn’t seen before. This, however? Definitely new.

Always at 5 past midnight. Night after night, it hasn’t changed since I moved here. Without fail, not a second too late or a second too soon. I’ve seen it happen time and time again yet it remains a mystery to me.

Always followed by him. A tall brooding figure. At first I wasn’t sure what he was. Human? A creature? A monster? Or something entirely different? I haven’t got a clue. But what I do know is that “he” isn’t normal. I’ve taken the liberty to assume it’s a male. His figure is masculine even if I can’t see his face. If I’m wrong I’d apologize, but it’s not like I’ll ever speak to him anyway.

I’ve nicknamed him Ghost. It seems to fit him. Always emerging from the fog in the silence, not a noise from him, as if a vacuum sucked up all sound from the small town. He always leaves around 3 a.m. No sooner, no later.

Always. I’m not sure what it is with time and punctuation, but he’s always spot on. Maybe it’s some weird instinct he has. Hopefully I’ll find out by studying him.

Over the short month that I've lived here, I've grown used to his arrival. He never enters any houses, just roams the barren streets, looking at seemingly nothing, his purpose unknown. Efforts to converse with neighbors are quickly thwarted by confused and judging looks. They’re clueless to his presence or the way sleep takes them at the same time, that or they choose to be ignorant.

I, however, cannot.

I moved here from my life in the city, hoping to find some peace in a more solitude lifestyle. The night here, despite the silence, has become my home,but the gnawing urge to find more about this mysterious figure claws at the back of my mind. My cat, Nub, named for her amputated front right leg, spends her time at night either curled in my lap while I work on my laptop, or when the time comes, staring at Ghost. Often, I'll be up late either from my insomnia or from projects I have to finish, typing away on my screen to adjust the designs I've meticulously created for my clients.

Occasionally, I’ll glance up from my spot in the nook on the window sill of my room and I'll see him, wandering the streets, stoic. He’s always dressed the same: Deep brown bomber jacket over top a black hoodie that hides his muscles under the layers,Navy blue jeans worn from use and muddy tan Merrel Moabs. His face is covered by a black fleece balaclava with the upper portion of a human skull connected to it. The faded ivory color contrasts the darkness that surrounds him. He’s tall too. Hard to tell from afar, but I'd guess about 6'- 6'5.

From my knowledge, he seems to be dressed in military type clothing, possibly special ops. I remember seeing similar getups on soldiers who fought this crazy russian guy, can’t remember his name much, Morkov? No, maybe Makav?

Whatever, he was, he disappeared. But the tv showed the soldiers who fought him; although there wasn’t much screen time since they clearly didn’t want to be recorded for obvious reasons, one of their comrades had been KIA. Though the disgusting rat reporters didn’t seem to care much, they managed to catch a glimpse of the soldier's tag on his vest. Mactavish.

I couldn’t resist searching it up, I was bored. Couldn’t find a full name but I did find out the poor lad had been from Scotland. He had given his life to his team and to the safety of everyone.

I’m snapped from my thoughts when I hear Nub squeak at me, turning my eyes to the clock. Time went by quickly, I started work at about 9:00. I’d only been sitting here for what felt like an hour at most, engrossed in my designs. Yet the hour and minute hand stood vertical.

12:00.

I sigh and shake my head with a small smile as I get up from my spot. She has a habit of wanting to eat a late night snack right before he appears. I think she’s taken a liking to the mysterious man, always watching him from the comfort of her cat tree by the window. He’s never acknowledged our presence either; then again, neither of us have gone outside.

I hoist myself to my feet and pad to the kitchen, grey sweats hang from my hips and my lilac hoodie blankets me as I open a cupboard. Spotting the can of catfood, I grab and pop it open, dumping it into a small blue dish before setting it down, Nub immediately digs in, as if worried she’d miss her favorite show. I make myself a cup of coffee, the whirr of the Keurig fills the silence and then the familiar smell of roasted coffee grounds, caramel, my favorite. I plop a few ice cubes in and follow Nub to the window, her orange tabby coat vibrant in the dim lighting. I have to admit, it’s cool watching him appear.

I glance at the clock, seeing the minute hand tick.

12:05.

I sip my coffee, the warm liquid providing comfort as we watch the fog roll in, then Him. I chuckle to myself.

“Right on time, big boy.” Nub lets out a happy chirp, pleased her favorite entertainment has arrived once more. We sit there for a few moments, watching his usual routine, and then it happens. Nub jumps down from her cat tree and paws at the front door. I cock my head to the side at her.

“There’s no way you actually have the audacity to want outside NOW,” a hint of exasperation in my tone. I look back to the figure wandering the streets, my own curiosity growing. I know I moved here for a more peaceful life but…. My gaze moves back to Nub.

“You’re a bad influence.” I move toward the door; my mug in my left hand, warming my palm, my right hand hovering over the brass handle.

“I can’t believe I'm doing this. We better not get killed.”

‘Click.’

The handle turns and I crack the door, peering my head out. My gaze lands on Ghost, a few houses down, staring at some flowering shrubs. He hasn’t seemed to notice us yet which is good I suppose.

‘Meow.’ Nub pushes past the door, making a cringe worthy loud meow as she prances out toward the sidewalk, her own beady eyes fixated on him.

“No! Nub! You dumb little shit, get back here!” I yell in a hushed voice, eyes locking onto her as I set my mug down on my side table, rushing out the door, forgetting shoes as I hone in on my fuzzball. I dart after her, scooping her up in my arms as she reaches the neighbors yard, cradling her as I scold her.

“You dumbass! Have I taught you nothing?”

My lips curled into a frown at her, seeing her innocent furry face and letting out a sigh.

“Never mind, you’re lucky you’re cute-” My voice halts, feeling my arm hair stand on end. My hindbrain firing off danger signals as I feel the gaze. My eyes dart to the figure standing 20 feet away from me, locking onto the deep brown irises that gaze right back. I feel my heart starting to race. Shit. I forgot about him.

Ghost stares right back, silent as ever, the balaclava giving away not a hint of emotion. His eyes seem to be studying me. It feels as if time stops until Nub squirms out of my arms, jumping across the distance and to his feet. Rubbing against his legs and purring as she finally makes contact with the man she’s been watching for a month, her tail curling behind her, letting out a high pitched and girly squeak.

My heart drops in fear, expecting him to react negatively; my mind flashing with images of her getting stepped on, thrown, strangled by this entity. I’m snapped out of my thoughts by a deep rumble, a chuckle, smooth like whiskey. The emotions behind it are masked, but Nub seems to preen at the noise, continuing to purr and rub against his legs as she puts on her cutest act. The realization hits me. This little shit is tryna woo him.

I turn my attention to him, he’s no longer looking at me. This man–? entity? Creature–i? Is focused on Nub; he reaches down and I tense, preparing for the worst. Instead of harming her, he scratches the top of her head with a gloved hand and a gentleness I wasn’t expecting from such an intimidating being.

Nub continues to rub against him–seemingly ecstatic from his attention until he gives in and picks her up, cradling her in his arms; she immediately takes advantage of her new height and gently headbuts his masked chin.

I’m stunned. I wasn’t expecting him to pet her, more or less treat her with such care; my tension eases a bit as I witness the tenderness in his actions, though I stay wary. He may be nice to her for the moment, but he’s still a stranger that's intertwined with this strange town and I haven’t seen his reaction toward a human yet.

As if sensing my thoughts, he finally looks back at me, his emotions still hidden. I feel my breath hitch, caught in my throat, my muscles preparing for an attack. His shoes thud on the ground with each slow step he takes as he starts his approach. My mind races with ways to distract him to reach my home; Nub is clearly fine on her own.

He stops just two feet away from me, his form towers over mine, dwarfing me in comparison, my eyes widen now that I see him up close. He emanates danger; his presence suffocating. The voice that comes from him is rough, heavy, filled with pre-warning by default.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

His thick British accent shocks me, catching me off guard as he holds Nub in his muscular arms. I’m at a loss for words, trying to process how he can sound so….Normal. His unique appearance and the situation in which he appears are so bizarre, but he seems so human.

I finally manage to find my voice, though my brain hasn’t quite caught up as I stumble over my words.

“I- you’re- she-” I suck air in and shake my head slightly, snapping out of my daze. Pull yourself together,you’re embarrassing yourself.

“Yes. She’s mine….she’s very curious.” My gaze holds his, feeling like I’m being scrutinized.

“Quite the dangerous quality. Especially when out late at night.” His tone laced with amusement and implied questions as his stare bores into my soul, searching.

I scramble for an answer. Why was I out here with Nub. The reasoning seems stupid now in hindsight.

“Ah- well uhm, we’re usually up late and she likes to watch you and wanted out this time.” I hurry through an explanation, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment; Nub mewls in agreement.

His eyes narrow through the holes in his mask, judging. There's a flicker of curiosity in his chocolate orbs as he speaks.

“How…are you awake?” His question is blunt and reminds me that I'm the only person who doesn’t fall asleep at 12:00.

“Oh- I- uh-” My mind blanks as I fight for some semblance of competence. How am I awake? I had never thought about it too much before. Yeah it crossed my mind but I didn’t dwell on it because it never seemed too important.

“...I suppose…I’m not all that sure,” I cringe at how hesitant I sound. God, I’m pathetic. “I never really questioned it….not like it changed anything for me.” My eyes focus back on him, trying to gauge his reaction. He lets out a small grunt in return before speaking.

“My fog tends to knock everyone out, not you though. You’re the first to resist it.” He steps closer, leaning in as he examines me. His voice gruff, almost annoyed at his own confusion. I suddenly feel like an amoeba underneath a microscope, my every move being accounted for. I can smell him now, he’s so close. Sandalwood and gunpowder.