#it's like... okay. and you still have to wake up and go to work!

[mintedwitcher]

something I'm workshopping for my "Buck leaves the 118" fic below the cut:

He sits in his car for a long time, just staring out at the waves. He used to surf. He used to love surfing. When did that stop, he wonders? Was it when the tsunami happened? Or was it before that? He can’t remember the last time he went surfing.

His phone is in his hand before he really registers picking it up, and then he’s dialling a number that he’s been avoiding for weeks.

“This is Kinard.”

“Tommy,” Buck says, and it’s like he can finally breathe.

“Evan? What’s wrong?” Tommy asks immediately.

“I’m at the beach,” Buck says. “Just got off work. Did you know I used to be a surf instructor? I can’t remember the last time I went surfing.”

“Which beach?” Tommy asks. “And no, I didn’t know that. I can see it though, it suits you.”

“More than being a firefighter?” Buck asks. “I don’t know which beach, I wasn’t paying attention. I just ended up here.”

“No, firefighting suits you better,” Tommy says. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Buck says. He might be lying. He doesn’t really know. That last call did get a little hairy, but he doesn’t feel hurt. Mostly he just feels… “Tired.”

“Stay awake for me,” Tommy says. Buck can hear the sound of Tommy’s truck revving. He’s driving, too. He’s probably going to work.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” Buck says. “I’m not even sure why I did, I just… I guess I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Evan, sweetheart, you’re scaring me,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds urgent now.

“I’m not killing myself,” Buck tells him, because that’s important. “I won’t do that. I’m getting a transfer next week. Can’t mess things up for my new Captain before I even start working for him.”

“Good, Evan, that’s good,” Tommy says. “I’m on my way right now, okay? Just keep talking to me, sweetheart. Tell me about your surf instructor job. I’ve gotta know, were you blonde?”

Buck barks a laugh. “Frosted tips,” he says. “It was Peru. Wait, no, that was the bartending job. God, there’s been so many, I can’t keep track of them all. Maybe I’ll ask Maddie. She’ll know. She kept my postcards.”

“You sent her postcards?” Tommy asks. Buck knows that he’s trying to keep him awake, keep him alert and oriented. He’s a firefighter, he knows the drill. He goes with it anyway.

“Yeah, one from every place I lived in, before LA,” Buck says. “There’s like, twenty of them.”

“You’ll have to tell me about all of them,” Tommy says. “How many jobs have you had?”

“Too many,” Buck says with a sigh. “I liked most of them. Surfing, carpentry, bartending… I was a ranch hand for a while. Can’t believe it took you kissing me to realise I’m into men. The signs were there, Tommy, let me tell you.”

“You checked out my ass the day we met, remember,” Tommy says. Buck laughs again. It still sounds wrong, but maybe it’s because he hasn’t laughed in a while. Maybe he needs to relearn how.

“In my defence, you have a great ass,” Buck says.

“You’re right, I do,” Tommy says, chuckling.

“And so modest, too,” Buck says. He’s teasing. They’re flirting. Buck’s smile feels a little more genuine this time.

“A triple threat,” Tommy agrees. “I’m pulling up now. I can see your truck.”

“Yay,” Buck replies, and Tommy laughs. The sound is warm and rich, like Tommy’s favourite coffee order. A few seconds later, Tommy’s truck parks next to his.

“Can I come sit with you?” Tommy asks, still on the phone. Buck can see him through the car windows. He nods. The call disconnects. A moment later, Tommy’s knocking on his passenger side window. Buck moves his duffel bag into the back seat and unlocks his doors so Tommy can climb inside.

He’s still in his sleep clothes.

“Did I wake you up?” Buck asks, eyeing the pyjama pants that he bought for Tommy back when they were dating. Buck’s matching set is in his dresser drawer at home, along with the few shirts he managed to pilfer from Tommy during their relationship that he hasn’t gotten around to returning yet.

“Yes, but I don’t care,” Tommy says. “You call, I come running. Or, driving, in this case. Are you okay?”

And maybe it’s the pyjamas, maybe it’s the forty-eight he just worked, maybe it’s the takeout boxes in the kitchen and the empty fridge at work, or maybe he’s just done. Buck gets one full breath in, and the next one hitches, and before he knows it, he’s sobbing. Tommy reacts immediately, pulling him in. It’s uncomfortable and awkward with the centre console in the way, but Buck doesn’t care. He hides his face in Tommy’s neck and cries, and cries, and cries.

[vanilleandclove]

on hold; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader

when push comes to shove, sometimes there’s cracks in your relationship that can only be mended with time and patience.

warnings: pregnancy & pregnancy loss, heated arguments, emotional numbness, postpartum depression, overexertion via work, drug mention, parental disownment, jack being a widow is finally mentioned! word count: 3.2k notes: this was a pretty heavy chapter to write. pennsylvania is a middle-third state, meaning reproductive rights for women are protected but with limitations- i’m from california and it’s a top-third state, so i tried my best to represent that- there’s a reason abbot lowballed the measurements. miscarriages are a hard experience for any woman to go through especially one that could have severely damaged a woman’s health which has happened to women in the states. i urge you to stand for women's rights as there is an infringement on them worldwide. feliz dia de las madres :)

Jack knew before you did, he knew your body, knew the time of the month when you’d have your period without fail. It was second nature to him. 

It was the middle of February when you found out you were pregnant, Jack liked to brag that he knew a week before just from your off-putting cravings and the fact that you wanted to stay in for Valentine’s Day. He still acted surprised the day you told him, the bloodwork, the pregnancy test Heather gave you, the three ClearBlues, all indicative of you being pregnant. That night he told you he already knew, but figured it would be offensive to ask you to take a pregnancy test out of the blue. 

By March, you were aching to tell someone other than your confined circle. Dana knew, Heather knew therefore, Robby knew, and Bridget knew. You resisted telling your parents, they were on your case when it came to your late twenties, believing it was your “prime”, Jack did not know how to phrase it to his mom, so you both just settled on waiting. You weren’t showing, but the middle of the night heartburns had you waking up almost choking and freaking the fuck out of Jack. 

You peed more often, craved salt with sweetness, your body was retaining more water than usual and it made your skin feel more elastic. You opted for night shift only as the morning sickness was consistent, bought a better pair of sneakers for comfort. You were a Doctor yet pregnancy on you was uncharted territory. 

The one day you chose day shift, the middle of March, you retrospectively wish you hadn't. It was a hot day in Pittsburgh, 99 degrees and only rising every few hours. 

You had two patients come in with “eye splitting”, “brain exploding” headaches, both frat boys. They were high off laced weed, luckily nothing too dangerous, they just needed hydration and observation. 

By 3 pm you had a surgical case, a 20 year old female in hemorrhagic shock from a pelvic fracture during her diving class, in need of an angioembolization. You swore you could almost curse Gloria for not hiring more interventional radiologists, therefore you had to perform it. An hour and a half goes by and you’re sending her to post-op and yourself to the maternity ward. 

The pain in your back was if someone pulled your arms back and kicked your spine in, you were feverish and sweaty all over, your heart was thumping out of your chest. 

“I just need an ultrasound Jenna” you pressed on as she kept on telling you that you were okay, that the last check up two weeks ago was fine, your fetus was healthy and growing. She saw the look on your face, one she’s seen one too many times. She scurrying you into an imaging room. 

“The gel’s going to be cold” she murmured, putting her glasses on as you laid down on the bed. The room went mute as she examined, her expression being grave and nervous. “Y/n, we need to admit you, now” she said, putting the transducer away and removing her gloves immediately. 

“Why?” you used your elbows to anchor yourself up. You saw the millions of thoughts race through her head as she got new gloves and a spare I.V. drip, immediately whipping out her phone to text, “I miscarried?” your voice broke, realizing her urgency.

“You’re septic, your body is actively miscarrying, do you want me to call Ja-“.

Throughout your career you’ve had to call more family members than you can count about mandatory evacuation of the fetus, emergency hysterectomy, pelvic fractures, the works. You gave those calls only to be met with judgmental, distraught, sometimes awkward, other times incompetent, partners on the other line. Jack was none of those but the common denominator was, they would rather their partner tell them than the woman who just operated on their partner. Jack had to hear it from you. Had to know you were conscious and not under the scalpel you basically lived with. 

“No- No, can you bring Heather please?” you cleared your throat, trying to process everything.

Jenna brought a wheelchair out to wheel you into a room, grabbing a hold of your arm and using the blood pressure cuff to find a vein for your I.V. “We can do this one of two ways, D&C or antibiotics” she told you, “For your sake I’d do a D&C, ultimately it’s up to you, it is a bit painful afterward but with a guaranteed outcome- we’ll put you under. Antibiotics we’d have to keep you-“.

“D&C” you responded, “Please”.

“Okay, I’ll alert Collins, she’ll come afterwards, let’s get you prepped love” she told you. 

You don’t remember anything afterwards, you do remember waking up in post-op, groggy from the anesthesia. Heather and Dana at your bedside. It hurt all over, mentally speaking, your limbs felt too heavy and you felt trapped.

“We’re going to keep her for another hour then could either of you take her home?” you heard a voice speak, another muffled voice saying ‘yes’. 

“What time is it?” you croaked from lack of the intubation tube.

“It’s 4:30 hon, they’re going to keep you until 5 and then Heather is going to take you home” Dana spoke up, hands patting your head to soothe you. “None of the staff knows you’re here, I forbade Robby from letting Jack know until you’re ready”. 

You nodded, throat bobbing from the overwhelming sense of pain and frustration. Your teeth and jaw remained clenched, you were angry, hurt, confused, most importantly, you were grieving. A sob broke out of you, the croaks that left your throat haunted both Dana and Heather. 

It was a long hour, an even longer car ride to your home. You had no idea what to tell Jack or how you even got to that point. When Heather’s car pulled in instead of yours and she helped you out of the car, confusion was the only thing that crowded his mind. He took over for Heather, saying thank you before she gave your forehead a kiss and bid you both a goodbye. Leading you into the house, seeing the pained expression on your face, he didn’t know if he should pry or give you space. You took a seat on the barstools at your island, eyes devoid of emotion, Jack stood at the counter, looking at you, studying you. 

“They-“ you tried to speak up, Jack’s ears perking, “Jenna had to perform a D&C on me today” you broke the news, “I was miscarrying and about to go into septic shock when Jenna gave me the ultrasound after I had a woman needing an angioembolization” you whispered, biting your bottom lip so hard you could taste the blood. You didn’t cry, you just told him. There was not a sheer worse pain than the cramps that overtook your body, but you could see it on Jack’s face. His normal, playful, stoicism was gone and he looked just as numb as you.

It broke your heart. You told him like you always do when he asks how it was at work. 

He breathed deeply before speaking, walking towards you in order to place a kiss on your forehead, “They got everything?”.

You nodded, “I just- I need some time” your voice cracked the tiniest bit. You shrugged him off before making your painful way to the en-suite in your bedroom. 

It hurt to pee, to stand, you gripped onto the support bar for dear life, blood trailed down your legs and pain raked through your entire body. Jack could hear your sobs from the living room. It hurt to breathe. 

Jack laid out your clothes, your heating pad, and was already making you soup. You stared at the bed for minutes which felt like hours. Your back would spasm with pain every few minutes. You dressed, got into the bed and wrapped yourself in the blankets. 

Jack walked in with the soup in hand, blowing on it so it wouldn’t burn your tongue. You remained asleep, in pain but asleep. He took his spot next to you, wrapping his arms securely around yours, letting your nervous system regulate. He let you sob into his chest, told you to drink water and eat so you can heal. 

You couldn’t. He wasn’t going to force you. Whimpers left your body as it ran feverish, Jack immediately put a cold compress on the nape of your neck. He didn’t know the words to say to remedy you. But he sure made up for it action wise. 

The days following you let him take care of you, Gloria had called and gave you all the time you’d want off, it counted as bereavement pay, the amount of times you and Jack worked overtime, you had enough days for a near two months. Heather came over to hang out with you and on her day off, Robby came to have beers with Jack in the backyard.

You weren’t in so much pain after a few days, the insomnia that hit you worried both you and Jack. Most days you didn’t speak so the irritability that coursed through you whenever something remotely pissed you off never made its way off your tongue. You decided you should tell your mom, wanting drive down to Boston the next day. Jack wanted whatever you wanted, even if it meant not spending time with you or taking care of you. Interactions with you were sparing to begin with. It was a 9 hour drive, of course he was worried, it was what you needed, he had no mind to take that from you. 

You left at 3 am, you stopped by the Pitt to say bye to him, it was the first time in a week anyone saw you and they didn’t know why. Rumors spread, first it was relationship issues, someone in your family died, maybe cheating. 

It wasn’t that bad of a car ride, when you reached your mom’s house 2 hours earlier than expected, she was worried you were driving all night without Jack. Once you made it to your mom’s arms, you instantly just broke. But then you remembered, the only person that got you, understood and truly comforted you, was Jack- and Heather. 

“At least you weren’t pregnant for that long” your mom started as you both sat down on the living room couch, there was a silence between you both as you genuinely wondered if those words had left your mom’s mouth or you were going crazy, “Look at the brigh-“.

“There is no bright side to this mom” you groaned, irritability finally running its course, “I lost a baby for pete sake’s, when this happened to Y/s/n my god I can’t even put into words how you were”.

“Well let’s be realistic, Y/s/n wasn’t putting herself at risk because she waited for what? For a career?” she prodded, “Not to mention look who you’re with Y/n, both of you are way too old to be thinking of kids, move on from that stage- you’re not even married”. 

“I have to drive hours to see you yet you drop everything to be with Y/s/n and she lives across the country” you raked a hand through your hair, “And what the fuck do you mean?”.

“Do not raise your voice at me” your mom shouted at you, “You and I both know it is more common-“.

“I’m sorry who the fuck went to medical school out of the two of us?” you cut her off, “There’s a risk every single pregnancy, you think because I’m 33 I deserve to be handed this for ‘betraying my femininity’ for a career? You don’t seem to mind said career when you’re googling xyz and calling me in the middle of the fucking night”.

She remained stunned, “You’re hormonal, you’re not thinking rat-“.

“I am fine!” you broke, gritting your teeth, “You know I’ve always had dreams about you at my wedding but don’t even fucking bother anymore” you told her, putting the nail to the coffin, grabbing your car keys. By 1 pm you were as far away as humanly possible.

You made it to Pittsburgh at 11 pm, traffic took a hold on the interstate. You had stopped in Philly to get cheesesteaks for you and Jack. When you got home, his truck wasn’t in the driveway. You pulled out your phone to text him you were back, smiling at the lock screen. 

It was one of the first photos you took with Jack, you both were in a trauma room in Daryl Kennedy’s chest cavity and Jack had identified the bleeder before thinking of pressure. Blood coated all over his gown and face, when you guys exited out of the room, it looked like you both saw war. So Bridget took it upon herself to snap a photo. 

From babe; Back so soon? 

The same way you didn’t want Jenna to be the one to break the news to him, you didn’t want him finding out about your mom via text. 

You ended up crashing on the couch, the prolonged driving, the arguing. You were grateful for the fact that you and Jack often disagreed but never got into heated arguments that left you both with a sour taste in your mouth. You won the lottery when it came to understanding and communicative partners, you thanked therapy on both of your parts and the fact that you guys suffered in the beginning, basically making everything else easier.

You woke up from Jack coming home at 7 in the morning, unlocking the front door and accidentally dropping his keys on the doorstep. You got up to stretch, feeling like you reeked of the air conditioner from your car. You met him at the door, his smile making you feel better. 

“Thought you were going to spend the night over there?” he told you, hanging his keys on the rack, kissing you as he walked to the kitchen. 

Jack refused to treat you like fragile porcelain, he knew you hated it just as much as he did when he got his leg amputated. So, he’d talk to you normally, avoiding talking about the subject unless you brought it up. Only thing he did refuse was sex, you needed to heal internally. He did give you massages every other night, you’d beg him to massage your clit only for him to try and the contraction of your vagina to cause pain in your pelvis. 

“We got in an argument” you confessed, trailing behind him, “Didn’t really end so well”.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked as he went into the fridge for his water jug. 

“She insinuated this happened because I focused on being a surgeon in my twenties- I passed my prime and knew the risks” you sighed. 

“What do you think?”.

“I think I was just careless, I was working long days, overtime and always on my feet- I was stressing myself out” you shrugged. 

“You weren’t careless Y/n” he said before taking a swig of water, “Hell do you not remember the amount of books we bought?” he chuckled, “We’ll- you’ll get through this”.

“We will” you clarified, “It takes two” you joked. It was the first time you had- if anything this is the most Jack’s gotten out of you in days. 

After a moment of comfortable silence, you gave him a hug, leading him to kiss the top of your head. “I’m sorry” you whispered.

“For?”.

“I’ve nudged you out of this” you sighed, “I don't even know how you feel”.

He looked into your eyes, “I feel like we should wait, let time run its course” he got closer to you, “When the time comes, it’ll come”. Jack had a staring problem, made you swoon, made others intimidated, “But for now we need to focus on you”. Those were the same eyes you fell in love with, the eyes you wish your children would have, “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”.

“I feel like I’ve rushed and forced this whole thing” you sighed, tears slightly welling up in your eyes, “Would we have gotten engaged if we didn’t almost break up over that argument?” you were spilling every thought and word, you knew him, you knew he wouldn’t get defensive over something you felt, “Better yet kids? Would that have even been a thought a couple months ago?”.

He sighed before squatting down so you can look down at him rather than up this entire time, it hurt the hell out of his back and put more pressure than he’d be comfortable with on his prosthetic. “I’ve wanted both of those things, before and during you” he took your knees in his hands, “It was hard to come to terms with it especially after already-“ he’s grip on your knees went tense, “It was always a ‘when and where’ with you. Before, dating, marriage, hell even hookups, kids, all were off the tables- not even a thought. I have to admit I’ve had my doubts, I’ve had vices and moments where I felt like I couldn’t be enough for you, couldn’t be enough to be there for you” he confessed, your hands found their way to his, “But I’m not me without you”.

“I’m not me without you either” you spoke up, “You’ve been more than enough help to me Jack” you slowly appreciated, “I need time. So much time that I can’t put a limit on” you spared breath, swallowing the shudder, “I love you, I don’t want this to break us”.

“Y/n, you could never drag me out of this, unless it was something you really wanted” he told you, “You’re it for me- for as long as you’ll have me”.

You returned to work that Monday, working day shifts, your engagement ring shining again the fluorescents. It turned down the rumors of the nurses, the silence as they saw you working was enough. The warmth of Pittsburgh cascading through the air, spring in full swing. 

By the middle of April, you decided to take a test, two weeks of sporadic and careful passion with your fiance. As the lines indicated a pregnancy, you immediately dropped everything that night, driving to PTMC as quickly as you could. You stole Jack away from his job, he was worried for you, thinking you were hurt, only for you to ask for a blood test. All indicative of pregnancy.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[sanjisblackasswife]

Caleb x Black Fem Reader

You confessed to Caleb while drunk and mentioned your unspoken night together.

Caleb takes care of you when you’re sick, when you’re having cramps, but he never thought he’d take care of you when you were—-

“I’m not drunk.”

“You are, Pips…”

This week haven’t been the best, college is kicking your ass, work is kicking your ass, your best friend Caleb haven’t been around as much as you want—-it’s stressful.

You usually don’t drink, a few glasses of wine is always enough, but after just BARELY passing your final exam knowing you studied your ass off all night made you just want to wash away your irritation, even if it’s for the night.

And if you might regret it in the morning.

Caleb always kept tabs on you, location and tracker on to know if you are ever in danger. Being the man that he is it wouldn’t surprise him if he did have enemies trying to hurt you. Though that wasn’t the case, he left his job early to come get you when he called and you chose not to answer.

“She just kept saying Caleb and drinking. Now she’s—“

“I got her. C’mon y/n…”

“CALEBBBBB!” Your face was warm, feeling nothing but bubbily and happy you throw your arms around him, and Caleb picks you up with one arm with ease bridal style and takes you to his car, “BYE GUYYYSSSS!”

You definitely going to be the topic of tomorrow’s work meeting between your coworkers.

Caleb never seen you this drunk, tipsy sure, but you were clearly not lucid. Eyelids lowered and you had a very sneaky subtle smile whenever you stared at him that made him feel a little suspicious as he buckled you up.

“You should have at least invited me.” The car was silent, you weren’t facing him anymore just mindlessly looking at the flashing lights of the city night, “If you’re going to drink you should be around me that way I can watch you.”

“Just watch?” You slowly blink at him, looking down at his pants you place your hand on his thigh, immediately causing him to tense up, he loved your touch, he melted everytime you even leaned on his shoulder but this wasn’t the time for that right now.

“Why not drink with me….?”

“Who would take us home? One of us has to be sober, stupid.”

“You’re stupid.” You weakly barked at him, your tone wasn’t malicious, but borderline hurt, “I’m only drinking because of you.”

Caleb’s heart sunk in a bit, making him adjust himself in his seat. He knew better than anybody why you were upset, he has been gone a lot lately, he feels terrible about it. Leaving you alone at his place or yours when he promises to spend the whole night with you.

“I’m sorry…I am. Tomorrow it’s just you and me okay? I promise.”

“…and what about tonight?”

“Tonight…I will be right with you. Making sure you don’t wake up with a hang over.”

“Tuh.” You laugh, looking back at the window, “I’m not even drunk. Tipsy perhaps.”

Caleb just laughed, still a bit stung from your words he continues to drive in silence until he takes you back home, and carries you to your room.

“Here. Do you need help taking your clothes off?”

You stared at him, examined his features. Was it you or was he finer than usual?

You looked like a little puppy, tilting your head at him, Caleb would be a liar if he didn’t admit you were so cute right now, but his main mission was to get you back sober. Just enough to prevent a headache.

But you made it difficult.

“Take my clothes off…sir.”

Your tall, usually composed friend would have given you a little snarky remark back, but he seen from the look in your eye, you weren’t feeling a bit different than usual.

Almost similar to that one night.

Your curls were all over the place like that night, you bit your lip the same like that night, they way you smiled at him was like that night—-even the tension in the room when he approached you.

Ignoring your comment he begins with your top, sliding it off you as gentle as he could to prevent hurting you, that’s when you landed on your back in the bed, squirming a little without breaking contact with Caleb’s darker purple eyes. “Now pants.”

He made sure you were okay with unbuttoning your bottoms and you nodded, “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable okay? Please.”

“I’m never uncomfortable with you, Cay…”

His big doe eyes looked up at you, a tinge of worry came about, but when you noticed it you smiled at him to cup his cheek, “I’m okay Caleb…I promise. Go ahead.”

He sighs softly in relief, you’re intoxicated, but not enough to not make decisions for yourself. And you wanted to reassure him of that.

Especially for what you wanted to ask him.

When he took off your pants you wiggled your legs, still looking at his broad backs en slim waist as he searches for you a shirt to wear with dilated eyes,

“Let’s recreate night we shared did after graduation.”

You seen his entire body tense up, he looked at you through your vanity mirror with widened eyes, a look of shock almost, “I thought—-Y/N i thought we swore not to…talk about that night.”

Caleb tried laughing it off, as much as he’s trying to put you off right now, he wouldn’t dare do anything with you after drinking. He wants you again, but not like this.

“I’m not drunk Cay.” You sit up, walking towards him to hug his back, “I know what I said. I know what I’m doing…I want —need you again.”

His knuckles turned white from how tightly he held your shirt, not saying anything due to being too tongue tied, his mind already remembering that night like it was yesterday you continued, “I need to feel you again….feel you on top of me. Kissing me. Holding me. It’s been years, but I still think about every minute of that night….and how you felt….”

You place your forehead on the center of his back as if it’s his own forehead and , inhaled his natural scent ,

“Inside me.”

With the quickness he turned around and held your cheeks, his eyes searched yours as if he was trying to find confirmation. You can see it in his expression he was conflicted. whether to kiss you or stop you from speaking. Though he believes you know what you’re saying he had to deny you of this one thing. Just for tonight.

“If…any other time you’ve said this….I ….I would’ve said yes. But for now…I need your undivided attention and consent to what you’re asking me….okay? “

“So you don’t want me.”

“I want you as bad as i breathe.” He immediately responded assertively and confidently, “but I’m telling you no now because I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind…..you understand?”

His thumb caresses you, falling sleepy into his touch alone you kiss his palm and nod, he was right. Though you felt more than confident to say yes and no, it may just be that liquid courage making you feel bolder.

Caleb exhales and smiles, putting you on your pjs for the night and putting you to bed, he went to the kitchen to clear his mind and bring you some water and aspirin.

He thinks about the night you took each others virginities everyday, but since that night you both just never spoke about it again. He always hoped you want to talk about it, and hopefully in the morning you do.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

One Night

Summary: Joaquin Torres x fe!Reader -> One Night is never just one night.

Disclaimer: 16+ with sexual themes, FwB/enemies to lovers, swearing, platonic!Kate Bishop. Not Proof Read.

One Night. 

They say it just takes One Night for everything to change. You just didn’t expect it to be that night. 

When Kate walked into the compound kitchen and living area that morning, she had been expecting no-one. Not a single person. 

Clint was at home with Laura and the kids, Natasha had wrangled Steve and Sam to help her plan Yelena’s birthday party, Bucky had been sent to talk to the cake shop since the owner seemed to always take a shine to him and practically melted any time he walked through the door. She was in her late eighties, but was quite possibly the most terrifying woman Natasha had ever met. So, Bucky it was. 

Kate figured Joaquin would still be in bed since he’d finished up his work pretty late last night. He was still in his office when Kate walked by, having worked two hours of overtime herself. 

As for Tony and everyone else, they were taking their long awaited vacations. 

And as for you. Well, Kate had never woken up before you. In fact, nobody had. Not even Steve who’d wake up at four-thirty every morning to go for a run. Everyone was pretty sure you didn’t even own pajamas. They’d never seen you in them, for starters. And Kate was 97.6% sure you were a vampire, or some kind of supernatural creature that never seemed to sleep. 

But that morning…

That morning she walked into the kitchen and living space to see you, stood by the kitchen island, stirring some creamer into your coffee, dressed in pajamas. 

Kate had to take a mental image. Maybe more than one. You were human?!

Your hair was down from the usual braid-into-bun. You were wearing a short length, earthy green robe. With, from what Kate could gather, was a matching set underneath. 

You hadn’t spotted her yet, which was also unusual. You’d usually say the person’s name before they even walked into the room, already knowing who they were. It made trying to get the jump on you all that more frustrating. 

But Kate couldn’t even take any satisfaction out of scaring you when you jumped after spotting her, because you were in pajamas. 

“Jesus, Kate. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Why were you in pajamas? 

Was it your birthday? 

No. Natasha had found out your birthday after hacking Shield’s computer system. It wasn’t your birthday. 

Had you finally taken time off?

Were they a present? Maybe a Secret Santa gift for last year?

“Kate?”

“You’re in pajamas.” 

Those were the only words she could form as she tried to figure out why. 

You chuckled and looked down. “Yeah. Because it’s the morning and I just woke up.”

Kate’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “You slept in?”

You looked at her, a little dumbfounded. “Yeah. I had a late night last night.”

“Doing what? You usually clock off at six like the rest of us.”

You shrugged. “I had some paperwork to catch up on. Are you okay?”

Kate had to physically shake her head in order to restart her entire body. Once she had done that, she moved closer into the kitchen like a normal person. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Just surprised to find out you own pajamas. I thought you just kinda woke up ready for the day.”

“I wish, but no.” You smiled before lifting your coffee mug to your lips. And you were glad you had something to cover your face with because what happened next was not a situation you had fully prepared for. 

“So, now that I know you own more than just tactical gear. I was thinking we could-”

“Morning.”

Kate looked behind her after hearing Joaquin’s voice as he walked inside, also in his pajamas. 

“Morning,” you replied. 

Kate’s head whipped around to look at you as Joaquin passed her. “Coffee?”

“In the pot,” you told him. 

Kate was starting to give herself whiplash as she looked between yourself and Joaquin. The cogs started turning and the longer she watched both of you, the faster they started turning until they all finally clicked into place. 

“What were you saying, Kate?”

Kate’s mind was screaming. 

“Kate?”

The chair she had been sitting on practically fell over. “I need to speak to you. Now. Right now.” Kate rounded the kitchen island before taking you by your elbow. 

“Hey, watch my coffee.”

Keeping a hold of your mug, you tried your hardest not to spill any as Kate dragged you from the room, down the hallway and around the corner and through the double doors that led out to a different section of the balcony. 

“Kate, that the hell is wrong-”

“You slept with Joaquin?!” 

Your shoulders somehow both relaxed and tensed. “Oh. That.”

“That?!” Kate spat in shock. “That?! Y/n!”

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems? It’s not as bad as it seems?”

You looked at her, “Are you just gonna keep repeating what I say?”

“Y/n! It’s not like you two are known for frollacing on a beach together. Quite the opposite.”

Kate had you there. It wasn’t exactly a secret to people that you and Joaquin weren’t the best of friends. Or even co-workers. You didn’t know what it was, you just never got along. You spent more time fighting with each other that it would be more believable to be known for doing as much on a beach together, rather than frollocking. 

“Kate-”

“How-How did this even happen? How long has this been going on? Oh, my god. Was it an act? Just to throw us off the scent?”

“No, no, no. Kate.” You put your coffee down on a table before taking her by the shoulders. “It’s nothing like that. It was just one night.”

Kate just sighed, “It’s never just one night.”

“Yes, it is.”

Kate became a little calmer, or rather, was starting to internalise her freak out. But it didn’t last long because the minute you let go of her, she threw her arms in the air. “God, I can’t believe this. God, what are the others gonna think?”

“They’re not gonna think anything because they’re not gonna find out. It was a one night thing. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re in pajamas. How long ago did-” Then Kate shook her head. “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know. Actually, yes I do. Hm, no. No, I don’t. Hm. Yes. No. Yes. Okay. No wait. Don’t tell me. Tell me.”

“Kate?”

She just nodded. “Tell me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, suppressing the smile on your face. 

“Yes.”

You waited for her to stop you again, but when she didn’t, you finally told her. 

“It was late last night, and yes, he’s good. Whoever he ends up with will be a lucky woman.”

Kate looked up at you, a little shocked. She was pretty sure that was the very first compliment you’d ever given Joaquin. Like, ever. 

“Wow.”

Kate finally sat down. After a morning training session and finding out about you and Joaquin…she was exhausted. 

You sat opposite to her at the coffee table. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle escaping you. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kate looked at you. She did. She was more curious than scared. “How about I go and get dressed and we can head into the city? Go and check out that new boutique?”

“How do you do that?” That was what Kate had been planning to ask you before Joaquin walked inside. 

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Over the next five hours, Kate asked you every question she could think of twice. 

What the hell happened?

Did he kiss you first? Or was it you? 

Did you enjoy it?

Did he enjoy it?

What the hell happened?

And you’d explained everything. At the makeup counter, at the deli, inside the curtain set up for two dressing rooms in the new boutique, at the coffee shop and on the drive both in and out of the city. 

“I just…I can’t even imagine you two having a conversation. I mean, that’s what gave it away this morning. You never tell him where the coffee is, even when he asks. And you never say good morning to him.”

You chuckled. “Kate, it’s not a big deal. It was just one night.”

“That’s what they all say. And before you know it…it’s not just one night anymore.”

You had just rolled your eyes and brushed it off. You and Joaquin had both agreed before and after that it would be a one time thing. 

You’d kissed him by accident. And after pulling away, he’d pulled you back. It had only gotten more heated from there until eventually you collapsed beside him in his bed. You’d both fallen asleep shortly afterwards and as much as part of you wanted to stay laying beside him when you woke up, you knew you couldn’t. 

Though, maybe you should have. It would have saved you watching Kate have an aneurysm at realising exactly why you were in your pyjamas, why you had slept in, and why you were talking to Joaquin like you actually considered him a friend of some kind. 

And you were both adamant it was to be a One Night thing. But apparently neither of you had factored into the conversation how good it truly was. Not just the sex, but not fighting each other all the time. 

“I need you.”

You’d been walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when Bucky suddenly nearly pulled your arms out of its socket as he dragged you inside the training room. “Sam’s stuck me with the elementary kids.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” You asked, sounding a little mad. 

“Just demonstrate something to the kids.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. You and Joaquin figure something out.”

“Joaquin?” You practically threw up his name before Bucky answered, “Yes,” and threw you towards the training mat where you were met with Joaquin. 

“Okay, kids, these two very helpful volunteers are gonna show you what sparring is.”

“We are?” You and Joaquin asked. 

Apparently you were. 

Which was how you found yourself and Joaquin explaining small moves that the kids could copy, safely. However, Joaquin had been enjoying himself far too much, so taking the opportunity to explain a small self-defence method, you sent him flying to the floor. 

All the kids took in a breath, some laughed, some gasped. 

But once Joaquin laughed, letting the kids know he was okay, they all relaxed. 

“Okay, rugrats. You’ve got fifteen minutes to use the climbing frame!” Bucky announced before letting the kids run free. Meanwhile, you remained on top of Joaquin. 

“That was fun.”

“Really got the drop on me, didn’t you?”

“Those kids were boosting your ego far too much.”

“My god,” Joaquin breathed. “Are you jealous?”

“Hell no,” you laughed. “Just don’t think your ego needs inflating anymore than it already has.”

“Well,” Joaquin suddenly flipped you and had you pinned under him. “I could say the same about you. You forget I know what I’m doing, Angel.” 

For that last part, he leaned down and whispered it low so only you could hear. A slight whimper threatened to escape you but when you were met with Joaquin’s eyes once again, one of the kids had dropped an end of a bench, reminding both of you where you were and who you were around. 

Carefully, Joaquin climbed off you before lowering his hand down to you to help you up. Without thinking, you accepted. You were greeted with the same kind of electricity you’d experienced that night when he’d intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head before tantalisingly moving down your body…

“If you don’t need me?” You called out to Bucky. He brought his forgotten attention back to you both. 

“Yeah. Thanks!”

You just nodded, before nodding at Joaquin. His hand waited as long as it could to let you go as you walked away, his gaze trailing after you and you left the training room and hurried back the way you came before Bucky had pulled you inside. 

Later that night, long after the training room and a short while after dinner where you and Joaquin had tried to avoid contact; seemingly making more than either of you had done in three years. He knocked on your door. 

All he wanted to do was check in on you. Maybe apologise for what happened in the training room. Maybe ask why you hadn’t scoffed at his choice of food combos at dinner like you usually did. But instead, once he opened the door, the wind was knocked from him completely. 

“I just wanted to-” Joaquin was trying to find his words again after seeing you, but he was struggling. 

But that didn’t matter. Because your lips were on his almost instantly. Pulling him inside, his hands pulled you closer to him. You shut the door and he pushed you against it. 

Hours later, sweating and gasping for breath yet again, you both told each other it was just a One Time thing. Well, a two-time thing. 

Yet, just as Kate had predicted, it wasn’t. 

“It happened again.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth as she opened her apartment door. “I told you.”

“What happened?” Yelena yelled from the living room, a pint of ice cream in her lap. 

“It’s Y/n!”

That was all Kate had to say as she invited you inside for Yelena to reply, “Did she and the Bird Boy sleep together again?”

“Did you tell her?”

Kate shook her head as she locked the door. “She already knew. Don’t ask me how.”

“Did she bring drinks? This conversation is gonna need drinks!” Yelena called out. 

Over the next three hours, you sat on Kate and Yelena’s couch, mortified at what had happened. 

“I told you it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing. If you both enjoy it, and I can tell you do-”

“Yelena!”

“What?” Yelena asked. “You’ve been less pissy since the first time. I’m just saying…if you both enjoy it, enjoy it.”

“But it’s more than that.”

“What is?”

When you didn’t answer, both Yelena and Kate looked at each other, already knowing. 

“Y/n…”

Kate pushed your hands from your face. “Do you like Joaquin?”

“No! No, of course not!”

Yelena dug her spoon into her pint of ice cream. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You just groaned. “I can’t. What? Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Kate said, shaking her head. 

“She thinks you and Joaquin are gonna get married.” 

“Yelena!” It was Kate’s turn to yell at her roommate. 

“What?”

You looked at Kate. “You really think that? Really?”

Kate had been the one person to see everything. Every reason you gave as to why you didn’t like Joaquin. And clearly this marriage concept to her wasn’t new. 

“Look, I just think, sometimes, the lines between love and hate can be a little…fuzzy. Yelena?”

She just shrugged. “If you want to fuck him, fuck him. But if you love him…”

You barked out a laugh. “Whoa, hey, hey, okay. No. No. We’re not- no. I don’t love Joaquin.”

Yelena hummed to herself, holding up her spoon, “The lady-”

“Hey,” Kate raised her voice and Yelena kept hers silent, but still acted out what she was going to say. 

“Kate?”

“Look,” Kate took your hands in hers. “Maybe this was it. But, Yelena’s right. If you like Joaquin, maybe you should tell him. Before someone gets hurt.”

It was sound advice. And you gave yourself some time to figure it out. Maybe it was just the sex. Maybe he’d just muddled your brain. Time away would be good. 

But time didn’t fix feelings as you came to find out. 

After the third One Night, you’d accepted a three month placement from Hill. Maybe time away would do you good. And it worked, for the first six weeks. Joaquin didn’t cross your mind once. 

Until the day he walked inside your tent with some of his tech gear, “Where can I set up?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Don’t sound too happy to see me.”

You would come to learn Joaquin had been sent in place of Yelena. A woman you sent a very, very long text to: who only replied with a kissy face and a good luck symbol. 

“I’m gonna kill her.”

“What?”

You looked up at Joaquin, “Nothing.”

It took three weeks and thirty different fights, including mini spats, for something to break between both yourself and Joaquin. 

“Do you do this by accident, or do you just enjoy being a pain in my ass?” 

“Says the guy who can’t leave me alone to do the work I’ve been trained for!”

“Well excuse me for giving a crap about my team-mate?”

You barked a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. I’m pretty sure you’d rather fly me to the top of the Empire State and drop me.”

“Believe me, that hasn’t not crossed my mind once or twice.”

You were just standing opposite each other, your chests heaving for breath when all of a sudden his hands were in your hair, your hands were pulling his overshirt from him and his lips were crashing against yours. 

With his tongue dipping inside your mouth, tasting you, he moaned. “I’ve missed this.”

Shaking your shirt from your arms, your hand slipped into his curls and pulled his kiss closer to you. As you ass bumped against the table set up, Joaquin moved his kisses from your lips to across your jaw and down your neck. 

It was the first time neither of you talked about it being a One Night thing. Because, between the kissing and the breathy moans, a silent agreement had been made. This could never have been a One Night thing. 

You couldn’t keep lying to yourself. You’d missed it, too. You’d missed him. 

And part of that conversation came to a head the next night when Joaquin found you in your tent since you’d been avoiding him all day. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Joaquin-”

“No, I don’t wanna fight. Not tonight. I just want an answer.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Yes, you have. Despite our history, I know you, Y/n. You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

You stopped folding your clothes and looked at him. For the first time in forever, you too didn’t want to fight him. Not with him standing there looking all…Joaquin-like. A kind, yet worried face. A comfortable presence. 

You moved closer, pulling him in to kiss you. This kiss was different. Rather than raw and needy for sex, it was a little more delicate. But there was still a force behind it. 

“Because I’ve missed this, too. I’ve missed you, Joaquin.”

Joaquin looked you in your eyes as you stood, inches from his face. You weren’t lying. Even when you’d been fighting him, and he’d been fighting you, one thing he’d known since the beginning was when you were lying. 

He was apparently the only person you knew with that skill, which just added another thing to the list of why you hated him so much.

You weren’t lying. 

Joaquin didn’t say anything. He just kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. 

And for the first time, you both took it slow. Well, slower. 

“I think this is gonna be more than a one time thing.”

You laughed as Joaquin broke the silence with his sentence, and his laughter joined yours until you kissed him, crawling to straddle him under your bed covers.

By the time you both got back, it was like nothing had ever happened. You and Joaquin seemed to fall right back into your old ways with each other. 

But none of it was real. 

The truth was in how he kissed you late at night, and in how he would brush his hand across your hip as he passed you in the kitchen. It was in the way you’d pull him around the corner in an empty hallway and kiss him. It was in the way he’d lean against your body and it was in the way a quiet moan, only he could hear, would leave you as his leg pushed between both of yours. 

The truth was in the way he’d watch you as you sat up in bed, reading over different mission material. It was in the way you’d look at him when he was training in the training room, early in the morning, the sun kissing the sheen of his skin as he ran his third mile on the treadmill. 

The truth was in the way he followed behind you, no matter who was around either of you. It was in the way you both fought less with your superiors about being placed together for different training exercises and missions. 

The truth was in the way you had both been slowly falling for each other, despite wishing for the opposite. 

“I’m gonna ask Y/n on a date.” 

That had been the statement Joaquin had blurted out to Kate one afternoon when everyone else was at training. 

“W-w-what? Oh, yeah. No, that’s cool.”

Joaquin just looked at her, “You’re a terrible actor.”

“I am not!”

“I already know you know.”

Kate relaxed. “Oh, okay then. So, you’re gonna ask her out? Finally!” Kate smiled. 

“I just can’t decide where. I want this to be perfect. But I don’t want to set us up for failure.”

Kate watched as Joaquin sat beside her on the sofa and pulled out his phone, scrolling through the different options he had written down in his notes app. Any of the options he had would be good. 

But that wasn’t what made her smile. 

It was the fact that Joaquin was putting so much thought into it. He always put a lot of thought into things, but knowing it was for you. For both of you. It made her want to say “HA!” to Yelena. 

But if Joaquin was being completely honest with himself, from knocking on your door and hearing you walking to open it, he’d never been so nervous in his entire life. 

“Joaquin,” you seemed surprised. Probably because he had knocked in a way that might throw you off in thinking it wasn’t him, giving him a few more seconds to psych himself up. 

“I want to take you on a date.” Well, there went the speech he’d prepared. “And I’m hoping you’ll say yes because this isn’t just-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes,” you repeated. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

“You will?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Joaquin smiled before stepping inside and kissing you before you closed the door. 

You didn’t quite know when or why, but you and Joaquin had gone from being at each other’s throats aggressively to it being affectionate. And for some reason - one that Kate would probably explain to you one day - you wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

And neither would Joaquin.

[batsovergotham]

CHAPTER 3 PART 1

you called it “a one-time thing” and then did it again immediately

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

summary - you were supposed to form an alliance. instead you slept with him three days in and now you have no idea what’s happening.

content notice: 18+ SMUT (fingering, blowjobs, cunnilingus, 69, voyeurism, biting (?), squirting, overstimulation, mean mark (not really he's just jealous), mentions of SA

a/n: thank you for all of your lovely asks and comments <3 also sorry for any mistakes its currently 3am for me

The ship doesn’t wake you.

He does.

Not by movement, or sound, but by presence. His breath, warm against your shoulder. The solid weight of his chest pressed to your back. His arm around your waist, his hand splayed low over your ribs. The way his legs tangle with yours, like he never planned to let go.

The soreness hits next. Between your thighs. In your hips. A low ache that pulses quietly as you stretch. But it’s not sharp. It doesn’t feel wrong. If anything, it anchors you. A reminder of what happened. What you gave. What he took, gently, reverently. What you shared.

You shift slightly under the blankets, and feel the other weight pressed against you.

Marky.

Still curled up at your chest, tucked into your side like he’s always belonged there. His little hand rests against your stomach, fingers still holding tight to his dinosaur toy. His hair is a dark halo around his head, his cheek pillowed against your skin.

He must’ve climbed into bed after you fell asleep.

You stare at him, heart softening with a strange kind of ache. Not pain. Not fear. Something quieter. A tenderness you don’t fully know what to do with. You’ve faced monsters. Fought warlords. Endured silence and ceremony. But this, this is new.

“You’re up,” Mark murmurs behind you, his voice still rough with sleep. His hand slides across your stomach, pulling you closer before he kisses your shoulder, slow and distracted.

You nod. “He came in after I fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes still closed. “Said he heard something. Thought you were hurt.”

You wince. “I didn’t mean to scare him.”

“You didn’t. He just…he cares. He calmed down once he saw you were okay.”

You glance down at the boy now nestled into you like a second heartbeat. “He came right to me.”

Mark hums. “He likes you.”

The warmth in your chest spreads. You let your hand rest lightly on Marky’s back. He stirs but doesn’t wake.

There’s silence for a beat.

Then, gently, you ask, “Why isn’t he with Eve?”

Mark’s hand stills. You feel the change before he says anything.

“What do you mean?” he says, quiet.

“I mean—” You pause, trying to find the words. “You said Terra’s with Eve. I just assumed… she was his mother too.”

You don’t mean it as an accusation. You’re not trying to imply anything. It’s just strange. You’ve seen how carefully Marky is watched over. How protected he is. How loved. And yet he’s here, on a ship, in the middle of Empire affairs. Not on Earth. Not with her.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, sensing the tension that creeps into his body. “That might be a foolish assumption. I’m still learning how things work here.”

Mark’s quiet. For longer than feels comfortable.

Then he says, low and tight, “She’s not his mom.”

The air shifts.

You nod, staying still. “I didn’t know.”

“No one really does.” He doesn’t elaborate. “It’s not something I talk about.”

You don’t push. But his silence says enough. Not because of what he tells you but because of what he doesn’t.

You hear it in the change of his voice. The way he withdraws, not physically, not fully, but enough that you feel it. A part of him closing, like a door you weren’t meant to find.

“She has Terra,” he adds after a moment. “Our daughter. That’s her world now.”

“And yours is here,” you say softly.

He nods once.

You glance down at Marky again. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Mark doesn’t answer.

Not right away.

When he finally does, his voice is low. Quiet. Tired. “He’s… everything I have left.”

Your chest tightens.

You know grief. You’ve seen it in the faces of warriors too long in battle. In the silence of your father’s council when names are read. But this grief is different. It’s not a wound he wears with pride. It’s buried deep. Private. Raw.

“I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful,” you say gently.

“You didn’t,” he lies.

You don’t call him on it.

You just settle deeper into his arm, letting your fingers trace lazy circles along Marky’s back. You feel the boy breathe against you. Feel Mark’s hand flex slowly against your side.

“I don’t understand all of this yet,” you say after a while. “But I think I want to.”

Mark lets out a breath. Not quite a sigh. “It’s not simple.”

“Neither am I.”

You feel him shift again. His mouth brushes your shoulder. His voice is quieter now. “You’re not what I expected.”

“You either.”

His arm wraps more firmly around you, but you can still feel the tension in his body. The way he hasn’t relaxed all the way since the question. He’s here, but part of him is elsewhere, pulled back behind whatever wall you touched.

Still, he doesn’t leave.

He stays.

His thumb brushes against your ribs. His forehead presses to the back of your neck.

“You’re not a complication,” he says finally. “Just… something I didn’t see coming.”

You smile faintly, even if he can’t see it.

“Story of my life.”

He huffs a low laugh, and you feel some of the tightness ease.

You shift slightly under the covers and let your body press more fully into his. Marky’s still tucked into you, his breath steady, his little hand still clutched tight to his toy. You wonder what he dreams about. If he knows what it means to feel safe. To be wanted.

You close your eyes and let yourself stay still.

The room is quiet in the way few places ever are in your life. There are no marching orders, no war council, no ceremonial armor to bear. Just heat. Breath. The scent of Mark’s skin where it still clings to yours.

You lie in a loose tangle of limbs, Mark behind you, arm draped heavy across your waist. His hand rests just beneath your stomach, skin against skin. He hasn’t spoken since the last thread of your conversation faded. Not because there’s nothing to say. But because sometimes silence means more.

The sheet is pooled low around your neck. Your neck is covered in the evidence of his mouth, purple and red, bitten and claimed. You don’t feel ashamed. Not here. Not with him.

But you do flinch slightly when you feel the smaller body between you stir.

Marky shifts under the blanket, snuffling once before his head lifts slowly, eyes blinking up at you. His hair is a soft, tangled mess. He looks at you. Blinks again.

And then frowns.

“Why are you… bruised?” he asks, voice soft but concerned.

You pause, surprised. You follow his gaze, realizing how exposed your shoulder is, how visible the bruising must be in the gold morning light.

Marky pushes up on his elbow and leans closer, squinting at your skin. “Did someone hit you?”

Behind you, Mark stiffens slightly. Not enough to move. But enough that you feel the change.

Marky’s hand reaches out and brushes gently over your collarbone, just under the worst of the marks.

“Was it during the spar?” he asks. “Did she fall?”

“No,” you say gently. “It wasn’t from fighting. Your father—”

Mark’s voice cuts in, low and fast. “She landed hard.”

You blink, confused. “No, I wasn’t thrown. I was—”

Mark’s arm tightens slightly around you.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s looking at you with a very specific kind of tension in his eyes. His brows are low, jaw tight, and there’s something urgent behind the look. Not anger. Not shame. Just… warning.

You hesitate. “…I was bruised, but not from falling.”

Marky frowns deeper. “So you were hurt?”

“I’m not hurt,” you say quickly, hand brushing his. “I’m just… sore. That’s all.”

Marky leans in again, inspecting you with that single-minded intensity only a child can manage. He reaches out like he means to soothe the bruise, to erase it with his fingers.

You catch his hand gently in yours.

“Thank you,” you say, voice soft. “But it doesn’t need healing. It’s not a wound.”

“You said he didn’t throw you,” Marky replies. “Then what happened?”

You glance at Mark again.

His expression hasn’t changed. Still steady. Still silent. But there’s a quiet fire behind his eyes. One that tells you plainly, don’t answer that question.

You look back at Marky.

“I’m still learning how people here talk about things like this,” you say slowly. “On Eternia, we don’t always hide… the signs of closeness.”

Marky blinks. “Closeness bruises you?”

“It can,” you murmur, blushing now. “Sometimes.”

He frowns, trying to make sense of it. “Did you hug too hard?”

Mark coughs. You elbow him.

“No,” you say. “Something… like that.”

Marky looks unsatisfied but eventually nods. “You need armor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

A pause.

Then, without lifting his head, he says into your covered ribs. “Are you gonna live with us now?”

You freeze.

Marky curls against you again like the question isn’t a question at all, like it’s a natural conclusion. You’re here. You stayed. Of course, you’ll stay.

Behind you, Mark goes still.

Not stiff. Not angry. Just… arrested. Breath held between thoughts.

You glance toward him, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. He’s looking past you at the ceiling, unreadable.

You look down at Marky again, voice gentler. “That’s not really up to me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… complicated.”

He furrows his brow. “Do you want to?”

You nod slowly. “I think I do.”

Mark doesn’t say anything.

But his arm pulls you just a little closer. His thumb strokes once along your side.

And Marky, satisfied, yawns into your chest like he’s already forgotten he asked.

You don’t know what to say after that.

So you don’t.

You just let yourself breathe. Bruised, half-covered, tangled up in something you’ve never been allowed to want. 

The knock comes like a gentle reminder.

Three soft raps, then stillness.

Mark’s arm doesn’t move from around your waist. His breath stays slow against the back of your shoulder. You’re curled into the sheets, covered, still warm from the skin-to-skin quiet of morning. Marky’s tucked in front of you, blinking blearily awake again.

Mark taps the comm panel beside the bed. “Yeah?”

Ursaal’s voice filters through, clear and calm. “Good morning. I’ve come to assist Marky with bathing before his rotation.”

Marky groans, dramatic and immediate. “Noooo. She does the ear thing.”

You blink, confused. “The ear thing?”

“She scrubs them like she’s polishing a starcruiser.”

You hear a faint huff of amusement from the other side of the door. “If you held still, I wouldn’t have to chase you around your own head.”

“I like my ears dirty!” Marky argues, hiding his face in your side.

Mark rolls his eyes. “He’s just stalling.”

You sit up a little, gathering the blanket to your chest. Marky doesn’t move, he clings tighter.

“I could help him,” you offer gently, glancing at Mark. “If it’s alright.”

Mark’s brow furrows faintly, about to object. But Marky grabs your hand and beams.

“Yes. You won’t scrub like you’re trying to melt my skin off.”

“You're grimy after training, and you smell like a locker,” comes Ursaal’s voice through the panel. “I don’t work miracles, I use soap.”

Marky scrunches his nose and sticks out his tongue at the door. “Mean.”

“She’s not mean,” you murmur, amused. “She just cares.”

“Ursaal likes him,” Mark adds, settling back against the headboard. “She just doesn’t baby him.”

“She gives me lectures. While I’m naked.”

“She gives everyone lectures.”

You hear the door slide open with a soft hiss. Ursaal steps inside, tall and composed in her uniform. Her black hair hangs lose and her eyes sweep over the scene, Marky still pressed into your side, you half-draped in a sheet, Mark sprawled shirtless behind you.

Ursaal’s gaze flicks to the fading bruises on your shoulder. Then to Mark. She doesn’t comment.

Instead, she lifts a brow and deadpans, “Am I being replaced?”

Marky peeks at her. “Only a little.”

Ursaal steps forward, datapad in hand. “I’m wounded.”

He grins and shrinks into your side. “You pinch me when I squirm.”

“You squirm like a weasel in zero gravity.”

Marky giggles. “You like me.”

Ursaal kneels in front of him, reaching up to flick his ear gently. “More than you deserve.”

You watch them, heart softening. There’s no real tension. Just the quiet familiarity of people who’ve done this a hundred times.

“I don’t mind helping today,” you offer again. “If he wants.”

Ursaal glances at you, her expression unreadable at first. Then, a faint tilt of her mouth. “He clearly does.”

She stands smoothly. “Consider it a diplomatic delegation of responsibility. I’ll mark it in the schedule.”

“You don’t mind?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “No. He trusts you. That’s enough for me.”

Marky climbs into your lap like you’ve just signed a treaty. “She’s nicer than you,” he tells Ursaal proudly.

“She’s new,” Ursaal replies, eyes gleaming just slightly. “Give it time.”

Mark chuckles from the bed, shaking his head.

Ursaal turns to Mark, voice dry. “Should I return him to the command level when he’s clean, or wait for your next imperial whim?”

“I’ll get him after,” Mark replies. “He eats with me today.”

Ursaal nods. “I’ll be on the lower deck if you need me.”

She gives you a parting glance, something almost like approval, then exits with smooth efficiency, the door sliding closed behind her.

You look at Mark.

He’s already watching you.

“You sure?” he asks. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you say simply.

Then Marky turns in your lap, hair still damp, and tugs at your hand again. “Can you do it now?” he asks. “The bath?”

You glance at Mark.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just looks between the two of you. He’s still shirtless, still sitting in the warm dent of the bed, watching with an expression you can’t fully read. But it isn’t disapproval. It’s something heavier. Something deeper.

Finally, he nods.

“Alright,” he says, low and even. “Go easy on her, though. She’s new to your drama.”

Marky beams and hops off the bed like he’s been granted a royal decree.

You gather the blanket tighter across your chest and slide out after him, feeling Mark’s eyes on you the entire way to the adjoining chamber. You don’t look back, but you feel it, that steady, quiet weight of him watching you with something like awe and caution all tangled together.

Helping Marky bathe is simple, if a little chaotic. He tries to dive beneath the water to avoid your hands, giggles uncontrollably when you wash behind his ears, and only barely sits still long enough to let you rinse his hair. But through it all, he stays close. Close in the way children cling to people they feel safe with. You don’t have to ask if he trusts you.

It’s written all over how he smiles at you like you’ve always been there.

Once he’s dry and dressed, white Viltrumite uniform straightened to the best of his ability, you retreat to the other side of the room and step into your own change of clothes. The white dress you brought from Eternia has been freshly washed and folded, soft cotton that slips over your skin like moonlight. The open back and gold stitching near the hem give it the faintest resemblance to your ceremonial armor, but lighter. Gentler.

You tighten the simple sash at your waist.

When you return, Marky is sitting on the bench, tugging at the seam at his wrists.

He looks up at you and blinks.

Then his mouth drops open.

“Whoa.”

You pause. “What?””

You sit beside him. He leans in and takes a deep sniff of your dress.

You blink. “Marky, what are you doing?”

“You smell like my dad,” he says bluntly.

Your heart jumps. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he says, nose scrunched. “Not like soap. Just like him. Like when he hugs me after he trains.”

You look down at your lap, adjusting the fabric nervously.

Marky shrugs. “I think it’s because you slept in the same bed. He used to smell like that after Eve came over.”

You go still.

“Eve?” you ask gently.

“Yeah. She’s Terra’s mom. She used to come around more, before.”

“Before what?”

He shrugs again. “Before she stopped.”

You let him talk. His voice is quieter now, eyes on the floor.

“Sometimes she’d cry after. I saw. I didn’t say anything.”

Your chest tightens.

“She doesn’t call much anymore. Not when I’m with Dad,” he adds, like it’s just something that happens to everyone. “But Terra still says she misses him. She asks why he doesn’t visit more.”

You search his face. “And what do you say?”

“I tell her it’s ‘cause he’s busy. ‘Cause he’s got the Empire. And me.”

He leans into your side without asking, head bumping your shoulder gently.

“I lived with my mom before. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” you whisper.

“She didn’t talk much. But she always touched my hair. Said it was too soft for a Viltrumite.”

You stroke a hand gently through it now. “It is soft.”

“She died,” he says. Just that. Plain. Bare. “And then Dad came.”

You don’t press him for more. But he keeps going.

“He was scared when he got me. Even though he pretended not to be. But I could tell.”

You glance down at him. “How?”

“He wouldn’t sleep unless I was in the room. He kept checking on me at night. Like I’d disappear.”

Your throat aches. But you nod. “Sounds like he was trying.”

“He was,” Marky says. “He’s good. Just tired.”

You let the silence sit between you for a while. 

“You make him better,” Marky murmurs.

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just swings his feet. “He’s still quiet when you’re around. But it’s not the kind that hurts.”

You say nothing.

But your hand finds his, small and warm and real.

And you hold on.

Your hand tightens slightly around his.

You blink, slow, trying to keep the warmth behind your eyes from falling. The way he says it, like it’s just a fact. Like he’s seen it. Like he knows more than any eight-year-old should.

You don’t say anything.

But you pull him closer.

And he lets you.

The moment holds like that until the door slides open again.

You both turn at the soft sound of boots, measured, unhurried.

Mark steps inside, now fully dressed in the white and red of his uniform. He doesn’t speak at first. He just stops when he sees the two of you, your white dress catching the morning light like silk, Marky pressed into your side, your hand wrapped around his small fingers.

You watch something flicker behind his eyes. Something faint but impossible to miss.

Then, steady and low, he asks, “You both ready for breakfast?”

Marky perks up. “Can we eat here?”

Mark raises a brow. “You want breakfast in her quarters?”

“Yeah. Just us. It’s quieter. And she smells like you now.”

Your face heats instantly. Mark’s expression doesn’t change, but his mouth tugs, barely.

He looks at you. “You okay with that?”

You nod, gently smoothing the folds of your dress across your lap. “I’d like that.”

Mark steps toward the wall panel and keys in a request. “It’ll be brought up.”

Marky grins and throws his arms around your waist like you just saved the world.

Mark mutters, “We’re going to have to figure out where he picked up this clinginess.”

You glance at him. “I think he was born with it.”

“You might be right.”

A soft chime sounds as the first floating tray glides through the open chamber door, sleek and circular, holding fresh-cut fruit, golden fried bread rounds, and a pitcher of something warm and spiced. Another follows with folded napkins and utensils, and a smaller plate clearly meant for Marky with miniature portions and soft starch rolls.

The three of you settle around the small low table, Marky immediately sliding next to you with all the insistence of someone who’s decided you’re staying and doesn’t plan to negotiate it.

Mark sits across from you both, back against the wall, one arm slung casually over his knee. He doesn’t touch his food at first. He just watches. Quiet. Steady.

Marky grabs a roll and shoves half of it into his mouth, cheeks puffed. “You’re not allowed to be sad during breakfast,” he mumbles at you.

You blink. “I’m not sad.”

He swallows. “You look like you’re thinking about leaving.”

You glance down, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s not that simple.”

“Your brother’s transmission is scheduled to begin shortly after the meal,” Mark says, his voice low and even. “He’ll be speaking to the full council. Me. And you.”

You nod. Calm. Certain.

“I know.”

Mark studies you for a long moment. “He’ll ask for your assessment of us. Publicly. You sure you’re ready for that?”

You set your cup down gently, the ceramic barely making a sound.

“I was raised for it.”

It isn’t pride. It’s not bluster. It’s just the truth. Your tone carries the same steadiness you’ve used in battle. But this time, it’s not about leading an army, it’s about speaking plainly. About what you’ve seen.

Mark leans back slightly. “You already know what you’ll say.”

“I do,” you say softly.

He tilts his head. “Even if it makes them question you?”

You smile faintly. “He’s my brother, Mark. He’s not a stranger. If I tell him I see something different here… he’ll believe me.”

Mark doesn’t respond at first. You can tell he wants to. There’s tension in the line of his jaw. Not disbelief. Not doubt in you. Just the weight of what your words might ripple into.

Marky tugs at your arm. “What are you going to say?”

You look down at him.

“That the Empire is not what it used to be. That its people are changing. And that it’s not weakness. It’s growth.”

Marky nods slowly. “Will Adam believe that?”

You smile at him. “He knows me. He’ll hear it.”

Mark is silent again, but his eyes are locked on you.

Whatever words he had planned to offer, warnings, caveats, hesitations, die on his tongue. You’ve already made up your mind.

And that, more than anything, seems to settle something in him.

Marky slumps a little, clearly disappointed. “I want to come with you.”

“You can’t,” Mark says gently. “It’s not that kind of meeting.”

Marky looks up. “But I’ll see her after?”

Mark meets his gaze. “You will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Marky sighs, turning back to you. He leans into your side again, letting you tuck your arm around his small frame.

“I still think you should just tell them you’re staying forever,” he mutters. “Then nobody has to ask anything.”

You brush his hair gently off his forehead. “Maybe I will.”

Mark picks up a slice of bread but doesn’t eat it, fingers absently toying with the crust. “You don’t have to defend us.”

“I’m not,” you say, without hesitation. “I’m just going to speak the truth.”

Mark finally looks at you again.

And this time, the edge behind his gaze fades. It softens into something quieter.

Something close to trust.

Marky yawns, his head dropping onto your lap. “I’m full,” he says sleepily. “But if they try to take you, I’ll fight them.”

You smile down at him. “You’ll need better armor first.”

Mark clears his throat like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’ll see if we’ve got a child-size chest plate lying around.”

Marky hums in approval, already half-dozing.

Mark rises from the table, stretching slightly, then leans in over your shoulder.

“They’ll be calling soon,” he murmurs near your ear. “But… take a minute. You’ve earned it.”

You nod once.

You stay seated on the bench, Marky’s head in your lap, your white dress glowing in the morning light, and breathe.

Not in fear.

Not in doubt.

But with certainty.

You were raised for this.

And you’re finally using your voice for something you chose.

Breakfast is nearly finished, Marky drowsy in your lap, still smelling faintly of citrus and soap, your fingers tracing idle patterns through his hair as he blinks slower and slower.

You’re calm. Steady.

Mark has stepped aside, murmuring something into the console, his voice low and clipped. Coordination. Timing. He doesn’t look at you again, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel the tension in his back. The way he paces, slow, contained. Preparing.

The door opens without fanfare.

Ursaal steps inside, her silhouette sharp and silver in the frame.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just takes in the scene.

Her eyes drift to Marky curled against your lap. Then to you, barefoot still, wrapped in white cotton, not armored but not soft either.

You meet her gaze without flinching.

“Time?” you ask simply.

She nods. “They’re assembling now.”

Marky stirs at her voice, frowning. “I’m coming with them.”

“No,” Ursaal says, voice even but not cold. “You’re coming with me. Your father asked.”

He groans and presses deeper into your lap. “But she’s nervous.”

You glance down at him, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I’m not.”

“You should be,” he mumbles. “Viltrumites are mean.”

Ursaal lifts a brow. “You say that like you’re not one.”

You stifle a laugh and tap his shoulder gently. “Come on, brave warrior. We’ll be together again soon.”

He looks up at you. Eyes wide. Wanting.

“Promise?”

You nod once. “I promise.”

He finally sits up and drags himself toward Ursaal with the kind of exaggerated suffering only a child can get away with. She doesn’t rush him. She waits. And when he’s close enough, she extends her hand.

He doesn’t take it.

He throws his arms around your neck instead and squeezes, quick, fierce.

You hold him back just as tightly.

Then he pulls away and walks with her to the door, his hand brushing against hers, not holding, but close.

Ursaal glances back at you as the doors slide shut.

And she nods.

Not a salute. Not protocol.

Just… acknowledgment.

The moment they’re gone, silence settles again.

You rise from the bench, breath slow, and cross to the wardrobe console embedded into the wall. The compartment opens at your scan, revealing the ceremonial outfit they prepared at your request, your formal attire from Eternia, approved by your planet’s council for diplomatic presentation.

You run your fingers across the soft golden and white fabric. The bodice is structured but unarmored, gold trim sweeping high across the chest. A crimson cape attaches at the shoulders, draping down the back like a banner. The skirt is pleated, short but stately, falling above the knee to allow for movement.

It’s what you wore in your trials. What you wore when you first spoke in your mother’s place before the Royal Houses. What you wore when they gave you your title.

You begin to dress.

You turn.

Mark hasn’t moved from where he’s been watching you.

His arms are crossed, his back against the wall, but his gaze hasn’t left you once. Not since Ursaal took Marky.

He exhales through his nose, slow. “You really look like someone they’d send to change things.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

He doesn’t smile. Just watches you for another beat.

“I keep thinking I should say something useful. Something you can take with you in there.”

You step toward him. “You don’t have to.”

He unfolds his arms and lets his hands fall to his sides. “Yeah, well. Still feels like I should.”

You pause a few feet away.

“I know what I’m going to say, Mark.”

“I know.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I just didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“Like what?”

He meets your eyes. “Like it matters what you say.”

You blink at him, caught off guard.

“Most people who come here,” he says, voice lower now, “they’re scared of us. Or they’re trying to manipulate us. You’re not doing either. And that makes this—” he gestures loosely between you, “way more complicated than I expected.”

He’s not angry. Just honest.

The quiet between you stretches.

Then he steps closer.

His hand comes up, slow, careful, and brushes a piece of hair back from your forehead. His knuckles trail along your cheek. Down to your jaw.

You don’t move.

His thumb rests there a moment longer. Then his eyes flick to yours.

“I don’t know what happens after this,” he says. “But I don’t want this to be the last thing we get.”

You barely have time to answer before he leans in.

The kiss is soft. Slower than the one from last night. Less hungry. More real.

He doesn’t press. He doesn’t pull you in like he’s claiming you. It’s just a moment. His lips on yours. His hand still at your jaw.

And then he pulls back, just a breath.

“I’ll be in the chamber,” he says quietly. “I’ll be watching.”

You nod.

He steps back, hand falling away. “You’ve got this.”

And with that, he turns and walks out.

No fanfare. No guards. Just the quiet hiss of the door behind him.

You stand alone again in your quarters. The cape shifts behind your legs as you breathe.

The kiss still lingers on your lips. Not because it was dramatic. But because it wasn’t.

Because it was honest.

And now, it’s time.

The door to the high council chamber slides open with a low hydraulic hiss.

You step through alone.

The air inside is colder than the rest of the ship, by design, you suspect. Viltrumite architecture favors symmetry, scale, and silence. Everything here is built to intimidate. The white stone flooring gleams beneath your boots, polished to a mirror shine. The walls curve upward into an arching dome lined with silver reliefs, depicting both conquest and reform in sharp-edged contrast.

The circular space holds no furniture aside from the central platform and the raised perimeter where the Viltrumite high council stands. They are already in position, six in total, towering, severe, clad in ceremonial silver uniforms. Their faces are expressionless. Their stances, rigid.

And at the highest point of the dais, seated on the Emperor’s throne, is Mark.

He’s already watching you.

He wears his formal uniform now, shoulders squared, red cape draped across one side, his arms resting on either side of the chair like the weight of the empire hasn’t moved since he last sat here. He doesn’t greet you, doesn’t nod, doesn’t smile. But you feel it in his stare.

The air shifts when you enter. The attention in the room folds in toward you. Even the silence adjusts.

You walk forward, each step deliberate, the crimson hem of your cape whispering over the tense air The gold trim of your dress catches the light. You reach the center of the room and come to a full stop beneath the main projection unit.

Then, just above you, the transmission light pulses to life.

A deep golden symbol appears first, Eternia’s crest. Silver twin swords crossed together.

Then, the screen flickers, and Adam’s face comes into view.

He’s seated upright, formal, the Eternian court visible in partial silhouette behind him, noble advisors, military commanders, and the elder representatives of your House. His golden cape hangs heavy over his left shoulder, the royal seal resting at his chest.

“Sister,” he says, voice calm, clear. “You’re on time.”

“I was taught to be,” you answer, tone crisp but warm.

You see it, the faintest trace of a smile, hidden behind his diplomatic stillness. But it’s there. He leans forward slightly.

“You’ve been aboard the Viltrumite flagship for nearly one cycle. You’ve lived among them. Observed their habits, their customs, their chain of command.”

“I have.”

“Have you had unrestricted access?”

“I’ve been allowed into all sectors,” you say. “I’ve interacted with soldiers, aides, even civilians under Viltrumite rule. I’ve seen the engine rooms and the military training floors. I’ve met their children.”

Marky’s face flashes in your mind for a brief second, laughing through shampoo, wriggling away from your hands. You keep your expression neutral.

Adam folds his hands. “You’ve observed the Emperor directly?”

You pause.

Then nod. “Closely.”

Adam’s face doesn’t move, but you know him. You see the subtle shift, the brief flicker of tension in his jaw. The same look he wore the day you volunteered for this mission.

“Eternia requires an assessment,” he says. “You know the stakes. You know the legacy of this Empire. Speak clearly. Speak truthfully. Do you believe the Viltrumite Empire still poses a threat to us?”

You lift your chin.

And speak.

“No.”

A hum of energy ripples across the projection, and the Viltrumite council straightens behind you, almost imperceptibly, but not entirely.

You continue. “They were a threat. For centuries. I was raised on stories of their cruelty. Their conquests. Their belief that might was destiny. That survival was supremacy.”

You pause.

“But that is not what I see now. Not here. Not anymore.”

Adam says nothing.

You press forward, voice unwavering. “I see reform. I see structure. A rebuilding effort, not just in systems or cities, but in philosophy. I see a people learning what it means to restrain power. To choose order over fear.”

You glance up. “And at the heart of it, Emperor Grayson, decendant of Argall. Who could’ve wielded his title like a weapon, and instead wields it like a promise.”

Finally, you allow your eyes to flick toward Mark.

He hasn’t moved.

But his eyes are on you, sharp and steady. There’s something in them now. Not surprise. Not relief. Just… heat. Focus. As if he’s watching the turning point of a war he didn’t know he was still fighting.

You turn back to the projection.

“This Empire is changing,” you say. “It is not perfect. But it is not blind. And for the first time in its history, it is listening.”

Adam leans back. “And you trust it?”

“I trust what I’ve seen. I trust the people I’ve met. I trust the man leading them. I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

The chamber is silent.

Adam lets it settle. Then finally, he nods.

“That’s enough for me.”

Behind him, the court murmurs. A few lean in to whisper. One of the generals, a scarred woman from the outer moons, nods slowly. There’s no applause. No celebration. But the tone has shifted.

Adam’s voice softens, just slightly. “I’ll speak with the court privately. You’ll receive formal notice of our next steps within the day.”

You nod. “Understood.”

“Sister,” he says again, and this time it’s not formal. “You looked like a warrior when you left. You look like a leader now.”

You swallow once.

Then offer him the smallest, realest smile you can.

“I had help.”

The transmission flickers once.

Then fades.

The council remains silent. The screen fades to black.

And the room breathes again.

You don’t turn.

You wait.

Footsteps sound behind you, measured, deliberate. Mark descends from his platform. When he reaches you, he doesn’t speak right away. Just stops beside you, looking out into the echoing stillness of the chamber.

Then, voice low, controlled, “You were impressive.”

You glance sideways. “You’re surprised?”

“I’m not stupid,” he says. “I knew you could speak well. I just didn’t think you’d speak for us.”

You meet his eyes fully. “That’s because I don’t speak for empires, Mark.”

He tilts his head. “Then who was that for?”

You don’t flinch.

“For the ones who are trying to do better. Even when it hurts.”

Mark is quiet for a beat.

Then he nods.

No smile. No praise.

Just the subtle straightening of his spine.

And the way his voice drops just enough to let you hear what he really means.

“I’m glad it was you.”

Then a pause.

A beat.

And finally, he speaks the question he’s been holding since before breakfast.

“How much longer are you staying?”

The words are simple.

But his voice isn’t.

It’s careful. Intentional. Not too eager. Not too soft. But tight around the edges, like he’s trying to make the question sound less personal than it is.

You keep your eyes forward for a moment. Then finally turn toward him.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Adam believes me. But the rest of the court will need more.”

Mark nods once. “Of course they will.”

“I’m not surprised,” you add gently. “Change makes people suspicious. Especially when it’s fast.”

“It hasn’t been fast for us,” Mark says. “We’ve been bleeding out for years.”

You look at him. “They don’t see that.”

He exhales. It’s not frustration. Not really. Just the sound of someone too used to carrying the burden of being misunderstood.

“How long will that take?” he asks, quieter now. “Convincing them?”

You shrug one shoulder. “A few cycles. Maybe more. They’ll want updates. Civilian reports. Maybe a second envoy. More structure. More evidence.”

Mark’s gaze sharpens slightly. “You think they’ll send someone else?”

“Eventually. But I’ll stay.”

That catches him. You see it.

He blinks, just once, but it’s the most off-guard he’s looked all morning.

“You’ll stay,” he repeats, like he’s trying to test the sound of it.

“I gave my word. This isn’t finished yet.”

His brow furrows faintly. “You gave it to them. Or to me?”

You pause.

Then, careful, “To myself.”

He nods once, slowly. Doesn’t push further.

You don’t tell him what you’re thinking. That staying feels less like duty now and more like gravity. That whatever this was, this morning, last night, Marky’s hand wrapped in yours, it cracked something open. And you’re not ready to close it again.

But you don’t say that.

Not here.

Mark doesn’t ask again.

Instead, he turns slightly toward the doors.

“You should change,” he says. “You’ve got a target on your back now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “From who?”

“From anyone who saw the way I looked at you while you were speaking.”

Your lips twitch. But you don’t look away.

“You weren’t exactly subtle.”

He glances at you. “Neither were you.”

Another beat of silence stretches between you.

And then, low, almost like it slips out.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says. “But I’m trying not to make that your problem.”

You don’t answer.

But your hand brushes his.

Just for a moment.

He doesn’t say anything.

But his hand brushes yours again, barely a touch, and stays close.

You breathe in, starting to turn toward the exit, then you hear it.

Running. Light footsteps, fast and uneven, echoing from the corridor outside.

“There she is!”

You blink as the blur rounds the corner.

“Marky—”

He doesn’t slow down.

Before you can react, Marky launches himself into your side, arms locking around your waist, face burying into your midsection. You let out a breath of startled laughter, catching your balance just in time as your cape ripples from the impact.

“Gods,” you murmur, wrapping an arm around him. “Marky, what are you doing here?”

“I watched the whole thing!” he announces proudly, muffled against your side. “On the hall monitor! You were amazing! I knew you were gonna be amazing!”

Mark, still at your side, sighs. “He slipped away from Ursaal.”

“She’s fast,” Marky says. “But I’m determined.”

Ursaal appears a beat later, expression unreadable but breath controlled, her version of clearly trying not to look frustrated. She stops a few paces behind Marky and crosses her arms.

“I told him to wait until the all-clear.”

“I did wait,” Marky says defensively. “The screen said transmission complete.”

Mark glances at you. “He’s not wrong.”

You stroke Marky’s hair, heart still catching up to how tightly he clings to you. “You shouldn’t be running through command halls, you know.”

“I wasn’t running,” he says solemnly. “I was walking with purpose.”

Mark coughs once into his fist, clearly biting back a laugh.

Marky pulls back just enough to look up at you. “You’re not leaving, right? That wasn’t what the big council talk was about?”

You kneel slightly so you can meet his eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

His shoulders sag with relief. “Good. ‘Cause I didn’t want you to. And I was already thinking of ways to sneak onto your horse.”

He says like it’s obvious. “I’d hide under your cape. I’m small.”

Mark steps closer again, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with that quiet unreadability he wears when he’s feeling too much to show.

“She’s not leaving,” Mark says. “She’s staying until Eternia’s satisfied. That might take a while.”

Marky beams. “That means we have time!”

“For what?” you ask.

“To draw our family picture!” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. “Me, you, and Dad.”

You blink. Mark tenses beside you like someone hit him with a tranquilizer dart.

“Marky,” he says sharply. “We’ve talked about—”

“She’s already part of it,” Marky says, turning to him. “You didn’t see your face when she was talking. You looked all serious but also like you were gonna explode.”

Mark makes a noise in his throat that might be a protest or might be a swallowed laugh.

You glance between them, suddenly very aware of the weight of Marky’s little hand in yours and the heat radiating off Mark just beside your shoulder.

“Come back to our quarters?” Marky asks, looking up at you again. “You can help me start the drawing. I already know what animal I want to put in.”

Mark lifts an eyebrow. “We don’t have any pets.”

“Well, we do now,” Marky declares.

You glance at Mark. “Is this your parenting style?”

He exhales through his nose. “Honestly, I’m just trying to keep up.”

Marky tugs your hand. “Come on. Before Ursaal catches her breath and makes me take a nap.”

You laugh and let him pull you toward the hallway.

Mark follows close, close enough you can hear his breath, feel the shift of his cape when it brushes your own.

And before you turn the next corner, you hear Marky say loudly, “Terra asked if you were my stepmom now.”

You freeze.

Mark, walking just behind you, stumbles slightly.

“Marky—” he says, voice tight.

“What?” Marky shrugs. “I said no. But I thought about saying yes. You smell like Dad and you’re nice.”

You glance back at Mark, wide-eyed.

He looks like he’s experiencing a full systems crash in real time.

Marky’s already back to walking, humming under his breath.

Mark’s voice is a little hoarse when he mutters, “That came out of nowhere.”

You swallow your laughter. “Did it?”

He looks at you for a long second. “...Maybe not.”

And the three of you walk on.

The walk back to Mark’s quarters is slow.

Not because of hesitation, but because Marky insists on holding your hand the whole way and stopping every ten feet to point something out. A corridor he “definitely saw a ghost in once,” a mess hall that makes the “squishy toast,” a section of hull he’s certain used to smell like bananas until Ursaal made him and Terra clean it.

You let him talk.

Mark walks on your other side, quiet. Not withdrawn. Just… aware. His presence is steady, a few inches behind you, hands at his back, his gaze lingering more often than it used to. You can feel the way he’s watching, not possessive, not guarded. Just there. Like he’s trying to take a mental inventory of what it means to have you in his world. And what it might mean to lose that.

The quarters open with a soft hiss, and Marky launches himself through the doorway with the full confidence of someone who’s never once been told to take his shoes off.

The space is warmly lit, the overheads dimmed, sunlight simulated through the far window. You don’t even think before stepping inside now. Your heels click softly against the floor. Your cape trails a whisper behind you.

Marky is already on the floor near the low table, rifling through his art tablets with the intensity of a tiny general. “I need the one with the good brushes. Not the laggy ones. Dad, where’s the stylus that doesn’t hate me?”

Mark raises both brows. “You lost it in the ventilation shaft last week.”

“Oh. Right.” Marky shrugs and grabs another.

You kneel down beside him, still dressed in your formal whites and crimson cape, and tuck your legs beneath you.

“You really want to draw a picture?”

Marky nods, eyes wide and serious. “A real one. With all of us. I already know what everyone’s gonna look like.”

“Dad is the grumpy book,” Marky supplies immediately.

“The what?”

“You know,” he says, tapping his screen with a rough oval and what appears to be a squiggle with eyebrows. “Because you always look like you’re trying to read people but also hate what they’re saying.”

You glance up. “He’s got you nailed.”

Mark mutters something under his breath and rubs his temple.

Marky turns back to you. “You’re a sun sword.”

You blink. “The what?”

“Because you glow,” he says, very matter-of-fact. “And you always look like you’re about to win a fight, even when you’re just talking.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Your throat tightens a little. You brush your hand lightly through his hair and let the moment pass without trying to name it.

Marky continues sketching.

And for the first time since the transmission ended, your body begins to settle. The stiffness in your shoulders eases. The low thrum of tension that had been riding your ribs begins to fade. Not because the pressure is gone, but because you’re not facing it alone.

From the chair, Mark watches you in silence.

Not with intensity. Not with need.

Just presence.

Like he knows this is something rare. Maybe even dangerous. But he’s not going to look away.

You sit like that for a while, Marky drawing half-lion, half-cape creatures and narrating their strengths (“Dad’s power is scary. Yours is glowing”). You listen. Mark doesn’t interrupt.

Then it happens.

The soft, pulsing chime.

You freeze.

It’s not loud. Not urgent. But it’s not the standard ship alert, either. Not a memo. Not a priority broadcast.

This is private.

Marky doesn’t look up. But Mark does.

You rise slowly, crossing the room to the console set into the wall. Your bootsteps echo just faintly now, muffled by the fabric of your cape.

The screen flashes blue.

Encrypted message. Origin: Eternia High Council. Designation: Monarch.

Your eyes narrow.

Adam.

You press your palm to the console and feel the familiar bio-scan respond to your signature. A soft click sounds as the private door to the adjoining chamber unlocks.

Mark speaks from behind you. “Your brother?”

You nod. “Encrypted transmission.”

Mark rises from the chair. “You want space?”

You hesitate. “Yes.”

He doesn’t argue.

Just steps aside, hands loose at his sides.

Marky glances up at you, mid-doodle. “Are you gonna talk about empire stuff again?”

“Something like that,” you say softly. “I’ll be right back.”

Mark watches you disappear into the chamber.

The door slides shut behind you.

And then, it’s quiet.

Inside, the chamber is dim. Only the hum of the console remains. You stand in front of the screen, your ceremonial cape swaying behind your boots.

You take a breath.

Then press accept.

The screen flickers once.

Twice.

And then, Adam’s face appears.

But he doesn’t speak.

Not right away.

And whatever he’s about to say, you already know it won’t just be small talk.

Adam’s face is still on the screen.

But the silence that stretches between you carries weight.

You’ve known your brother your entire life. You’ve seen him before battle, before coronations, before funeral rites. You know when he’s hesitating.

You narrow your eyes. “What is it?”

Adam exhales through his nose. “It’s not from me.”

That doesn’t answer anything.

But it answers everything.

You square your shoulders. “Say it.”

He glances offscreen for a second, consulting someone, or something, just out of view. Then back to you.

“Father has been speaking with Aquatica.”

Your stomach knots.

“Their leader has extended a peace proposal,” Adam continues, voice level. “Trade, mineral access, security cooperation along the outer trench borders. It’s substantial.”

You nod slowly. “And the cost?”

Adam looks at you straight.

“You.”

Your blood goes cold.

He doesn’t flinch. “They want a royal tie to seal the alliance. Aquatica’s candidate is Mer-man.”

You blink, stunned. “Mer-man?”

He nods once.

“The emissaries are framing it as symbolic. You’d keep your title. You’d maintain diplomatic autonomy.”

“While being handed off like a keepsake?” Your voice is sharp now, hard. “I’m not some relic they can trade between thrones.”

Adam doesn’t flinch, but you see it, the shadow of regret tightening around his mouth.

“This wasn’t my idea,” he says.

“I know,” you answer tightly. “You wouldn’t have waited until after the council to bring it up if it was.”

He exhales. Not defensive, just tired. “Father has been pushing it for weeks. I thought I could stall. I have been stalling.”

“Then keep stalling.”

“I can’t anymore,” he says. “It’s escalated. Aquatica has grown more aggressive. There are resource lines at risk. Tensions at the coastal gates. He sees it as the cleanest solution.”

You cross your arms, jaw tight. “He sees me as the cleanest solution.”

Adam flinches. “He still sees you as a princess first.”

“Then maybe it’s time he remembered what I actually am.”

His tone dips. ���And what’s that?”

“A warrior,” you snap. “Not a token to be chained to a fish-faced tyrant for the sake of a tide map.”

Adam blinks. “You don’t have to insult the man.”

“Oh, I absolutely do,” you bite back. “You’ve met him. His idea of diplomacy is yelling until someone drowns.”

Adam sighs. “He’s not... that bad.”

“He smells of kelp and failure.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for Adam to realize you’re not joking.

“You know I’d never let this go through,” he says finally. “You’re not some pawn.”

“But I’m still being played,” you say. “Because father is still in your ear. He doesn’t wear the crown anymore, Adam. You do.”

Adam’s eyes narrow. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re forgetting it. Or you’re letting him forget it.”

There’s tension in the air now, not anger, but something deeper. Familial. Old. The kind of friction that’s lived beneath the surface of your bond for years. You’ve fought for the same ideals, but never in the same ways.

He shakes his head slowly. “I called to warn you. Not argue with you.”

You step forward, voice steady now. Cooler. “Then hear me clearly. I will not marry him. Not for peace. Not for politics. Not for tradition. I don’t care if Randor himself comes swimming to the ship and begs me on his royal knees.”

Adam just looks at you.

“You’re certain?” he says quietly.

“I’d rather marry a plasma leak,” you mutter. “At least it wouldn’t talk back.”

Adam’s expression breaks just slightly, something like a laugh he’s trying to hide. “You’ve changed.”

You tilt your head. “Have I?”

He studies you for a long moment.

“No,” he says. “You’ve just finally stopped pretending.”

Behind you, near the sealed door, you hear it again. The sound of someone shifting just beyond the threshold.

Mark.

He’s still there. He’s been there the whole time.

And now, he definitely knows.

Adam’s gaze sharpens slightly.

“He’s listening, isn’t he?”

You don’t confirm. You don’t need to.

“I trust you,” Adam says, after a beat. “And I trust your judgment. But understand, this isn’t over yet. Father’s pushing. Aquatica is watching. And there’s going to be pressure.”

You nod once. “Let them push.”

“This won’t just be politics anymore,” he says. “It’ll get personal.”

You lift your chin. “It already is.”

Adam doesn’t respond.

But he doesn’t disconnect, either.

Adam is quiet for a moment.

Longer than before.

The flickering projection casts a faint shimmer across his jaw, catching the tension there. You know this silence. You know it means he’s about to say something he thinks you won’t want to hear.

“Say it,” you tell him.

He breathes in through his nose. “There’s… an option. One that would make Aquatica back down. Fast.”

You fold your arms. “I’m not marrying the fish.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he replies quickly. “Just…listen.”

You don’t interrupt.

Adam lifts his chin, voice cautious. “They’re not only pushing because they want you. They’re pushing because you’re unclaimed. Politically. You’re floating. No ties. No formal alliances. That makes you a liability.”

You feel your jaw twitch.

He continues. “But… if there were a bond already in place, recognized, declared, especially with someone of greater power…”

He doesn’t finish it.

He doesn’t have to.

You stare at him.

He looks straight back.

“It wouldn’t have to be marriage,” he says, voice low. “Even just a formal alignment. A public declaration. A diplomatic vow. Something that signals exclusivity. Permanence.”

Your mouth goes dry.

He presses on. “If the Empire acknowledged you as a consort, or even as a named diplomatic partner, Aquatica would lose leverage. They don’t want a fight with the Viltrumites, not now, not ever.”

You shake your head slowly. “You’re saying I should claim Mark like he’s some kind of shield.”

“I’m saying…” He exhales, then meets your eyes again. “I know you’re involved with him.”

You freeze.

His expression is careful. Measured. Not judgmental. Just… sad.

“You don’t talk about him like he’s just an emperor,” Adam says. “You don’t look like someone who’s just observing. And he doesn’t look at you like you’re temporary.”

You say nothing.

He softens, a little. “I’m your brother. I’m not blind.”

Your chest tightens.

Adam lets the silence stretch before continuing. “If you don’t want to define it, that’s your choice. But if you do want to stay here, safely and without interference, then yes. Declaring something with him, even loosely, could end Aquatica’s interest immediately.”

Your hands curl slightly at your sides.

“I’m not using my personal life as a pawn,” you say, voice cool.

“I’m not asking you to,” Adam says. “But if what’s happening between you two is real… then maybe it’s not a pawn.”

You blink.

You look away, swallowing hard.

From behind the sealed door, you feel him again.

Mark.

Still there.

Still listening.

Still saying nothing.

You exhale. “You really think a single declaration would stop it?”

“Yes,” Adam says simply. “Because it wouldn’t just come from you. It would come from him. And the Empire backing you, publicly, would make it very clear that no one else has a claim.”

You stare at the screen.

Adam doesn’t press.

He just waits.

And the question hangs in the air like a blade suspended above your ribs.

‘Would you claim him?’

Because it won’t be a whisper anymore.

It won’t be a kiss in the dark or quiet footsteps back to your shared room.

It would be public.

And permanent.

The screen still flickers.

The call hasn’t ended.

But something inside you already has.

Shifted.

Split.

Ready to name itself.

Adam sees it in your face before you speak.

The static silence stretches between you, and he knows. Even from half a galaxy away.

His expression softens, the regent mask falling away just enough to show the brother beneath it.

“You’ve only been there two days,” he says gently.

You nod, once. The motion is small. Tight.

“I know,” you murmur.

He doesn’t press.

“I’ll hold them off,” Adam says. “As long as I can. But it won’t last forever.”

“I don’t need forever,” you say quietly. “I just need a little more time.”

He nods.

Then, simply. “Take it.”

The screen flickers once, and his image vanishes into the soft Eternian blue of a terminated signal.

You stare at the darkened panel for a moment longer, your hand still resting at its edge.

And then you feel it.

Not just presence.

A shift in the air. A stillness that pulls your spine straight.

You turn slowly.

Mark’s arms are loose at his sides, his shoulders still tense like they’ve been held in place too long. His eyes flick to yours and stay there.

You don’t move.

It’s quiet, too quiet, until a small, guilty voice carries from the far end of the quarters.

“Are you gonna marry the fish man?”

You blink.

Hard.

Mark doesn’t even turn his head. He closes his eyes for a second, just one, and lets out a breath that sounds a lot like of course he heard.

You step out of the private chamber, and now you see him.

Marky, curled up on the corner couch with his drawing tablet on his lap, half his head poking out from behind the pillow he’s been “definitely not eavesdropping” behind.

He blinks up at you, solemn. “He sounds scary.”

Your heart stutters. “He’s not— I’m not—”

Mark steps in fully now, and you catch the way he glances at Marky first. There’s no anger in his face. Just resignation. And something else. Something quieter. Protective.

He crouches beside the boy. “Hey. Didn’t we talk about not listening in on things that aren’t for you?”

Marky shrinks a little. “I didn’t mean to. I was just drawing the dragon head part. And then it got really quiet. And then really loud.”

You close your eyes for a second and press your fingers to your temple. “This isn’t how I wanted to talk about this.”

“Yeah, well,” Mark says without looking up, “this isn’t how I wanted to find out about it.”

That lands.

You look at him.

Really look.

He’s not angry. He’s just honest.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” you say.

“No,” he replies. “ But, when would you tell me?”

Marky looks between the two of you, big-eyed. “You’re not leaving, right?”

You kneel down next to the couch, across from Mark. “No,” you say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even if the fish guy sends sea monsters?”

Mark leans closer to his son and whispers, “If he sends sea monsters, I’ll punch them in the face.”

Marky considers this, then nods solemnly. “Okay.”

You smile, but it’s small. Tight. And when you glance at Mark again, the quiet between you turns heavier.

He stands.

You do too.

Marky is still preoccupied with adding teeth to a creature on his screen, mumbling to himself about “monster-punching rules,” and for a brief moment, you both watch him.

Then Mark says, low, just for you.

“Two days.”

You nod.

“It’s fast,” he says.

“Too fast?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“No,” he murmurs. “Just… real.”

The word lands between you like something sharp and warm.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think I’d be anyone’s reason again.”

You step closer. Not touching. Just there.

“I don’t want to be your liability,” you say. “Or your claim.”

Mark looks at you. Really looks at you. “You’re not.”

Then, quieter, “You’re just mine.”

The words come soft. Not possessive. Not performative.

Just true.

And for the first time all day, the weight in your chest starts to lift.

Marky glances up again, squinting. “Wait… are you guys together together?”

You both freeze.

Mark groans softly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Marky sighs. “Okay, but if I have to draw a wedding dragon now I need to know.”

Marky hums to himself as he colors in the final edges of the drawing, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. The tablet hums softly in his lap, stylus moving in quick, confident strokes.

You and Mark sit on the low edge of the couch now, shoulders just barely brushing.

Mark doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

You don’t need to.

The tension from earlier still lingers in the air, but it’s softened now. Loosened by the simplicity of watching a child do something that feels so ordinary. So safe.

Marky finally sits up straighter and announces, “Done!”

He spins the tablet around like he’s unveiling a masterful art-piece.

The image is crude but fierce. A sunburst-sword flanked by a book with very expressive eyebrows and a dragon with flames coming out of its nose.

“That’s me breathing fire because I have to protect you guys,” he explains matter-of-factly. “Because you’re always busy doing boring meetings.”

Mark huffs a quiet laugh beside you. “That’s... accurate.”

“And see?” Marky points. “That’s you two holding hands. I used the glow pen so it looks special.”

You blink.

Mark leans in to look closer. “Is that a cape on me?”

“Yeah,” Marky says. “Because you’re the emperor. And also because your shoulders look weird without it.”

Mark blinks. “Noted.”

You smile, looking at the sketch longer than you mean to. Your fingers brush the edge of the screen, careful not to smudge his work.

It’s messy. Bright. Unfiltered.

And it makes something ache behind your ribs.

✮♛ ♚✮⋆˙

taglist is OPEN. drop a comment in the replies if you wanna be tagged in future updates.

@saturnalya / @liliesclouds / @maki-ki / @isnt-itstrange / @camilo-uwu / @noxiousness-obnay / @ketsuekiakane / @nympheagain / @verysynical / @gvre / @cookiemonsterboss / @weirdstartshere / @wifeofmarkgrayson / @pixviee / @sugawoonie / @uselesstutor09 / @monaekelis / @tr3nzit444s / @mikevi / @the-good-kooshe / @moraxussy / @ladynoirx321 / @just-a-harmless-patato / @whenicaniwont / @faephoria / @teriyakiitae / @qxuanii / @nwestra / @xoyumiqls /

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Thats MY girl | CH 5

5.7ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie, angst, pregnancy

A/N : i have ch 6 ready but im not gonna release it yet (and a new fic in the works)

You hold the test in your hand like it’s made of glass.

The little screen hasn’t loaded yet.

It’s face-down on the sink now, timer ticking somewhere in your head.

You sit back on the bathroom floor, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie thrown on over your oversized shirt. The tile is still cold. Your skin still clammy.

You don’t know what you’re hoping for.

Or what you’re more afraid of.

The nausea’s settled into a constant hum in your gut, not quite rising—but not gone either.

You rub your hands over your face, then through your hair, gripping it tightly for a second. Like you can squeeze the panic out of your skull.

The silence in the apartment stretches.

And then—

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.

You flinch.

You crawl to it with shaky fingers, screen lighting up.

Sevika.

You hesitate.

Swallow hard.

Answer.

“Hey,” her voice crackles through the speaker, low and calm like always. “Did I wake you?”

You clear your throat. “No. I just... woke up a little while ago.”

“You okay?”

You pause. Long enough that she notices.

“...You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

Another pause. Longer.

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah.”

“Want me to bring lunch?”

Your eyes drift to the sink.

To the test.

Still face-down.

You press your fingers against your forehead and exhale slowly. “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you want lunch?”

You bite your lip.

Your voice breaks before you can stop it.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Sevika goes quiet on the other end.

Dead silent.

Like she just knows something is wrong—worse than anything you’ve admitted.

You glance toward the test again.

Still not flipped.

Still sitting there like a weight.

Still holding your future on a tiny screen.

And you’re not ready.

Not even a little.

You glance at the test again.

Still face-down on the edge of the sink.

Still silent.

Still waiting.

Sevika is still on the line. You can hear the hum of her car engine, the faint sound of traffic in the background. She’s waiting too—but for something else. For an answer you don’t want to give her.

You grip the phone tighter.

“I’m just tired,” you say quietly, voice carefully even. “Think my body’s still recovering. The fever, you know.”

Another pause.

Then her voice comes through, softer now. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you.

But she’s letting you have the lie.

You swallow. “I might nap again.”

“I’ll let you go then,” she says. “But I’ll check in later. Don’t ghost me.”

You manage a weak laugh. “I won’t.”

She doesn’t hang up right away.

Neither do you.

Then finally, “Later, trouble.”

Click.

The line goes dead.

And the room is silent again.

You set your phone down slowly on the bath mat.

Then, with hands that don’t feel like your own, you reach up and flip the test over.

The answer is right there.

Clear.

Immediate.

Pregnant.

You stare at it.

No breath. No reaction. Just your heart pounding louder than the silence around you.

You press your hand to your stomach, suddenly too aware of yourself. Of everything inside you.

You don’t cry.

Not yet.

You just… lean back against the bathroom wall.

And say nothing.

Because if you say it out loud—it becomes real.

And you’re not ready for that.

Not today.

You were seventeen, maybe eighteen.

Your bedroom walls were plastered in band posters and fading black paint, the corners curled with tape and teenage rage. The lights were off, the windows open just enough to let in the sound of summer cicadas and the distant hum of traffic.

You were on your bed—on your back—your knees bent and your boyfriend half on top of you, mouth on yours, hands eager, impatient.

You didn’t love him.

You weren’t even sure you liked him.

But he wanted you in a way that made you feel wanted. Like maybe being wanted was enough.

“C’mon, baby,” he mumbled against your neck, voice low and hot, breath sticky with cherry gum. “Your dad’s not home yet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, until he is.”

He laughed, all teeth and no sense.

Your fingers were tangled in the hem of his shirt when the front door slammed.

Hard.

You both froze.

The next sound was boots—your dad’s boots—on hardwood.

Panic sliced through you.

“Shit—” you hissed, shoving your boyfriend off you, scrambling to fix your shirt, pulling your black hoodie back on. He barely got upright when the bedroom door flung open.

Your dad’s face was red. His eyes locked on the two of you.

You’d never seen his mouth twist like that before.

“You—out.” He pointed at your boyfriend, voice like thunder. “Now.”

“Sir, I didn’t—”

“Now!”

Your boyfriend grabbed his hoodie, stumbled out of the room, nearly tripping over his own shoes.

You stood there shaking, arms crossed, jaw clenched, trying not to show how scared you were.

And then your dad turned on you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he barked.

“Nothing happened.”

He stepped forward.

You backed into the wall, but he caught your arm—tight. Too tight.

“You think dressing like that, bringing boys into my house, letting them paw all over you—what does that make you, huh?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

His face got closer, breath sour with beer and fury.

“You wanna act like a little slut? Fine. But not under my roof.”

You yanked your arm back and hissed, “Get out of my room.”

That earned you a glare so venomous it made your stomach twist.

But he left.

Slamming the door so hard your posters fluttered and fell.

You slid to the floor, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes burning.

You didn’t cry then.

You just sat there, chest tight, teeth clenched.

Telling yourself you weren’t a slut.

Even if no one ever said otherwise.

The yelling starts downstairs.

At first, it’s muffled—your dad’s voice rising, sharp and ugly, echoing off the kitchen walls.

Then you hear something crash.

And your mother’s voice—quieter, pleading. Crying.

Your heart skips.

You’re on your feet before you think about it, the old wooden floor cold against your bare soles as you rush to the stairwell. You grip the railing so hard your knuckles go white.

You hear him shout something about “disrespect” and “control”—then a sharp smack.

Your stomach drops.

You race down the stairs.

The living room is a wreck. One of the dining chairs is tipped over. There’s a picture frame shattered on the floor.

And your mom—your quiet, soft-voiced mom—is backed against the wall, a hand over her nose, blood trailing between her fingers. Her cheek is bright red, swelling already, a perfect handprint burned into her skin.

He’s still yelling.

Still advancing.

You don’t think.

You throw yourself between them, arms out, eyes wide.

“Get away from her!”

He snarls, grabs your wrist. “Don’t you start—”

You shove him.

Hard.

“Touch her again and I swear to God—”

His fist swings before the words even finish leaving your mouth.

It hits your cheek.

The pain is instant, white-hot, flashing across your vision.

You stumble, hit the floor.

Your head spins, breath knocked from your lungs.

And then—

Another shout.

Louder.

But not his.

Your mother.

“Get away from my daughter—”

Bang.

The sound is deafening.

For a second, the world stops.

You look up.

Your mother is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hands trembling, your dad collapsed on the floor—gripping his shoulder, gasping in shock and rage.

The gun is still smoking in her hands.

You’re frozen.

No one moves.

Not for a long time.

Just the sound of your mother crying, shaking, as she drops the gun and rushes to your side.

You don’t remember what she said next.

Only that her hands were warm on your face.

And her voice kept whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“…are you gonna keep it?”

Caitlyn’s voice is quiet, steady. She doesn’t flinch when she asks. She just looks at you across the small café table, hands wrapped around a half-empty cup of Earl Grey.

You stare down at your coffee.

It’s gone cold.

“I don’t know yet.”

The words come out barely above a whisper. You swirl the spoon around, watching the cream cling to the edges like it might answer for you.

Caitlyn nods slowly. “You don’t have to decide today.”

You don’t say anything.

Outside, the weather’s gray—wet sidewalks, cars hissing through puddles, people ducking under umbrellas. You envy them. People with errands. Normal mornings. Lives not unraveling from the inside out.

“I’ve worked so hard,” you murmur after a moment. “To get here. To not be stuck. To not be…” You trail off.

Caitlyn tilts her head. “To not be your mom?”

Your throat tightens.

You nod.

“If Sevika found out,” you say quietly, “she’d try to take care of me. Completely. I know she would. She’d probably throw money at me like I’m a goddamn charity case. Cover rent. Doctor bills. All of it.”

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like the worst thing.”

You laugh—but it’s bitter. “It is, Cait. Because I’d let her. And then I’d wake up ten years from now, sitting on a porch chain-smoking, watching my kid smoke weed and sleep with guys she doesn’t care about just to feel something. Just like me.”

You shake your head, voice sharper now. “That’s what I grew up with. My mom on oxy, passed out on the couch. Me stealing her lighter just so I could feel cool at school.”

Caitlyn doesn’t interrupt.

You wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie, even though you’re not crying.

Not yet.

“I can’t live like that,” you whisper. “I won’t.”

She reaches across the table and touches your hand, fingers light, but present.

“You won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re not her.”

You don’t respond.

You just stare out the window.

And for the first time since taking that test, you whisper something not meant for Caitlyn, or Sevika, or anyone else.

“…I’m scared.”

The grocery store is quiet for once—no crying toddlers, no long lines. Just the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional beep from the self-checkout lanes.

You came in for basics.

Bread. Maybe something frozen. A little comfort food.

Instead, your cart’s half-empty.

And your feet have led you somewhere without asking.

You blink, slowly realizing where you are.

The pastel shelves.

The gentle lullaby music on loop.

Tiny shoes. Soft blankets. Bottles. Pacifiers.

And right in front of you—baby formula.

Your hand hovers near the tin. Not touching. Just staring.

The price stares back at you.

So does the weight of it.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there until a voice breaks through the haze.

“Hey.”

You flinch a little.

Turn.

It’s Ekko.

Hood up, hoodie sleeves too long, a box of cereal tucked under one arm. His brows lift when he sees you.

“Didn’t expect to run into you in... the Gerber aisle,” he says with a small smile.

You force a chuckle, backing up a step like you just got caught somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.

“Yeah, I was just—uh. Lost.”

He gives you a look.

You don’t elaborate.

He glances down at the formula.

Then back at you.

And his smile fades a little. “You okay?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Totally. Just—shopping.”

Ekko shifts the cereal box under his arm, quiet for a beat.

“You don’t gotta tell me anything,” he says gently, “but… you look like your brain's somewhere else.”

You press your lips together.

Your eyes flick to the little price tag again.

Then back to him.

“I’m just… figuring some stuff out.”

Ekko nods slowly, expression softening. He’s not judging. He’s not pushing.

He just knows.

And that’s almost worse.

“You wanna walk out with me?” he offers. “You don’t have to talk. We can just... exist.”

You let out a breath.

Then nod.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’d like that.”

The sky’s starting to dim when the two of you step out of the grocery store, plastic bags rustling between your fingers as the automatic doors slide shut behind you.

You walk side by side through the lot.

Neither of you talk.

You’re grateful for that.

Just the rhythm of your footsteps and the occasional gust of wind that makes you hug your hoodie tighter.

When you reach your car, you fumble with your keys for a second before unlocking the door.

Ekko shifts beside you, bags swinging gently from his fingers.

He doesn’t look at you right away when he says it.

He just stares ahead, like he’s watching cars go by.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says softly, “but if you ever do... I’m around.”

You freeze.

Look at him.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, but there’s nothing casual about his tone. It’s quiet. Steady. Just enough.

“I don’t always say the right thing,” he adds with a small shrug. “But I’m a good listener. Better than I used to be.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

Your hand tightens around your keys.

“I know,” you say quietly.

He finally glances at you—soft-eyed, a little worried, but not pushing.

Just... there.

You nod once. “Thanks.”

He gives you a crooked smile and backs away with a little wave. “Don’t drive like you’re in a Fast & Furious reboot, alright?”

You snort through your nose. “No promises.”

“Text me when you get home.”

You nod again, slipping into the driver’s seat.

And as you pull out of the lot, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror, you realize—

You’re not as alone as you thought.

You don’t go home.

You take a left instead of a right, grip tight on the steering wheel, every turn sharper than it needs to be. You know where he’ll be—he always runs to that same shitty duplex with the peeling siding and lawn chairs on the porch, like it’s a safehouse for boys who never learned how to grow up.

You pull up to the curb, engine still ticking as it cools.

Your heart isn’t racing.

You’re calm.

Dangerously calm.

You get out.

You knock once.

He opens the door in sweatpants and a smug smirk like he was expecting you.

“I knew it,” he says, arms wide, like you’ve come to apologize. “Didn’t take long, huh? You always come crawling back when the attention wears off.”

You stare at him.

Expression flat.

“Let me guess,” he continues, stepping back to let you in, “that butch boss of yours got bored? You remembered who actually gave a shit about you?”

You step inside just far enough to close the door behind you.

And then you say it.

“I’m pregnant.”

The air shifts.

He blinks.

“What?”

You fold your arms. “You heard me.”

He laughs once. A short, breathy sound with no actual humor. “That why you’re here? What, you think I’m gonna play house with you now? You think I’ve got baby money?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I don’t want anything from you. Not your money, not your name, not your presence.”

He scoffs. “So why even come?”

“Because I’m keeping it,” you say evenly, stepping forward. You scan his face with a numb look

“And if you ever come near me..or my baby” you pause sucking in a breath 

“Ill blow your fucking brains out” you say brows furrowing 

He opens his mouth like he’s about to throw something back—one of his usual low blows—but the look in your eyes stops him.

You’re not here to argue.

You’re not afraid of him anymore.

And that scares him more than anything.

You step back toward the door.

“Dont let me see you again,” you say coldly. “And go to therapy before you end up in another unlucky womens bed.”

Then you leave.

And this time, you slam the door.

The apartment is still warm when you walk in, but it doesn’t feel comforting.

You close the door behind you slowly, bags left on the kitchen counter, coat half-shrugged off and forgotten. The adrenaline is gone. And all that’s left is you.

You sink onto the couch, hoodie still clinging to your arms, eyes staring blankly at the wall.

What you said.

What you meant.

“If you ever come near me or my baby…”

Your own voice echoes in your head. Cold. Certain. Just like hers—your mom’s—on that night. The night everything split in half.

You sit there for a long time, motionless.

Then—

A knock.

You flinch.

Soft.

Measured.

But unmistakable.

You pull yourself up and open the door slowly.

It’s her.

Sevika.

You can’t sit still.

The moment Sevika steps inside, you brush past her, motioning toward the couch. “Sit.”

She does—reluctantly—watching you as you start pacing the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest, eyes unfocused, steps uneven.

Sevika doesn’t say anything at first. She watches.

Her jacket rests over the arm of the couch, her elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely. There’s a slight furrow in her brow, but no judgment. Just concern.

Real concern.

You walk to the far end of the room. Turn. Come back. Repeat.

“You didn’t text me back,” she says quietly.

“I know,” you murmur, still moving. “I just—needed space. And then I didn’t. I don’t know. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

She nods once but doesn’t interrupt again.

You stop near the window, stare out at nothing, arms tightening.

“I went to see him,” you say after a long silence. “My ex.”

That gets her attention.

Sevika shifts slightly on the couch, but still stays quiet.

You don’t look at her.

“I told him,” you continue, voice shaking. “And he was exactly who I thought he’d be. Arrogant. Worthless. Talking like I crawled back to him.”

You shake your head, pacing again, hands now running through your hair.

“I said something to him. I said—” you laugh under your breath, bitter and small. “I threatened him. Like… really threatened him.”

Finally, you stop.

Back turned.

Then you face her.

Your eyes meet.

Your voice is hoarse.

“I’m pregnant.”

There it is.

Said.

Spoken.

Real.

Sevika doesn’t react right away—her jaw tightens, her breath shallow. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

She just stares at you, chest rising and falling slowly, like she’s absorbing the weight of what you just handed her.

You swallow hard, arms hanging at your sides now, defeated.

“I’m pregnant… and I’m keeping it,” you say, softer this time. “And I didn’t know how to tell you because—because I knew you’d try to fix it.”

You step closer.

“I don’t want you to throw money at this. I don’t want you to carry me like I’m broken.”

Her eyes flicker, something shifting there—hurt, maybe, or something deeper.

“I just wanted you to know. From me. Before someone else figured it out.”

You exhale.

“And if you want to leave now, you can.”

And then you wait.

Heart pounding.

Breath caught.

Finally still.

Sevika finally stands.

She moves slow, deliberate, like if she makes any sudden motion, she might spook you.

Her hands slide into her pockets as she looks at you. You can tell she’s still processing it—you, standing there, raw and scared and shaking.

But her voice comes out steady.

Measured.

“Okay.”

You blink, stunned for a second.

“That’s it?” you ask. “Just ‘okay’?”

“I’m not gonna yell at you or run out the door,” she says quietly. “That what you were expecting?”

You say nothing.

She takes a small step closer, still cautious. “You’re pregnant. You’re keeping it. Alright.”

You look away, jaw tight, throat closing up.

“And I want to help,” she adds.

You freeze.

“I mean it. Doctor’s appointments. Groceries. Rent. Whatever you need—”

“No.”

Your voice cuts sharp through the room.

Sevika’s brows knit.

“I’m not asking you to do that,” you snap, stepping back like her words physically pushed you. “I knew you’d say this. I knew you’d try to take care of it like it’s just another broken department or failing quarter you can fix with a check.”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes it is,” you shout. “You’re already thinking in numbers, aren’t you? Bills, child care, maternity leave—you’re breaking it down like a business problem.”

Sevika’s expression hardens slightly. “I’m trying to support you.”

“No. You’re trying to control it.”

Her jaw sets, but she says nothing.

Your voice cracks, but you keep going.

“I’m not gonna be my mom, Sevika. Sitting in the same shitty house smoking through her sadness while her daughter grows up watching her rot.”

Your hands shake at your sides.

“I don’t need to be saved. I need to know I can survive. That I can do this. On my terms.”

Sevika finally speaks again, voice low. “And what if I want to be there?”

“Then be there,” you snap, tears rising now, uninvited. “But don’t try to buy your place in this.”

Silence falls again.

Your breathing’s uneven, your heart racing, and she’s just standing there—still, unmoving, watching you come apart like she expected it.

Like she understands it.

Even if she hates it.

She steps back finally, nodding once.

“Okay,” she says again, but it’s heavier now. Rougher.

“I hear you.”

The silence stretches.

You stand there, trembling, arms wrapped tight around yourself like you can squeeze the tears back in. But they come anyway.

Silent at first.

Just the shake of your shoulders, the burn behind your eyes.

You turn away from her, wiping your face roughly with your sleeve, trying to bury it all before she sees.

But she sees.

Of course she does.

“And—” your voice wavers, broken between breaths, “and I want to go back to work.”

Sevika doesn’t move.

You swipe at your eyes again, frustration rising in your throat like bile.

“I want to work at the office again. I need it. I need it to stay normal. I don’t want this to change everything.”

You turn back toward her, your voice small but desperate. “I don’t want this baby to erase who I am. I don’t want people whispering about me like I’m fragile. Like I’m on borrowed time.”

Your eyes meet hers through the blur.

“I want to work.”

Sevika stares at you, silent.

And then, finally, she nods once.

“Alright.”

Your lips part, breath catching—but then she adds:

“But you’re taking maternity leave. Paid. And not the bare minimum, either. We’ll extend it. And when the time comes, if you need more time, you’ll take it.”

You open your mouth to protest.

She holds up a hand, calm but firm.

“Not a negotiation.”

You swallow hard, still blinking tears away. “But—”

“You want to work?” she says gently. “Then work. I’ll make space. You’re good at what you do. But if you think I’m gonna let you burn yourself out and end up in another hospital bed, you’re kidding yourself.”

You laugh through your tears, a wet, shaky sound.

“I hate that you’re right.”

“I always am,” she mutters, stepping closer.

She brushes a tear from your cheek with the back of her knuckle.

You don’t stop her this time.

You just breathe.

And for the first time all day—

You let yourself rest.

Even if it’s just for a minute.

The water runs hot.

Steam curls around your shoulders as you lean against the tiled wall, head bowed, eyes closed. You let it all melt off—the fight, the weight, the last of the tears. Your muscles ache in places you didn’t realize were tense. Your ribs feel bruised from holding it all in.

But the steam helps.

For the first time in days, your breathing evens out.

You don’t rush.

Not this time.

Out in the apartment, Sevika stands in the kitchen.

She’s barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a pan sizzling gently on the stove. She found eggs, spinach, some kind of pre-cooked rice, and turned it into something edible. She didn’t ask. She didn’t say a word when she saw your fridge was nearly empty. She just… started working.

She moves with purpose, the kind that says this isn’t her first time taking care of someone who won’t ask for help.

The apartment’s quiet except for the soft hiss of oil and the clink of dishes being put back where they obviously don’t belong.

At some point, while the rice warmed, she picked up a few clothes from the floor. Folded the blanket on the couch. Tossed an empty takeout container. She didn’t make it spotless—just livable. Just enough that the space doesn’t feel like it’s collapsing in on itself.

She keeps glancing toward the bathroom door, half-expecting you to come out and tell her to stop.

But you don’t.

And she kind of likes the silence.

It’s easier than arguing with you.

You finally step out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, face pink from the heat. Your body feels lighter. Still tired. Still sore.

But different.

You pause when you see her—Sevika at the stove, stirring something like she’s been doing it forever, like she belongs here.

The apartment smells better.

Looks better.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

And for a second, you let yourself imagine it.

Her.

You.

This.

Real.

You pad quietly into the kitchen, still towel-drying your hair, now dressed in clean sweats and an old band tee. You spot her at the stove—one hand on her hip, the other gently stirring the pan, brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

You settle onto the barstool at the island.

And watch.

Her jaw’s tense in that way it gets when she’s hyper-focused. Sleeves pushed up. Scar peeking out beneath her cuff. There’s a faint scrape of stubble on her jaw, and you realize, far too suddenly, that you’re staring.

And maybe a little turned on.

You shift in your seat, clearing your throat.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

She doesn’t even look up.

“Is that so?”

You smirk. “Yeah. I just figured you had, like… maids and home chefs and whatever. People who chop your vegetables into perfect little cubes while you’re off yelling at boardrooms.”

That earns you a glance over her shoulder.

One brow raised. Amused.

“You think I don’t know how to use a knife?”

“I think you know how to threaten people with one,” you say dryly. “Not dice carrots.”

That makes her chuckle under her breath. A rare sound—rough, short, but genuine.

“Don’t let the suit fool you,” she says, tossing the spatula down with a soft clatter. “I was broke as hell before I was rich. There were no private chefs. Just whatever I could make out of a box.”

“And now?”

She shrugs, plating the food. “Now I cook because I like the silence.”

You blink.

That… wasn’t the answer you expected.

She slides a plate toward you without another word.

Warm rice. Eggs. Sautéed spinach. Simple.

But it smells like comfort.

You look up at her.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, your lips twitch into something that feels real.

A smile.

It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet that only exists at 3:47 AM—where the street outside is still, the refrigerator hum feels too loud, and the weight of sleep presses heavy on your chest.

Sevika’s beside you in bed.

One arm draped over your waist. Breathing slow and even.

You’re finally resting.

Until you’re not.

The dream hits hard—so real it doesn’t feel like one.

You’re back in that living room.

Your hands shaking.

A gun in them.

Sevika standing in front of you, not scared. Just confused.

You’re crying. You’re screaming something you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears.

And then—

The gun goes off.

Her body jerks. Blood blooms.

You catch her in your arms like it’ll undo it.

But she’s slipping. Eyes fading.

You’re yelling her name.

“Sevika—please—no—”

BANG.

You shoot up in bed with a gasp, drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling like you just ran for your life. Your hand instinctively presses to your mouth, trying to stifle the sob that slips out anyway.

“Hey—hey.” Sevika’s voice cuts through the dark, hoarse and low.

You feel her hand on your back instantly.

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

You can’t speak. Can’t look at her. Your eyes are wide and wild in the low light, heart slamming in your chest.

“It was just a dream,” she says, voice steady but gentle, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “You’re okay.”

You shake your head. “I shot you,” you whisper, voice cracked and breaking. “I—Sevika, I shot you.”

She exhales, pulling you close before you can spiral further.

“Wasn’t me, baby. I’m right here. See?” She takes your hand and presses it to her chest.

Steady heartbeat.

Warm skin.

Alive.

“I’d never—” your voice trembles, your body shaking against her. “God, I’d never...”

“I know,” she says firmly. “You don’t even have to say it. I know.”

You bury your face in her shoulder, and for a while neither of you speak.

She just holds you, one hand stroking your hair, the other steady on your back.

And for the first time in years, maybe ever—

You let yourself be comforted.

Not because you’re weak.

But because you’re finally safe.

Your cheek is still pressed to Sevika’s chest when the vibration starts—low, persistent, buzzing against the nightstand.

She stiffens beneath you.

You both hear it.

Her phone.

Again.

You don’t move at first. Neither does she.

It stops.

And then it starts again.

“Fucking hell,” she mutters under her breath.

You pull back slightly, still bleary-eyed, voice raw from crying. “Just answer it.”

She hesitates, clearly not wanting to move from under you.

But you nod. “It’s okay.”

She sighs, reaches over, and grabs the phone.

“Sevika,” she says, voice low and hoarse.

You watch her face shift as whoever’s on the other end starts talking.

Her jaw clenches.

“Yeah,” she says sharply. “Okay. No—no, I’ll handle it. Just keep the board off my ass until I get there.”

She hangs up with a quiet beep.

You sit up, wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt. “Another fire?”

Sevika exhales through her nose. “Investor pulled out. PR’s scrambling. Might tank the quarterly forecast if we don’t fix it fast.”

You’re quiet for a second, then: “Do you want me to come with you?”

She turns to look at you.

And for a second, her face softens—like she does want that.

But then her hand finds yours.

“No,” she says gently. “Come in at the normal time.”

You search her face. “You sure?”

“Yeah. You need sleep. Real sleep.”

You nod slowly, even though part of you wants to be next to her while she’s storming boardrooms and putting out fires.

But you also know she’s trying to protect you from jumping back in too fast.

She grabs her coat off the chair, pulls it on over her tank top, hair still a mess from sleep.

Before she leaves, she pauses at the door, looking back at you.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

You nod. “Text me if you need anything.”

She offers a half-smile, small and tired.

Then she’s gone.

And once again, it’s just you and the silence.

But this time… it doesn’t feel quite as lonely.

The elevator dings.

You step out onto your floor—heels clicking softly, eyes sharp, chin high. You’re dressed in something a little more daring than usual: a short plaid skirt that hugs your hips, a fitted grey vest with a black undershirt that dips low enough to make people double-take. The whole look says I’m fine louder than your voice ever could.

And in a weird way, you are.

Your stomach isn’t twisted.

Your body doesn’t feel heavy.

Your mind’s still loud, sure—but for once, you’re not drowning in it.

You get to your desk, drop your bag, and take a long sip of the coffee you bribed yourself into buying.

For a moment, you exhale.

Normalcy.

Routine.

Sanity.

And then—

“Hoooooooly shit, who let you in looking like that?”

You don’t even turn around.

“Hi, Jinx.”

She pops her head over the top of your cubicle wall like a nosy gremlin, eyes wide, cheeks already puffed with laughter.

“I thought we said business casual, not business casual slut.” She grins like a menace. “And I say that with love, obviously.”

You smirk without looking up from your computer. “Aren’t you the one who wore fishnets and combat boots to last month’s investor meeting?”

“With a blazer, thank you very much,” she fires back. “That’s called balance.”

You finally glance at her.

She’s perched on your desk now, one leg swinging like she owns the place. Her eyes scan your outfit again, exaggerated and dramatic.

“Okay but really,” she says. “You’re glowing today. New shampoo? New dick?”

Your face twitches just slightly.

You look back at your screen. “Neither.”

She tilts her head. “Huh.”

Then, quieter: “You good?”

You hesitate just a breath.

Then nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just… trying to feel like myself again.”

Jinx hums. “Well, it’s working. You look like you’d ruin a man’s life before the morning coffee even finishes brewing.”

You grin a little. “That’s the energy I’m going for.”

The afternoon drifts by in soft focus.

The office buzzes around you—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, Jinx yelling something inappropriate three desks over.

But your head feels floaty. Detached.

Like you’re in your body, but not in it.

It’s the hormones, maybe.

Or the sleep deprivation.

Or the weight of the secret no one else knows you’re carrying.

You’re halfway through restocking supplies at the front desk—just something to feel useful—when your phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

You freeze for a second.

Then swipe it open.

One new photo.

No caption.

Just an image.

It’s blurry—like it was taken on an old flip phone.

But it’s you.

Standing outside the café yesterday with Caitlyn.

Only… you don’t remember anyone else being there.

You zoom in.

The angle is low. Distant.

You feel your heartbeat spike.

You glance around the office, suddenly hyperaware of everyone.

You’re about to delete it when a second photo pops up.

This time it’s your apartment door.

Taken last night.

The same low angle.

The same grainy quality.

You drop the phone on the desk like it burned you.

You look up—

And Sevika is standing across the room.

Watching you.

She tilts her head—subtle. Concerned. Confused.

You lock eyes with her, stomach twisting, breath caught in your throat.

She starts to walk toward you.

And your phone buzzes one more time.

You look down.

You’re not alone.

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[cozycryptidcorner]

Part 2, NSFW

I do not like reading my old work, so you will be going in blind.

You yawn, mouth agape and shaking as your body takes in as much air as it can.

There’s  a dewy scent in the air, a thick layer of mist churning outside of your  cabin, swallowing the grass like an amorphous beast. As you sit up,  rubbing your eyes, you take a habitual glance at Sky, who, for all  intents and purposes, successfully pretends to be asleep. For the first  couple of days, you allowed him to relax through dawn to help his  recovery, but with most of his wounds healing and no sign of infection,  you make sure he’s up and at ’em the moment you are.

Carefully, you reach over and aggressively flick the tip of his ear.

He shifts but doesn’t open his eyes.

Letting  out a huff of air, you repeat the motion, leaning on his shoulder for a  better vantage point. He sleeps facing the wall, arms tucked beneath  his chin, hair in a tangled mess beneath his pillow, very careful not to  accidentally poke at your body during the night. And you appreciate  that, mostly, though with the chillier nights, you find yourself  pressing the arch of your spine into his back. He’s like a heating pad,  warm beneath the covers, and you sometimes let yourself think about how  you’d rather he close his arms around your body.

“Hey,” you demand  his attention, knowing full well he’s just faking a deep slumber in the  hopes to be disregarded for the morning, “come. You need to go fetch  water.”

His eyes squeeze tighter.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you say, lifting your leg up and draping it over his hip, so you have more reach. “Wake up.”

You flick his ear again, and his nose scrunches up in response.

“Stop faking,” you nag, tapping your index finger on his forehead.

After a few more minutes of what you’re certain is infernal demands, he shifts. Unfortunately, that knocks the  single-leg you’ve placed all your weight on off its careful equilibrium,  and you wobble forward. Without thinking about it, you place a hand on  the pillow, lurching just forward enough to be… a hair’s width away from  his mouth. His mouth, near your mouth. And he’s wide awake, startlingly  bright eyes open.

It takes only a moment of asinine blinking for  you to realize what just happened, and now you’re backpedaling, mumbling  apologies, face hot and burning with embarrassment. Without turning  around to look at him, you throw a shawl over your shoulders and march  outside, opening the door for Kip to follow.

The sun hits your  face like a gentle caress, spring already bleeding into summer. A breeze  still carries the night air from the crevices and cracks of the earth,  washing a cool flood of air over the fields. As you walk over to the  chicken coop, you try to bite down your cheeks and urge some  inappropriate thoughts out of your mind.

You don’t know why you  feel so embarrassed. The closeness? The feeling of his skin on yours? An  accident. It was all an accident, and you didn’t mean to do it. At all.  Why did you even apologize? If anything, he should be the one who at  least gestures some apologies; it’s his fault for knocking you off  balance. There’s an unfamiliar tightness in your stomach, one that  whispers about something inevitable coming.

Speck, Dodo, and  Priscilla all cackle with impatience as you scoop out their feed  absentmindedly, still picturing how near his mouth hovered near yours.  Why are you even overthinking this? There’s nothing to ponder further  about. This is fine. You’re okay.

As you continue with the  morning’s chores, you come to the conclusion that this is all just a  culmination of being trapped in your tiny cabin with another person.  Awkward things are always bound to happen, no matter who you share a bed  with. Inevitable, even, which is why the nuns see this strange  agreement unseemly. Careless slipups and accidents. In fact, he probably  doesn’t even remember the incident.

When you start breakfast, you notice the skin around his eyes is as red as his hair.

No matter, no matter. He’s probably worried about something else, or maybe he… got too much sun from getting water.

You  yawn, slicing yesterday’s loaf for toast. Unfortunately, there is a  problem with privacy. Usually, when you felt this weird tightness in  your stomach, you would hide beneath your covers and touch that place  between your legs until your muscles spasmed and relief came. Now… you  can’t. Or you suppose that you could, technically, but something about  the action is remarkably private.

You wonder if he does the same.  You already grasp the difference between the sexes and know that he  carries something distinctive, but surely the urge still resides beneath  his skin. Does he think about you wh-

A hot, pinching pain  scratches down your finger, and you just barely stop the knife before  you sink the blade before it hits bone. Keeping yourself from crying  out, you pull the knife from the skin and place it to the side, watching  the blood ooze out almost in shock.

He’s by your side, holding your finger in his hand, eyes glazed over with concern. Throat dry, you try to explain that you’re fine, that everything is fine, but the sharp stinging of the wound makes your chest freeze. You’re  afraid anything that comes out of your mouth will be a pathetic whimper,  so you say nothing.

Careful, he brings your hand up to his face,  taking the injury into his mouth before you have a chance to react. You  can feel his tongue brush against the wound, eyes almost hooded, looking  at you for some kind of direction. You offer none, face becoming hot as  he licks your blood away. Despite the quickly fading pain, something in  your stomach jumps when he looks up at you, finger in his mouth.

He  opens his mouth, pulling your hand away from his face when you don’t  move. A trail of spit attached itself to your fingernail, another twist  plaguing your chest and stomach. You barely notice the fact the cut has  healed, nary a mark left in your flesh.

“Thanks,” you croak out, forgetting the dangers of thanking his kind so blatantly.

His  own face has taken to look like his hair, red blooming in his cheeks,  eyes downcast. He nods once, then takes a step back to the table.

As  difficult as it is to continue on normal, you force yourself to  continue preparing breakfast. What would you do otherwise? Ask him to  suck on your fingers again? Absolutely not, finish cutting the bread and  act like nothing happened. It’s probably normal, if he healed you by  doing it, he’s probably done it before to other people.

You dance  around the topic, trying to strategize when a good time would be to bury  your fingers between your thighs and regain some fucking peace.

“Can  you walk to the neighbor’s to deliver some of these potatoes?” You ask,  gesturing to the small basket to the side. You are ready to risk him  being seen by others if only you can guarantee an hour or so on your  own. “You don’t have to, though, if you don’t wish to.”

He looks at the basket, then pops an eyebrow up.

“What-  oh,” you remembered that he doesn’t know the directions. “Right. I  suppose I can walk with you this time so you know the way. If that’s  alright with you.”

He nods, once, face a puzzling shade of pink.  His eyebrows scrunch up, lips pursed as though trying to figure  something out. You are acting somewhat awkward, you suppose he must  wonder what you’re up to. Fuck.

Making sure Kip knows to stay and  watch the house, you leave. Sometimes you chatter when you work, Sky is  an avid listener if nothing else. Sky will nod his head and shrug his  shoulders in response to your one-sided conversations, but today you  focus only on survival. Put one foot in front of the other, walk, walk,  walk, and hopefully, your body will forget about the fucking broiling  need in your lower stomach.

Focus, you think, looking up at  the cloudy sky. Smell the dewy humidity in the air, note every single  color your eyes can see in the landscape. Categorize everything, make a  mental list, and for God’s sake, stop thinking about the last time you  saw him naked. You bury your face in your hands, pinching the bridge of  your nose, moving your feet without bothering to look where you go.

Sky saves you from stumbling into a fallen tree, grasping your arm just as your foot hooks beneath a heavy branch.

“Oh,” you say numbly, brushing your skirt off when you pull yourself away.

He frowns, but you don’t try to justify the near-miss.

Your  neighbors know about him as a concept, though they’ve never met him  before. Part of the decision was for his protection, you make sure to  pull his hair over his ears just before you see their cabin. Given fear  of the fair folk, no one will outwardly try to harm him, but the stigma  could grow out of your control if you don’t take steps to protect him.  Suppose this will be a test.

He’s remarkably beautiful, that’s for  certain. Your neighbors, an elderly couple who can’t tend to their  garden as they used to, could not stop fawning over him and his  waist-length red hair. The two of you get invited for tea, the old women  enjoying the company. You pull weeds from the garden while Sky eats one  of the honeycakes they set out, nodding and shaking his head to a  barrage of questions.

Your eyes meet his, fingernails caked in  dirt, sweat soaking through the back of your dress. You look away  quickly, face heating up. The old women chuckle to themselves, which  only makes you more self-conscious about your existence.

When you  walk back, you hold your arms tightly around your chest and try to shoot  through the landscape again. The fields are looking rather yellow  today, Autumn is making a headway through the countryside.

Sky stops you once you almost impale yourself on the same exact tree again.

He looks befuddled, hand still on your arm. His lips purse, slowly, eyes looking over your appearance in search of something, and the sudden attention causes your face to grow hot. You’re suddenly  very uncomfortable, not because he’s scaring you, but because everything  is becoming too heated for you to handle.

Not quickly, as though  you are a startled deer, he pulls your hand forward, up to his chest,  and presses your palm up against where his heart might be.

“What are you doing?” You ask, feeling uneasy.

He  shakes his head, pressing both his hands over yours. His fingers are  long and slender, just as freckled and delicate as the rest of his body.  Through the stiff clothing, you can feel his pulse bump slowly through  his ribcage. The fervor in his eyes tell you he’s desperately trying to  communicate something, but you don’t know what. The easiest answer- impossible.

Sky  is lithe and graceful, beauty incarnate, always so far away from your  grasp that you don’t allow yourself to think about what might happen if  you asked him to relieve you of this tight, thickening coil in your  stomach. You’ve awoken from dreams where his fingers are touching you in  all the right places, body alit with a roaring fire, embarrassment  tightening your face.

But he’s moving forward, slowly, as though  giving you time to run if you want. You could break away from him,  leave, run and hide beneath your covers and never face him again. If you  want, but you don’t.

His mouth is just as soft as you imagined,  lips moving with gentle need, his hands awkwardly held away from his and  your body, as though he doesn’t know what to do with them. The kiss is  remarkably quick, not a simple peck, but still something that leaves a  fire of desire roaring in your lungs and throat.

“Oh,” you say, unsure of how one might properly react to being kissed.

Sky  blinks, long lashes sweeping down his cheeks, and his nose twitches.  You realize that he might have misread the subtext of your oh, because it wasn’t a bad oh, it was a thoughtful one. You bring your hand up to trace the side  of his face, trying to think of what someone with a little more kissing  experience might react.

“Thank you,” you say softly, wishing to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Thank you? Thank you. What an absolutely stupid response.

There’s a pause, his eyes shifting from your face to his hands, which are twisting and picking at each other.

You  grasp the front of his shirt, and moving carefully so you don’t make a  fool of yourself, you kiss him. His body relaxes beneath your touch, you  didn’t realize he was so tense until you feel his muscles when you  press into him.

He threads his fingers through your skirts,  pulling you closer, breaking the kiss off. And he smiles, soft, gentle,  pressing his forehead against yours. The moment lingers, sun and stars  standing still for you and Sky’s own private eternity. He takes your  hands again, pressing them to his heart, and intensity in his eyes so  desperate you know what he wants to tell you.

You share a few more chaste kisses before remembering you have to start dinner.

This  thing with Sky- this is new to you. Men and women have looked at you  before, yes, but the desire was few and far inbetween. Something about  his consistent presence changed your feelings, the need for him to touch  you barely familiar to any other relationship you’ve had.

He  kisses your neck when you cut the vegetables, soft, gentle kisses that  rake you over hot coals. You want to melt into a puddle even before you  finish putting the soup on the fire, and even though he helps with the  cleaning, he still does it in a way- you can’t even formulate the words.

Once  dinner is cooking and the kitchen is tidied, you cross your arms and  try to find another thing to do. More cleaning? Maybe. There’s an odd  finality to your actions, you don’t know what to do with yourself  anymore.

Sky seems amused by your hesitation.

Carefully,  tenderly, touches light enough for you to shy away from if you need to,  he takes your hand, then pulls you over towards your bed. Your face  heats up, knowing what he asks, trying to find the words to respond.  Fingers threaded together, mouth pressing against your cheek, all you  can think to say is a whimpering, “please.”

Kip paws at the door, insistent to be let in. You ignore her.

He  sits against the bed, pulling you on top of him, your legs straddling  his waist as though riding a horse bareback. Again, you kiss, pressing  your mouth down against his now that you have the upper hand. Your  skirts tangle and press into your skin, a thick desperation now even  more unbearable. Sky takes a break from the kissing to undo the lace of  your bodice, pulling and tugging the string free.

Any  embarrassment you might feel from your bare body fades when he kisses  and nips at your breast. You suck in your breath, arching your back into  him, wishing with no words for him to continue.

He hikes your  skirts up around your waist, the layers of fabric bunching up. Already,  there’s a hint of hardness in his pants, one that you know you want.  That you need. You’ve seen animals fuck plenty, so you know the bare  mechanics of the deed. Know from the hushed talk of wives how good it  can feel.

Sky balances his actions between tender and brutal. His  fingers are tight enough around your undergarments that you feel his  pulse through the fabric and skin. His tongue snakes out and licks a  mark he sucked into your chest. The male is everywhere at once, and  unleashed tempest, mouth clacking against your lips in a desperate, hazy  kiss. Worship, you think, is the right word for what he does to you.  Blasphemous, maybe, but accurate.

He moans when you nip at his  ear, your breath warm against his skin. Keens when you mimic his more  experienced actions on his own body, gasping when you nip lightly  instead of kiss. You feel his own need straining his thrifted pants,  throbbing and delectable against your core. Already, you pull away, just  to tug your garments off. Sky helps, eagerly, fingers pulling at straps  and laces.

You’ve seen him completely naked, vulnerable, eyes  glazed over with a pain that silences him even to this day. A kind of  naked where he was bare to the elements, left for dead, so you do not  mind him seeing you. In fact, you want him to look at you like he  does now, hungry, eyes dark, but with a kind of soft adoration that  brings your pulse up to a loud staccato.

He reaches over, you  guide his hand up to a bare breast, his palm pressed into a prominent  nipple. You straddle him once more, and the way he looks at you- the way  he touches you- like you are a relic, a holy thing, something to  revere. His breath comes out almost in a wheeze, the most noise he has  ever made with his voice, face blossoming with red, fingers hot and  desperate.

You claw at his shirt, face burning with something  other than embarrassment. He helps, though the both of you give up on  the pants after you manage to get his cock out.

Cock. Funny word, one that you’ve only said in joking circumstances.

But  as you straddle him again, on your knees so he can guide you down, you  don’t think you can ever think of it again without this memory swimming  behind your eyes.

He’s gentle, at first. Guides you down so you  sit atop him, having you move slow so you are used to his girth. And, to  be fair to your body, you have done some unsavory things with the  handle of a stirring spoon before, so this isn’t your first...  penetration. But it’s been awhile, and he is attentive to the need for  adjustment.

You sink down, all the way, feeling your arousal pool  against his pelvis, all around his throbbing erection. Embarrassed,  trying to ground yourself, you bury your face in the crook of his neck  and shudder, tendrils of pleasure running down your spine and through  the rest of your body like a lightning strike. And when he moves?

God  in heaven. Lucifer in hell. You let out a pathetic whimper, still  clinging to him like a drowning sailor clings to wreckage. Desperate,  clawing, ready to weather the storm on the horizon. He wraps his hands  around your waist and gently shifts, forwards, backwards, as though  testing how well you take it.

“More,” you beg, eyes blurry.

Sky  obeys, thrusting now, gently, gradually. The tension in your stomach is  slow to build, but he is a creature of eternal patience. He meets your  needs with ease, rocking back and forth, holding you close as he can  without crushing the air from your lungs. The noises he makes are gutteral, animalistic, deliciously desperate. He gazes at you, eyes pleading, mouth moving.

You  lose yourself, finding this to be so much easier than you thought. You  suppose you didn’t think that a roll in the bed would be this simple;  two people, needy, yearning, falling into each other as naturally as  breathing.

He rubs the nub just in front of your slit, finding it without much direction, and you are lost.

You feel him follow suit, a thick, hot sensation filling your body.

Even  after, he holds you close, wetting a rag and helping you clean up the  mess of love. Everything is tender, sore, and he kneels between your  legs to wipe away his pale mess.

Dinner is ready. You let Kip in and serve the soup in wooden bowls.

this is a draft i found from 2021. it used to be on patreon? there’s a second part somewhere, anyways enjoy.

Sky the Fae/Reader

You find him naked, laying on the dew-wet grass.

The sheep are what alert you to his presence, some uttering nervous whines as you and your dog bring them down from the mountain. Kip manages to control the woolly formation while you investigate, knowing full well that it could be something as mundane as an old wine bottle shining strangely in the sunlight. But no, it’s something… far more curious than that.

Keep reading

[damn-stark]

Chapter 11 Eternal eclipse

Chapter 11 of Tragedy at the Miller’s

A/N- This chapter was an emotional one to write, more than the previous one

Warning- ANGST, talks of violence and death, thoughts of suicide, spoilers for season 2, Remember this is a rewrite not an AU, so the major stuff that happens in the show will happen here :)

Pairing- Joel Miller x daughter!reader (platonic of course :), OC x Fem!reader

Episode- 2x03

(If you want to be tagged let me know!)

————

What sweet escape is there from the deafening echoes of your father’s screams torturing your every waking second?

What mercy will erase the violent memories of him getting violently beaten to death?

What trick can you play on fate so it can cut your life line and stop you from hearing your father's last words repeating again and again, adding to that merciless torture?

“Don't look…baby.”

What is the answer to all your loaded questions? If it was not Abby, then what?

You look around the clinic bathroom for a quick answer, something that will let you join him quickly, but you find nothing until…you look past your reflection. There in the depths of that steaming bath water is your answer…

Nothing can be as painful as the torture you went through, and will go through from here on out, so there’s no hesitation or fear. You were supposed to undress and wait, but you dip in the bath, getting quickly enveloped by the steaming water, and seeing darkness when you close your eyes.

A part of you expects all that grief and trauma to follow you, but there’s a peaceful abyss in the darkness, so you sink under and wait to finally be complete with your family.

It’s the only way to know peace again. It’s the only way to end the pain that awaits you. It’s…the only way to be with him again…

Yet…you can almost muster a laugh when you hear the door open, letting in fate’s intervention. Your husband, Apollo.

Said man sees you completely sunken in and reaches in to pat your shoulder, making you rise from the water and not care to wipe the water off your eyes when you open them. You just sit there with your eyes downcast and dark, with the horror still clinging to you.

“I told you to wait for me,” he says the same way he’s been speaking to you since you reunited in the middle of the street; softly and like he’s afraid that if he speaks any louder, he’ll hurt you in some way.

“At least you helped by loosening up that dry blood,” he adds so he knows he’s not scolding you, he’s just reminding you kindly of what he told you—“I'm going to start with your face, okay, my love?”

You don’t respond or acknowledge him, you simply sit still as he rubs soap on the rag and then gently touches your face to gently and slowly scrub your father’s blood off your face.

“Maria and Tommy will be back, they just have to take care of other things around town,” Apollo fills the morbid silence. “Our friends will come visit soon, and my dad will take Teddy home later. If not, Maria said he can spend the night with her.”

Finally, after a long silence, you shake your head, letting him know without a need for words that you want Teddy to be home, and he doesn’t argue against it, not in your state.

Apollo would actually not dare to try and upset you at all, thanks to Maria and Jesse, he knows why you returned home in such a disarray. He doesn’t know what exactly happened or how exactly you got hurt, but he knows enough to ask for time off work to be with you and be extremely gentle with his words and actions.

He wants to know how you ended up getting hurt, but he can’t bring himself to ask, so he has no choice but to wait to read the reports. Until then, he just washes the blood off your face, and when there’s no trace of red left, he moves onto your hands, skipping your throat because the nurses had cleared that area when they tended to your wounds. However, when he starts scrubbing your hands, he notices how filed down your nails are, and the cuts on all ten of your fingertips, almost as if you had scraped your fingers until they bled.

Once again, he doesn’t ask; he just tends to you quietly until finally you lift your eyes off the water and pull one hand away to start signing.

Now, he doesn’t know as much as you do, but he knows the alphabet, so he understands when you sign, “ELLIE.”

“Oh,” he gasps and lets his hand hang over the bathtub to give you the answer you seek. “She had some broken ribs. They’re tending to her now by the best doctor, Mia,” he lets you know with a smile in hopes you’ll mirror it, but you just express faint relief and a light nod.

“She’ll need to stay here until she heals,” Apollo continues to share. “Which is good knowing her. She’d probably try and get back to work tomorrow.”

You nod again in agreement and then pull yourself closer to the edge of the tub to ask after someone else.

“DINA,” you sign, making Apollo continue scrubbing your hand.

“She’ll be fine. The drugs have worn off, and they'll tend to that frostbite on her hand,” he lets you know, making you let out a short and deep breath of relief before you continue to look down at the water.

“And you,” he adds sweetly and with another sweet smile. “Will get to go home today. There’s no need to stay with a bruised throat. I think you’ll be more comfortable at home anyway.”

Home…

It’s supposed to bring you peace. It’s meant to be an escape from the everyday commotion of work and this apocalyptic life. You hoped with every fiber of your being that it would be an eternal escape anyway, and in some way, it is some escape. Home does offer some peace, but only because it offers sanctuary from the outside world.

You don’t fear that the infected will roam the streets, that’s not why you don’t leave home when you step foot in it. Home doesn’t keep the violent and painful memories away; no, you have those every day and every night.

When you close your eyes the first night at home, you think you’ll be in that peaceful abyss once again, but you end up back in that lodge, seeing your dad slowly slip away right in front of you.

Every single night it’s like you’re being tortured, feeling every raw ounce of grief and crippling pain. It reaches the point that Theo needs to start sleeping in his own room so he wouldn’t be startled awake by your screaming. You had advised Apollo to do the same, but he refused to, so every night, like clockwork, he wakes up to you screaming and offers you the comfort of his soothing embrace.

Apollo is the sweet reminder that you’re not there again, so you keep him close. Being near him or in his embrace eases your pain and makes days easier to navigate, but he’s not enough to ward away your paranoia. It’s why you don’t leave home for three months, because home is a sanctuary. Home keeps you from failing your dad again, it keeps you from being taken back to that lodge again and watching him get beaten to death.

Albeit eventually, sometime throughout those three months, Apollo has to return to work. He’s the head of the construction unit now, you see, because the previous one died, so who else can fill his shoes but the man he mentored?

Yet you’re not alone. You’re never alone when he’s gone. If it’s not your Uncle Tommy, it’s Maria, or Mia. Even Dina is around sometimes, but you’re never at home alone.

That would annoy anyone; it would annoy you when it hit a certain point, but why would a corpse be annoyed?

That’s what you are. A shell of a person who has a beating heart, working lungs, but no soul. It was sucked right out of you, leaving you roaming the earth like a corpse.

You do eat, but hardly. You take care of your son, but every achievement he makes passes over your head. You listen to Apollo, your Uncle Tommy, Maria, your friends, and Dina talk, but you never respond to anyone besides mindless nods and blinks.

Life just passes by. The snow melts, the bitter coldness begins to leave, and day by day spring slowly takes over the earth, but everything might as well be bitter, dull, and lifeless because you don’t bother to care.

It comes to a point where everyone who loves you, except for Ellie and Jesse, meet up at your house to talk about you, thinking you’re busy putting Theo to sleep. Albeit he's quick to fall under the spell, so you overhear everything that is said.

“It’s been 3 months, Mia,” you hear Uncle Tommy raise his voice at your friend. “If something is wrong with her, you need to tell us.”

“N-No,” Mia argues. “Nothing is wrong with her. Her wounds have healed. She should be able to talk now.”

“Then?” Your uncle quips with worry.

Mia sighs, and there’s a moment of silence before you hear Gail, Mia’s adopted mom, speak up for her daughter. “It's a trauma response. She may not be doing it on purpose. It’s her mind's reaction to everything that happened that day, but now it all depends on her. You can’t force her to speak. She needs to decide on her own.”

“And if she never does?” Maria asks with the same concern that everyone in that living room carries.

“Then she never does,” Gail puts it bluntly. “But either way, I’m going to start her therapy tomorrow. That's what you still want, Apollo?”

A second of silence passes before you hear your husband speak. “Yeah. We've been putting it off for long enough, and I…I don’t know how to help her anymore. Her nightmares don’t stop, and I…I don’t want her to suffer anymore. She doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t eat. I…don’t want this to take her. So please. Come.”

Tears slip from your eyes, and you rest your head against the wall as you take in his words and think about everyone gathered in your home, worried about you.

You don’t want them to be worried. You don’t want to be a burden. It’s all just…impossible.

Life…without him…

If you make a sweet escape, no one will worry. You’ll be no one’s burden, and most importantly, you’ll be with them again; Sarah and your mother, whom you never got to meet but was your dad's great love, according to your Uncle. Most importantly, you’ll be with your dad again. You crave that sweet afterlife so dearly…

An end to the pain…

However, one of the reasons you don’t take that path suddenly stirs awake and looks up at you with his father's sweet eyes, making you wipe your tears off your cheeks and muster a soft smile.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

And then, in the silence of the day is an interruption. A disturbance in your day-to-day life.

Yet even though you were broken from the spell you were under, you don’t move to open the door after a visitor rapped their fist on the wooden door. You don’t pretend to be busy, you remain seated in your rocking chair with your blanket covering your legs and your crocheting project in the same state it’s been for the past three months, just a square.

The visitor, on the other hand, walks into the living room trailing after your Uncle Tommy, revealing themselves to be Gail. As predicted.

“Hello,” she greets as she walks past your Uncle to stand at his side and face your pathetic state, and since you can’t speak, you just offer her a tight-lipped smile before you look down at your crochet square and pick up the needles to pretend to be busy.

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll be close by,” your Uncle Tommy interjects in the awkward silence, taking no time to turn away and walk off, leaving you alone with Gail and her intentions, you really don’t plan to entertain.

“Well, you can put that shit down, we both know you weren’t doing it before I got here anyway,” she says bluntly, making you pause and wait a moment before you drop the needles and keep looking away.

“We’re also not going to pretend that you don’t know why I’m here. You’re smarter than that, so get up and come with me.”

You draw out a deep breath and slowly raise your head to face her with a glum look, making her think you’re going to give her a hard time, but you pull the blanket off your lap and toss it on the couch before you rise off your seat.

“Good,” she praises you and doesn’t fret to walk off. You follow after her at a normal pace, not giving much thought to her grabbing a bag next to the doorframe, and not asking questions about where she’s taking you. You follow her until you notice that she’s heading to the backyard. That's when you stop in front of the back door, hoping that the door will close behind her, securing you inside, but Gail is quick to notice that your footsteps are not trailing after her, so she turns and manages to catch the door before it closes.

“Come,” she beckons you outside. “Just to your backyard.”

You step back, telling her that you refuse to follow along now, but she takes a step past the door as she keeps it open, and hardens her gaze.

“There’s no point in making you,” she argues. “But if you want to be difficult, I will be difficult right back. Come. Outside. I need you to see something.”

You think about her threat and know she means it, but what is her persistence compared to what she wants to show you?

You have an idea as to what she may want to show you after all, and even the thought of it makes you want to cry.

“Ellie gets out of the clinic in a week,” she then cuts through the silence to share that bit of information about a girl you haven’t gone to see in three months.

“Do you want her to see you the way you are? Is that the example you want to give your sister?” She cuts deep, forcing you to think about what she said and come up with an answer, which is no. You don’t want her to see you the way you are. That’s not the image you want her to have of you after she gets out of the hospital.

You want her to see someone…handling her grief. An example of strength so she can be so and know that it will be okay. Yet how can you be the very picture of that with the way you look now?

Thus, you drag out a deep breath and step forward, making Gail offer you a tight-lipped smile before she continues her path outside.

This time, you trail after her, and the moment you step outside, you gasp deeply as you’re hit with the simple touch of fresh air. You then immediately shield your eyes from the sun’s rays breaking through the branches of the great oak trees that live around your backyard, and duck your head whilst your shoulders tense up as you’re offended by all the noise that travels through the sky.

When you finally manage to catch up to Gail by the garden of wildflowers, your discomfort slowly washes away. The sun still slightly burns your skin and bothers your eyes, and the noise is just as annoying, but you don’t let it drive you inside. You let it all be as you keep your eyes on the vivid green leaves that decorate the oak tree.

“Look down here and tell me what this garden means to you,” she gets right to business with a strict and professional voice.

You remain defiant though and let your eyes wander the trees, feeling the sun stop burning and start feeling warm and kind against your skin.

“Look,” she presses with her voice raised, and so you proceed to blink and drag your eyes down, but you keep every feeling, thought, and memory at bay.

“So?” Gail probes.

You simply shrug, making her sigh and crouch to study the little yellow rue flowers that take part in the great wild garden.

“I think these Rue flowers are lovely,” Gail shares her thoughts, making you cross your arms over your chest. “When did you plant these?”

You don’t say anything, of course and since she already knows the answer, she continues for you.

“Was it after you came back five years ago? They’re very pretty.”

You bite your lip and glance away.

“These purple ones are really nice too,” she adds, and so you grip onto your arms and keep your eyes averted.

“Everything is just so lovely. I think there’s a purity to flowers. Grace. A resilience and a rather dependable beauty in this new life. You know? Infected roam the earth, bad people live amongst us, but this…these flowers are something you can always count on when you want to see something so perfectly beautiful. Furthermore, when you can’t see them, at least you know they’re still here, growing tall even through it all.”

You look down and see the picture she paints with the flowers. You can understand everything she says, but every personal meaning you have connected to all that’s beautiful is still kept away.

You meant to lock it away in the dark corner of your mind, but you weren’t strong enough, so it came rushing down. The only thing keeping it from completely crushing you is your fight to keep it at bay.

“Oh, ok,” Gail sighs and pushes herself to her feet before she pulls out something small from her bag that fits in her balled hand.

“If this doesn’t mean anything, then you won't mind if I torch it, right?” She says and catches all your attention.

“Tell me,” she huffs and reveals a match and a striker as she opens her hand. “What does this wildflower garden mean to you?”

You watch her pull out a match and hold it up between her and you.

“The yellow flowers are Rue flowers. You planted them with your dad in memory of your mother. Am I right?” She asks, and since she doesn’t get an immediate answer, she answers for you. “Yes, I am right.”

You swallow thickly and drop your arms to your sides to ball your hands tightly in defiance of what she threatens to bring out.

“The rest of these beautiful flowers are a reminder of who you’ve lost, right? Right.” She nods. “But mostly your sister. The one you and your dad adored. The one who looked after the both of you. The one you would spend breakfasts with just before she had to go to school and your dad had to go to work—”

You shake your head, and your eyes begin to sting along with your throat as your mind slowly gives signs of pain.

“These flowers aren’t just a reminder of her. But of that life with her and him. They’re the reminder that no matter what, your sister and now your dad will always be with you. Even if the flowers themselves aren’t showing, you know that they’re still here, underground, in the same way your dad is and will always be here. With you. Even if he’s not alive, he’s still here…with you. So what if I torch it?”

She won’t do it.

She won’t dare to, so you don’t give her what she wants or what she threatens to set free.

You remain defiant, so she chuckles maliciously and lights the match before she holds it up between you and her again.

“You think I won’t do it?” She reads your mind and smirks at you before she tilts her hand down to let the match dangle between her fingertips.

“Watch me,” she snaps, and you see her loosen her grip, making your heart begin to race with fear.

“I won’t let it burn my fingers,” she adds and looks down at the match before, in the blink of an eye, she lets the match go, causing your eyes to widen, and a breath to catch in your throat seconds before you reach over with the attempt to catch it.

Albeit you’re too slow, the match hits the ground, and the flames don’t hesitate to start wanting to consume everything in its path. So before they can kill the beautiful wild garden that holds everything sweet and hopeful, you quickly stomp out the fire and look at her bewildered and with tears welling in your eyes.

“Tell me,” she insists softer, and this time, after she almost took it all away, you feel it break like a weak dam.

Everything you tried so hard to keep away comes bursting out like a cascade of water, and when that happens, there’s no way of trying to put it all back in. It’s too late and impossible. Everything comes apart.

Every attempt to keep every feeling back washes away. The memories of the day you lost your dad are loud, and his last words are even louder, but it’s every single memory where he wasn’t being tortured, where you were happy, and when he was simply alive, that consume you completely, dragging you under the surface where you can’t breathe because of the emotions that come rushing up your throat, and where you can’t see because of the tears that cover your eyes.

The only way to breathe is by coming up for air, so you do. You surface and take that breath, and when you do, you can’t help it, you start to let out a mighty, painful wail like never before as if you had been holding everything back and only now were able to let it out.

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. It’s like every part of you is on fire, but you can’t stop. You let it all out and continue to wail for the father you loved and lost.

You lose your balance and fall on your knees. You almost fall on your hands, but there to catch you is none other than your Uncle Tommy, who had been on standby by Gail’s instructions.

“It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay.” He whispers as he cradles you. “I’m here.”

You grip onto him and part your lips to utter your first words in months. “He’s…he’s gone,” you say hoarsely and wail again before you bury your face in his chest and sob like the day he died.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “He is, but never forgotten.” He whispers, and you cherish it as you weep and continue to weep. The pain of grief and loss doesn’t wash away with all your tears, nor does it just go away when you muster the will to speak again. Maybe grief will be a long companion, but the wildflowers are vivid with color, the sky is a sweet hue of blue, and the sun is brightly yellow.

“I think…these flowers will look just perfect in your garden.” Your Uncle says after Gail left, and you were able to stop crying, and able to pull yourself away. “Don’t you think?” He asks and pulls out a couple of lovely blue Irises still connected to its root, begging for it to be part of the dirt so as to not die.

“Gail brought them for you to plant,” he says, giving you the answer as to why Gail was carrying a bag that she left here.

“Where should we put them?” Your Uncle asks and brings the flowers down to a spot already occupied by many a flower. “Here?”

You scoff and remark at him hoarsely. “Are you jokin’?”

He sniffles and flashes you a sly grin before he gets on his feet, making you mirror his actions.

“There,” you point out and lead him to the spot to give your new flowers a place to thrive.

After a while. After you planted the Irises and spent time in your wildflower garden, basking in the sun your body has lacked for three months. Apollo comes home from work, finding you and your uncle sitting on the bench swing.

“Hey,” he says with an air of disbelief and hope as he sees you outside for the first time in months.

“Hey, Apollo,” your uncle greets your husband as he walks over to join you by the bench swing.

“Hi,” you still can’t get your voice to sound clear, but it’s not like it matters to Apollo; he still looks at you with shock, pride, and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he gasps and quickens his pace to reach you faster, making you get off the bench swing to let him embrace you and undoubtedly hug him back.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” he coos as he holds the back of your neck with one hand and rubs your back with the other.

“Teddy?” You ask for your one-year-old.

“He was sleeping, so I put him to bed.”

You hum before you hug Apollo tighter, not saying it then, but demonstrating how much you love him.

You can’t even begin to fathom how alone he must’ve felt in the time you didn’t talk, and you were there physically, but mentally, you just weren’t there.

He could’ve given up or not been so patient, but he never complained or turned his back. He held you every time you woke up screaming and when you’d cry in the middle of the day.

“Well,” your uncle breaks you and Apollo apart, but you don’t stray from one another. He keeps his arm around your waist and you tuck your hand in his coat pocket—“I’m going to head out now. You’ll be okay?”

You sigh shakily and nod ever so lightly. “Yeah. Tell Maria not to come tomorrow. I…don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know I don’t need to be looked after anymore. Thank you.”

Your uncle scoffs. “Of course, Sunny. Don’t mention it, but how about dinner, then? At our place? It’s okay, don't bring anything with you.”

Without needing it to be discussed, you nod to give your uncle the okay, making him smile before he begins to head out.

However, before he can leave, you break away from Apollo to catch your Uncle in an embrace. “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” you whisper shakily.

“You don’t have to mention it okay?” He assures you. “It was nothing. We’re family. Always.”

You nod, and he holds you closer before he interjects.

“You remember where we put your dad to rest, yes?” He asks.

“Yeah. I remember,” you let him know and then pull back. “Get home safe.”

He scoffs and nods before he waves Apollo goodbye and then leaves, leaving you and Apollo alone in the garden where you look at the flowers and think of everything you need to tell him. Everything he needs to hear after three months of you being…not here.

“Apollo,” you don’t hesitate to say, and look away from the flowers to meet his already attentive gaze. “I—”

“Don’t say it,” he cuts you off and closes the gap to be face to face with nothing but an inch of space left between you—“it was really nothing and we made a promise to each other the day we got married. For better or for worse,” he repeats those sacred vows. “I meant them and I live by them not only because you’re my best friend, but because I am in love with you and I couldn’t abandon you when you needed me most.”

You move in, leaving no gap left to be able to grab his hand and be physically connected. “But that’s it, you didn’t abandon me, and for that I will always be grateful. So thank you…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

He shakes his head and brings his other hand up to cradle your cheek with his warm palm. “And you don’t have to. Ever so don’t look at it that way because you’d never want me to see it that way. Right?”

“No.” You shake your head right away, making him flash you a smile before he lets your hand fall to hold your face with both hands and keep your eyes on his so as not to stray even an inch.

“Tell me, what do you feel now?” He asks.

You cup his hands and sigh. “Like I’m here…my heart was beating and my lungs were drawing in air before, but I was never here. My body was only an empty shell. But now…now I’m here and it hurts so much worse, but,” your voice trembles. “I want to try and…make it hurt less. I want to keep talking to Gail.”

Apollo sighs with relief and then caresses your cheeks. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “Really. I’m proud of you.”

You draw in a shaky breath before you drop your head on his shoulder, letting him press a gentle kiss on top of your head before he wraps his arms around you once again.

“I’m here,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you whisper back and let a silence linger before you break it with a desire. “I want to go pay my respects. I want to see my dad's grave.”

“Of course. We can go whenever you want.”

“Now,” you blurt and pull away to find his gaze. “Please.”

Once again, Apollo is too kind, he gives in. “Okay. Let me just let our friends know. They want to accompany you, if that’s okay?”

You nod. “Yes, of course. I’ll get Teddy ready and we can go.”

He hums, and without delay, you do as you agreed upon. You wait for Teddy to wake up first, and then after he’s ready, you gather your friends, ride out of town, and find yourselves in Jackson’s cemetery occupied by all of the loved ones everyone’s lost.

You have never had to come until now, but you find no trouble in finding your father. You wish you had struggled to find his grave to have time to process the fact that he’s buried here and that you’ll never get to see him again, but you find his name amongst the row of other dead and instead linger behind to take time to process the fact that he won’t be waiting for you, or meeting up with you. You have to walk to his tomb placed where he’ll be forever. Even when you’re nothing but bones as well.

No one rushes you, though. They let you take your time and wait with you until you’re finally able to approach the tomb.

“Hi Daddy,” you greet, and for the first time in thirty years, you cast a shadow over him. “I know…it’s been a while. I know I wasn’t here when they buried you, but…I’m here,” you cry and crouch down, reading the words carved on the wooden tomb.

‘Joel Miller’

‘09-26-1967 - 01-01-2029’

‘Beloved Brother and Father’

“I’m sorry,” you blurt after you read the carved letters. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I,” you stammer. “I did try. I’m sorry.”

Footsteps close in on you before a shadow casts over your figure, swallowing your shadow before you feel a warm hand on your shoulder as they crouch down by your side, revealing themselves to be Apollo and Theo in his arms.

Apollo doesn’t proceed to say anything; he just stays by your side with his hand on your shoulder, stopping you from saying everything else you had to say, everything that was already written out in your mind after months of thinking about it, and leaving you with that weight on your chest.

“Teddy, why don’t you put the flowers down for your grandpa,” Apollo tells Theo, who’s already come to visit your dad with your Uncle Tommy and Maria.

“Just there,” Apollo instructs your son before letting him go, making you hand him a bunch of yellow Rue flowers that Teddy places down without a struggle.

“Good job, Teddy,” Apollo praises him, making the boy turn to smile with glee, and causing you to clap for him and his great achievement.

“Good job, baby,” you follow up by saying as you wipe the tears off your cheeks and offer him a sweet smile, making the boy get the idea to walk over to you to hook his arms around your neck and cling onto you instead of his dad.

“You did good,” you whisper to him and cradle the back of his head, remembering at that moment the first time your dad saw Theo and held him.

He was so happy that you thought his heart would give out with joy. He also struggled to hand Theo back, so you thought he’d leave with him.

Now…your son will grow up and not even remember him. He’ll know him by all the things you’ll tell him. Other than that, he’s too young to remember how much your dad absolutely loved him, all because…

You drop your head and hold Theo close as if seeking that embrace from your father in someone who’s a part of him. You know it will never be the same, but a part of your dad lives in your son.

“Why,” you pause and clear your throat of that ball of emotions caught in your throat. “Why don’t you say hi to Grandpa?”

Theo pulls away, but keeps one hand around you as he turns to face the tomb. “Ha,” he tries his best to say. “Ha!”

You giggle and kiss his cheek before you stand up with your son in arms, causing Apollo’s hand to slip off your shoulder before he slowly mirrors you and stays by your side.

“I will follow you,” Atlas breaks his silence as he sees you on your feet. “If you want to get justice for what those bastards did, I will follow you.”

“I will too,” Mia proclaims, abandoning her mother-like role in your friend group and showing a fierce and dangerous devotion. “I follow you too. It wasn’t right what they did.”

You keep your eyes on your dad's tomb and hear Mia’s husband chime in next.

“I know I joined your friend group because of Mia, but you’re special to me now too. All of you. And Joel was a good man. I will follow you too.” He pledges and all their words warm your heart. They make you happy, and they let you know that even if you’ve been a bad friend for the past three months, you can still rely on them like before.

Yet as touched as you feel, you know revenge is not what you want.

“Thank you,” you interject and pull your eyes off your dad's tomb. “Thank you, all of you, for your support. I appreciate it more than you know. I do.” You nod and then sigh deeply. “But,” you pause and look at each and every one of them. “That’s not who we are. I’m angry. Sad beyond measure, but I’m not going to gain anything going after the woman who…killed my dad. That’s not going to make my pain any less, and that’s not what I want Teddy to know either.” You express yourself with confidence because no matter what you feel, you know that’s not the path you want to take. That’s not who you are.

“Thank you, though. It really means a lot,” you add softly and look back at your dad's tomb, feeling that weight on your chest push down so heavily that you feel it pushing on your heart.

You don’t like the feeling, but you can’t find a way to get rid of it. Not even finishing what you were sharing before you got interrupted would have been the solution. They were just a manifestation of what you feel and have been feeling, so you don't know what the cure is.

It’s not revenge.

Is it time?

Or…

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“You don’t think she’ll be mad at me, huh, Teddy Bear?” You ask your son rhetorically, but he looks over at you and blinks as if processing what you asked.

Teddy ultimately doesn’t respond, so you don’t prolong the moment; you secure the bag of goodies around your shoulder and then knock on the door and wait.

Moments later, there’s a response from the other side of the hospital room.

“Come in.”

You open the door and slowly push it open, revealing to Ellie, the patient, that it’s you. After three long months, it’s finally you.

“Holy shit,” Ellie gasps as she sits up straighter and looks at you with her eyes wide. “I thought you were dead. Or completely forgot about me.”

You close the door behind you after you walk in and then respond to her absurd comments. Which are reasonable, but it’s still absurd.

“No,” you argue with your voice still a hint hoarse. “I just…”

“Lost your voice,” Ellie cuts you off more seriously now. “Yeah, I know.”

You set Teddy down and he doesn’t hesitate to roam, taking advantage that he’s not being held, whilst you approach Ellie with your lips drooped and your eyes dull out of guilt and shame.

“It’s not only that,” you share. “It’s…I…felt guilty,” you confess and rob Ellie of her smile and make her slowly frown. “You shouldn’t have walked in seeing that and me on the floor not being able to…uhm,” you pause and clear your throat to avoid crying more than you already have. “Well…stop her. I should’ve,” you pause again and put down your bag of goodies as you stop at the edge of her bed. “I should’ve stopped her even if it had gotten me hurt or killed.”

Ellie stares at you hard for a moment, with the wheels behind her eyes churning fast as different thoughts form.

“For that, I’m sorry,” you finish saying and drop your eyes to try and fight back the tears that well in your eyes, regardless of your attempts.

“I think Joel would have died with you if you died saving him,” Ellie says softly, pulling your eyes off the ground to look at her with sadness—“and,” she continues. “It was a tough situation, so don’t apologize. Besides, he wasn’t my dad. He was yours. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

You take in her words and take a seat beside her to hold her hand.

Ellie looks down at your touch with surprise, expecting an estrangement now that your dad wasn’t alive to keep you talking to her, or expecting anything else but your touch.

“You loved him,” you argue with a small and wobbly smile. “And he loved you. There’s nothing to be sorry about. You lost him too.”

Ellie’s eyes flicker down to your interlaced hands before she meets your watery gaze and breathes out shakily as if dropping a mask that hurt her so much to carry. After that, for the first time, she moves in and surprises you with an embrace.

There’s no awkwardness. Just vulnerability that she lets you see, just like that time after David.

Yet it’s that same vulnerability that makes a different kind of guilt creep in. Yet, you don’t let it affect you at this moment. You hold her tightly, feeling a spark of bliss in your heart that only she was able to make you feel.

“You know…” you pause as you sniff her. “You smell like sweat.”

You pull back and study her face, catching a sheet of sweat glistening over her face, proving that what you smelt was right.

“I hope you haven’t been doing something you’re not supposed to,” you manage to tease her. “My best friend is the doctor of this clinic.”

Ellie scoffs and shakes her face with an obvious lying expression. “Nope, I’ve been sitting here…all day. Every day.”

You know she’s lying, but you’re not annoying about it. Instead, you pick up your bag of goodies and then place it over her legs.

“That’s for you,” you let her know with a happy little smile. “Before the outbreak, if you were in this situation, people would’ve brought balloons and stuffed animals, but this is now, and you get out in a week, so,” you breathe out and pat the bag. “I brought you a bag with foods you like and things to keep you entertained. This last week will be hell, so I think it’ll help make the days pass by faster.”

Ellie groans as she grabs the bag to rummage through it, causing Teddy to walk over with curiosity. “Wouldn’t your doctor let me go now? I feel so much better.” She says.

“Sorry.” You offer her a pitiful frown. “But that’s something I cannot make her do. Trust me. Unless you want her pestering you for a week.”

“No,” she grumbles. “They already check on me more than they should.”

You look over your shoulder to make sure no one is coming and then look at Ellie again as you pick Teddy off the ground and sit him on the bed. “I’m sorry about Dina,” you finally address the situation you’ve overheard Dina ramble about the times she’d visit. “I can maybe start giving her the cold shoulder,” you offer. “Albeit she did visit me and stay with me so…maybe I can keep it strictly professional.”

Ellie scoffs as she pulls out a brownie and breaks it in half to share with Teddy as he grows ever so curious. “Nah, I…learned not to be bothered by what she did. It’s Dina. I assumed she’d forget about it. It’s okay. However, I am sorry she visited you.” She says with a teasing look.

You shrug. “Well, I was out of it, but it was nice. We…share a memory that will always keep us connected, so I’m quite touched she went. It’s Jesse whom I haven’t seen. Has he come to visit you?”

Ellie nods with her mouth full, thus making crumbs fall out of her mouth just like Teddy. “Yeah,” she says with her mouth full. “Plenty of times.”

You hum and wonder again why he didn’t visit you. It’s not like you were impossible to reach, you never left your house.

But alas, you push it aside for now and face her with a faint smile. “After you’re out of the hospital, you are welcome to come stay at my place if going back home is difficult.”

Ellie swallows her snack and slowly lifts her gaze to find yours with nothing to say. She just sighs as her face grows serious and glum.

“Thank you,” she offers you, with no say if she’s going to accept your offer or not.

You don’t pester her about it as long as she knows that’s an option.

“Have you gone to his house?” She asks and looks at Teddy as he asks for more of her brownies.

“Uh,” you swallow thickly. “No. Not yet. I thought about going after this, but I-I don’t know. Maybe...”

She hums and grabs another brownie to share with Teddy.

From there on, you can’t think about anything else but stopping by at your dad's house. You argue with yourself between wanting to go and waiting for a different day.

Gail says it’s okay to take things slow. You’re talking again and no longer trapped in your trauma, so you shouldn’t want to do everything at once, but it’s been three months. That’s what you keep telling yourself until you decide not to go.

You’ll go on a different day, maybe when Ellie goes.

Alas, after the hospital, you find yourself in your dad's street, slowly walking up to his house, fully expecting to see him sitting on his porch enjoying the warm sun until you reach his house and see old and new flowers, drawings, and notes in front of his house in his stead.

The porch is abandoned and has a cold shadow covering the wooden chair where he liked to sit and where you found him for the last time, just at the start of the New Year.

Maybe if you walked to the front door and knocked he’d answer, you thought foolishly until you once again noticed the dozen of notes and bouquets left in memory of him, becoming a cruel reminder that no one would answer the door. No one would sit on that porch again to play the guitar in the sun, or try to fight his sleep as he tried to read.

Maybe if you went inside, you’d feel like a part of him was still there. All of his stuff has gone untouched after all, but when you approach the end of that driveway to prepare to walk to the front door, you come to a sudden stop.

No matter how much you wanted to move, your grief would not let you take a step forward because you knew he would not be there. You knew that you’d no longer have dinners at his house or have movie nights. You'll no longer come and find him and Teddy asleep on the couch, and you’ll no longer have someone to share a cup of coffee.

His house will be alone and a harsher reminder of what you won’t have anymore, so instead of going in, you hang around the fence to read everything everyone wrote and let Teddy see and touch all the things that call his attention.

There’s things that make you smile, but there are more things that make you cry as you read how much he impacted everyone who lived in Jackson.

It all brings you close to finding the strength to walk inside, but alas, you still can’t, so you linger where you are for a moment. When you get ready to leave, you hear someone walk over, so you stop and pretend you don’t hear.

That is until you hear Jesse say your name, causing you to turn and face him with Teddy in your arms.

“Jesse,” you greet with a hint of joy and the hint of a smile, but it’s a blink and you’ll miss it type of smile.

“Were you just coming out of your dad's house?” He asks as he glances over.

“No.” You shake your head and steal a glance at the house before you look at all the things and then at him. “I…couldn’t…you know? But it’s okay, Gail says it’s okay to take my time.”

Jesse nods in comprehension and gulps before he glances at the ground and doesn’t prolong the moment. “I saw you walking out of the clinic, and I thought I’d follow you to uh, tell you first, I’m sorry that I haven’t gone to visit you.”

You watch him and hang onto every word, but wonder why someone usually so confident is struggling to speak.

“And two…I’m sorry,” he says in a quieter voice than the one you’re used to hearing. “I should’ve gotten there sooner. Maybe that would’ve made a difference. Maybe he would still be here and you would have your dad, but I didn’t even catch the ones who did it. For that, I’m so deeply sorry,” he shares what’s kept him away with genuine guilt and shame.

“Oh, Jesse,” you whisper and close the gap between you to grab his shoulder so he can at last look you in the eyes—“you did nothing wrong. Nor do you have anything to be sorry about. Maybe if you had been there you would have gotten hurt too, or worse. What happened that day happened for a reason. So please know that I have never blamed you. I actually wondered where you’ve been.”

He scoffs. “Trying to think of the right thing to say,” he shares. “I just couldn’t bring myself to face you. We are patrol partners after all. Friends too. I just…felt ashamed I let my friend down.”

You smile softly and gently shake his shoulder. “Well, as your friend I want to tell you that there’s nothin’ to be ashamed about. Ok?”

Without making things hard, he nods in comprehension, so you offer him one last smile before you let him go and bring up a question. “You workin’?”

“I have some time until my next shift,” he says, so you nod and then share what you have in mind.

“Okay, cool, come over. I was just thinkin’ about gettin’ some lunch.”

——

*A WEEK LATER*

“You need to take that goat back to the barn,” your uncle tells you for the…third time. Not like you’ll listen or consider it. “It’s goin’ to get attached to ya…more than it already has.”

“What should I name it?” You ignore him as you look at the 1 week old baby goat who was ignored by his mama. “You know that some people believe goats are the devil,” your uncle tries to spook you so you'll leave the goat be, but you get a bright idea for a name.

“Ha, Lucifer!” You snap your fingers. “Isn’t that such a good name?” You tell the baby goat over your shoulder, as it doesn’t fall behind.

“Don't worry,” you now address your uncle as you glance at him trailing at your side. “It’s just until it’s weaned and just while I’m here working on the farm.”

Your uncle sighs since he knows better.

“It seems you're slowly getting your color back,” your Uncle points out as he smoothly changes the subject. “You feelin’ stronger?”

You nod softly. “Yeah. The sun doesn’t bother me anymore, and I’ve been trying to push myself when I’m doing my work.”

“Ok, but as long as you’re not straining yourself,” he warns. “Continue to take things slowly. You’re in no rush. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You huff and flash him a smile, leaving a short silence as you approach the area you’re working at to fix the chicken coop.

Albeit when your eyes land on the area, there in the fenced area between the cows and the chickens are Dina and Ellie.

“Maybe you should give that same advice to someone else,” you whisper to your uncle as you both know that they’re up to something since Ellie is here just after she got out of the clinic after three months.

“If she asks what I’m guessing she’s going to ask, then I will,” he responds before you reach the area and acknowledge both girls.

“Hey Dina,” you greet as you open the fence door and walk in with the goat trailing behind you and your uncle trailing behind the goat.

“Hey…aw! Hello there, goat!” Dina says back with more enthusiasm for the goat than you.

“Ellie, I’m glad to see you’re out and about after just getting out of the clinic,” you direct at her, causing her to offer you a feigned smile.

“They said I should get fresh air,” she quips, making you feign a laugh.

“Girls,” your Uncle greets them. “What brings you out here on your day off? And on your first day out of the clinic, Ellie. Weren’t we all gatherin’ at Sunny’s house later to welcome you?”

She nods faintly. “Yeah,” she brushes him off. “But later I won’t get the chance to share what I just learned, so thankfully you’re both here so I can save some breath.”

You and your uncle share nervous looks before Ellie spills what brought her to the farm while you and your Uncle are working. And it’s nothing good.

It seems Dina finally told her about the girl and her friends who killed your dad, and now Ellie is requesting what you were afraid she’d want. Revenge.

That’s why you haven’t told her about what you know and why you told her you forgot, blaming everything on the trauma of the day. Yet it seems Dina doesn’t have the same precaution in mind. She doesn’t seem to know Ellie like you know Ellie, or else she would’ve never told her.

Alas…Ellie knows, and now she’s here telling your uncle and you to go with her to Seattle, so maybe Ellie doesn’t know you.

Yet you don’t turn her down right away and tell her that. Nor does your uncle turn her down either. Whereas Ellie makes your uncle genuinely ponder, you walk away to grab more wire and pretend to be thinking about the plan when, in reality, you just need time to breathe and gather your thoughts as memories of that day threaten to flood your mind.

You think about Abby, Owen, Mel, Nora, and Manny too. You see their faces every day, but you don’t see red like Ellie. You see betrayal, guilt, a deep aching pain, and a great sadness that threatens to take you down by adding to that unbearable weight that gets closer and closer to crushing your heart.

You hurt differently than it hurts Ellie, and that’s the only reason why you return to where they are to listen, but not even consider it.

“Well?” Ellie questions you and your uncle after you come back, making you put the wire down and take a seat next to your uncle before you bend down to pick the goat off the ground and cradle it in your arms.

“I gotta think about this,” your uncle breaks the silence, saying what you were going to lie about, so you end up being quiet and let Ellie retort.

“Think about what? Let’s fucking get these guys.”

Your Uncle glances over at you as you keep your eyes on the goat, as you try your hardest to fight your emotions.

“Ellie,” your Uncle argues and looks away. “It ain’t that simple. The town is still recovering. So are you.”

“Uh, we get where you’re coming from—” Dina interjects, but gets caught off by Ellie countering with annoyance.

“No, we don’t get where you’re coming from, I don’t get where you’re coming from.”

You clench your jaw and start to caress the baby goat while also slowly starting to rub your thigh.

“If it had been you, or her,” Ellie refers to you too. “Joel would be halfway to Seattle before the sun came up.” She argues, but she argues wrong. She argues completely wrong in your dad's defense. He might’ve been an angry man. He might’ve had a reputation, but he…wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t take a path toward revenge. He only got defensive.

“He’d be halfway to Seattle to save our lives,” your Uncle counters correctly. “But when we lost people, no. It would just break him like it was his fault. I saw that time and time again. And don’t talk to me like I didn’t know him. He was my brother.”

There’s a silence where you finally pick your head up to look over at Ellie, catching her sigh and averting her gaze, which in turn makes your uncle continue more gentler and understanding.

“Listen, I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t do this. But if we’re gonna put a posse together, we gotta do it right, which means taking it to Maria.”

Ellie’s jaw drops as she’s about to argue against your Uncle, but your Uncle beats her to talking, knowing what she had to say. “Yes, it’s fuckin’ necessary…”

You scoff softly and smirk in amusement.

“She’s gonna want a council meeting,” your Uncle continues. “Open it up to the town. Everyone who wants to get heard gets heard.”

“But you two will back us, right?” Ellie asks, and you catch the hope in her eyes.

Yet even that doesn’t change your mind. Albeit, you still lie and nod so she doesn’t argue with you.

“Of course, I will,” your Uncle gives his genuine response, releasing some tension off Ellie.

“Come here,” your Uncle says as he gets up to wrap her in an embrace that she seems to be tense in for a few seconds before you see her ease.

“And you,” your uncle directs at Dina, keeping to herself in the distance. “You hold out information on me again, you got rendering detail for a month.” He warns her as he and Ellie let go, making Dina scrunch her nose.

“Alright,” your Uncle puts an end to the matter, making Ellie and Dina walk away with the attempt to leave, albeit your Uncle stops Ellie before she can walk past the gate.

“Ellie. We buried our dead ten miles south of town. If you want to visit him.”

You let the goat go and continue doing your job.

“When we're on our way to Seattle,” she says and then leaves after Dina, leaving your Uncle with much to think about.

“You’re actually considering it?” You ask after you made sure Ellie wasn’t near anymore.

Your Uncle pushes himself off the fence and then answers. “‘Course. I’m not thrilled that she wants to pursue revenge, but if she wants to ask the council for permission, I’ll give it to her…will you?”

“I don’t have a say,” you deadpan, making your uncle sigh.

“No, but Apollo does, and what you say goes,” he says what you know and what you were pretending to be dumb about—“Will you tell him to accept?”

You don’t stop working, you keep going and give him a simple answer. “You want the truth? No. It’s not good for her to go down this path. It will get her hurt or worse.”

“Yes,” your uncle quickly argues as he approaches you now. “But if we deny her, she'll find a way to do it behind our backs. It doesn’t end well when you try to forbid the young ones from doin’ something. You were the same, and Teddy and any other kids you might have will be the same.”

You finally stop what you’re doing and look back at him. “I heard her out,” you quip. “I was about to walk away, but I heard her out. I will continue to hear her out when she speaks to the council, but my answer won’t change. She won’t like it, but it’s something I’m more than glad to risk…and it’s because I love her. Now, can we talk about something else and finish this?”

Without any more arguments, your uncle keeps his thoughts to himself to respect your choice.

Later that day, when everyone gathers in your house for the get-together you threw for Ellie, she asks Apollo the same thing she asked you, and he gives her hope since you hadn’t discussed it with him, but your Uncle is right, what you say goes. Your voice is heard one way or another through your husband, and he makes sure to ask for your opinion the next day when you’re lying in bed before you have to start the day.

“I want you to vote no,” you don’t hesitate to share without a doubt. “Whatever she might say, vote no.”

Apollo takes in your words and debates them himself only because Ellie is trusting him with this important decision that may or may not depend on him, and saying no feels like hurting her in some way.

“What if she gets the votes regardless,” Apollo brings up, so you drag yourself back, causing his leg to slip off yours, and feeling a hint of coldness as you pull your head away from his chest to face him with your gaze pointed.

“Then she gets them, but at least I’ll know I tried to put my foot down,” you rebuttal and look into his eyes, catching his doubt, so you sigh deeply and argue in your defense.

“What will getting revenge do?” You ask him. “It's not going to heal her grief. It’s not going to bring him back either. She’s just going to get hurt or worse. I get that she’s angry, I am too, but that’s why we handle it. We don’t chase people across the country for something that can’t be undone.”

Apollo sighs deeply and nods stiffly. “I understand,” he mutters. “She’s just putting her trust in me, you know?”

You swallow thickly and nod. “Yeah, I know. She’s putting her trust in me, too, but we’re the ones looking after her now, Apollo. We have to watch over her and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed. She deserves a good and long life. She won’t get that if she leaves.”

Apollo’s eyes linger on you, letting you see his resolve over the matter, but making you feel bad that he also has to go against her.

“Thank you,” you whisper and cup his cheek before you stroke your hand back to cradle the side of his head, making him smile a loving smile as he strokes your chin and then grabs the back of your head, letting you take that as a sign to nuzzle against him again.

“Will you go today?” He asks with worry. “You don’t have to, I’ll vote no.”

“Mia and Atlas are going to sit with me,” you let him know. “And either way, I’m there to support Ellie. I’ll hear what she has to say.”

He hums, and you go quiet to enjoy the little time you have left in silence before you have to get up. After that, you start your day, and the council meeting approaches soon thereafter, meaning you don’t have to handle your nerves all day. Thankfully.

Yet the same topic Ellie brought up the day before with your Uncle Tommy is brought up again, and you get uncomfortable as violent memories threaten to overwhelm you. You almost get up to leave, but you muster the strength to fight them off because your friends are with you to remind you that you’re not in that lodge, and your dad is no longer suffering.

You’re okay, and he’s…dead…

“Which is why I keep saying we need to invest more in turkeys and less in chickens,” Scott, a Jackson Hole resident and speaker for today's council meeting gets off topic, which you kind of enjoy so the matter can be delayed and your decision along with it—“and that brings me back to my earlier point about corn. Corn, some of you have heard me say, is not the easiest crop to grow, but it’s among the fastest. You can plot a graph that shows ease and resources versus time to harvest and get a li—”

“Scott,” your Uncle cuts his rambling off. “I’m sorry, but we gotta keep you on target here.”

“But it’s an open meeting. The bylaws say that—”

“Maybe we should stick to what everyone else came here to discuss,” Maria interjects now.

“I don’t really have an opinion on the Seattle thing,” Scott inputs now, ending the matter once and for all.

“Okay. Thank you,” Maria says and moves down the list of speakers. “So, that was Scott. Next is Rachel.”

You shift in your seat and keep focused, but as murmuring goes around the room and a baby goes fussy, you can’t catch a word that’s said. If it even was said.

“Can’t hear you!” Someone shouts for the entire crowd, making people go quiet and causing some shifting to happen before you finally hear Rachel’s voice.

“I said that Joel meant so much to so many of us. But he wasn’t the only one.”

You blink repeatedly and drop your eyes to your hands clasped on your lap.

“I-I lost my sister that day,” Rachel continues to say. “A lot of people in here buried family. And now, you wanna send, what are you saying, 16 of our best? Well, while they’re gone, who’s gonna be on the wall if Raiders come? A wall that’s barely mended. And none of you up there can promise us that all 16 will come back. So my heart is with you,” she says and says your name along with Tommy and Ellie’s before she finishes sharing her opinion.

“We are too hurt, and it is too soon.”

You sigh and lift your head to look at Jesse, Apollo, your Uncle, and Maria, all up on that platform as Maria brings an end to Rachel’s time.

“Thank you, Rachel. Next is Carlisle,” she moves on, making the old man stand from his seat to address the crowd.

“I’ll be quick,” he clears his throat. “‘Cause this one’s simple to me. People came and killed Joel. So, why wouldn’t we wanna take our vengeance?”

You clench your jaw and sigh deeply with distress caused by the worry that he’s going to encourage the request.

“Well, because we’re not supposed to.”

You peer over your shoulder and look at the man as he’s caught you by surprise.

“Forgive and be forgiven. No grudges. No revenge. And I’m not even a Christian. I’ve always seen the wisdom in that. That’s what separates us from the Raiders, and the murderers. Our capacity for mercy.”

You take in his words with relief, hoping that his honest and wise words will sway the council to vote no.

Yet your relief is then turned to anxiety when Seth, of all people, cuts in.

“Those sons of bitches don’t deserve our mercy.”

You clench your hands into fists and gain Apollo’s surprised and worried gaze from his place on that platform, so you end up holding in what threatens to break you and express the same surprise, but also share your anxiety on the matter.

“Well, of course they don’t deserve it,” Carlisle argues in between all of the crowds murmuring. “That’s what makes it mercy.”

“Well, to hell with that,” Seth exclaims as he gets up. “And to hell with you for saying it, Carlisle.”

“Seth, sit down,” Maria tries to bring an end to the interruption, but Seth becomes a pain in the ass and holds his ground.

“No.”

“You’re not on the list.”

“No!” He screams louder, causing you to drop your head and exhale deeply.

“What the hell are we all talking about here?” Seth continues. “Boo-hoo, it’s not fair. What, we gotta forgive everybody when they show up and piss in our eye? They came into our house. They took one of ours. My God, somebody shoots your brother, you wanna take the locks off your doors? Grow up!”

You begin to nervously rub your thigh, to the point that Atlas notices and tries his best to try and reassure you by putting his hand over yours.

When you feel his touch you look at him and offer him a faint thankful smile before you wrap your hand around his to keep clinging onto that support as Seth goes on.

“You idiots, they’ll come back. They’ll come back because we didn’t make ‘em pay. And when they come back, they’ll be laughing. And you’ll all deserve it. Bunch of goddamn victims.”

The old man sits down, bringing down an awkward silence that you almost want to leave, but you hold on and listen to the last speaker, Ellie.

After Maria finally gives her the floor, she makes the room go silent for a minute before she gets up and pulls out a paper that she reads off of. Surprisingly enough.

“I normally don’t write things down,” Ellie starts off by saying. “Because I normally don’t think before I talk, which has gotten me in trouble before, a lot.”

Oh? She’s rhyming?

“And it’s cost me in ways that sometimes couldn’t be undone. But I can’t afford that right now because I know what I’m asking is a lot. I’m asking us to risk more people and resources, and at the worst possible time. And I want everyone to know, it’s not because I want revenge.”

Oh?

“It’s not,” Ellie tries to make her lie clear, but she’s not fooling you—“what I want is what you used to give people. I want justice. Because it’s either that, or we do nothing. That’s what everyone else out there is going to do for us. Nothing,” she says with more passion. “A whole world of people who won’t lift a finger if something bad happens to me or you. We have a word for these people. They’re called strangers.”

Atlas snorts quietly over Ellie’s words, so you let his hand go and slowly glare at him, making him go serious right away.

“Well, I don’t think that we’re strangers to each other,” you hear Ellie continue. “And I want to know that I can count on you. And I swear, if someone hurts any of you or the people you love, you can count on me...”

You take this time to smile in amusement at Ellie’s complete bullshit attempt to sway the council's vote.

“…that's what holds all this together. Not potluck dinners or New Year’s Eve dances. Definitely not a wall, because that thing got busted through. But Jackson is still here. I’ll accept whatever the council decides. But I’m asking you, please…do what it takes to see that justice is done. Not for me. Not even for Joel. I am asking you, please do it for us,” she finishes her letter in an emotional ending that she even adds tears to. Whether the tears are genuine or not you don’t know, they probably are but that won't change the fact that it’s all still bullshit.

“Thank you,” Maria tells her, bringing an end to the discussion to finally move on to the voting—“The council will now vote on the proposal to send a party of 16 citizens to Seattle to find the people who killed Joel and execute them.”

As the voting begins, Apollo steals a glance at you, and you steal a glance at him and trust he’ll do what you asked, but it’s the others that make you nervous and make you sit at the edge of your seat as if that would help. It only makes you more anxious.

Either way, like watching a clock, the process seems to move more slowly than anticipated. A couple of minutes drag on, and you almost can’t take it, but alas, all the votes are given to Amy-Beth, the one person who will share the votes with the crowd without fear that she’ll lie.

“Amy-Beth?” Maria encourages, and so said girl starts.

“Yes.”

You swallow thickly and sit up straighter.

“No. Yes. No. No. Yes. No, no. No. No. No.”

You let out a shaky, relieved breath and sit back without that fear clinging onto you a moment longer.

“The vote is 8 to 3,” Amy-Beth clarifies. “The proposal is rejected.”

Murmurs spread around the room, but no one interjects this time because the word is officially given now. There’s no do-overs, just disappointment from only a handful of people. The only one you care about, you don’t look at though. Not yet.

“Adjourned,” Maria releases the meeting, making people not linger back. Everyone but the council and you get up, causing a cluster of people as they all want to leave at the same time. That’s why you finally drift your gaze to Ellie, so your gaze won't be detected as she's leaving.

Alas, when you look at the other side of the room where she had been sitting at, you actually end up catching Ellie’s gaze.

You try not to read too much into it. You don’t want to catch the betrayal she feels because, instead of getting at least 4 definite votes in support of her, she only got three, and it was obvious to guess that you lied and voted against her. You haven’t been able to look at her all day. All you greeted her with was a quick good morning, and you sat at the other side of the room with your best friends at your sides.

You lied and made Apollo vote against Ellie’s request. Against the one thing she desperately wanted. The one significant matter that required your support more than anything, and the one matter that she trusted you to have her back on, but you lied and turned your back on her and that hurt and betrayal is plain to see because of the dark shadow that cast over her face as if intentional so you won't miss a thing.

Alas, as ashamed as you feel. You feel no regrets. You’re determined to stand your ground, and that’s obvious to Ellie as the sun keeps basking your face as if…intentional.

——

*LATER*

After the council meeting, you had purposely stayed behind, welcoming people’s pity and sweet consolations to avoid facing Ellie’s disappointment and anger, but you can’t hide forever, and when you return home, sitting on your porch steps is Ellie waiting for you.

She makes herself easy to see and makes sure you know that she’s not here for pleasantries. She knows you know why she’s here, so you hand Teddy to Apollo and usher them inside.

Once the front door is closed, leaving the porch just to you and Ellie, she is quick to get to the point. “Why did you do it?”

You draw in a deep breath and turn away from the door to face her and exhale deeply before you respond. Or at least you try to, because just as you part your lips, she cuts in abruptly.

“You said you would support me, and you had Apollo vote no, why?” She asks as you see her teeter over an edge where her balance all depends on what you’re going to say.

“Because I don’t want you to go down that path,” you say, and manage to keep her from falling into a pit of anger. “I know it was messed up to lie, but it’s not like you would change your mind if I said no that day you asked.”

“No,” she interjects before you keep going.

“Exactly—”

“But you still lied,” she cuts you off with a narrowed glare. “You said I would get your vote to go get justice for Joel, and instead you want me to, what? Sit idly by?”

You shake your head. “No. I want you to grieve the right way, Ellie. I need you to open yourself up to letting yourself grieve.”

Ellie scoffs and shakes her head before she snaps, causing her grip to loosen. “So what? So I can turn to you and be depressed and pathetic for three months?!”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and feel her words stab your heart.

“Do you not get what I’m trying to do?” Ellie continues to argue, raising her voice with the anger that seeps through. “I’m trying to get justice! You were there! You saw them! We have to make them pay!” She exclaims almost desperately.

“I was there,” you interject this time before she keeps ranting. “I know! I live through that day of my life every day and every night. I see their faces and see him die over and over again. I,” you pause and sigh to collect yourself and try to explain your reasoning behind your protest.

“I miss him too,” you say instead. “But what you want to do won’t get him back. Nothing you do will get him back, so why risk your life? Why risk anyone else’s life over it? Revenge won’t make you feel better, Ellie.”

Said girl holds your gaze with annoyance before she shakes her head and retorts. “That’s a whole bunch of bullshit and you’re a liar. If you really loved Joel, you would have voted yes,” she doesn’t hesitate from saying, making you gasp softly and feel your eyes immediately well with tears as you feel a sharp heartache.

Yet you don’t dare and use such harsh words like she did. You keep your head up and watch her give you her back.

“I’m going to do this with or without you. I don’t care,” she grumbles and walks off the porch, expecting no response, but before she can leave, you blurt.

“What about all the risks my dad took for you to be here? Will you just make that go to waste? Because if you go, there’s no chance you’re coming back. You will get hurt, or worse, so what will make those sacrifices he took to save you?”

Ellie stops in her tracks and keeps her back turned to you for a tense silence that seemed to drag on for hours, when it's only been a few seconds where you unknowingly lose her in that pit of anger.

“You know,” she mutters before she slowly turns to face you with her face contorted with rage and her eyes oozing with that terrible and blinding feeling.

“You know why he made those sacrifices,” she continues sneering as she strides back to you. However, you don’t let her make it all the way to the porch because you meet her halfway.

“Why did those people kill him?” She suddenly asks something she’s never hinted at wanting to know. She asks for the first time, letting you see a flicker of sadness in her eyes this time.

“The truth,” she blurts as her eyes well with tears, and you gulp and falter.

“They were…after revenge,” you put it simply because you’re sure there’s no shortage of people your dad pissed off. “Just like you’re after revenge, that’s why—”

“Oh shut up,” she hisses and steps forward while she keeps holding your eyes with her watery gaze and pinched eyebrows. “They were from Salt Lake…right?” She asks as she begins to slowly uncover the truth you never got to share, and the truth that threatens to unveil something else you kept a secret

“Right?!” Ellie snaps, making you blink and lower your gaze to nod stiffly and hope she doesn’t probe about the other matter.

“They killed him because of what he did, right?” She asks, getting closer to that secret.

“Right,” you answer, and look at her so she doesn’t catch anything suspicious.

Nevertheless, your attempts are futile.

“And you knew what he did?” She probes as she narrows her gaze to a glowering glare. “You knew and you lied, right? That’s why you were never mad at him, and you…” she scoffs and holds her chest. “And you told me you didn’t know. You let me believe that I could trust you. Right?!” She exclaims, causing you to let out a shaky breath and nod.

“Right,” you whisper shakily before you step toward her and grab her hands to try and make her understand. “But I need you to understand that I did it for you. I was too late to stop him, I wanted to, I really did, but I was too late, so why would I mortify you even more by telling you the truth? So I kept it from you so you could have a good life. Ellie…you deserve a good life. Please—”

“You were too late,” she repeats and nods stiffly before she huffs and spats hurtful words. “It seems you’re always too late. Always too weak. That’s why Henry is dead,” she hisses quietly, making you slowly let her hands go as you're hit with disbelief.

“And that’s why Joel is dead,” she hurts you with those last words, feeling as if the knife in your heart got twisted for something you already blame yourself for. All because you tried to stop her from walking away, and all because you brought up your dad's sacrifices to have her be here.

You unknowingly opened a can of worms, and now you’re the one hurt because of it.

“I won’t sit by like you,” she spats and points her finger at you as tears finally break out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. “I will make them pay, and I will hate you,” she sneers. “I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

She turns around swiftly and storms away, leaving you more hurt by those words than what she said before, because it feels like another great loss.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Seattle anyone?

Tagged- @slut-f0r-u @star-wars-lover @maplecohen @givemylovetoall @itzagothamcitysiren @sammy-13 @beloved-reblogger @emiriia @rues-daya @sunfairyy @littleshadow17 @mcu-starwars @bigtuffswordboy @riaqiax @dheet @queenofthekill @joliettes @d4rno @hardbeingcasual @rana030 @pedropascalluvr41 @ahoyyharrington @beaniebeensbaby201 @maeneedsabreak @maelartasch @adristyles @daughterofthequeen @alastorhazbin @sunsumonner @khaylin27 @hypatia93 @hummusxx @v4mpyk1tten @1donoow @your-shifting-gurl @g4ns3y @izzzzy-the-amazing @aphr0d1teh @lovelyygirl8 @ivy-taylorsversion @mmkkzz @avitute @fuckmebobboys @kitdjarin1

[peachessndreamss]

Animal Magnetism

Summery : A date volunteering at an animal shelter for you and Bob.

Characters : Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings : None (other than bad)

Word count : 2.2k

A/N : Lewis Pullman is fully ruining my life. I wrote this a long time ago, idk if I like it or not 😆 but here we go.

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

"So I've got a fun idea for a date…" you said innocently over your morning coffee.

You’d been watching Bob since he entered the kitchen a few minutes before, his shirt was still untucked from his pants and he’d yet to push his hair back off his forehead, he’d gotten himself a cup of coffee from the pot and had been rooting through the cupboard looking for breakfast when you’d spoken.

Bob turned to look at you and narrowed his gaze for a few seconds. The last time you’d had a “fun” idea for a date it had been a terrifying tour of a supposedly haunted house which had left Bob on edge for days and unable to look in the mirror for at least a week.

"It's not a scary idea, I promise,” you followed up quickly, knowing exactly what he was thinking about.

"Okay, what is it then?" He replied before taking a mouthful of coffee.

“Volunteering at an animal shelter,” you started, grabbing your phone and opening up Instagram.

“One of the girls from work did it a couple of weeks ago and told me about it. We’d be helping exercise the dogs and socialising the kittens, it would only be a few hours and I think it would be so cute!" you explained excitedly, pulling up the social media page and clicking on the most recent set of volunteering photos and pushing the phone toward Bob as you swiped through the pictures.

“Cute,” Bob agreed with a tentative nod, “and very unlikely for there to be any ghosts,” he muttered under his breath.

“So, what do you think?” you asked.

Your eyes were shining with excitement and you were practically bouncing in your seat, Bob would not have been able to say no if he’d tried. As Bob had grown up with a multitude of family pets and since joining the Navy he had missed having a furry little friend to come home too.

"Yeah, book it,” he agreed as he put his coffee down and ripped open a protein bar with his teeth.

You booked a slot for the next Saturday, which Bob already had off and no prior plans in his diary. As the day got closer and closer you were constantly sending Bob pictures from the shelters Instagram of the animals you’d be seeing.

Saturday morning you woke hours before your alarm was due to go off but like a child on Christmas morning you just couldn’t wait any longer.

"Com'on!" You moaned, shaking him awake, "It’s time to wake up!”.

Bob continued to pretend to be asleep, keeping his eyes tightly closed but unable to stop himself grinning.

"Bob please!" You insisted before he gave a very fake snore.

"Bob!" You cried, yanking the pillow out from under his head and hitting him with it.

"Ahrigh'!" He cried as the pillow made contact with his stomach, "Ah’right woman, I'm awake!".

Bob did manage to convince you that you didn’t need to be out of bed that very second and you could enjoy a few minutes of cuddles before showering. You rested your head on his shoulder and let your fingers run up and down his stomach and chest. When his stomach gave a rumble he agreed it was time to get up and have some breakfast.

The two of you worked easily together in the kitchen. He set the coffee pot up to run while you warmed croissants in the oven and gathered the butter and jam. As you pulled the pastries from the oven you caught Bob watching you with a dopey, love struck look on his face.

"What ya looking at Baby?" You asked.

"Just the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he replied with an easy smile.

“You’re only saying that because I’ve got food in my hands,” you joked as you transferred the pastries to a plate and put them in front of him.

“That’s only half of the reason,” he teased as he took a croissant and pulled the jar of chocolate spread toward him.

The two of you washed up before heading back toward your bedroom to get dressed. The shelter had advised you to wear old, comfortable clothes that you didn’t mind getting dirty.

Bob’s choice of pale blue jeans, faded olive green t-shirt and backward baseball cap should have looked perfectly ordinary but instead it sent shivers up and down your spine.

You stood in front of him and slipped your arms around his neck, finding a few long strands peeking out the back of his cap to twist around your fingertips.

"Do I pass muster, Commander?" He joked as you ran your hands down his back before bringing your hands to rest on his firm, round backside.

"Certainly do Lieutenant," you replied, giving him a soft kiss on his lips before you headed off to brush your teeth.

On the drive to the shelter you couldn’t sit still for a second, Bob placed his hand on your thigh as he drove to try and limit your bouncing but just found his hand bouncing along with you. Bob hadn’t stopped smiling since you’d left the house and as much as he was looking forward to your day, he was happiest to see you so excited. At the shelter you joined a number of other couples who were volunteering that day. There was a similar look of excitement on everyone's faces. A young and bubbly shelter employee greeted everyone and explained how the day would go before dividing people up and giving out your first job of the day.

You and Bob were starting your day with dog walking. You were taken to the kennels and shown which animals you would be walking, Bob immediately took a shine to a miniature schnauzer, he took several photos of the dog, sending them to Rooster as “moustache inspiration”.

After placing the dogs into their harnesses you were shown the large field they would be having their exercise in. You had a leash in each hand with two excitable dachshunds at the end. The two small dogs kept crossing in front of you and you had to keep your wits about you to make sure you didn’t trip over them. Bob was to your left, the miniature schnauzer walking at his side.

“We should get a pet,” Bob said as you carefully untangled the dachshund's leads for the 15th time.

“Do you think we’re settled enough?” you replied.

Bob paused for a few seconds, considering your question. He gave a small, one shouldered shrug.

“I think we could give a little guy a better life, a real home,” he replied thoughtfully, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, I can see us with a little guy,” you agreed, picturing the home the two of you shared but with a four legged addition running around the place.

The two of you returned to the kennels to give the dogs their lunch, Bob was down on his knees as he tried to unhook a particularly excitable dachshund from their leash but was struggling as the dog kept bouncing up to try and lick his face.

Bob managed to get a good hold on the dog and held their small, wriggling body against his chest, using his other hand to unclip the leash, all the while the dog licked his chin.

"It's a good job you're cute," Bob laughed as he let the dog go and they scampered off to their feed bowl.

"You’re normally saying that to me," you teased.

"Yeah, and you're normally trying to lick me to death as well," Bob quipped back with a grin.

"But you never normally tell me to stop,".

Bob laughed, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning a charming shade of pink.

After a lunch break in the sunshine with the other volunteers, you and Bob were shown to the kitten room where the shelter’s smallest residence lived.

"Cats normally don’t like me,” Bob said quietly as you were shown to a large, bright room where several kittens were sleeping in a basket in a patch of sunlight.

“Don’t be silly, Mrs Khan’s cat loves you!” you replied, recalling how your neighbour's cat would often come bounding across the street to greet Bob in the morning.

“That’s because I gave it some tuna once,”.

“The way to a cat’s heart is through their stomach,” you joked as you turned your attention to a small ginger kitten that had just woken up and was making its way toward you.

“We have that in common then,”.

The two of you settled in, encouraging the kittens from their basket, rolling balls for them to chase after and flicking feathers through the air for them to leap and paw at. Bob laughed until his stomach hurt when two of the kittens started to play fight and you began to narrate the tussle like a wrestling match.

A tiny white kitten with black ears and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen seemed to take a particular liking to Bob and hadn’t stopped clambering all over him since he’d taken a seat on the floor. Bob sat back on his elbows and watched as the kitten climbed up onto his stomach and carefully made his way up Bob’s chest to sniff at his chin.

As your time at the shelter was drawing to a close a shelter employee who was taking some photographs for social media posts dropped in on the two of you. She captured several of Bob resting back on his elbows with the kitten rubbing against his cheek.

"He's really taken with you!" She commented as Bob gathered the kitten in one hand and sat up.

"Yeah, he’s cute," Bob replied.

"You guys know all the animals you've been with today are available for adoption…".

“Yeah we know,” he replied as the memory of your earlier conversation floated through his mind.

“We were just saying earlier about that,” you said, your voice filled with hope.

Bob took a deep breath and brought the kitten up to his face, gazing into its bright eyes.

“Do you think you’d like to live with us?” Bob asked.

After a pause of a few seconds the kitten gave a tiny mewl of assent.

With the new cat carrier strapped in the car and the boot full of anything and everything a kitten might need, the two of you headed home. You kept looking over your shoulder to see the back seat where the furry little face was peaking through the mesh of the carrier to see what was happening.

"We need to name him," you said.

"Whatta‘bout Snowball?" Bob replied, not able to fight the smile that was plastered all over his face.

"So unoriginal," you criticised with a roll of your eyes.

"Okay judgy,” Bob replied with a roll of his eyes, “what do you suggest?”.

“We could call him Sugar? He’s certainly sweet enough,”.

“He doesn’t look like a Sugar to me,” Bob replied uncertainly.

You argued names back and forth the whole drive home, still not able to come to a consensus. You carried the cat into the house and took him into the kitchen, you'd decided that would be the best place for him to be while he acclimatised to his new home, and the floor was easily cleaned of any little accidents.

You were in the kitchen opening the carrier when you heard Bob's phone ring, he answered it and started to talk to someone you couldn't hear.

"You're such a handsome boy aren't you?" You cooed at the kitten as you lifted the tiny thing out of his carrier.

"It's kind of you to say so," a voice drawled from Bob's phone with a laugh.

You turned to see Bob in the midst of a video call with Hangman.

"Not you," you replied with a roll of your eyes.

"I was talking to this guy," you added, holding the kitten up so Hangman could see.

"That's a cat," Hangman said with a confident nod of his head.

"You should call him Hangman, seeing as we're both so handsome,".

"Not on your life," Bob replied, taking back control of the conversation and taking the video call out of the kitchen and into the livingroom.

Except the name did stick and Bob ended up with a cat called Hangman, much to his own annoyance. But despite the name, Bob loved his cat more than just about anything else in the world. Hangman would follow Bob around the house like a duckling with its mother duck, and your camera roll very quickly became hundreds of photographs and videos of the two of them.

"I never thought of myself as a cat person," he mused one evening while stretched out on the sofa, Hangman curled up on his chest in a spot you might have occupied otherwise.

"Maybe you're not," you shrugged, "but you are that cats person,".

Bob chuckled and scratched the spot between Hangman’s ears.

"So, where shall we go for our next date?" You asked innocently, knowing you had already made enquiries at a nearby alpaca farm about spending the day.

Bob turned his eyes to you and narrowed them slightly.

"Nowhere where we're gonna end up with another living thing in our home please,".

"Maybe we'll just stay home?" You offered with a grin.

"Still risky," he replied with a wink.

[oddinary4bts]

Be With You | ch 8

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: Jungkook, cursing, ghosting, wooyoung <3, angst. like a lot of it oop, vague mentions of what happened with Jungkook three years ago

☆word count: 7.2k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: this one is very sad and i'm sorry :') but i hope you guys still like it! I'm posting it from Seoul!!!! I'm so excited to be here:) and thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, October 26th

You wake up with the morning light, confused as to when you actually fell asleep. All you remember is tossing and turning, tears staining your cheeks, but it seems sleep found you at some point. You don’t feel rested though, heaviness clinging to your very soul, and you turn on your side, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. 

You turn it on, letting it scan your features before it opens on your conversation with San. His text sits there, unchanged by the last few hours, and your heart twists in your chest once more. Your reply, much less ominous, winks at you, its lack of response evident.

[3:07 am] You: are you okay?

You’re not surprised he hasn’t replied. His behaviour last night was strange, hurtful, but not quite as painful as it was to see Jungkook again. 

To think that Wooyoung was with Park Jimin…

You turn off your phone, lying on your back as you stare up at the ceiling. You wonder what happened for San to decide to leave without talking to you. You assume it must have been bad - San isn’t one for abandoning you like that.

You sigh, closing your eyes as your heart aches in your chest, fear wrapping around it like a tight, suffocating embrace. You don’t let the tears come this time, or maybe your exhaustion keeps them at bay. Indeed, your cheeks remain dry, and you’re able to take a few shuddering breaths in until the wave passes.

Fucking Jeon Jungkook…

You’re not even going to fucking say hi?

Jungkook’s words ring in your ears, as they’ve been doing since last night. The sight of him was surprising, disconcerting, and you still can’t believe he’s changed so much. Though he still had those same doe eyes that had stolen your heart when you were too young to see the evil lurking in their depths.

You wish last night had never happened. You wish you hadn’t seen Jungkook again, because you feel the trauma returning, you feel the pain that he’s caused you taking hold of you again. You barely survived the first time - will you survive this time around?

You ask yourself that question all day, as Sydney and Yunho force you to hang out in the living room with them. They’re cautious around you, but you barely even notice, too distracted with glancing at your phone every five minutes hoping that San might have replied to you.

But he doesn’t reply, and night comes again without a single word from him. He’s never not texted for such a long period before, and the fear from the morning strengthens its hold on you until you barely can breathe, tears once more spilling on your cheeks.

You think you know. You reckon you know, yet you don’t want to wrap your head around this new reality. You don’t want to accept it, and so you push the thoughts away, telling yourself that he might just be unwell.

What if something happened with his father? As much as it hurts, you wouldn’t blame him for pulling away. You know damn well that sometimes, you just need some time alone to figure shit out. Maybe San is similar to you in this way.

And so, while the moon laughs at you from its throne up in the sky, blazing bright in the cloudless night, you chase sleep that evades you, trying to ignore the stifling thoughts that haunt your mind.

Monday, October 28th

You sit at the back of the classroom, a bleary ghost barely able to keep your eyes open. You haven’t slept much over the weekend, the lack of response from San keeping you awake despite your tiredness. 

He didn’t reply yesterday either. And so, despite your short night of sleep, you decided to make your way to class, hoping to run into him. 

Hoping that he’ll reappear and everything will be okay now. So you anxiously stare at the door, worrying at your bottom lip. People come in, dispersing in the classroom, yet San stubbornly  remains out of sight. You clench your fists, letting the pain of your nails digging in your palm keep you grounded. 

Letting the physical pain keep you from crying in public like this. Because you feel like crying - you’ve been crying so much over the last two days. Everything about Jungkook rushing back in, San’s disappearance from your life…

You’ve always thought you were strong, yet you’ve never felt so weak. Weak enough that a single gust of wind might break you down, that a single ‘Are you okay?’ might have tears run down your cheeks. You feel feeble, like you might break into a thousand little pieces if somebody even looks your way.

But you hold on strong, staring at the door, hoping that he’ll be the next one to come in. But he doesn’t and, five minutes after the class starts, Wooyoung rushes in, sitting at an empty desk towards the middle of the class.

He glanced at you first. You’re fully aware that he glanced at you, but the apologetic smile he sent your way was nothing reassuring, and the knowledge that something really did happen settles so deep in your bones that you think you might collapse.

You don’t. You stay standing, always - what is there else to do anyway? 

When the class ends, Wooyoung lingers by the door, and though you don’t want to talk to him, don’t want him to tell you what might have happened out of fear of you having fucked it up without even realizing, he stops you with a hand on your arm.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Pain swells up in your chest, and you take a deep breath, looking towards the end of the hallway so that Wooyoung can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Ah, I guess so,” you reply. 

“Have you…” he trails off. Nayeon passes, and he smiles at her before continuing, “Have you talked to San over the weekend?”

San’s name stabs into your beating heart. It’s such a drastic change from the usual warmth that it brings you, and you want to go home. Want to go home and hide in a blanket until the world moves on and forgets all about you.

“I haven’t,” you reply flatly. “Why?”

“He’s been ignoring everyone all weekend, and he refused to let me in when I went to his place last night.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, hope threatening to lighten the dark skies your mind has been clouded with. Because if he’s ignoring everyone, and not just you… then surely it can’t be about you.

“Why would he…” you trail off.

Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders, pursing his lips. “I don’t know. I assumed something must have happened with you?”

“The last time I saw him was at the party,” you say. “He left without even saying goodbye.”

Wooyoung frowns. “He told me he was leaving after the stack-the-cup game. Not too long after you guys disappeared somewhere together.”

You blush as you reminisce about what you disappeared for. Was San embarrassed of it? Why else would he leave?

“He told me he was going to find you, but he didn’t tell me he was going to leave.”

“Did he look upset?” Wooyoung asks.

You pull at some dry skin on your lower lip. “Not at all… he said he’d find me later.”

Wooyoung sighs, grabbing his phone. You watch as he opens it, going to his instagram. He opens his conversation with San. He types a message, sending it without you being able to read it, and then he puts his phone back in his pocket.

“It’s fucking weird.”

Your gaze drops to the ground as you try to think, and all you can come up with is, “Did something happen with his dad?”

Wooyoung cocks a confused eyebrow. “His dad? Not that I know of.”

It’s the only thing that crosses your mind, especially after the conversation you had last Wednesday.

“I’ll try to talk to him again today,” Wooyoung says. “Let me know if he replies to you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, and then you glance at the end of the hallway again. “Will do. Tell me if he replies to you, too.”

“Of course.” You’re starting to walk away when Wooyoung speaks up, saying your name. You turn to look at him again, and he adds, “I didn’t know you had an ex.”

Of course he didn’t. None of them did - only Sydney and Yunho know.

“Ah,” you let out. “He’s not really someone worth mentioning.”

Wooyoung walks towards you, and then you head together towards the stairs. “He’s got a weird vibe.”

You’re surprised Wooyoung noticed - most people always believe Jungkook to be the sweetest person. But then again, Wooyoung was there when Jungkook talked to you last Friday.

“He is…” You shrug your shoulders. “He is indeed weird.”

“Jimin refused to say anything about you and Jungkook,” Wooyoung adds.

You’re halfway down the stairs by then, and all you want is to step outside and run away from the conversation.

As much as you were ready to have said conversation with San, you don’t want to talk about it with Wooyoung.

“He probably just doesn’t want to stir shit,” you reply, offering Wooyoung a tight-lipped smile. 

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah, I got the feeling too.”

An awkward silence descends on the two of you, though you cling to it for dear life, hoping Wooyoung won’t ask any more questions. To your relief, he remains silent, clearly lost in thoughts too, and you make it all the way outside before he talks again.

“Are you coming to class this afternoon?” he asks, noticing you turning away to head out of campus.

“I’m kind of really tired,” you admit, and Wooyoung’s features turn apologetic.

Much like they had when he walked into class, and you only realize now that he was probably sorry because he couldn’t sit with you, and not because he knew something about San.

“No worries, go rest up,” he says, flashing you a smile. “I’ll send you my notes.”

Your eyes water at his words, and you blink it away as subtly as you can. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Wednesday, October 30th 

Two days later, and you still haven’t heard from San. You sent him a message yesterday night, telling him to let you know if he’s alive and that you don’t have to talk, but the message was delivered with no answer ever coming back.

You didn’t really expect one. Though Wooyoung did plant a seed of hope in your heart on Monday, that seed was quickly crushed by San’s neverending silence. 

It doesn’t help that you’re supposed to meet at the library tonight, like you’ve done every week since you started working on your project. You’ve been debating asking him if he’s still coming, yet you’re starting to feel like you’ll only get on his nerves.

If he wanted to talk to you, he would have already. And as much as it hurts to think he doesn’t want to talk to you, it’s also starting to anger you. You’ve never been good with silence - especially with how much Jungkook wielded that against you - and you hate that it’s starting to taint the image of San that you had in mind.

The only thing saving it from full corruption now is the fact that Wooyoung still hasn’t had news either, except from San liking a message that Wooyoung sent saying that he was there for him if he needed.

At least you know San is still alive.

You’re in class, eyes unfocused on your laptop in front of you. You blink a few times to bring it back into focus, and then you write down the sentence the professor just said, even though you have no clue if it’s important. Wooyoung is sitting next to you, pretty much in the same state as you, though you both startle when his phone vibrates on the desk between the two of you.

Especially as you both catch sight of who’s calling, San’s name burning into your retina.

You exchange a glance, eyes widened, and then Wooyoung grabs his phone, mouthing to you that he’ll be back. The professor barely even pays attention to him, and Wooyoung jogs out of the class, leaving you with your heart beating out of your chest as you wait for him to come back. 

And it takes a while, so much so that you’re left wondering if Wooyoung ran away. It’s a silly thought to have considering all of his stuff is still next to you, and so you take a deep breath, trying to slow down your heartbeats.

It doesn’t work. Your heart is beating so loud you can’t even hear the professor anymore, and it only increases, adrenaline spiking in your blood, when Wooyoung comes back with a dreary expression. 

He sits next to you, putting his phone face down between the two of you. You tap his arm, question marks etched in your eyes, but he only mouths that you can talk after class. You clench your jaw, knowing you won’t be able to focus on the class at all now - not that you were really focusing before - and you take a deep breath, looking at the professor.

The class is unending. The class is time stretched into a moment of hell, and you think you’ll be stuck here forever, your heartbeats echoing in your mind louder than bombs. Your hands are slightly shaking, making it hard to take notes, and the next thirty minutes pass like fifteen hundreds of them.

You think you have died four times by the time the professor tells the class to pack their bags, yet it does eventually happen, making your heart rate spike in your chest again.

“So?” you immediately say as you turn towards Wooyoung.

His lips stretch in a tight line, and his eyes flutter close, almost like he’s pained. “I…” He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and looks at you. “I think you should move on.”

The words stop the world around you, leaving only them and their incessant echo, and your lungs fill with burning lava, making it hard to breathe.

It can’t be. It can’t fucking be - you’ve only had weeks with Choi San, and now life is tearing you apart? It’s unfair.

But you know. You know you never should have fallen in love with him. Why would you deserve it anyway?

“What?” you let out, your voice smaller than the atoms holding a single drop of water together.

A single drop of water, now lost at sea.

“He refused to tell me exactly what happened, but he said…” Wooyoung stops, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

“What did he say?” you ask, furiously blinking away the tears forming in your eyes.

“I just think you should move on,” Wooyoung says softly.

“What did he say?” you repeat, your heart slowly shattering in your chest, like a car crash in slow motion.

Wooyoung sighs, closing his eyes. “He said that he doesn’t want to talk to you, or to talk about you.”

Your hand clenches in a tight fist. “Why? What happened?”

“Fuck if I know.” Wooyoung seems resigned, sad, and he meets your gaze with such pity in his eyes you almost want to punch him.

But it’s not his fault. Of course it’s always been yours.

“I’m really sorry,” Wooyoung whispers. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

One tear wins, and you immediately dry it with a swipe of your hand. “It’s not your fault,” you reassure him.

You look away, putting your stuff in your school bag hurriedly. Wooyoung stops you with a gentle hand on your arm, and you clench your jaw hard before biting into your tongue, hoping that it might keep the rest of your tears at bay.

“Give him some time,” Wooyoung says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to talk to him to figure out why he made that decision.”

You think about Jimin. You think about how he was stuck between you and Jungkook for so long before he inevitably chose Jungkook’s side, leaving you alone in the end. And so you pat Wooyoung’s hand, offering him a sad smile.

“Don’t put yourself between me and him,” you tell Wooyoung.

“I just…” he trails off as he watches you getting up.

“It’s not worth it,” you add. “If San made a decision, the only thing we can do is respect it.”

No matter how much it hurts. No matter how difficult it is to walk away from Wooyoung now, your fist tight on one of the straps of your school bag like it’s a buoy keeping you afloat despite the storm raging in your heart and mind.

You don’t know how you make it home. You’ve gone into survival mode, taking one step at a time without really looking at where you’re going. You just hear Wooyoung’s words on repeat - so many words have been haunting you lately.

You wish you could forget all the words in the dictionary. Wish you could be hit with amnesia so that the pain wouldn’t linger too long. 

But it does. The pain makes a home in your heart, taking all the memories of you and San and tainting them with bittersweet heartbreak.

He decided to ghost you. San, sweet, sweet Choi San decided to ghost you, and you don’t even know why. You don’t know what brought him to that decision - is it because you said you wanted to wait before being boyfriend and girlfriend when he called you his girl at the Halloween party?

If only you had known… you’d go back in time and change your words, tell him you want him like the moon wants the sea, pulling it just a little closer whenever it passes in the sky. Yet the moon never touches the sea and maybe, maybe that’s what your story with Choi San was supposed to be in the end.

The story of reaching for someone, but only meeting a void instead.

You’re outside in front of your apartment building. Have been for a moment, looking at the door. It’s like you’ve been frozen in place - maybe the atmosphere was wiped from the Earth, and you were hit with absolute zero.

Yunho appears, opening the door in front of your dead eyes. He takes you in, gaze widening, and then he’s jogging towards you.

He says your name alarmingly, and then adds, “What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

A sob wracks through you, cracking the ice covering your body, and you hide your face in your hands. Yunho immediately pulls you into a tight hug, and then he’s guiding you towards the door, and all the way to your apartment.

“I’m calling Syd,” he says once he’s had you take off your coat and boots, and told you to sit on the couch. 

“Don’t bother,” you say, taking a deep breath through the heartbreak. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s all he says before he’s pressing his phone to his ear. Sydney picks up a moment later, and you barely listen as Yunho explains he’s found you crying outside, and that she should come over. He’s hanging up not too long after, and then he goes to the kitchen, bringing you back a glass of water.

“I’m not thirsty,” you mumble.

“Do I look like I care?” he asks. “Drink up.”

You glare at him, but he looks so serious that you do grab the glass, taking a sip from it. “Happy?”

“More,” he insists, folding his arms on his chest.

Annoyed, you take another longer sip. “Happy now?”

Yunho sighs, sitting down on the couch next to you. He doesn’t say anything for a time, and the tears start making their way to your eyes again.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho says. “Drink your water.”

“I don’t want to drink the fucking water.”

“I don’t know how to cheer you up, so you’re going to drink your water while we wait for Syd to get here, m’kay?”

He’s stupid. Your brother is stupid, but at least he’s trying. And you realize that, when you’re drinking water, the sobs don’t quite make their way to the surface. It helps with keeping you grounded, and you’re not really crying anymore by the time Sydney arrives, twenty minutes later.

She looks worried, kicking off her boots by the door before walking towards you and your brother. She meets Yunho’s gaze, who shrugs, and then she’s sitting on the other side of you.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.” You chuckle bitterly, not surprised when tears wet your eyes again. “San just decided he was done with me and had Wooyoung tell me.”

“Oh.” You’re crying again, and Sydney awkwardly wraps you into a hug, patting your back. “I’m sorry, bubs.”

“I just don’t get it,” you say through the renewed sobs. “We were all good last Friday, and then he left and he ignored me and now this? What the fuck did I do?”

If only you had known that your last kiss would have been that kiss outside of the bathroom by the stairs. You would have kissed him longer, held him longer, kept him close until the Sun would have burned out in the sky. But you didn’t, and all that’s left is a memory that’s not quite focused because you didn’t know it was going to be so important.

“What a fucking ass,” Yunho grumbles next to you.

Sydney moves and, knowing her, you assume she’s glaring at him. “I’m really sorry.” She rubs your back soothingly some more, and then grabs the empty glass of water to give it to Yunho. “Did something happen in the days before the party?”

You rack your mind in search of an explanation and once again, all that comes up is the conversation about his dad.

“He told me some shit about his dad,” you reveal. “But I don’t know why that would lead him to end things like this.”

“What did he say?”

You don’t want to say it. Especially not when he mentioned he’d never told anyone before. Even if you somehow fucked up the relationship, you don’t want to betray his trust like that.

“Just that his dad is an ass,” you choose to say, the half-truth having to be enough for now.

Sydney and Yunho don’t reply, as if expecting for more to come, but you fall silent, focusing on trying to breathe normally. It works enough for you to sit straighter, and Sydney’s hand returns to her lap.

“He’s wild for doing this considering we have friends in common,” Yunho says after a time. He curses underneath his breath, shaking his head. “Like for real, what does he think will happen when Hongjoong organizes something again?”

“Don’t stir shit,” you tell your brother sternly. “Please don’t make it worse.”

“You haven’t done shit, though,” Yunho says. “Unless you’re not telling us something.”

“Yunho,” Sydney warns.

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

Yunho’s gaze widens in fear. “Wait no, fuck no. I know you haven’t done anything.”

“Did you… tell him about Jungkook?” Sydney asks.

As always, the name stings, yet you think San’s name stings a lot more now. “I didn’t even have time to tell him.”

“Jungkook was there at the party…” she trails off, and it only then dawns on you that San and Jungkook might have talked that night, even if Wooyoung didn’t mention it.

“Do you think Jungkook told him something?”

Silence settles in your mind, clarity hitting you. Your gaze widens, and the pain momentarily disappears. “Oh shit.”

“You should try to talk to him.”

The thing is… how? San is visibly ignoring your texts, and he’s not coming to class anymore. You ask yourself that question for the rest of the day, especially once you’ve assured Yunho and Sydney that you'll be okay just so that they let you retreat to the quiet of your room.

You end up trying to work on the project, only for you to stare at the screen as all the times you studied with San keeps popping up in your mind. Treacherous little thoughts, yet they are tinged with a flicker of hope now at the thought that you might be able to fix things if you talk to him.

But what would you say? How would you say things? Most importantly, how are you going to convince San of your story if Jungkook already said his side?

You’re going insane. Insane with questions and sorrow, anxiety and hope and what ifs. Because what if you had talked to San before? What if, tonight, you were going to sleep in his arms instead of alone in the vast, empty expanse of your bed?

It’s late at night when you finally gather the courage to text San. It takes you forever to figure out what to say, and you spend so much time trying to convince yourself to press send. Hell, you think an eternity has passed before your hovering finger finally presses down, and another eternity for the message to deliver.

But at least it delivers. And so you reread, hoping the message is conveyed properly.

[2:08 am] You: hey San! wooyoung told me to move on but i want to give us a try. you matter to me, and i really think we should talk just to see if we can fix things. so please, please reply to me, i can meet you at your place tomorrow evening or over the weekend. no pressure as to when, but please let me just talk to you… it’s been hard without you

So it’s with hope in your heart that you eventually fall asleep that night, your dreams clinging to Choi San as if that might bring him back to you.

Thursday, October 31st

The streets are filled with kids in their costumes, their laughter echoing as they run from houses to houses, carrying bags of treats around like their own little treasures. You’re walking amongst them, face hidden in your scarf - the weather is back to being cold - yet you don’t have much of a destination.

Unlike the kids, your evening isn’t born out of the excitement of youth. Indeed, the heartbreaks of early adulthood are plaguing you, and you don’t know what to make of it.

San hasn’t replied to your text. You weren’t really expecting him to - the hope had been but a decoy of the true pain sitting in your chest. It did linger for part of the day today, but when you finished a class he once again didn’t attend, Wooyoung waving at you from where he sat at the front, you knew it was over.

You don’t think there’s anything you could do or say to salvage the relationship with San. Maybe at first, telling him the truth about Jungkook - your truth - would have made things possible, but San’s constant choice to ignore you, to ghost you like you never mattered, has been making you realize that maybe the whole thing was just painted in the pink tint of budding love. But now you see clearer - now you see San’s choice for what it is.

Avoidance of commitment, and a side of emotional immaturity. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since after the class, if only so that you don’t drown in the heartbreak.

It’s not quite working. Maybe because you can’t bring yourself to see San as the villain, especially not with how sweet he’s always been to you before last Friday. Or maybe you just didn’t truly know him. Maybe he’s the type to run the second a hint of true commitment appears on the horizon. You wouldn’t be surprised - besides Nayeon, he hasn’t really had a relationship. And you don’t know if she even counts. When he spoke of her, it seemed like their relationship was more of a close friendship over anything else, but you might have been wrong.

You might have misinterpreted his feelings for her. In truth, you might have misinterpreted everything when it comes to him, considering the ending. 

You should have known. He does have the reputation to be the kind of guy that sleeps around, yet you went into the whole thing blinded by your need to have someone that stands by your side. A need you didn’t even realize you had until it was too late and you’d lost it.

Because you feel astray now. You feel lost, empty, with no true sense of north and south. You feel like you’re just wandering, like the only goal you’d had in mind has been stripped away from you.

Yet your feet have a goal of their own - your walk brings you close to San’s apartment complex, and you find yourself looking up at the windows, wondering if you can tell which is his.

Wondering if somewhere up there, he’s looking back at you. And so you stand there, your heart trying to reach for him yet only finding an empty void. You take a deep breath, your gaze dropping to the ground.

You miss him. You fucking miss him, fucking wish you’d known that it was the end. You wish you could have at least committed something to memory so that you could have something to remember him by.

But will you even remember him? Twenty years down the line, will you visit memory lane and find him standing there, or are those mere weeks going to be wiped from your memory? It’s a bittersweet thought to realize that something that matters so much might just disappear.

San might disappear. Part of you thinks he’s already started to disappear.

How else could he become such a ghost in your life, if not for him disappearing?

Your eyes fill with tears, and you blink them away frustratedly. And then you take another deep breath, and you look up one last time.

San is on the other side of the street, and your heart stops in your chest. He’s looking at you, too. For half a heartbeat, you think he might even call your name. You think you might even run across the street, run to him and let him whisk you away again.

He looks tired. Exhausted, haunted, much like you. Or maybe you’re just imagining it. Maybe you just wish the burden is shared between the two of you. Perhaps it won’t crush you if it is.

But then San turns around, walking into his building as if you’re just strangers, strangers that share memories that will soon disappear. It hurts so bad your knees feel weak, and you think about running across the street. You think about running to him, only to tell him how much of an asshole he is. How much of a coward he is, too.

Because how can he turn his back on you like that? How can he pretend that, eight days ago, he didn’t make love to you? That even more recently, he didn’t tell you he wanted you to be his girlfriend?

You’ll never understand men. They throw away without trying to fix anything, thinking that connections are replaceable. You can’t blame them - in this day and age, it’s so easy to find someone. But you thought that what you and San had was special. You thought it was different, written in the universe the same way the constellations are written in the night sky. 

It’s a startling thing to realize there is no night sky for you and Choi San in this universe. So you turn back around, too. You turn your back on you and him, choosing yourself over someone that didn’t even think you mattered enough to talk to you. You turn your back on the way he held you, the way he kissed you and made love to you. You turn your back on the feelings he used to ignite in your chest, welcoming the pain and anger instead.

Though you don’t know who the anger is really directed to. Is it directed to him, for choosing to not talk to you, or to yourself, for not being honest with him from the beginning? You can’t tell and... and perhaps that’s okay. Perhaps it’s okay that the anger is directed to the both of you. It keeps you afloat, helps you drift back home despite the sorrow threatening to take a hold of you.

But when you hear Sydney laughing from behind Yunho’s closed door, loneliness hits you head on like a car hitting a wall of bricks. It hits so hard you almost collapse by the door, but you don’t want to worry them. Don’t want them to realize that, maybe you never told San because you didn’t think you deserved him anyway.

Maybe you thought you were always going to lose him anyway, so why offer such a fragile piece of your soul to him? A piece that would have been corrupted by whatever Jungkook told him at the party, if Jungkook even talked to him.

You think about Jungkook. You think about the night he told you it was better to take a break, and the lonely weeks that followed. You think about how you’d use to stalk all of his friends’ socials, Jimin’s included, hoping that you might catch sight of him. You think about the August night when he came back, right after the loneliness got too much for you.

History repeats itself, doesn’t it? 

And so you hate yourself. You hate yourself for all the mistakes you’ve committed in your life, for the way you lost Choi San without ever really having him to begin with. And maybe that’s why you find yourself calling your mother. 

You doubt anyone other than her would be able to stir you away from your spiralling thoughts.

“Hello!” your mother cheerfully says when she picks up after the third ring. 

You remain silent, not finding in you to reply. All you manage to do is kick off your shoes, and your mother says your name as you’re walking towards your room.

“Hey.” Your voice is flat. Empty, hurt, and you wish you could sound happier. You wish you were, but there’s only pain where joy used to be.

“Is everything okay?” your mother asks, her concern so evident you find yourself missing her like crazy.

“Not really,” you reply truthfully, tears pricking at your eyes. 

You lean against the door of your room, softly letting yourself fall to the floor.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

Everything. It feels like everything is wrong, yet you can’t really tell that to your mother, can you?

“Remember the guy I told you about?” You take a shaky breath in. “Things didn’t work out with him.”

To say the words aloud… it makes everything much more real. It feels like your heart has turned to ice in your chest, cold seeping in your soul until tears start rolling down your cheeks.

“What happened?” she gently asks.

You don’t know what to tell her. You can’t bring yourself to say something that would make her hate San. It’s not like with Jungkook - your parents never liked Jungkook. But she’d said that San sounded like an amazing person, and that she was excited to meet him one day. You’d told her that she should be patient, that you weren’t even sure if you’d date him… 

But it was your first time even showing any interest in a guy after Jungkook, outside of your occasional hookups. Obviously your mother had to be excited about it - it was a sign that you were healing.

You inhale sharply, drying some tears on your cheeks. “It just didn’t work out,” you choose to say. “I guess I wasn’t ready after all.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It hurts, mom,” you let out, and then a sob breaks through your previous countenance. “I really thought I was going to date this guy.”

“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “Please remember that there will always be someone else.”

But you don’t want there to be someone else.

“You met dad at nineteen,” you say. “I’m already twenty-two and I’m just so fucking miserable.”

You’re full on crying now, and your words don’t even make sense.

“Honey, you’re still so young,” your mother gently says. “There are so many people that you will meet that you haven’t met yet.”

“But that’s what scares me.” You sniffle. “What if I just end up forgetting him?”

“Is that so bad?”

It is. It is so bad in every way it could possibly be. Because you don’t want Choi San to become a memory, but the story has ended. It ended with a blank chapter, yes, but it ended nevertheless.

“It’s just sad, no? Like… how can someone matter a lot, and then they just leave?”

Your mother sighs - not out of annoyance, but out of pain for you - and you hate that you’re the one upsetting her right now. “You really liked this guy, didn’t you?”

You did. So much more than you even realized you did.

“Yes.” You lean your head back against the door, your eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I did. I do.”

“I’m sorry.” You hear your father’s voice on the other side of the line, and your mother whispers something to him that you can’t quite hear. “Why don’t you come here this weekend?” she suggests. “We could go on a shopping spree and make some apple crumble.”

You chuckle through your sobbing. “That’d be amazing.”

To get out of the city for a while… it might be much needed indeed.

“Ask your brother too! We might even be able to bring dad to the Christmas tree farm and decorate for Christmas early.”

“Don’t rope me into your plans!” your father teases in the background.

Your mother’s answering giggle makes your lungs burn, and you clench your jaw so hard it tastes like blood. Because they’re in love - you don’t know how you went wrong with Jungkook, and now San, but your parents have always shown you the perfect picture of love. Yet it’s something you’ve never attained, something you think might forever be out of reach for you.

“We need you to carry the tree,” your mother says.

“Yun will do it.”

“He’ll be too busy with Syd.”

You can’t listen to the conversation anymore. Not when it makes you realize how everyone around you is in love, even though you don’t have a lot of people around at all. You only have Sydney, your brother and your parents - it’s almost embarrassing.

“Hey, mom,” you say. “I think I’ll go.”

“We can talk some more!” she immediately says, most likely sensing your discomfort.

“No, it’s okay.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I’ll check with Yunho if he can this weekend.”

“Honey…” your mother trails off. “I’m hugging you through the phone.” 

Your lips stretch in a sad smile. “Thanks, mom.”

“Can’t wait to do face masks with you!”

She’s trying. She’s trying so hard, yet you don’t want to talk to her anymore. You want to be alone, you want to cry your heart out until all the pain is out instead of in. 

“Can’t wait either,” you reply with a shaky voice.

“Oh, honey, I can’t hang up when you’re crying.”

You sigh. “It’s okay, mom. I’m just going to lie down.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping well, so maybe a nap will help.”

There’s a moment of silence in which you expect her to try and keep you around, yet she eventually says, “Okay. But call me again if you need to talk, alright?”

“Yes, mom.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You hang up, putting your phone down on the floor next to you. Your room is dark, but you don’t feel like turning the lights on. You don’t want to - there’s some comfort in the darkness, like you don’t need to pretend anymore. And so you bend your legs, pull them to your chest and put your chin on your knees as the tears freely fall.

But you don’t sob anymore. It’s like you’re too tired, and you might actually be. There’s just so many rollercoasters your heart can take in such a short period of time. And so you cry. You cry for what could have been with San, for the loneliness that settles in your chest like it’s been its home all along. You cry for everything you had started to build with him - for Mr. Snake, for the box cakes, for the Lego set and for all the nights you fell asleep in his arms.

You cry because there hasn’t been enough. There hasn’t been enough, and there won’t be more, and you think life is cruel for that. Or perhaps he’s the cruel one - would a conversation have been able to fix things, or would he have been too far gone anyway?

To think that it happened overnight, from one day to the next… You never could have imagined that losing him would be so drastic. Like taking a step off a cliff’s edge, and falling to your demise.

It’s unfair, and you want to hate him. Still think part of you hates him, though most of this hate is directed at you. It always has - why would it be different now?

You pick up your phone, swiping it open and heading to the conversation with him. You reread your last text message and then your fingers are moving of their own accord, flying on the keyboard.

[8:21 pm] You: i just don’t understand. i don’t understand what happened, and it feels so unfair. why can’t you even talk to me? did i do something wrong? did i say the wrong thing? i really don’t fucking understand. i really thought we had something… i hope you don’t do that to all the girls you see bc fuck san are you even aware of how much it hurts? i fucking miss you and you just fucking ghosted me out of nowhere and now i’m just supposed to pretend idc? cause shit you’re so good at it. did you even care about me at all? you tell me all this shit about your dad and then you leave like it’s nothing. i’ll never understand you. and i don’t even want to fucking understand you.

When the message delivers, you put your phone back down. It doesn’t feel better now that the words are out, now that the anger spiked and left you. It only feels worse because, if you weren’t done with him before, now you surely are.

You and Choi San are done, the blank chapter has been filled with a text message.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, only to be haunted by nightmares of a better time.

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☆☆☆☆☆

i apologize infinitely for this chapter please don't scream at me (feel free to scream at me). let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[sentientgolfball]

Mushy May: Secret Admirer

Rain is a freak who has to leave vague poems lying around instead of telling Mountain he has a crush on him like a normal person

He is nothing if not an dramatic

Mountain smiles to himself as he opens his lunch. A folded piece of paper sits perfectly on top. He grabs it, tail wagging behind him as he unfolds it. Another poem in that same perfect handwriting. Still no name. Not even an initial to give him a clue. His eyes scan over the words, a small blush now accompanying the wide grin on his face. 

Devour me 

Break my skin to consume tender flesh 

Let my blood quench your thirst 

Let my body satisfy your hunger 

Devour me 

Consume me 

Savor me

Oh how Mountain wishes he knew who his little mystery poet is. Everyday for the past two weeks he has been finding these notes. Slipped under his door, left atop his laundry, on the seat of his drums. They started out simple, but quickly they evolved into something more. Now even he cannot deny each is charged with some underlying adoration. Or maybe infatuation. 

He would be lying though if he said he hates it. He looks forward to it. Every morning he wakes up and smiles as he wonders what today’s note will say, where it will be. Wonders if today will be the day he finally gets to meet them. 

“Mountain?” A deep, smooth voice calls out. 

He snaps his head up from his slip of paper. Rain. Shit. He forgot the quiet little new summon was joining him in the greenhouse today to learn how he can use his water to help with growth. He haphazardly throws his lunch and the note on his work table, standing from his stool and making his way over to the entrance. 

He grins when Rain comes into view,” Hey. Sorry, I would’ve met you. I lost track of time.” 

Rain looks up at him, but he does not meet his eyes, opting to glance between his chest and over his shoulder. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind the walk…what were you working on?” 

How does he tell him that he forgot to go meet up with him because there was a horny fruit poem in his lunch from his secret admirer? 

“Oh you know. Vegetables.” 

Rain nods. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he does not. He just stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight between his feet as he waits for Mountain to direct him. 

“Come on,” he motions with his head for him to follow, “I’ll show you were you can start. The process is pretty simple, I’m sure you’ve pulled moisture from the air before.” 

Rain hums in acknowledgment as Mountain leads him back toward his work area. As they pass by his table though, Rain suddenly speaks up, “what’s that?” 

“What’s what?” 

“That.” Rain points to the piece of paper. 

Mountain feels himself flush. He does not necessarily need to keep his little notes a secret, but he also does not need the new summon knowing all it takes to make him swoon are a few fancy words. And that he is wholly obsessed with a person who he does not even know the name of. What kind of impression would that be? 

“It’s uh. Cheat sheet. For what soils each plant likes. Moisture and nutrients and all that.” He hopes it is vague enough to pull his attention away. Unfortunately for Mountain, Rain starts walking toward the work table. 

“Wait—“

“What? Wouldn’t I need it? So I don’t accidentally drown something.” 

Oh why does he have to be smarter than him? Mountain tries to come up with an excuse on the spot, but any ghoul would tell you he is a horrible liar. Nothing sounds convincing, not even to himself. All he can do now is chew his lip as he watches Rain pick it up and read it. 

After quickly scanning the paper, he lifts his gaze, meeting Mountain’s with a question in his eyes. He scuffs his hooves in the dirt as his tail twitches behind him, “It’s not mine! I mean it is, but I didn’t write it.” 

“A lover then?” 

“Something like that. I don’t…actually know.” He mumbles the last part, the words running together. 

“What was that?” 

Mountain sighs, “I don’t actually know. Who it is. They show up randomly.” 

Rain’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips before he speaks, “But do you like them?” 

“Huh?” Not the response he was expecting. 

“Do you like them?” 

“Uh…yeah. I think they’re sweet.” He thinks they are much more than sweet, but his true thoughts are being reserved for his poet. 

“Good. That’s good. But then why don’t you look for the one leaving them?” 

Mountain furrows his brow. Why is Rain, quiet Rain who barely talks to any of them, so interested? Unless. He is the one leaving them. Could he really be his little poet? 

“Well. I don’t know. The mystery is fun. I guess?” 

“Would you be upset if it ended?” Rain takes a small step towards him. 

Mountain feels his heart skip. Images of Rain stringing together words of adoration, sneaking around, memorizing his schedule just so he can leave these notes in the perfect places flash through his head. Is it really him? Did he finally find them? 

“Course not. If it ended that means I could thank them.” He takes his own step forward. 

“And how would you do it?” He whispers. 

“Why do you want to know?” Mountain matches the soft tone. 

“Humor me.” He says it so casually, but there is a glint of something more in those deep blue eyes. 

“Well…I would get close. ” He takes another step forward, leaving only a foot of space between them. If Rain is not his poet then certainly he will back up. When he does not, Mountain continues. 

“I’d hold them,” his hands come up, hovering over Rain’s shoulders before finally settling, “Then I’d tell them how much each one meant to me.” 

Rain leans into him, looking up at him with dusty cheeks and parted lips. “What did they mean to you?” He breathes out. 

“Everything. They meant everything. They made me feel important.” 

He licks his lips, “Then what?” 

Mountain dips his head, “Then I’d kiss them.” 

Before he even has to register the movement, Rain crashes their lips together. His hands tangle in his hair, cupping the back of his neck to keep him close. Mountain’s eyes widen, all his previous suaveness gone. He blushes furiously, from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones. 

When they finally part, Mountain is panting, “It’s you?” 

Rain nods, his own blush deeper now, “It’s me.” 

Mountain kisses him this time. A proper kiss. Something sweet yet filled with everything each of those poems made him feel. The burning, the passion, the obsession. The tenderness. The care. The love. 

“Why now?” His lips brush over Rain’s as he pulls back just enough to speak. 

“I got tired of waiting. I needed you.” 

This time, when Mountain kisses him, he walks him backwards until Rain hits his work table. If his poet wants to be devoured, then he will be devoured.

[phantomchick]

Just a few more Jason Todd-centric fic recs for the road...

Asymmetrical Warfare by orangesky37

An ~UtRH AU that follows the events of A Death in the Family and diverges from canon at some point during Lost Days (pre that scene, which is most definitely not a part of this AU). Survival Instincts starts out after Jason has been in Gotham for several months. His plans to establish himself in the Gotham underworld have run into some snags and his motivations are in flux. Works are ordered chronologically. If you are new to the series, I'd recommend reading all previously published parts in chronological order and then new parts/chapters in the order they are posted.

A League of Their Own by GoAwayOlivia

He doesn’t know why she’s here, why she chose to come to Gotham, to kill the Joker, or pull him out of the rubble, but she did. She stepped forward and crushed Jason’s most horrifying nightmare under her foot like it was nothing. The Joker is gone. Dead and gone forever. And now Jason will follow Talia to the ends of the earth. “Okay,” he tells her. ***** In the wake of the fallout of his final confrontation with Batman and the Joker, Jason Todd tries to move forward. After careful consideration, Talia decides to help him, and maybe herself while she's at it. Canon divergence post Under the Red Hood.

Celestial Recalibration by HappyWiggleTime

After having a talk with Talia, Jason recalibrates his plans. Kill the Joker? Yes, obviously. Fix Gotham's wealth disparity? What the hell, why not? This new goal combined with his nosy siblings leads him back to the family sooner than he would’ve liked.

The Penny Drops, The Penny Dreads by Batbirdies

Jason’s background as a victim of abuse and childhood homelessness means it’s hard for him to trust, and to ask for things. After only a couple months in the manor, he still isn’t sure about Bruce Wayne. ___ When you come from nothing, it’s hard to adjust to having everything.

the living sea of waking dreams by r_astra

The telepath flips through Jason’s memories like cards in a Rolodex, rooting around for every terrible thing that’s ever happened to him. Jason tries fighting it, tries bolstering his will into mental walls like Bruce taught him. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t do anything. The second that hands press against Jason’s face, he’s gone. He’s wherever he wants him, whether that’s kneeling beside his mom’s cooling corpse or shivering through a cold winter night on the street or cringing away from the jingle of a belt being unbuckled. It’s not like remembering. It’s not like a nightmare. It’s like he’s there. It’s like he’s living it all over again, all the pain and fear and grief just as strong as the day it happened.

The Hellblazer's Apprentice by Blue_lotus

If there are two things Jason knew for a fact that Batman hated, it's magic and John Constantine. Both were unpredictable and often dredged up chaos whenever they were present. So when Jason runs into Constantine while on his murder training world tour, he realized he could kill two birds with one stone. Piss off Batman and learn magic to use against him? He'd be an idiot not to take that opportunity.

When Grownups Fail to Adult by NerdyLibrarian

What happens when Jason's brothers want to know why he's upset with the JLA? Jason's explanation of his side of the story, along with ways the hero community as a whole could make simple changes to protect their kids, might just change everything.

Echoes of Future Past by orangesky37

Jason is fifteen and dying, choking on smoke in a warehouse. Jason is sixteen and buried, clawing his way desperately to freedom. Jason is seventeen and drowning, waking up to green fire. Jason is nineteen and dying for the second time, bleeding out to the sound of laughter in an abandoned apartment building. Jason is sixteen and six feet beneath the earth again. But this time, when he wakes up he’s in a hospital bed, and he’s not alone. Jim Gordon, meanwhile, would really like to know what the hell is going on in his city this time.

[mikimakiboo]

Mermay day 8 - Murmurs of Purrs

Back with them big boys

- Megalodontale -

Dust, Horror and Nightmare came back after the attack, they eat a little when the Leviathans begin to feel tired.

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When Dust, Horror and Nightmare came back from the unsuccessful hunt, the three remaining mers rushed to their side, when they felt the disturbance in the currents they got worried they had been hurt, and Nightmare being in his big form didn't help the worries. Dream quickly swam to his brother as Cross and Killer went to Horror to guide him to the nest.

- Nightmare ! What happened ?! 

- A whaler boat attacked, it's no more, Nightmare replied, putting down the dead whale he snatched on their way back, can you heal him ?

Dream's healing magic was stronger than Nightmare's, he could heal Horror more efficiantly than him, especially since they regained some strength living with the big shiver.

- Of course I can, he nodded, turning to the great white.

The harpoon was still in his shoulder, Nightmare hadn't taken it off yet as to prevent him from losing more blood. A flash of light and a cloud of bubbles later and Dream was in his big form too, swimming to the megalodon's side with his brother following him.

- Is he gonna be okay.. ? Cross worriedly asked.

- He will, we just need a little space, please.. Dream reassured.

Killer and Cross shot each other a quick glance before backing up and joining Dust on the side, watching Nightmare wrap Horror in his tentacles to keep him from moving as he took the harpoon in his hands. Horror twitched but didn't make any noise, barely conscious as Nightmare spread a little dose of venom around the area to anesthetize it. Killer tensed when he heard the whine Horror let out when Nightmare pulled on the harpoon to remove it, it wasn't right, Horror was the stronger one, seeing him hurt and so weak didn't feel right... he pressed himself against Dust, letting the white tip hold him as they watched Dream heal the wound with green magic, wiping off the bits of seafoam that started to appear around it. The three watched the twins work for a bit and when they were done they let Horror rest, covering him with sails from sunken ships to keep him warm. They both turned back to their small forms.

Cross was the first to go to them, rapidly followed by the other two.

- So ? How is he doing ?

- He's tired, he's lost quite a lot of blood, he needs to rest for now and when he wakes he'll need to eat, Dream explained.

Cross nodded, looking at his sleeping mate. 

- Okay, thank you...

- It's fine, no need to thank us...

Dust approached.

- We should eat too, Horror wouldn't like it if we skipped a meal.

- He would beat our fin if he heard we didn't eat, Killer joked, earning a little chuckle from Cross.

- You're probably right..

- Of course I am ! Killer claimes, swimming to the whale.

The others followed him, being quite hungry too, the twins especially as the big forms and their magic consummed a lot of energy. Dust cut the meat in different portions using a sharp metal scrap he had found on an exploration, giving his shiver mates their part and giving the twins a smaller portion to share between the two. They usually ate small crustaceans, clams, oysters and all those sort of things, but Nightmare had dropped his gathering when transforming and he didn't stop to pick it up so they would have to eat whale meat for tonight. It wasn't the first time they ate bigger preys, they just weren't their favorites, but they could digest it just as fine. Nightmare could digest anything that entered his stomach anyway, Reaper always called him a bottomless pit.

None of them really talked during the meal, often glancing at Horror at the slightest movement from the great white. Dream yawned, having swallowed the last piece of meat whole. Nightmare started to feel tired too.

- You two can go rest, we're watching over him, Killer told them, having seen the yawn.

Dream slowly nodded, taking his brother's hand, he led him to the already sleeping megalodon. Just because the others were watching over him didn't mean they couldn't offer some comfort. Dream made his way to his neck, finding a spot near his jaw, and Nightmare went to hide under his hand, wrapping a few tentacles around his fingers. They wiggled a bit to find a comfortable position, then closed their eyes, allowing themselves to rest against their big shiver mate.

Soft purrs could soon be heard coming from the small Leviathans, little comforting vibrations, a little reminder that everyone was safe as long as they were there. The shiver saved them, now it was their turn to watch over them and protect them.

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

Do you have any gravity falls headcanons I could borrow? It can be any character(s) at all, I just need some ideas for a fanfic i'm working on

Thx!

ooh okay!! i'm honored and i'm sorry this took so long to get to

i'm just gonna list a bunch of random ones in the order i think of them and you can pick and choose which ones. i have no idea what your fanfic is about so. you get everyone

big fan of transmasc Dipper, but he's not like the kind of guy to be super open about it until he's more comfortable- he just wants to be a normal guy

Mabel loves owls

Ford somehow never gets hot. he wears his big coat and sweater most of the time, and when he sleeps has a ton of blankets and pillows

(he also feels more comfortable sleeping when he's not "out in the open" probably as a side effect of his multiverse travels)

that being said, he still has somniphobia, depending on the night. he doesn't like sleeping, he knows everything's okay now but it still scares him

Even as a kid, Ford liked wearing long sleeves better and stuff with pockets he could put his hands in. to draw less attention to them and hide them when he wanted to

The little llama Pacifica had in lost legends got thrown out when her parents decided she was too old for it. Llamas have always been her favorite animal and she chose the sweater in weirdmageddon on purpose

continuing the Pacifica tangent, she always has the worst bedhead

Bill once told Ford "you talk too much" and then proceeded to stitch up his mouth the next time he fell asleep

Autism Dipper, but when he gets diagnosed he's like. he has mixed feelings about it. he doesn't want people to know about it because he thinks they won't take him seriously because of it

Fiddleford erased Ford's memories quite a few times while they were working together

Teeth is Bill's favorite henchmaniac and all the others know this

Ford likes Mabel juice

Stan still draws, he has quite a few sketchbooks from over the years. it's quite stylized and if he showed Ford, Ford wouldn't really get it or think it's very good because it's not realistic

Autism Ford too but he doesn't seek a diagnosis or really know about it or anything

Dipper's clones don't have the birthmark

Stan has never said a swear word in front of the kids. Ford tries not to but he has a few times

You'll know if Mabel is mad at someone because they will be covered in glitter. she will shoot them with her glitter gun

(She never does it to Dipper though)

Ford sometimes overshares some of the stuff he went through to Dipper. Dipper just. doesn't say much to that, because what is he supposed to say. Ford asked Dipper not to tell any of it to anyone

Stan sometimes feels really bad about the stuff the kids had to go through

Mabel sticks magnets to Ford's head randomly

she made magnetic cat ears

and a unicorn horn

When Dipper is having bad nights with nightmares or just anxiety, he wakes Mabel up and they have a sleepover on the floor of their room

Next summer, Dipper gets his hat back from Wendy and they swap hats at the end of the summer again, but the summer after that, they end up not swapping back because Dipper doesn't like the Pine Tree reminder of the nickname and the zodiac

Wendy is chill with this

Mabel is only a little taller than Dipper, but the difference is emphasized with Dipper's shrimp posture

Pacifica likes hugs and needs them a lot. but would never ask for them. Instead she just hugs people impulsively sometimes (such as in nwmm and in lost legends)

Dipper uses the oversize pterodactyl bros t shirt as a sleep shirt

Dipper could win any staring contest. He's got that blank autism stare

Ford would try anything once for science

okay i'm out of time maybe i'll add more later

you can tell me what kind of headcanons to narrow it down too

[seoulmatez]

𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉

a day you convinced yourself you'd never live has arrived—your first date with boothill.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 3.8k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ light teasing ﾉ petnames (darlin', m'lady, sweetheart)

previous part ♡ masterlist

here's the finale! i hope everyone enjoyed the resurgence of farmhand boothill! if anyone is interested, i have some "extras" that follow the story but aren't connected to the main plot that i may post :3

Your room looks like a hurricane ripped through it—all the clothes from your closet scattered messily over your bed, makeup products and hair appliances strewn across your vanity, and at the center of it all is you. Your fingers are tangled in the roots of your hair and a groan that sounds like it came from another person penetrates the air. Unlike a hurricane, there’s no calm in the eye of this storm. You thought your stress was supposed to be subsided by now—the hard part has passed, so what the hell is this?

The date hasn’t even started and everything seems to be going wrong. You have no idea what to wear and Boothill has been absolutely no help on that front, not budging even an inch when you asked for a hint as to where he was taking you. The answer you got was, “patience, darlin’,'' accompanied by his signature smirk and wink before he left you to continue with work for the day. 

Just as you consider tracking the farmhand down to ask him again and force him to give you something a little helpful, your phone dings. You ignore it for a second and then another before you remember that you recruited help from Meg a little while ago. You practically dive for the device, quickly unlocking it so that you can read over her long-awaited advice.

go with the white babydoll dress!!!

The one she’s referring to and a few other options lay atop the mound of clothes that you’ll have to put back later. It caught your eye earlier but you had wondered if it would be too dressy for the occasion. There’s only so much to do in town and half of those things involve getting dirty but if you and Meg both have your eyes on it, then the dress must be the one.

thank you, love you!

With one less thing to worry about, you hop in the shower a little more carefree than you have been since waking up this morning. The nerves that have had you on edge for most of the day are slowly but surely turning into ones that are itching for time to move quicker.

The rest of your preparation is considerably less taxing with Meg’s input and your gradual decline of overthinking. You’re able to style your hair and paint on some makeup without any trouble, your foot mindlessly bouncing up and down as you hum the melody to the last song you listened to. Soon, the only sign that you had experienced any turmoil at all is the state of your room. You’ll deal with that later.

You’re packing your bag with the essentials—chapstick, mints, hair ties—when there’s a knock at your door. The sound makes you jump and suddenly the nerves come rushing back. You can’t let Boothill see your room like this. Luckily for you, he’s content talking through the door.

“I’ll be waiting for you outside, darlin’. No rush.” His voice is a little muffled but despite the obstruction, you can still hear the smile in his tone. You can see it in your head—soft pink lips curling up at the corners, a little higher on the left, and sharp, pearly white canines of display. The sight once ignited annoyance in you but that feeling has all but died down, replaced with something closer to fondness.

“Okay!” you yell back.

He assured you that it was no rush but you find yourself hastily gathering the rest of your things. Before you tuck your phone away in the bag, you shoot Meg a text that you’re about to head out. The device buzzes with a notification before you’re able to put it away and you quickly read over Meg’s reply.

have fun and be safe! update me as soon as you get home… or not ;)

Your lips part in surprise at her thinly veiled implication. The thought alone of anything even remotely intimate like she’s suggesting is enough to make your cheeks burn and the tips of your ears heat up. You put the screen of your phone to sleep and shove it into your bag, hoping the thought will disappear with it. 

You make your way down the stairs and stop at the doorway to slip on your boots before you pull the door open to meet Boothill at his truck. The vehicle is pulled up right in front of the porch. He leisurely leans against the passenger door, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest. He looks like a still taken from a romance movie and the corners of your lips turn up as you wonder if that was his intention.

He's never struck you as the type to watch those kinds of movies but as you look at him, you realize that there’s a lot you still don’t know about Boothill. You bite back a smile at the thought that a little part of you is looking forward to learning more.

“Well,” Boothill starts, standing up straight and stuffing his hands away in his pockets. Irises like stormy clouds look you over from head to toe before finally stopping at their destination—your eyes. “You look mighty pretty—as usual.”

“Thanks.” You suck in your cheeks to stop yourself from puckering your lips in embarrassment. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before but the compliment feels different when you’ve put in the effort to look nice, and for him, at that. You clear your throat and gesture to his figure, moreso the outfit he’s dressed in. “You clean up nice.”

His outfit is simple, a plain white t-shirt paired with jeans and the pair of boots he reserves for occasions outside of work at the ranch. There’s a red bandana tied around his neck and one of his favorite hats, a brown beige, sits atop his hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail. It’s nothing out of the norm for him, though, the dirt and sweat that typically stain his attire is absent. He’s clearly put in a bit of effort for the experience.

Boothill grins at the courtesy. He could get used to receiving a little bit of praise from you. Even such a simple statement makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. All his patience seems to have paid off. “I hoped you’d think so.”

A strange sense of ease overwhelms you knowing that the farmhand also had you in mind while he was getting ready, was compelled to try and impress you. Though, you’re sure his room didn’t end up looking anything like yours in his pursuit of the goal.

Thankfully, Boothill doesn’t allow much time for your mind to wander and for you to get self-conscious all over again. He’s moving before you, spinning on his heel to open the passenger’s door of his truck. He turns to face you once more.

“Your chariot, m’lady.” He swings his arm out in a gesture full of flourish that makes you hide a laugh behind your hand. Your suspicion that Boothill may have taken some inspiration from a film only grows stronger with the motion but you play along, not minding feeling like the main character of a romantic story as you walk down the couple of steps from the porch to meet Boothill.

You catch a whiff of him as you slide past to take your seat, clean with soap and the subtle scent of earthy sandalwood. It’s a heady smell that drifts away too soon as he cautiously closes your door and rounds the vehicle to join you on the driver's side.

Your head is practically swimming with the pleasant scent of him when Boothill takes his spot beside you and even more so when he turns on the air conditioning. Your thoughts are bound to roam if you continue to focus on it so you close your eyes and shake your head before turning to Boothill. “So, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope,” he tells you as he pulls out of the driveway and onto the main road. The man spares you a quick glance with his next words. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

You force out a dramatic sigh that earns a chuckle from Boothill. Despite your theatrics, you don’t push the issue. He seems hellbent on keeping it a secret and maybe the surprise will have been worth it not being spoiled by your curiosity.

So, while Boothill drives, you settle for fiddling with the knob of his radio, switching between stations until you land on one that’s playing a song you like. Boothill playfully ridicules you for skipping past so many decent songs but you stand your ground, arguing that the radio is the one thing you have control over since he insists on being so secretive.

He can only smile and agree.

One full song plays before Boothill pulls off to the side of the road. A crease forms between your eyebrows, confusion written on your face. Other than a house a little farther down the road, there’s not a building in sight. What around here is worth stopping for? “What are we doing here?”

“Quick pit stop,” he tells you, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing the door open. Cluelessness must be evident in your expression because Boothill tips his head down to laugh. He explains once he lifts his head. “Stay here, I won't take long—promise.”

You don’t question him, you just let your eyes follow his figure as he sets out to the field beside the road. You have no idea what business he has in the grass but you don’t question it, choosing instead to change the song playing over the speakers. Warm air from outside the truck flows into the vehicle through the door Boothill left open and while it’s not hot enough to make you sweat, you lean closer toward the vent. With your attention focused on a multitude of other things, you barely notice Boothill’s return, not taking note of his presence at the open door until he clears his throat.

Your head whips in his direction and you find him bent over the seat, his feet planted outside the truck and his arms resting on the seat. It takes you a moment to register that there’s a bunch of something colorful in his hands—flowers. They’re wildflowers, a pretty blend of orange and yellow, not nearly as neat as a professional bouquet but just as thoughtful.

“For you.” He holds the homemade bouquet out to you. It reminds you of a time a little while ago when he said those exact same words. He was handing you flowers from Miss Alma then but the more you thought about it after the fact, the less sense it made that the lady didn’t give you the flowers herself—you were right there, after all. The thought had nagged at you—the possibility that they may have really been from Boothill—but you paid it little mind, choosing not to read too deeply into the gesture for your own peace of mind.

Unlike then, you don’t hesitate to take them. The bunch is held together with a hair tie and it’s only then that you realize Boothill’s ponytail has been freed from its confines, hair flowing freely over his shoulders and down his back. “From you this time?”

“Of course.” He smiles. If he picks up on the fact that you’re onto him, he doesn’t show it, simply boosting himself back into the truck and closing the door behind him. You gently run the pads of your fingers over the soft petals as Boothill makes his way back onto the road. A soft smile pulls at your lips, one that Boothill catches out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t mention it, just cherishes the short glimpse of the sight he’s beginning to think he’d move mountains for.

Several minutes pass before the environment shifts, the tires of Boothill’s truck going from riding smoothly on the pavement to roughly over uneven dirt. It makes for a bumpy ride. That paired with the fact that you’re unsure where the two of you could be heading is enough for you to speak up. “Are we allowed to drive down here?”

Boothill shrugs, keeping his eyes ahead. “What’s a broken rule here and there?”

You frown at that. It’s doubtful that anyone will see you out here—it’s secluded enough—but you can’t help but wonder if you’ll end up getting in any trouble. Sure, it would make for a memorable first date but you’d rather the occasion go off without a hitch. “You didn’t say we’d be partaking in illegal activities.”

“It’s not illegal,” he tells you with a laugh, one that he tries to conceal under his breath but is loud enough for you to hear. “Just frowned upon, maybe.”

You click your tongue in response.

“Wow, a city girl and goody two shoes. I’ve got my work cut out for me with you.”

“Oh, shut it.” You slap his shoulder which earns an entertained chuckle from the farmhand. Your annoyance at yet another nickname is short-lived as you look out your window. Boothill is driving down what you imagine is meant to be a hiking path, far too narrow to have been intended for anything larger than a park ranger’s utility vehicle. The only thing you’re passing by is trees, and plenty of them. “What the hell could possibly be out here?”

Boothill grins—partly at you swearing but mostly because his goal of surprising you can now be considered a success. “You’re looking at it, sweetheart.”

You send him a questioning look but he only points ahead in answer. Following the direction of his finger, you peer straight ahead through the windshield. Underneath the sun’s glowing rays, the soft waves of a creek glisten. The densely wooded area has thinned out to make way for a clearing, one of dusty dirt and tiny pebbles that crunch beneath the tires as Boothill maneuvers the truck so that the rear faces the body of water.

He turns the key in the ignition, the engine dying with the motion. Gray eyes flit to his right to catch your gaze. “Meet me in the back?”

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt, opening the door, and hopping down to the ground. The slam of the door alerts two birds and sends them flying. You watch their wings flap as they flee while you make your way to the back.

Boothill is busy opening the trunk when you arrive, pulling down the horizontal door and peeling back the topper that covers the bed. Once it’s open, he rounds the back and effortlessly climbs onto the open space. He looks down at you and offers his hand. His fingers wiggle in invitation before you take hold of him. With his support and the step on the bumper, you’re able to join him in the bed.

At the new height, you see that the bed looks different than it did when you last saw it. Instead of being lined with the protective mat and filled with groceries, a blanket covers the surface. There are pillows propped against each other, a wicker basket filled to the brim with an assortment of snacks and Boothill’s guitar is even laid out amongst the things he brought.

“Didn’t wanna overwhelm you with anything fancy or nothin’,” Boothill explains upon taking note of your silence. 

You think about how awkward it would have been to share a meal with Boothill alone. Though, the thought of Boothill dressing up in something more formal than his typical attire and hating every second of it is a humorous one. Despite missing out on the opportunity to see a whole new side of the man, you’re grateful he had your comfort in mind when it came to planning this. “No, no, this is nice. This is great.”

You take a seat on the cushioned bed, not-so-subtly eyeing the spot next to you in a silent gesture for Boothill to do the same. He follows your lead and sits down with his legs crossed. Your shoulders bump in his attempt to get comfortable and the accidental movement reminds you that there’s no center console separating the two of you now. Without the air conditioning, your closeness makes it much easier to feel the heat radiating from Boothill. It’s not unpleasant but, just like his scent, it makes you a bit lightheaded.

 “So,” you start, tilting your head toward him so you can get a better look at the farmhand from the corner of your eye, “What are we doing besides taking in the scenery with snacks and music?”

“Talkin’.” 

You turn your head fully so you’re facing him, waiting patiently for the rest of his sentence. The subject never comes. “About what?”

“Well, you haven't really jumped at the opportunity to tell me about yourself.” 

You can’t argue with that—you’ve been fairly private in terms of your life when it comes to Boothill. Other than the little bits your grandpa has let slip and the few things he’s picked up during your interactions together, there’s a lot Boothill doesn’t know about you. First dates are all about getting well acquainted with each other, right? “Okay… what do you want to know?”

He smiles a soft smile at your willingness to share. “Whatever you wanna tell me.”

It’s a broad ask—lets you keep certain things to yourself and expand freely on others. So you do. You tell him about your summers on the farm—how you’d pester your parents to drive you down practically the second school let out for summer break. You tell him about the tree climbing, the horse rides, the fruit picking—everything you got up to during those warm months off. You tell him about your summers at the ranch coming to an end, traded in for internships and job interviews. You tell him about how all the stress you tried to ignore over those years caught up to you, how you finally bit the bullet and came back to find some solace.

Boothill listens intently, nodding along to your stories, smiling at the parts where you find yourself speaking through giggles, hanging on your every word. He says it's a bummer that something so crummy led you back here but that he’s glad it did—otherwise, he wouldn’t have met you.

That part makes you bite your cheek in a failed attempt to hold back a smile. Being the sole subject of his stare is intimidating. It feels as though he’s seeing you—really seeing you, beyond the walls you put up that he’s actively tearing down brick by brick. It feels almost selfish that the spotlight has been shining on you all night. You take the break in conversation as an opportunity to turn the focus on Boothill, to ask him what he asked of you; to talk.

He tells you about his days in high school—how he used to help his dad out at his auto repair shop and how he took up guitar at his mother’s insistence. He plays a song his mom used to like—the first one he learned—for you before opening the floor for requests. You ask for “A crazy little thing called love” by Queen. The implication of the song’s title doesn’t hit you until Boothill’s eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise. Your mouth opens to explain but he cuts you off with a little ah-ah-ah, fingers finding their place on the strings and beginning to strum.

You lose track of how many songs he plays, how many pieces of popcorn you’re able to toss into his mouth, how much time has passed in this peaceful little bubble Boothill created just for the two of you. By the time you question any of it, the sun has bid you goodnight and left you with its glowing white counterpart. Bright stars speckle the sky and crickets chirp amongst blades of grass when Boothill finally checks the watch on his wrist.

“Gettin’ pretty late,” he informs you, wiping the palms of his hands on his thighs. He turns to you with what looks like a sleepy grin—he must have woken up for the day a while ago. “About time I get you home. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

You nod. As nice as these few hours have been, it wouldn’t be fair of you to keep him out here because you’re not ready for the night to end. 

He stands up with a grunt, offering you a hand to help you do the same. You accept it and let him pull you to your feet. The warmth of his hand disappears as he lets go to hop down from the bed. He beckons you forward with two fingers, holding his arm out to help you down.

Such a gentleman, you think, smiling and shaking your head as you take a couple of steps toward the edge. Before you make it, the toe of your boot catches on the blanket. The mishap sends you forward with a shocked squeal but your shins don’t scrape the bed and you don’t hit the ground with an ungraceful thud.

You’re safe in Boothill’s hold, his arms wrapped around your thighs, your chests pressed closely together. It’s a compromising position, though, despite the frantic beating of your heart, you don’t bother telling him to put you down or fighting your way out of his grasp. You simply look down at him and swallow the nervous lump in your throat.

He smirks. “You alright?”

“Fine,” you tell him. The reassurance comes out a bit breathy.

“Good.” He doesn’t put you down. “Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes.” You nod. “I did.”

Bathed in the dim moonlight, you gaze into Boothill’s eyes. He stares back into yours. Neither of you make any effort to move. It’s like you’re frozen in time, or maybe it’s moving slower, you’re not sure, but there’s only one thought circling in your mind at the moment.

You have no idea where it came from but you act on it before you can think any better of it, leaning down, your nose bumping his. You’d barely consider it a kiss—more like your lips gently brushing against his, but the shockwave that courses through your body at the contact hits all the same.

Boothill’s lips stretch into a smile underneath yours but he chooses to keep them sealed, not teasing, not escalating.

You don’t go back for another, nothing deeper, nothing more passionate, nothing more raw. You’ll have plenty of time for that after tonight. Instead, you bring your hand up to run your thumb over his lower lip. Your next words come out as a whisper. “How about I plan the next one?”

You can feel his chuckle against your finger. “I expect you’ll show me a good time, little miss city girl.”

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[luigilore]

hiii! gymrat anon back <3 I PASSED MY LSAT WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! one more grueling year of uni and i'm off to law school! anyways thinking i was thinking so hard about alternate gymrat!lu where you guys are roommates and always head to the campus gym together 😫

he's always waking you up at 6am with an egg white omelette and a protein shake so you guys can get your workout in before students get there and you find so much relaxation with him being in your element. you started rooming together about a year ago when he took over your friend's lease who moved abroad. you would've never heard of him if it weren't for your shared living space as you two are doing 2 completely different majors and don't share a social circle at the huge upenn campus. you two stay up late studying together at the coffee table, watch movies together, cooking healthy meals together, everything. you like the simple domesticity of being together, but you would never admit that to him. you think hes way outta ur league. rich, smart, has literally everything going for him, everything you hope for from an outsiders perspective. he's so kind though, never makes you feel stupid when he helps with your work. you insist on paying him back by treating him to lunch, but he insists that you can repay the favour when he needs help. you agree and when he does end up needing your help, he absolutely forces you out to dinner even though you two have an agreement. he tells you that you look beautiful dressed up for him and you have to pray that your makeup hides your blush. he treats you to the nicest restaurant ever and you two are laughing and smiling the whole night. when dinner is over, he insists on taking you to his fav stargazing spot. you both stay there and admire the sight while speaking on all sorts of topics: school, vacationing, summer plans... at the end of the night you two share a kiss under the starts and moonlight and its so romantic. "safe to say first date?" luigi cheesily asks with a big fat smile on his face.

OMG HIIII BABE <3333 we missed you! that's huge about the lsat YAYYY!!! very exciting that you have that out of the way

okay sooo i love this a lot i already love the roommates trope but plus gymrat lu... like ur spoiling me hello

him converting u to his evil schedule LOL and him driving u to the gym every morning or walking together when it's still dark outside ahh

also feel like he would be a menace and walk around the apartment shirtless the time; like post-shower... post workout... in the morning

the domesticity rahhhh cooking together <3 studying together <3

like loving the idea of nights together omg what if u share a bathroom so ur brushing ur teeth together, doing ur nighttime routine

omg him randomly one day (multiple days actually) is flexing (also possibly shirtless here) asking if u can tell he's making progress in the gym lmfao like ... be serious this would kill me

ahhh i wanna stargaze with him so bad :(

he'd a bit tentatively pull u into his side when he notices ur shivering the tiniest bit

he's so warm and his arms are so strong from all ur gym sessions 😫

ur looking up at him, his face so close to urs and he suddenly leans down and his thumb is brushing across ur cheek

and u feel his stubble against ur skin omfg

omg then having gym dates!!!! and the post-gym showers <333