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lanadelspray02 · 21 days ago

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HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 11

paige x azzi

SURPRISE! I hope y'all like this chapter. I rushed it a bit to get it out quicker for everyone, so I hope it's still readable. It is very long, so be warned. I wanted to make the first meeting between Ruby and Paige a bit unexpected. I also didn't really have Azzi properly explain to the team about Ruby, so that will be upcoming. I just wanted them to respect both Ruby and Azzi, which they did. Let me know what you think :) I hope it's not too underwhelming for y'all.

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 12,272

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Azzi woke to a heel pressed into her ribs and the slow, sticky sound of someone whispering into her ear.

“Mama. Wake up. Wake uuup.”

She groaned, not moving.

A giggle echoed near her face, breathy and triumphant, followed by a sudden flurry of motion as Ruby scrambled higher up the bed, her little legs tangling in the blanket like a determined, curly-haired octopus.

“Mamaaaa,” Ruby sang this time, louder. “Sun’s up! We do breffast now!”

Azzi cracked one eye open and was immediately met with Ruby’s face hovering over hers, close enough that their noses almost touched. Her curls were wild and sleep-tangled, cheeks flushed, pajamas twisted from a night of tossing. She had one sock on. The other appeared to be stuck around Sparklehorn’s neck like a scarf.

Azzi blinked at her.

“Good mornin’,” Ruby whispered dramatically, then giggled again and rolled over like she’d nailed the performance.

Azzi grunted and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her joints ached. Her eyes burned.

“Mama dead?” Ruby asked, very seriously.

Azzi dragged a hand over her face. “Mama’s exhausted.”

Ruby didn’t seem moved. “No ‘zausted,” she said with a pout. “It’s breffast time. I hungry now.”

Azzi turned her head and looked at her daughter sideways. Ruby was sitting upright now, Sparklehorn clutched under one arm, chewing absently on her own sleeve. Her small feet kicked against the blanket in rhythmic thumps.

“I ‘membered somethin’,” Ruby added thoughtfully.

“Oh yeah?” Azzi mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Ruby nodded hard, curls bouncing. “You said Paigey, the unicorn girl come over.”

Azzi blinked. “I said what now?”

Ruby tilted her head, her pout reappearing. “Paigey come for pancakes. You said last night. ‘Member?”

Azzi sat up slowly, wincing as her muscles protested. “I definitely didn’t say she was coming over.”

“You did in my head,” Ruby replied without hesitation, then shrugged. “So that still count.”

Azzi stared at her. ��That’s not how it works.”

Ruby, unfazed, hugged Sparklehorn tighter. “We share wif her. Sparklehorn say so.”

“Okay,” Azzi sighed, swinging her legs off the bed. “Let’s slow down. We need to brush our teeth, put real clothes on, and maybe, if the mood strikes, make some pancakes. No promises.”

Ruby gasped. “Sparklehorn like pancakes! Pink ones. Wif stars.”

Azzi stood, her hoodie wrinkled, her hair half-falling out of a messy bun. She reached for her phone on the nightstand.

“Do we have pancake mix?”

Ruby jumped off the bed and landed like a cat, slightly unbalanced but upright. “We got mix. I saw. In the snack drawer. Next to the spoons.”

“That… is not where the pancake mix goes.”

Ruby shrugged. “It there now.”

Azzi followed her out of the room, yawning hard as Ruby led the charge down the hallway like a queen with a mission. The hardwood was cold under her feet. Somewhere in the house, a kettle clicked to life, probably Katie already up. The scent of coffee grounds drifted faintly through the air, and sunlight was just beginning to fill the edges of the living room with a muted glow.

Ruby ran into the kitchen full-speed, dragging Sparklehorn behind her by the tail.

“Grammaaaa!” she yelled. “We makin’ pancakes! Paigey, the unicorn girl comin’!”

Azzi winced. “Roo, inside voice.”

Katie turned from the stove, a mug in her hand and a tired smile tugging at her lips. “Good morning to you too, sweet pea.”

Ruby clambered up onto one of the barstools and planted Sparklehorn on the counter like an honored guest.

“She comin’,” she declared. “Paigey. The unicorn girl. The smiley one”

Katie raised an eyebrow at Azzi.

Azzi mouthed, not my fault, then grabbed two mugs from the cabinet.

“Somebody’s been rewriting reality,” she said, pouring herself tea.

Katie sipped her coffee. “She’s got a good imagination.”

“She also has no chill,” Azzi muttered.

Ruby pointed dramatically at her unicorn. “She told me in the night. Paigey wanna come for pancakes. She said she like syrup.”

Azzi covered her face with one hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Katie said, chuckling. “This might be the most animated she’s been before 8 a.m. in weeks.”

Azzi set her mug down and pulled her phone from the front pocket of her hoodie. She opened her messages, thumb hesitating just for a second before tapping Paige’s name.

Ruby, still watching her, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You tell her?”

Azzi nodded, amused. “I’m telling her.”

She opened the voice memo feature and hit record.

“Hi. So… apparently Sparklehorn has decided it’s a pancake emergency. Ruby’s convinced you’re coming over. And I quote: ‘Paigey like syrup.’ So, you’ve got some explaining to do. We’re starting breakfast now, try not to disappoint the unicorn.”

She hit send.

Ruby, not understanding any of the subtlety, leaned over the counter with wide eyes.

“She say yes? She comin’?”

Azzi smiled at her, something soft pulling at her chest. “We’ll see, Roo.”

“Okay,” Ruby said, satisfied, then reached across the counter to grab a handful of cereal flakes from the open box. “We save her da pink pancake.”

Azzi walked around the counter, leaned in to kiss her daughter’s temple, and let herself rest her forehead there for a second longer than usual.

Katie watched quietly from the sink, her expression unreadable but warm.

Azzi stood up straight and took a breath.

Everything had shifted. Not all at once, not loudly, but in the quiet way a tide turns. Gently. Inexorably.

She turned her head, eyes drifting to her phone screen, waiting for Paige’s reply.

Some part of her already knew what it would say.

But it still made her heart jump anyway.

Azzi didn’t have to wait long for Ruby to shift gears again, toddler attention spans were short, especially when syrup was on the line.

“Mama,” Ruby said seriously, cupping her cereal flakes in both hands, “I need da mix now. The pancake mix.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Is that a command?”

“It’s a need,” Ruby replied, deadly serious.

Katie snorted softly behind them, wiping down the kitchen bench. “You heard the queen. Hop to it.”

Azzi made a show of groaning but walked to the pantry, grabbing the half-empty bag of pancake mix from the middle shelf, not next to the spoons, thank God. She set it on the counter beside Ruby, who was now hugging Sparklehorn and whispering to her like they were conspiring.

“I wan’ pink ones,” Ruby said again. “Wif sprinkles.”

“We don’t have pink pancake mix, baby.”

Ruby gasped like Azzi had just cancelled her birthday. “But we always do pink!”

“No, sometimes we do pink. When we have the dye.”

“Ask Gramma,” Ruby insisted, spinning dramatically on the barstool to face Katie. “Gramma, we have da pink?”

Katie opened a drawer. “We’ve got red. We can fake it.”

“Red okay,” Ruby decided after a moment of thought. “But not too red. Just pink pink.”

Azzi, already halfway into mixing the batter, bit back a smile. “We’ll go light on the apocalypse shade. Got it.”

She poured the milk in slowly, Ruby watching her every move like a hawk. The tiny measuring spoon clinked against the edge of the bowl as Azzi added just a touch of food coloring, swirling it in with exaggerated strokes.

“Ooooooh,” Ruby breathed. “It changin’.”

“You’re a wizard,” Katie told Azzi.

“I prefer pancake artist,” Azzi replied.

“Pancake wizard!” Ruby screamed with delight.

Azzi stuck her tongue out at her daughter and flicked a small drop of batter onto her nose. Ruby squealed like she’d been betrayed and immediately reached for the spoon.

“Ruby....no, not in your hair, babe”

Too late. A dot of pink batter now sat proudly in the curls above her forehead.

Azzi groaned, reaching for a dish towel.

“Hold still. You’re gonna be sticky all day.”

“I wanna be sticky,” Ruby announced. “Sticky is fun.”

Azzi wiped her gently, one hand cradling the back of Ruby’s head with practised ease. She didn’t even have to think about it anymore, the movements had become muscle memory, just like brushing teeth or buckling the car seat or wiping tears off tiny cheeks mid-tantrum.

Everything about mornings like this, the mess, the pace, the affection woven through every movement, it was chaotic. But it was hers.

Theirs.

“Mama,” Ruby said as Azzi pulled the towel away. “You think Paigey gonna come next time?”

Azzi paused for just a second. Long enough that Ruby noticed.

She tucked a curl behind Ruby’s ear and said softly, “I think… maybe. If we ask nice.”

Ruby beamed. “I be nice. I say pwease. I give her sprinkles too.”

Azzi felt a lump rise in her throat, sudden and full.

She looked down at the tiny girl in front of her, now rhythmically kicking her feet against the cabinets and humming off-key to herself, Sparklehorn tucked neatly in the crook of her elbow like a second heartbeat.

Sometimes Azzi forgot how small Ruby still was. How recently she’d come into the world. And how completely she had rearranged every part of it.

“Alright, Roo,” she said, pouring the first ladle of batter into the skillet, watching it sizzle. “You want big pancakes or little ones?”

“Big! Like your head.”

Azzi gasped. “Are you saying I have a big head?”

Ruby nodded solemnly. “Yup. Big head, small nose, silly eyes.”

Katie choked on her coffee in the background.

Azzi shot her mother a betrayed glare.

“You know what,” she said, flipping the pancake with dramatic flair. “You’re getting the crispy one.”

Ruby screamed with laughter. “Nooo! No crispy!”

“Too late,” Azzi teased. “Crispy pancake for the pancake wizard’s rude apprentice.”

“I sorry!” Ruby giggled. “You have nice head! Very nice!”

“Uh-huh.”

Azzi plated the first pancake and set it in front of her daughter, topping it with a small swirl of syrup and the few remaining rainbow sprinkles from the cupboard. Ruby leaned in like she was praying.

Katie set a fork beside her. “Tell Sparklehorn to pace herself.”

Ruby nodded seriously. “She eat slow. She got tiny teef.”

Azzi sat down beside her, her legs aching, her body heavy from lack of sleep, and yet… she felt light.

A quiet buzz came from her phone.

Paige.

Azzi picked it up, thumb brushing the screen.

“Tell Sparklehorn I’ll be there for bedtime tonight. Battle-ready.”

She smiled without meaning to, small and involuntary, the kind that warmed the back of her neck and crept into her chest before she could stop it.

Ruby didn’t notice. She was too busy feeding her unicorn a piece of pancake.

Azzi glanced at her daughter, then back at the screen.

A tiny piece of her heart, the careful, scared one, uncurled just a little more.

--------------------

Paige’s phone buzzed against the edge of her pillow just as the morning light started to slip in through the blinds. She didn’t reach for it right away. She lay still for a minute, the blanket tangled around her legs, the dorm quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator and a shower running down the hall.

Her body felt like it had finally stopped spinning.

Her brain, though? Still tangled.

The past 24 hours had been a swirl, soft, sharp, surreal. Azzi at her door. Azzi telling her the truth. The kiss that wasn’t desperate, but deliberate. And the way Azzi had looked at her after, like Paige had somehow passed a test neither of them had written down.

She blinked slowly, then finally turned and grabbed her phone.

Voice message. From Azzi.

Her stomach flipped.

She tapped play, holding the phone to her ear with sleep-heavy fingers.

Paige’s laugh came out half-choked.

She pressed the phone to her chest, closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again, awake now. Fully.

Ruby remembered her. Not just remembered, was planning her breakfast plate like Paige was already family.

She flopped back on her pillow, eyes aimed at the ceiling, grinning like a fool.

From across the room, Nika emerged from the bathroom in a robe, towel around her neck, coffee mug in hand.

“You’re smiling at your phone like it just sent you a love letter,” she said flatly.

Paige didn’t look up. “It kinda did.”

Nika sat on the edge of her own bed, one brow raised. “Was it from her?”

“Mmhm.”

Nika sipped her coffee and leaned back on one hand. “You’re too far gone, dude. You’re like... in.”

“I was already in,” Paige said, finally sitting up and stretching. “Now I’m just... being let in.”

Nika didn’t tease that. Not really. She just nodded once, quiet. Then: “That’s good.”

There was a beat, quiet enough for the radiator to hum through it.

Paige hesitated.

Then: “There’s something I should tell you. But you can’t say anything yet.”

Nika’s brows lifted, intrigued. “You’re being dramatic. I like it. Continue.”

“I’m serious, Nik. I just need to talk to my best friend about this.”

Nika sat up straighter. “Okay. What?”

Paige pulled one knee to her chest and rested her chin there for a second. “Azzi… she has a kid. A daughter. Her name’s Ruby. She’s two and a half.”

The silence hit harder than Paige expected. No gasp. No stunned squeal. Just Nika staring, processing.

“Wait, what?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I found out yesterday. She told me everything.”

“She has a kid? I was wondering who Ruby was when she mentioned her the other day.”

“She lives at home with her parents and raises her. She’s incredible, Nik. Like... smart, funny, opinionated. She calls me ‘the unicorn friend, paigey”. Paige smiled faintly. “Because of the stuffed toy I won her. and well now she just calls me Paigey sometimes too i guess.”

Nika blinked twice. “Dude. That’s huge.”

“I know.”

“And no one else knows?”

Paige shook her head. “Not even Ines or Caroline. She’s gonna tell them when she’s ready. So, please. Just keep it between us. I feel wrong for even telling you but i just wanted to talk about it with you.”

Nika held up both hands like a solemn vow. “Locked down. Sworn to secrecy. You got the classified stamp and everything.”

“Thanks.”

Nika tilted her head. “But are you okay with it?”

Paige looked up. “Yeah. I mean, I’m figuring it out. I'm scared, but yeah. I want to be part of it. Of her. Of them.”

Nika gave a slow nod, then nudged her with the toe of her sock. “You’re a good one, Bueckers.”

“Don’t say that. I’ll cry and miss class.”

“Fair.”

Paige stood, grabbed her hoodie off the back of the chair, and pulled her hair into a bun with the kind of ease that said she’d done this routine a thousand times.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “I told her I’d be on standby tonight. For Sparklehorn-related emergencies.”

Nika gave a long, dramatic pause. “You are FaceTiming a toddler now?”

“It’s part of the gig,” Paige said, tugging on her sneakers. “Gotta earn the unicorn’s trust.”

“God help you,” Nika muttered. “You’re gonna start packing snack bags to class.”

“Honestly?” Paige tossed a granola bar into her backpack. “Might as well get the practice in.”

Nika snorted.

--------------------

Campus was still shaking off the quiet of the weekend when Paige stepped out into the crisp morning air. Students moved in slow clusters across the paths, bundled up against the lingering chill, some still yawning behind travel mugs.

The sun was just high enough to throw long shadows across the quad. Paige tucked her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie and let her feet take her in the direction of her first lecture, not in a rush, not dragging. Just... present.

Her phone vibrated once in her pocket.

She pulled it out to see Azzi’s reply:

“Ruby says Sparklehorn requests your attendance at bedtime. Pajamas optional but encouraged.”

Paige bit her lip to hold back the grin that tried to escape. She typed back quickly:

“Tell Sparklehorn I’ll be ready. Full musical number if requested.”

Another message arrived before she could even put the phone away:

“You’re dangerously close to becoming her favorite person.”

Paige’s heart kicked a little faster.

She slowed her steps, glancing around campus like the air might catch the way her chest felt, light, cracked open, bright in places that had long been grey.

She thought back to what Azzi had said the night before.

“She doesn’t need perfect. She just needs someone who shows up.”

Paige had spent so much of her life keeping things clean, organised, walled-off, afraid that if someone stepped too far inside, they’d see the mess. The confusion. The family stuff. The need she didn’t know how to name.

But Azzi hadn’t flinched.

And Ruby... God, Ruby. Ruby had reached for her through a screen like she already belonged.

She pulled her phone out again, thumb hovering. Then typed:

“You need anything from me today?”

Azzi replied a minute later:

“Just show up tonight. She’s got a new toothbrush song planned. It’s chaos.”

Paige smiled down at the screen. Paused. Then typed one more message.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She stepped into the lecture hall five minutes early, dropped into a seat near the back, and opened her laptop. The professor was still organising slides, students murmuring all around her, half awake and semi-focused.

Paige wasn’t sure she’d remember anything from today’s lecture.

But she’d remember the voice note.

She’d remember the way it felt to be invited into someone’s morning, unfiltered and loud and real.

And she’d remember the promise she made.

To show up.

Even if all she had was a screen and a toothbrush song.

--------------------

The sun was high by the time Azzi made it to the student union lawn, the kind of gentle, late-winter warmth that made people believe spring was actually coming. A few students lounged on the grass despite the damp patches, earbuds in, notebooks open. There was something peaceful about it, the lull between classes, the illusion of stillness.

She spotted Caroline and Ines by the benches near the big oak, their backpacks dumped haphazardly on the ground like they’d arrived in a hurry and stayed longer than intended. Caroline was mid-rant about a group project disaster; Ines was eating dry cereal from a ziplock bag and nodding like she hadn’t heard a single word.

Azzi took a breath, smoothed down the sleeves of her hoodie, and walked toward them.

“There she is,” Caroline said, spotting her. “We were about to send a search party.”

“You okay?” Ines added. “You look… floaty.”

“I don’t look floaty.”

“You do a little,” Caroline said, scooting over. “Like someone got kissed and then replayed it a hundred times in her head.”

Azzi snorted as she sat down between them. “Okay, stalkers.”

“Not stalkers. Observant friends,” Caroline said, nudging her. “So. Paige?”

Ines perked up. “You saw her again?”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“Ooooh,” they said in unison, cartoonishly loud.

Azzi laughed, but it came out a little shaky.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Are you okay?”

Azzi hesitated, looking down at her hands. She wasn’t holding anything, but she twisted her fingers together anyway.

There was no perfect segue into this. No soft ramp.

So she went slow. Gentle. Honest.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. “And it’s kind of big. So please don’t freak out.”

Caroline and Ines glanced at each other.

“Are you dying?” Ines asked, serious.

“No!”

“Are we dying?” Caroline added.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Why is that your first reaction?”

“You said not to freak out,” Caroline replied. “Which means freak-out-worthy information is coming.”

Azzi exhaled. “Okay. Look. You remember that FaceTime call? From like... the first week of the semester?”

Both girls nodded instantly.

“Yeah,” Ines said. “The one where you disappeared mid-sentence and a little kid yelled ‘mama!’ in the background?”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “Wait…”

Azzi met their eyes. Her heart beat harder than she wanted it to. “That was my daughter.”

Silence.

Caroline’s mouth fell open. Ines blinked like her brain had frozen.

“She’s two and a half,” Azzi continued, voice quiet but steady. “Her name’s Ruby. She lives with me and my parents. And yeah, I’ve been raising her since high school.”

“Holy shit,” Ines breathed.

Caroline’s hand flew up like she didn’t know whether to cover her mouth or high-five her. “You have a kid? Azzi!”

“I know,” Azzi said quickly. “I know it’s a lot.”

“It's not bad,” Caroline clarified. “It’s just… wow.”

“Yeah. Wow,” Ines echoed, softer now. “You’ve been doing all this and never said anything?”

Azzi shrugged, her shoulders curling in. “I didn’t want people to look at me differently. Or like I was... complicated.”

“Girl,” Caroline said, voice sharp with affection, “you are complicated. So are we. Everyone is.”

“But you’re raising a whole human,” Ines added, still sounding dazed. “Like, you’re... a mum. That’s insane. In a cool way.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just... I needed to know who felt safe first. Paige was the first person I told here.”

Caroline gave a small nod. “That makes sense.”

“And I didn’t want to drop it on you like it was some kind of test. Like ‘if you’re really my friends, you’ll be okay with this.’ That’s not fair either.”

Ines leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re allowed to protect your peace.”

Caroline’s voice softened. “But you don’t have to protect it from us.”

Azzi blinked fast, trying to clear the burn behind her eyes.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “Seriously.”

Caroline bumped her knee. “So... Ruby. That’s her name?”

Azzi smiled. “Yeah.”

“Tell us everything.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “That might take a while.”

Ines grinned. “Good. We’ve got time.”

Azzi hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone.

“She loves music,” she said, scrolling. “Like... anything loud and chaotic. And she talks to her unicorn like it’s real. She named it Sparklehorn this morning.”

Caroline snorted. “Icon.”

“She also thinks pancakes should be pink,” Azzi added, holding up her phone so they could see the screen.

It was a picture she’d taken just this morning: Ruby in her lopsided pajamas, grinning with a sprinkle-covered pancake in one hand and Sparklehorn in the other, syrup streaked across her cheek like war paint.

Caroline gasped. “Oh my God.”

Ines reached for the phone. “She’s perfect.”

“She’s two and a half going on thirty,” Azzi muttered, but her smile gave her away.

Caroline studied the image like it was a masterpiece. “She has your eyes. And your scowl.”

“Excuse you,” Azzi said, mock offended.

“I mean it with love.”

Ines leaned over to look again. “What’s she like with new people?”

Azzi paused. “Shy. But once she warms up? She’s loud, affectionate, stubborn. Very opinionated about snacks.”

“She sounds amazing,” Ines said, grinning. “Can we meet her? I mean.... not today, obviously, but... eventually?”

Caroline nodded. “Only if we pass the Sparklehorn vibe check, of course.”

Azzi blinked hard.

The tightness in her chest, the part that always coiled whenever she thought about people finding out, judging her, making her feel small, loosened just a little more.

“You guys really want to meet her?”

“Are you kidding?” Caroline said. “I already wanna babysit. I’ll bring a puppet. Or a tambourine.”

“I wanna be the chaotic aunt,” Ines said. “Like, the one who lets her eat ice cream before dinner.”

“She’ll love that,” Azzi murmured, smiling down at the photo again. “She already loves Paige.”

Caroline leaned in. “Okay, speaking of.... how’s that going?”

Azzi laughed, cheeks pinking. “It’s... really good. I told her about Ruby yesterday”

Both girls straightened.

“Damn,” Caroline said. “Big day.”

“It was,” Azzi said. “And she didn’t run. She stayed. Even said she wants to know Ruby. Like actually know her.”

Ines let out a long, low whistle. “I take it back. You’re the one who’s fully in.”

Azzi didn’t deny it.

She just smiled down at her screen, a little shaken, a little shy, but honest.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think I am.”

They didn’t pressure her to say more.

--------------------

When Caroline and Ines started packing up their bags, stretching and groaning about their next classes, Azzi lingered for a moment longer at the bench. Letting the sunlight rest on her hoodie. Let her fingers drift one more time over Ruby’s photo.

She hadn’t realized how scared she’d been to tell them — how deeply that fear had wrapped itself into her routine. The fear of being pitied. Or judged. Or worse, treated like she was someone else entirely.

But they hadn’t blinked.

They’d just seen her.

All of her.

And they still stayed.

Her phone buzzed once breaking her out of her thoughts.

Paige:

We’re on for tonight, right? I already warmed up my toothbrush vocals. Ruby’s not ready for the high notes.

Azzi grinned.

She typed back:

You’re so weird.

Then another message:

But yes. You’re in the bedtime lineup. She’s been talking about “the unicorn girl” all day.

The reply came instantly.

That’s the title I’ve always wanted.

Azzi smiled again, smaller this time. Softer. She slipped her phone into her pocket and started toward the gym, her footsteps slow but steady.

It was strange, she thought, how quickly everything was changing.

How the world still looked the same, the same path she always walked, the same lockers and doors and polished courts waiting ahead, but she didn’t feel the same walking through it.

She felt fuller. Heavier in some places, lighter in others.

Like she wasn’t holding it all alone anymore.

She rounded the corner and the gym came into view.

The familiar sound of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking echoed through the open doors.

Practice was next.

The world didn’t stop just because she was starting to feel whole again.

But this time... she didn’t mind.

--------------------

The gym always had its own kind of weather — sharp air from the vents, the polished floor reflecting overhead lights like a mirror to every misstep. On Mondays, it smelled faintly like citrus cleaner and tired ambition.

Practice was supposed to be low intensity to start the week. Just a shake-out, a reset. But no one believed that lie anymore, not after three years under Coach Auriemma. By the second drill, half the team was already sweating through their warmups, and the sound of sneakers squeaking over shouted directions echoed like a storm in progress.

Azzi didn’t mind the pace. She liked the rhythm. The repetition. The way her body could stay busy while her thoughts worked themselves out quietly in the background.

Except... her thoughts weren’t quiet today.

Not when Paige was across the court, hair in a messy bun, compression tee clinging to her back, mouth slightly open as she caught her breath between reps.

Not when Paige kept glancing her way in those tiny, almost-not-there flickers. The kind that said I know you’re watching, because I’m watching too.

Azzi dropped into a defensive slide, cutting across the baseline, keeping her body low and focused, at least on the outside.

Inside, she was still thinking about the messages Paige had sent this morning.

Still thinking about how Ruby had squealed her name like they’d been best friends for years.

Still thinking about the way Paige had said, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Hey.” Caroline jogged up beside her during water break, nudging her elbow. “You good?”

Azzi took a swig from her water bottle. “Yeah. Why?”

“You keep zoning out. And smiling. It’s unnerving.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re literally smiling right now.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but it was half-hearted.

From across the court, Paige caught her gaze again. Brief. Casual.

But her smirk said everything.

Azzi looked down at her bottle like it held the answers.

Keep it chill, she told herself. Play it cool.

Which was hard when Paige looked like that in practice gear.

When they rotated into 2-on-2 drills, Paige ended up subbing into Azzi’s group, completely by accident, or at least that’s what she claimed. The second they were side by side, stretching, Azzi could feel the tension shift around them like heat rising off the floor.

“You’re quiet today,” Paige murmured, not looking over.

Azzi bent deeper into her lunge. “Trying to focus.”

“Mm. On basketball, or on not smiling when I look at you?”

Azzi turned her head slightly. “You’re so cocky.”

“You like it.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She didn’t need to, the smirk tugging at her mouth gave her away.

Caroline, now watching from the sideline, narrowed her eyes like a bloodhound. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Ines asked, coming up beside her.

Caroline pointed. “That. Whatever that is.”

Ines followed her line of sight. “Oh. Oh.”

Nika wandered over with a towel around her neck, caught their expressions, and turned just in time to see Azzi and Paige bump shoulders coming off a screen.

“That’s new,” Nika said casually.

Caroline nodded. “They’re doing a thing.”

“A thing-thing?”

“A thing-thing.”

Ines: “We’re sure it’s not, like, just competitive banter?”

Paige, at that moment, passed the ball behind her back and gave Azzi a look over her shoulder that could melt glass.

Ines: “Okay yeah. That’s not banter.”

By the time drills ended, the energy was less chaotic and more conspiratorial.

Nika collapsed on the floor beside Paige during cooldown and muttered, “You’re not slick, you know.”

Paige tossed a towel over her face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nika pulled it off. “You are literally making heart-eyes at Azzi in HD.”

“I am stretching.”

“You’re flirting while stretching. Which is a whole new level of multitasking.”

Paige grinned, but didn’t deny it.

Across the court, Caroline was helping Azzi unlace her sneakers. “So... you gonna tell the rest of us when it’s official? Or do we just get surprise invites to the wedding?”

Azzi threw a sock at her. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Caroline said sweetly. “You love me. Like you love unicorn girls and bedtime routines.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Ines leaned over from the bench, grinning. “So... it’s happening tonight, right?”

Azzi paused mid-motion, her fingers still on the knot of her sneaker.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “First FaceTime. Ruby’s already picked out her toothbrush song. Paige has no idea what she’s in for.”

Caroline let out a low whistle. “You nervous?”

Azzi gave a short laugh. “Like, stomach-doing-cartwheels nervous.”

“She’s gonna love her,” Ines said. “I mean, if she’s still here after everything you told her? That’s not someone who scares easy.”

Azzi nodded slowly, glancing across the gym again.

Paige was stretching out near the sideline, towel around her neck, quietly talking to Nika. She wasn’t looking over. But something about her posture, relaxed, present, still made Azzi’s pulse skip.

“I think she will,” Azzi murmured. “I just… don’t want to get it wrong.”

Caroline bumped her knee gently. “You won’t. You’re already doing it right.”

Ines grinned. “And if she survives the bedtime concert? That’s the real test.”

Azzi laughed, nervous, hopeful, real.

Then looked toward Paige again.

And this time, Paige looked back.

Like she knew the whole conversation had been about her.

And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

--------------------

Paige checked her phone for the third time in a minute, even though she knew Azzi wasn’t late.

It was just after 7:45 p.m., and the soft hum of campus life had already quieted. From the hallway came the occasional thud of someone dropping a textbook, a distant laugh, the dull scuff of socks against tile. But inside her dorm room, it was still. Still and too quiet, like the kind of stillness right before something important begins.

She’d changed shirts twice. Not because she was trying to impress a toddler, she told herself, but because the first one had toothpaste on the collar and the second made her feel like a substitute teacher. She finally settled on a plain blue tee, sleeves rolled once. Clean. Casual. Not trying too hard.

Why am I nervous? she thought, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

The phone buzzed.

Incoming FaceTime: Azzi

Paige’s stomach flipped like a gymnast.

She pressed accept, and the screen filled instantly with chaos.

Ruby appeared mid-spin, curls flying, arms flapping like she was conducting a symphony. Sparklehorn was clutched in one hand, wearing what looked like a doll-sized tiara. The screen wobbled dramatically until Azzi’s voice came into frame, breathless.

“Sorry. She insisted on calling.”

“Mama, it’s her! It’s the unicorn girl! Paigey”

Azzi appeared properly now, crouched beside Ruby, her hair half-tied and looking like she’d already had a full day of negotiations. She looked beautiful.

“Hi,” Paige said, suddenly feeling a little breathless herself.

“Hi,” Azzi said back, eyes warm, tired, fond. “We’re about five minutes into the pre-bedtime hyperdrive.”

Ruby leaned in so close to the camera her nose fogged the lens. “I can see you!”

“You can,” Paige said, grinning. “Hi Ruby.”

Ruby blinked, as if seeing Paige live and talking was somehow different than imagining her from Sparklehorn stories.

“You not on the phone before,” Ruby said seriously.

Paige nodded. “That’s true. I wasn’t.”

“Why not?” Ruby demanded.

Azzi gently pulled her daughter back so her face wasn’t all nostril. “Be gentle, Roo.”

“No, it’s okay,” Paige said, shifting a little so the light from her lamp hit better. “I didn’t know I was invited. But I’m really glad I am now.”

Ruby seemed to accept that. She turned to Sparklehorn. “She say nice things. You like her now.”

Azzi snorted.

“So,” Paige said, still grinning, “what’s the plan for tonight? I hear there’s a song?”

Ruby lit up like a switch had been flipped. “YES.”

“She’s been workshopping it all day,” Azzi added. “I warned you.”

“I’m ready.”

Ruby cleared her throat dramatically and stood on what looked like the edge of her mattress. She held Sparklehorn in front of her like a mic, then pointed a tiny toothbrush at the camera.

“You have to brush and dance,” she said.

“Wait—what?”

“Rules,” Ruby replied, dead serious.

Azzi muttered, “Welcome to hell.”

The music started, Azzi had clearly queued up some kind of instrumental remix of the alphabet song with an aggressive amount of cowbell layered in.

Ruby began bouncing in place, brushing her teeth in erratic swipes, yelling along to her self-invented lyrics:

“Brush the teef, left and right!

Up and down, don’t start a fight!

Get the back, get the side,

SPARKLEHORN SAY ‘OPEN WIDE!’”

Paige lost it.

She actually dropped her phone for a second from laughing.

Ruby, however, was in full performer mode. She continued dancing, stomping, brushing, spinning until her hair flared like a halo.

Azzi looked directly into the camera and mouthed: I warned you.

When Ruby finished, complete with a high-pitched “DAAAAHN!” and a bow, Paige clapped. Sincerely, Loudly.

“That was amazing,” she said. “Ten out of ten.”

Ruby beamed. “You not brush!”

“I didn’t have a toothbrush ready!”

“You have hands!”

“Hands don’t brush teeth!”

Ruby crossed her arms. “Then you need to practice more.”

Azzi cracked up, covering her mouth to keep the sound in.

“You okay?” Paige asked, laughing.

“I just...” Azzi shook her head. “She owns you already. It’s over.”

Paige smirked. “I accept my defeat.”

Ruby laid down abruptly, arms flopping wide. “I tired now.”

“Wow,” Azzi said, raising her brows. “That’s a first.”

“Too much sparkle,” Ruby mumbled into her pillow.

Azzi reached over and pulled the blanket gently over her. “You want to say goodnight?”

Ruby turned her head toward the phone again, hair half stuck to her face.

“Goodnight, Paigey. You can come over next time. I give you your own toothbrush.”

Paige smiled. “Thanks, Ruby. I’d like that.”

Ruby paused. “You have to name it though.”

“Name... my toothbrush?”

“Duh,” Ruby said. “Mine is Mr. Bluey.”

Azzi whispered, “She’s got naming rules. Don’t get stuck.”

Paige thought for a moment. “How about... Captain Sparklechew?”

Ruby let out a delighted shriek and started clapping against her pillow.

“Okay! You can keep that one!”

When Ruby finally flopped onto her pillow in a dramatic “I’m done now” sprawl, Paige felt like she’d run a full emotional marathon — giddy, dizzy, a little breathless.

Azzi returned on screen after tucking Ruby in, camera swaying softly as she walked into the hallway and into what must’ve been her room. The light was low, just her bedside lamp, warm and honey-toned against her skin. She set the phone down on a stack of books and sat cross-legged on her bed, her hair falling messily to one side, hoodie loose on her frame.

“I feel like I was the one who just did a live concert and got paid with a toothbrush.”

Azzi grinned, rubbing her temple. “She was so hyped you were there.”

“I’ll take it,” Paige said, propping her chin in her hand. “You looked really good just now, by the way.”

Azzi blinked. “When?”

“When you were in full mum-mode,” Paige said, not flinching. “Blanket over her shoulders, gentle voice, everything.”

Azzi tucked a knee to her chest, watching Paige from the screen. “I thought I looked like chaos.”

“You looked like home,” Paige murmured.

Azzi’s breath caught.

And in that soft pause, everything else seemed to dim, the quiet shuffle of dorm noise outside Paige’s door, the echo of Ruby’s song still in the back of her head, the ache in her shoulders from practice.

It was just them.

“I liked hearing your voice in our house,” Azzi said, almost whispering now.

“You’re gonna have to get used to it,” Paige replied, smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even when Sparklehorn kicks you out?”

“I’ll fight Sparklehorn,” Paige deadpanned. “I’ve beaten the claw machine once. I can do it again.”

Azzi let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You’re kind of ridiculous.”

“And yet...”

Azzi smiled, slower now. “And yet I’m still here.”

They both fell quiet for a beat, but it wasn’t empty.

It was full. Like the stretch of silence between two people who don’t need to fill it anymore.

“Stay on the call?” Azzi asked after a while. Her voice had dipped, husky with sleep and something sweeter.

“Yeah,” Paige said, already shifting so she could lie down.

Azzi turned her camera so it faced her pillow, still catching her face in profile. Her hair was splayed across the sheets, eyes fluttering heavier by the second.

“You okay?” Paige asked, voice low now too, sleep-drunk and tender.

Azzi nodded, curling into her blanket. “You’re still here.”

That was all she needed to say.

Paige swallowed. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

Eventually, the screen dimmed slightly but stayed on, just the soft glow of Azzi’s room, the occasional rustle of sheets, and Paige’s own reflection hovering in the corner.

And sometime between her third yawn and the sixth time she blinked too slowly, Paige fell asleep.

--------------------

Paige stirred before her alarm — eyes opening slowly to the faint blue of pre-dawn light cutting through her blinds.

Her phone screen was still lit.

She blinked and reached for it, heart lurching slightly as the FaceTime screen came into view.

Azzi was still asleep.

So was Ruby.

The camera had shifted sometime during the night. Now Paige could see both of them, Azzi curled on her side, one arm wrapped protectively around Ruby, who was nestled into her chest with Sparklehorn smushed between them like a VIP guest.

Paige didn’t move.

She just stared for a moment, breath quiet, eyes soft, chest full in a way she wasn’t ready to name.

They looked peaceful.

Azzi’s mouth was slightly open, lashes fanned against her cheek. Ruby had one tiny fist tangled in Azzi’s hoodie, her curls a wild halo around her head. Sparklehorn was missing an ear bend and looked like he’d been through battle.

Paige reached for the screenshot button.

click.

Then she opened the text thread.

Paige:

sparklehorn stole my spot

She hit send.

Waited.

Then, after a few more seconds of watching them, of letting herself have this one quiet, private moment, she ended the call.

The screen went dark.

But the feeling in her chest isn't

She fell back onto her pillow, phone against her heart, smile tugging at her lips like something just barely contained.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t dread waking up.

--------------------

Azzi stirred when a tiny elbow jabbed her in the ribs.

“Mmm....Roo…”

Ruby snored softly beside her, Sparklehorn draped over her like a weighted blanket.

Azzi squinted into the early morning light, blinked twice, and reached for her phone. The FaceTime screen was dark.

She frowned for a moment, had Paige hung up?

Then the text preview lit up:

Paige:

sparklehorn stole my spot

Azzi’s heart clenched.

She opened the image — and saw what Paige had seen.

Her. Ruby. Curled together.

Safe. Real. Whole.

She didn’t cry.

But her eyes stung.

She looked down at her daughter, still drooling into Sparklehorn’s mane, and whispered, “She’s already part of us, isn’t she?”

Ruby didn’t answer, of course.

But Sparklehorn’s crooked glitter horn caught the light like it agreed.

Azzi stared at the photo again, thumb hovering over the screen.

She hadn’t expected to wake up to something that made her chest ache and flutter at the same time. The sight of herself, vulnerable, real, and Ruby curled against her like she always did on mornings after long nights… and the knowledge that Paige had seen that. Had stayed. Had captured it.

Her throat tightened.

She tapped into the message thread and typed slowly:

Azzi:

she didn’t mean to

but i think she’s claimed you too

She hit send.

Paused.

Then followed with:

next time you’re here in person, she’ll probably make you sleep on the Sparklehorn pillow tho. fair warning.

Then, after a minute of staring at the screen, she added one more:

you looked really good on my screen last night, btw. especially under a blanket of unicorn chaos.

--------------------

The sunlight hit her pillow before her alarm did.

Paige stirred slowly, limbs stiff with sleep, the edge of her phone still tucked beneath her cheek. The screen had gone dark hours ago when she hung up, but her body remembered the glow, remembered Azzi’s voice curling around her just before she’d slipped under. She stayed still for a few seconds, blinking up at the ceiling, the hum of morning quiet settling over her chest like a blanket she didn’t want to shake off.

Then the text buzzed.

Azzi.

she didn’t mean to

but i think she’s claimed you too

Paige’s lips curled. She could practically hear the sleep still caught in Azzi’s tone, the hush of her mornings, like every word was wrapped in the softness of Ruby still curled beside her. She read it again. And again. Something in her chest pulled warm and low.

Another ping.

next time you’re here in person, she’ll probably make you sleep on the Sparklehorn pillow tho. fair warning.

Paige laughed into the silence. Actually laughed — the kind that cracked something open gently. She reached for the phone, still smiling, when a third message came through.

you looked really good on my screen last night, btw. especially under a blanket of unicorn chaos.

Her fingers hesitated, her heart tightening with something that wasn’t fear. She stared at the message until her smile deepened into something softer. More real. Then typed without thinking:

you and ruby last night... I've never seen something that made me want to stay in one place so badly.

She sent it before she could overthink it, then flipped her phone over, screen-down, and sat up.

The moment of stillness didn't last.

Because her phone buzzed again.

Azzi, again.

heads up, Ruby and I are coming to the team breakfast. kinda unavoidable this morning.

she doesn’t usually do early mornings with me but... here we are please don’t panic and i'm sorry this had to be how you first meet her in person.

Paige sat bolt upright in bed like she'd been struck by lightning. Her pulse kicked hard. She stared at the message like it might change if she read it a second time, then a third. But the words stayed the same.

Ruby was coming.

To breakfast.

In the next thirty minutes.

She checked the clock. 7:12 a.m. Her stomach flipped. Not because she wasn’t ready, emotionally, she’d been ready for days, but because this was now. No warning. No quiet moment to meet Ruby for the first time. No gentle, private transition. Just... fluorescent lighting, cereal bowls, and twelve of their teammates trying not to stare.

Her thumbs tapped a rushed reply.

"okay. okay. um. good to know. Thank you for the warning. I am totally not spiraling. not at all"

Azzi’s response was instant.

"you’re gonna be great. she already adores you."

Paige dropped her phone onto the comforter and dragged both hands down her face, groaning quietly. She wanted this. God, she wanted this, to meet Ruby, to step into this part of Azzi’s life. But she hadn’t expected it to be so fast. She hadn’t expected to feel like her heart was caught somewhere between a free-fall and a safety net.

She threw the blankets off and opened her dresser, rifling through sweats and hoodies until she landed on something soft and worn comfort clothes, something that didn’t scream panic. But as she pulled the hoodie over her head, her eyes flicked toward her desk. Her wallet. Her keys.

And an idea.

Without thinking, she grabbed them and bolted out the door.

The campus store had just opened, the lights still half-lit and flickering as a sleepy-looking senior restocked a display of protein shakes near the register. Paige slipped in with her hood up, heart pounding, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. She moved quickly to the back where the novelty kids’ stuff was, a wall of small trinkets, toys, and rainbow-bright chaos.

She scanned the shelves like she was preparing for a toddler apocalypse. Stickers. Coloring books. Bubble wands. Plastic tiaras. Nothing felt right.

Then she crouched low and spotted it, a tiny, glittery unicorn-shaped lip balm with a raspberry scent and sparkly horn. It was ridiculous. And perfect. She turned it over in her hand, smiling despite herself.

“Hi, I’m Sparklehorn Junior,” she whispered, testing a voice, before shaking her head at herself.

A shelf over, she grabbed a pink bag of frosted animal cookies, not too sweet, not boring, and cute enough to count as an official offering. She clutched both items like sacred objects and paid fast, nerves prickling with urgency.

Back in her room, she dropped the bag gently onto her bed and let out a breath. Her hands were shaking.

Shower. Ponytail. Hoodie. Breathe.

She moved through it all on autopilot, then stood in front of the mirror, hands gripping the edge of the desk. This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even about Azzi. It was about Ruby. About showing up. About being the kind of person who could meet a two-and-a-half-year-old’s glitter-soaked standards.

Just as she grabbed a protein bar, a knock landed at her door.

KK let herself in a second later, already mid-sentence. “You alive?”

“Technically,” Paige muttered.

“I brought backup,” KK said, lobbing a bar toward her desk. “Also, you’re gonna want to brace yourself. Azzi just dropped a full team chat bomb.”

Paige opened her mouth, but KK was already scrolling. “Direct quote: ‘Heads up I’ll be a little late, had to bring Ruby (my daughter) with me this morning, long story, pls don’t be weird.’”

She looked up, eyebrows practically doing cartwheels. “Did you know she had a kid?”

Paige blinked, trying to play it cool, but she hesitated, just a beat.

KK gasped. “You knew?!”

“She told me a few days ago,” Paige said, tone quiet but steady. “She hadn’t told anyone else. I wasn’t going to break her trust.”

KK blinked. Then pointed dramatically. “Okay, wow. You kept a secret. Look at you. Emotionally mature. Mysterious. Are we calling this growth?”

“I didn’t think breakfast would be the big reveal,” Paige muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.

KK plopped onto the bed and gave her a long, appraising look. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. This is the same face you make when Coach tells us we’re running suicides with resistance bands.”

“It’s just…” Paige exhaled. “It’s a lot. I didn’t think the first time I’d meet her would be so… public.”

KK grinned. “You mean the first time you’d meet your girlfriend’s toddler while everyone watches you try not to cry?”

“She’s not” Paige stopped, cheeks pink. “We’re not… titles are complicated.”

“Oh my God,” KK said, collapsing dramatically backward onto the bed. “You’re already shopping for matching unicorn sweatshirts.”

“I went to the campus store,” Paige said with a sigh. “Got her lip balm. And cookies.”

KK sat up like she’d been electrocuted. “You got her lip balm?!”

“It’s shaped like a unicorn.”

“Oh my God. You’re done. You’re gonna let that kid braid your hair and tell you what to watch and call you ‘Paigey’ and you’re going to like it.”

Paige didn’t respond.

KK stared for another beat, then burst out laughing. “Come on, lover girl. Breakfast is in twenty. Let’s go see if you survive the toddler test.”

--------------------

By the time she stepped into the dining hall, the space was already alive with clinking plates, low chatter, and the steady hum of a team trying their best to act normal despite the monumental shift in their morning. Caroline and Ines were huddled near the back table, practically vibrating with anticipation, while KK sat with her legs stretched out and a bowl of cereal perched in her lap like she was front row at a red carpet premiere. The rest of the girls had adopted varying levels of performative nonchalance, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds, spoons pausing midair, conversations trailing off and picking back up again with awkward timing.

“Okay,” Ines said the second Paige slid into a seat. “Deep breaths. Smile friendly. Don’t make sudden movements.”

“She’s not a deer,” Paige replied, trying to ignore the way her hands clenched slightly in her lap. “She’s two.”

“Exactly,” Caroline muttered. “No filter. Random violence. Can smell weakness.”

“She’s not feral,” Paige said, laughing under her breath. “She’s just got good instincts.”

KK raised an eyebrow. “So what’s my vibe? Dangerous? Adorable? Unstable aunt energy?”

“You’ll find out in about thirty seconds,” Paige said, glancing toward the door.

Because there right on cue, was Azzi.

Holding a tiny hand.

Ruby trotted alongside her mother in light-up sneakers that blinked faint purple with every step. Her cupcake backpack bounced against her lower back, and Sparklehorn’s glittery horn peeked from the top zipper like a scout surveying enemy territory. Her curls were pulled into two fluffy puffs, neat and shiny, and Paige’s heart clenched at the sight. The second Ruby’s eyes found her, across the room, through the noise, like a beacon, she stopped. And then, she ran.

No hesitation. No shyness. Just full-speed toddler enthusiasm, legs pumping, puffs bouncing, eyes wide with glee.

Paige barely had time to react before a small body collided into her legs with surprising force. Ruby wrapped both arms around her knees like a vice, face pressed into her sweats.

“Paigey!” she announced, voice muffled but thrilled.

The team froze.

Paige’s mouth parted in surprise, then softened into the biggest, most helpless smile she’d worn in weeks. She crouched down, gently brushing one of Ruby’s curls away from her cheek.

“Hi, Roo” she said, voice low. “Missed me already?”

Ruby nodded fiercely, then squinted up at Paige, all suspicion. “Did you brush your teeth this morning?”

Paige blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Ruby didn’t budge. “The song?”

Paige tried not to laugh. “What song?”

Ruby gasped, scandalized. “Paigey.”

Azzi was already smiling, shaking her head.

Ruby pulled back just enough to perform it on the spot, serious, rhythmic, complete with tiny hand motions: “Brush the teef, left and right! Up and down, don’t start a fight! Get the back, get the side, SPARKLEHORN SAY ‘OPEN WIDE!’”

The table went silent for a half-beat, and then Ines choked on her water.

Paige clutched her chest, feigning heartbreak. “Oh no. I totally forgot to ask Sparklehorn.”

Ruby stared at her, scandalized. Then gently patted her cheek like a disappointed grandparent. “Next time, okay?”

“Next time,” Paige vowed solemnly. “Cross my heart.”

Azzi leaned in, smirking. “Wow. Forgot the song? That’s tough. Rookie mistake.”

“Harsh crowd,” Paige muttered, but she was smiling, soft and completely smitten.

At that, Ruby pulled back, eyes wide. Paige reached into the small campus bag still looped around her wrist and held out the unicorn-shaped lip balm first, glitter glinting under the overhead lights.

Ruby gasped like she’d just witnessed a miracle. “Is that… Sparklehorn lips?!”

“Limited edition,” Paige said solemnly. “Only for very important people.”

Ruby snatched it out of her hand and turned to show Azzi, who had finally reached them, laughter already tugging at her mouth. “Mama! Look!”

Azzi glanced at the lip balm and then at Paige, raising a brow. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it off, but her ears were pink. “It’s just a little something.”

Azzi leaned in slightly, voice warm. “You’re such a simp.”

Before Paige could respond, Ruby gasped again as Paige pulled the second item from the bag, the frosted animal cookies. “Ohmygosh,” she whispered reverently. “Those are my favourite snack. Sparklehorn like them too.”

“I figured,” Paige said with a wink. “You two have elite taste.”

Ruby beamed. And then, without prompting, she launched herself into Paige’s arms again, this time with more trust than speed. Paige caught her easily, lifting her like she’d done it a hundred times. One hand at Ruby’s back, the other tucked beneath her legs, she stood, the picture of quiet certainty.

Behind them, the table had gone completely silent.

“I think I’m gonna cry,” Caroline said, eyes wide.

Ruby peeked up from Paige’s shoulder, blinking once at the table full of unfamiliar faces before immediately tucking her head back down, arms tightening around Paige’s neck.

“She’s shy,” Azzi explained softly. “She just needs time.”

“That’s okay,” Paige murmured. “She doesn’t have to be anything she’s not.”

Azzi met her gaze across the small space between them, something unspoken settling like warmth in her chest. Paige wasn’t putting on a show. She wasn’t doing this to impress anyone. She was just... here. Holding Ruby like she was already part of her rhythm.

They made their way to the table, Paige with Ruby still curled up in her arms, Azzi sliding into the seat beside her. Ruby refused to move, legs draped over Paige’s lap, one hand tightly holding Sparklehorn and the other cradling the lip balm like it was made of gold.

Caroline leaned over, keeping her voice low. “Hey Ruby. Those look pretty tasty.”

Ruby didn’t answer. Just clutched Sparklehorn tighter and leaned more heavily into Paige.

“She’s warming up,” Paige said, tucking a curl behind Ruby’s ear. “She just likes to observe first.”

KK nodded sagely. “Same. I’m also shy and require cookies.”

Ruby didn’t look up, but she whispered something near Paige’s collarbone.

“She said she likes your hair,” Paige relayed, smiling.

KK’s hand flew to her chest. “Okay, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I’ll never recover.”

Ines giggled into her orange juice. “The queen has spoken.”

Azzi, now relaxed enough to sip her coffee, watched the way the table adjusted without being asked, voices staying low, energy softening around them like someone had hit a dimmer switch. Not one person reached out to grab Ruby’s attention or demand her affection. They just made room. Gave her space. Followed Paige’s lead.

When Ruby muttered something about her pancakes being “too big,” Paige didn’t miss a beat. She reached for Ruby’s plate, cutting each piece into perfect little squares like it was second nature. She wiped syrup from sticky fingers, brushed crumbs from her hoodie, and shifted Ruby gently without ever losing her flow of conversation with the rest of the table.

“She likes them cubed,” Azzi said under her breath. “Even when I cut them into stars, she still complains.”

“She’s a texture purist,” Paige replied, grinning. “I respect the commitment.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling into her coffee. And then, after a beat, softer: “She really does adore you.”

“I’m kind of obsessed with her too,” Paige said, so quietly Azzi almost missed it.

--------------------

Eventually, Ruby let out a sigh, leaned further into Paige, and rested her head under her chin like she’d just declared her territory. Her thumb slipped into her mouth, Sparklehorn tucked under one arm, and Paige adjusted without thought, one hand cradling her and the other sliding under the table to lace gently with Azzi’s.

Neither of them looked down.

They didn’t need to.

When Caroline asked, only half-joking, “So... does Sparklehorn come to every breakfast or just the special ones?” Azzi smiled into her toast.

“Only when there are pancakes. She has standards.”

Ruby stirred, peeking up just enough to declare, “She ate five. But she not full yet.”

Paige nodded with mock seriousness. “That’s impressive. Might beat my record.”

Ruby squinted up at her, unimpressed. “No. Sparklehorn always wins.”

Paige bowed her head. “Naturally. Glitter powers.”

Ruby smiled, eyes already drifting shut again.

--------------------

Azzi didn’t know how long they sat like that. Ten minutes? Twenty? It felt like no time and all the time in the world. The table hummed with soft conversation. The clinking of forks. The warmth of people adjusting to a new rhythm without question.

When breakfast finally wound down, Paige leaned her head slightly against Ruby’s, her voice quiet as she murmured something Azzi couldn’t hear.

Ruby nodded.

And for the first time all morning, she sat up and looked directly at Caroline.

“Thank you,” she said, voice small and sincere.

Caroline blinked. “For what?”

“For not bein’ loud,” Ruby replied, then turned back into Paige’s chest.

Caroline looked like she might actually tear up. Ines patted her on the back.

Ruby yawned against Paige’s chest, a tiny sound that barely registered above the clatter of silverware and quiet morning conversation. She was still curled up tight, but her limbs had gone loose, heavy with the kind of sleepiness that came after a full belly and too much stimulation. Her head lolled against Paige’s shoulder, curls brushing beneath her chin, and her thumb found its way back to her mouth without ceremony. Paige didn’t move, just adjusted her grip to keep Ruby supported with one arm while she reached for her water glass with the other.

Azzi watched it all from beside them, still picking at her toast, not because she was hungry but because she didn’t want to move yet. She could feel it, the closeness, the quiet, the sense that something had settled between them all that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just about Ruby anymore. It was about what Paige had stepped into without flinching. Without being asked. The way she held Ruby like she’d done it a hundred times. The way she didn’t apologise for it. Like it was natural.

Caroline and KK had shifted into a conversation about practice rotations, giving the table a bit of space. Ines was scrolling on her phone beside them, humming softly to herself. Sparklehorn lay flopped across the table like a passed-out party guest, syrup crusted in her mane.

Azzi leaned slightly into Paige’s side, her voice pitched low. “She’s never fallen asleep on anyone but me and my mum.”

Paige glanced down at Ruby’s drowsy form, then back up, her mouth tugging into something soft and stunned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Azzi’s hand brushed against Paige’s forearm, deliberate and slow. “You’re kind of ruining her standards.”

Paige’s smile deepened, her eyes holding Azzi’s for a moment that stretched. “Guess I’ll have to keep showing up, then. Set the bar even higher.”

There was something in Azzi’s chest that twisted at that, not in fear, not this time. But in recognition. A moment of clarity so quiet it almost hurt. Paige wasn’t just here. She was in it. With her. With Ruby. With both.

Ruby stirred, nose scrunching as she blinked blearily, her voice small and groggy. “Done eatin’, Mama…”

Azzi reached over and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Yeah, baby. All done.”

“Where’s Bunny?” Ruby mumbled.

“In the car, remember? You brought Sparklehorn instead.”

Ruby clutched Sparklehorn tighter, eyes still closed. “She tired too.”

Paige laughed quietly and adjusted her arm again, starting to rise. “Want me to carry her out?”

Azzi nodded, already stacking her plate onto her tray. “If you don’t mind. She’ll probably be out again before we even get to the door.”

Caroline looked over, her tone still easy but laced with something deeper now. “Hey, thanks for letting us meet her.”

Azzi paused, just for a second, and then gave a small nod. “Thanks for not making it weird.”

Ines added, “She’s got an intimidating vibe. I respect it.”

They stood slowly, carefully, like moving too fast might burst whatever peace had formed around the table. Ruby let out a little sigh as Paige hoisted her more firmly, her tiny arms draped limply over Paige’s shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone like it was always meant to be there. Azzi gathered their trash with one hand and reached for Sparklehorn with the other, tucking the plush under her arm as she followed while Paige grabbed Ruby's backpack in her spare hand.

Behind them, the team lingered in the soft aftermath, not the kind of hush that came with awkwardness, but the kind that followed a moment worth absorbing. The kind that told you something had just shifted, even if you couldn’t name it yet.

--------------------

As they stepped toward the doors, Azzi glanced sideways, watching Paige hold her daughter like she’d been born to carry something that delicate. Paige looked back, just briefly. Just enough for Azzi to reach out and touch her fingers to the small of Paige’s back, not to guide, not to hurry.

Just to be near.

The morning air was crisp, not cold, but just sharp enough to lift the sleepiness from Azzi’s limbs as they walked toward her car. Ruby was still draped against Paige’s shoulder like a breathing scarf, her fingers curled gently into the fabric of Paige’s hoodie, her cheek squished adorably against the collarbone she’d claimed as her pillow. Paige held her easily, like she’d been doing it for years, one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapped protectively around her back. The tiny backpack now slung awkwardly around Paige's back.

They reached the car, and Azzi unlocked the doors with a soft chirp from her keys. As Paige bent slightly to ease Ruby toward the car seat, she glanced up.

“So…” Paige said, voice quiet, “what happened this morning? Why’d you end up having to bring her?”

Azzi moved to open the back door, brushing hair out of her face as she exhaled. “Daycare texted. Power outage or something, totally shut down for the day. My parents were already out, and I didn’t want to cancel last minute on practice breakfast. She was already up, so I figured… what the hell.”

Paige smiled as she gently laid Ruby into the seat. “Worked out okay, I think.”

Azzi reached past her checking to make sure Paige buckled the harness correctly, fingers moving automatically, practiced. “Better than okay,” she murmured, glancing sideways. “I think she’s in love with you now.”

Paige leaned back as Azzi checked the final buckle and shut the door gently, sealing Ruby in with her half-finished dreams and a syrup-stained Sparklehorn.

They turned to face each other in the quiet.

“You look really hot when you do that, by the way,” Azzi said, voice low and unfiltered.

Paige blinked. “Clip in a toddler?”

Azzi nodded, back pressed against the car, one hand still on the handle. “Yeah. Like… dangerously hot.”

Paige raised a brow. “So all this time, I didn’t need game-winners or a three-point percentage? Just some car seat confidence?”

Azzi’s mouth curved. “Apparently.”

Paige stepped a little closer, enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her in the space between them. “Good to know.”

The silence stretched for a beat, not awkward, just full of everything that had been building since Saturday. Since the arcade. Since the moment Paige leaned in and didn’t get to finish what she started.

Azzi let her eyes wander. Paige’s hands. Her mouth. Her eyes.

Then she laughed, softly, and shook her head. “So much for keeping things subtle.”

Paige looked amused. “In front of the team?”

“In front of anyone.” Azzi glanced toward the building. “Caroline nearly cried. KK’s probably making a TikTok analysis of your parenting technique. Ruby’s going to ask for you before I even get her home.”

Paige tilted her head. “She really clung to me, huh?”

“She doesn’t do that,” Azzi said, more serious now. “She’s never done that. Not with strangers.”

Paige’s expression softened. “I don’t feel like a stranger.”

“You’re not,” Azzi said, voice dropping slightly. “You haven’t been for a while.”

They were standing closer now, no real distance left between them. Paige’s hand brushed lightly against Azzi’s wrist, then lingered.

Azzi looked down at the contact and smiled, slow and teasing. “We’re not even dating yet, you know.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, her thumb sliding across Azzi’s skin. “I’ve noticed.”

“So what is this?” Azzi asked, not pulling away.

Paige leaned in, voice low and warm. “This is me trying really hard not to kiss you again in front of your sleeping child.”

Azzi laughed, breath catching. “God, I want you to.”

Paige’s smile flickered, not cocky, not showy, just quiet and open. “Then come here.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate.

She leaned in, hands slipping around Paige’s neck like it was already her favorite place to land. Paige met her halfway, their mouths brushing in a slow, careful kiss that deepened as the world around them blurred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t unsure.

It was everything they hadn’t let themselves have yet, soft and full and long overdue.

When they pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, Azzi kept her eyes closed for a second longer.

“I really like you,” she whispered, lips still brushing Paige’s.

“I know,” Paige whispered back. “I really like you too.”

Azzi opened her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Paige’s voice was soft, steady. “We don’t rush. But we don’t hold back either.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Okay.”

They stood like that for another quiet moment, until the breeze tugged at Paige’s hair and a small snore sounded from inside the car.

Paige stepped back reluctantly, already missing the warmth of Azzi’s touch. “You gonna text me later?”

Azzi opened the driver’s side door and smiled over her shoulder. “Only if you promise not to ignore me for Sparklehorn.”

“No promises,” Paige said, grinning as she backed away.

Azzi laughed, slid into the driver’s seat, and gave her one last look, eyes bright, mouth tugging into something that felt like the start of everything.

Paige waved once, slow and small.

And Azzi drove off with her heart still thudding behind her ribs.

--------------------

The call came just after eight, right on schedule.

Paige was already in bed, one leg tangled in the blanket, hair damp from her shower, her phone resting beside her like it was waiting. The moment the screen lit up with Azzi’s name, Paige answered instantly.

She didn’t even get out a full “hello” before Ruby appeared, eyes bright and wild, Sparklehorn half-eaten by the camera’s edge.

“PAIGEY! We already brushed but you didn’t do yours yet!”

Paige blinked into the screen, then burst out laughing. “I didn’t realise I was on the clock.”

“You are! Sparklehorn said so,” Ruby declared, completely serious.

From somewhere behind the phone, Azzi’s voice floated in, low and amused. “She made me wait to start the video until she was sure you were in pajamas.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes into the screen like she could see through Paige’s phone. “You wear the UConn shirt again?”

Paige angled the camera toward her chest, grinning. “Is this one acceptable to the unicorn court?”

Ruby gave a sage nod. “You can do it now!”

The next few minutes passed in the usual chaos. Paige brushed her teeth in front of the camera while Ruby narrated instructions like she was hosting a cooking show. Paige had to “wiggle” at least twice or face disciplinary action from Sparklehorn. Azzi didn’t say much — Paige could hear her moving in the background, picking up toys or folding laundry, but the occasional laugh slipped through, soft and private.

Eventually, Ruby yawned mid-sentence and blinked heavily, Sparklehorn now drooping sideways across her chest like he’d given up too. Azzi appeared properly on screen then, hair tied back, hoodie loose and sleeves pushed up, face flushed with that end-of-the-day glow that Paige had started to crave.

“I think she’s winding down,” Azzi said, brushing a hand gently through Ruby’s curls as she settled onto the pillow beside her.

Ruby’s eyes were barely open now. “Night Paigey…”

“Night Roo,” Paige whispered. “Sweet dreams, okay?”

Ruby reached toward the screen once, touched the glass with her fingers like it was a real goodbye, and then let Azzi guide the phone away. There was a little jostling, some shuffling as Azzi tucked her in, murmured something about Sparklehorn being on guard duty, then the camera flipped, and it was just Azzi’s face again, framed by warm lamplight, her expression softer now. Quieter.

She settled back on her bed, phone propped in front of her. Paige mirrored her, both girls lying on their backs in different rooms, looking at each other like the distance didn’t matter.

“She was waiting all day,” Azzi said, voice lower now. “She asked three times if it was ‘FaceTime o’clock’ yet.”

“She might be the only person who’s ever scheduled me like that,” Paige replied, smiling lazily. “Not even Coach gets that kind of loyalty.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, then looked at her for a second longer before speaking again. “She really likes you already, you know.”

Paige blinked, suddenly still. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s kind of ridiculous. She barely lets my dad carry her like that.”

“I really like her too,” Paige said quietly. “I even got a name change, Im now Paigey”

Azzi’s smile tugged wider, soft with amusement. “Honestly, I lost count after her third nickname for you. First it was the smiley one, then the unicorn girl, and now Paigey”

Paige laughed. “I think I’ve been promoted.”

Azzi smiled, “Yeah, well... once she starts renaming you, that’s it. You’re part of her world now.”

Paige glanced toward the photo booth strip hung up on her wall and smiled. “Feels like I am.”

Azzi looked at her for a long second and then, more quietly, “You are.”

The quiet between them stretched again — not heavy. Just full.

Then Paige shifted slightly, propping herself on one elbow. “Actually… I was gonna wait until tomorrow to ask you, but since we’re already having our very romantic post-toothbrushing moment…”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I want to take you out,” Paige said, lips twitching. “Like, officially. Just us. Thursday night.”

Azzi blinked. “A date?”

“Yeah.” Paige’s voice was casual, but her eyes were serious. “If you’re free.”

“I’m free.” Azzi’s smile grew. “Where are we going?”

Paige leaned closer to the camera. “That’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“You’ll like it,” Paige promised. “I have a plan.”

Azzi grinned. “You planning makes me nervous.”

“You should be,” Paige said, smug.

They both laughed, then slowly fell back into the quiet — the soft, late-night kind that didn’t need to be filled. Just felt.

After a while, Azzi’s voice came quieter. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige’s body stilled. “Of course.”

Azzi hesitated, then said gently, “Are you nervous about your mum coming to the game Friday?”

Paige exhaled slowly, the question landing with a softness that somehow still felt sharp. “Yeah. A little.”

Azzi didn’t speak, just let the space stay open for her.

Paige picked at a loose thread on her blanket. “She’s complicated. We’ve never really figured each other out. And seeing her with Ryan and Lauren always feels like… I don’t know. Like I’m visiting someone else’s life. One I’m not really part of anymore.”

Azzi’s voice was steady. “Does she know you feel that way?”

Paige shook her head. “I don’t think she wants to know.”

There was a pause. Azzi reached up to adjust her phone, eyes still on Paige. “You don’t have to carry that alone.”

Paige looked at her, really looked. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “You know you’ve got a place here too, right?”

Paige swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I’m starting to believe that.”

They didn’t say goodnight right away. They just watched each other, phones propped, matching shadows across both ceilings. And when Paige finally drifted off long after they stopped talking, her screen still glowed with Azzi’s face, quiet and still, eyes just starting to flutter closed too.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #pazzi #wlw

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amirawrah · 12 days ago

Text

⭐︎You move me

with JUDE BELLINGHAM⭐︎REQUESTED BY ANON!

synopsis: A chance encounter in a quiet Madrid studio turns into something neither of you expected—but everything you didn’t know you needed.

Madrid mornings had a rhythm of their own—slow and golden, with the hum of scooters in the distance, early cafés clinking glasses, and the sun climbing steadily over the terracotta roofs. Your alarm always went off at 6:15 a.m., just before the city fully woke. By 6:30, you were sipping matcha in your tiny balcony kitchen, watching the light shift through your lemon tree.

And by 7:00 a.m., you were at the studio.

The yoga studio wasn’t flashy. Tucked into a side street off Calle de Fuencarral, it was all soft lighting, eucalyptus towels, and high windows that cracked open to let in the scent of the morning bakeries nearby. You loved it here. Your sanctuary, your routine. Your breath.

What you didn’t love were the last-minute sign-ups.

So when you saw a new name on the roster for your 7:15 a.m. “Strength + Flow” session—a name scribbled in barely readable all caps by your receptionist, Mari—you frowned.

JUDE. No last name. Just Jude. Paid in cash.

Tourist, you thought. Or worse—a gym bro who’d been dragged in by someone’s girlfriend. The class was already half full when you walked in, barefoot, with your water bottle tucked under your arm and your hair in a loose bun.

“Good morning, everyone,” you said softly, settling at the front. “Today’s flow is going to challenge your core, your breath, and maybe your ego a little. Sound good?”

Scattered chuckles. Nods.

Then the door opened.

And he walked in.

Tall, brown skin glowing under the skylight, wearing a white tee that was already clinging slightly to his collarbone from the Madrid heat. He looked around, then his eyes landed on you. And he smiled—soft, a little crooked, warm enough to melt a glacier.

You blinked.

He raised a hand, almost like an apology. “Sorry, am I late?”

“No,” you said, voice even. “Just in time.”

He walked to an empty mat in the middle of the room, offered a polite nod to the woman beside him, and dropped into a seated position.

His form was… not bad.

You noticed the way he carried himself. Not stiff like a beginner, but not fluid either. Like he was used to his body obeying commands, but not like this. His limbs were longer than most, his frame broader, but he moved with control. Athletic.

You inhaled.

“Let’s begin.”

The flow started slow. You watched him carefully through the mirrors—his focus, the way his brow furrowed during transitions, the slight tremble in his legs. You walked around the room giving corrections, adjusting shoulders, lengthening hips, and when you got to him, he looked up at you like you were sunlight in human form.

“Lift through your ribs,” you murmured, fingers just grazing the side of his torso.

He nodded, exhaling through parted lips.

You hated that your heart fluttered a little.

By the end of the class, half the room was drenched in effort. Your tank top stuck to your back. You guided them all down to their mats for savasana, your voice like silk.

“Let go of your thoughts. Let go of your tension. This moment belongs only to you.”

Eyes closed. Silence. Calm.

But you could feel his presence even then.

After class, people lingered for water and soft goodbyes. Jude took his time rolling up his mat, moving slowly, like he didn’t want to leave.

You were wiping down a block when he approached.

“Hey,” he said. Up close, he smelled like fresh cotton and something you couldn’t name. Expensive. Masculine.

“Hi,” you replied, glancing up.

“You’re good,” he said, nodding to the studio. “Like, really good.”

You smiled, but kept it polite. “Thanks. You move well—for a beginner.”

He grinned. “I’m not a total beginner.”

“Football?” you asked, arching a brow.

He chuckled. “Um yea guilty.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That accent. You're—British?”

“Birmingham, yeah.”

“Ah,” you nodded, teasing. “That explains the tight hamstrings.”

He laughed, full and boyish. “Alright, no need to call me out like that.”

You handed him a towel. “I call it like I see it.”

He took it from you, brushing your fingers slightly. “Well, thanks. For the class.”

You nodded. “You’re welcome.”

But he didn’t leave right away.

He stood there, tapping the towel against his palm. “Listen… I’m kinda new here. Moved a few months ago. Still figuring it all out.”

You tilted your head. “Madrid’s not too hard to love.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, eyes on you now. “Especially the people.”

You didn’t look away. “Flirting with your yoga teacher is bold.”

He smiled. “So it’s working?”

You paused. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say no either.”

Your silence was its own answer.

Jude started showing up every week.

Sometimes twice.

He never asked for a selfie, never mentioned football, and didn’t tell you his last name until your third conversation at the café across the street when he finally said, “You don’t really know who I am, you know?”

You sipped your matcha. “You’re Jude. You do yoga and can’t touch your toes. That’s all I need to know.”

He laughed, shook his head, and leaned back like he hadn’t felt this relaxed in years.

It became your rhythm—his voice in your class, his teasing after, his smile as familiar as sunrise.

One night, after a particularly rainy Madrid evening, he offered to walk you home.

You were quiet at first. The kind of quiet that felt full, not awkward.

Then he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at you.

“I like you,” he said.

You blinked. “I know.”

He chuckled. “No, I mean—I really like you.”

You felt your stomach flip.

So you stood on your toes, kissed him softly, and said, “I know that too.”

It wasn’t a whirlwind.

It was better.

Slow mornings in bed with sunlight between the sheets. Grocery runs where he insisted on buying too many strawberries. Whispered conversations on your balcony about life and football and fear. Your yoga mat always next to his now, at the studio and at home.

He watched you teach with stars in his eyes. You watched him stretch his hamstrings with exaggerated grunts just to make you laugh.

He kissed your forehead every night before bed like it was routine.

You weren’t just in love.

You were safe.

#mirahsworks🦫#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham x you #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader

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berryispunk · 17 days ago

Text

The Way I See You

This is part 2/2. Part 1 readable here

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: dual POV, slow burn, angst , all the feelings, fluff, vulnerability, push and pull, mention of PTSD & addiction , best friends to lovers, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected PiV, soft! Frankie

summary: A tense, emotional journey of two people navigating their complicated, raw connection. What starts as a push-and-pull dynamic slowly transforms into something deeper, as they learn to open up and face their vulnerabilities.

word count: 7,5 k

read on ao3

Frankie had planned it.

Maybe not perfectly, but with care—the kind of care he rarely let himself show. Dinner at that little Italian place Benny wouldn’t shut up about. A walk by the marina afterward, maybe ice cream if the night went well. It was stupidly romantic, probably too much, but he couldn’t help it. You deserved more than porch lights and half-formed confessions in tents.

[Frankie] So… what if I take you out? Like, really out. A date-date. No tents, no coffee mugs, no Benny jumping in at the worst possible moment.

[You] You trying to prove something, Morales?

[Frankie] That I’m serious about you, yeah.

But now? He stood by his car, jaw locked, watching rain slice sideways across the hood like the sky itself was pissed off.

You laughed, squeezing water out of your hair as you huddled under the awning of the closed ice cream stand. “So much for the marina.”

Frankie ran a hand down his face. “Fuck. This wasn’t how I— I wanted it to be good.”

“It is,” you said simply. “It’s kind of perfect, actually.”

He stared at you, soaked and smiling, looking at him like none of it mattered. Not the storm. Not the car alarm that wouldn’t shut off in the parking lot. Not the stupid vending machine that ate his dollar when he tried to get you a drink. None of it mattered, because you were still here, drenched and laughing like it was the best night of your life.

He didn’t deserve that. Not with everything rattling around inside his head. Not with the cravings that had crawled up his spine the moment things started going wrong—like they always did. The moment his past whispered see? You’re still a mess. You’ll ruin this too.

But then you got in his car, cranked up the heater, and the sound of your laughter filled the space between you like sunlight bleeding through cracks. It wasn’t delicate or hesitant—it was warm and beautiful and by far his favorite sound.

He turned to look at you, his smile ghosting at the edges of his lips, fleeting even as doubt crept in.

And it hit him.

Like a fist to the ribs, a sudden clarity that made his throat tighten: he was gone for you. Hopelessly, stupidly gone. And that terrified him more than anything.

Because the last time he let himself love like that, it ended in pieces.

And yet here you were, looking at him like he was someone worth laughing with. Like you saw something in him that wasn’t just damage and regret.

He swallowed hard. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “Is that a compliment or are you just in shock I didn’t bolt?”

“Both,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “Mostly the first.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “I had fun.”

Frankie didn’t speak right away. He was too busy memorizing the way you looked right then—wet hair, flushed cheeks, a laugh still echoing in your throat.

God, he wanted to tell you.

Wanted to tell you he hadn’t felt this safe around someone in years. That your presence calmed the itch in his blood better than any substance ever had. That this thing—whatever it was—scared the hell out of him, but also felt like the only thing real in a world that constantly blurred at the edges.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just looked at you like a man trying to imprint the moment into his bones, storing it for moments the darkness took over again. And in that silence, when you reached across the console to take his hand, he let you.

—

Some time had passed since that rained-out almost-moment. Since the camping trip and the soft kiss in the tent. In the quiet way these things go, you’d started spending more time together—casual dinners, long walks that blurred into longer conversations, nights at your place where Frankie stayed too late, and mornings at his place where you learned how he liked his coffee, black but with sugar, always two spoons.

You’d let your guard down—slowly, hesitantly, but genuinely. Enough to let him see parts of you most people missed. Enough that it surprised you how easy it started to feel. But with every piece of yourself you offered, you noticed how Frankie seemed to step back just slightly. Like your closeness was pushing against something he hadn’t named yet. His walls weren’t obvious, not loud, but you felt them in the pauses that stretched too long, the way he’d sometimes look at you like you were a dream he didn’t quite trust to stay.

Still, it had started like any other movie night—bare feet tucked under throw blankets, an old chick flick humming low from Frankie’s TV, and the smell of kettle corn faint in the air from earlier. He’d let you choose the movie, even though he pretended to grumble about it, and you’d rolled your eyes, pretending not to notice how his gaze had softened every time you laughed.

Now, the room was quiet as the screen faded to black. You’d both drifted sideways on the couch without realizing. His arm had ended up around your shoulders; your cheek eventually found the space just above his ribs. Warm, easy. Like a rhythm you already knew by heart.

You were half-asleep when it started—so subtle at first you weren’t sure you felt it. A twitch. A shift. Then his breath hitched. Sharper this time. His chest rising too fast beneath your hand.

Your eyes blinked open.

“Frankie?” you whispered, voice hoarse from sleep.

No answer.

His jaw was clenched. Face turned away, brow creased tight like it hurt to stay still. His breath came in short bursts now, shallow and panicked. One of his hands fisted into the blanket. The other trembled slightly on his lap, twitching like he was reaching for a thing that wasn’t there.

You sat up carefully, gently pressing your hand to his chest, grounding him.

“Hey,” you said, firmer now. “Frankie—breathe. You’re okay. You’re home. You’re safe.”

He gasped once, sharp and rough, before his eyes finally opened—wild and glassy. It took him a second to focus. And then—

“Oh,” he rasped. “Shit.”

“No,” you murmured, already pulling him close. “You’re okay.”

You didn’t ask what it was, you didn’t have to. You’d seen the way his eyes went distant sometimes, like they were seeing something else he couldn’t outrun.

He tensed for a moment, like his instinct was still to pull back, to apologize, to vanish into himself—but then your arms wrapped tighter and he just gave in. Letting the weight fall against you like he didn’t have the strength to carry it anymore.

You held him through it. His head tucked against your shoulder. One hand still gripping your sleeve like he needed to make sure you were real. He was fragile in a way that contradicted the broad-shouldered, cocky man who wore his humor like armor.

The room was quiet but full—your heartbeat in his ear, your breath anchoring his.

You didn’t say unnecessary, hollow things like ‘you’re strong’ or ‘you’re fine’ or ‘you’ll get through it’. You just stayed and tried to be there for him.

And slowly his breathing settled again. His hand loosened. His shoulders uncoiled, the tremble fading from his frame as he leaned more of himself into your touch, like something inside him had finally, quietly cracked open.

You smoothed a hand through his curls, feeling them damp at the temples.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t answer with words—just a soft, broken nod against your collarbone that made your heart ache. It was vulnerable in a way that felt natural and delicate, like even the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

And somewhere in the silence that followed, you realized—maybe this was love. Not the loud, cinematic kind, but the quiet decision to stay when things got hard. The kind that held steady in the dark. And Frankie deserved that. He deserved someone choosing him for once, the way he’d always been the steady one for everyone else.

—

You woke to the scent of coffee.

Soft light spilled in through Frankie’s kitchen window, filtering through old curtains, catching on the dust in the air. The TV was off. The blanket from the night before half-slipped to the floor. For a second, you were warm and weightless, still caught in that liminal space between dreaming and memory.

Then you saw him.

He stood in the kitchen, shoulders tight, hands braced on the counter like the silence in the room was too loud to breathe in. His coffee mug sat untouched beside him. He hadn’t noticed you were awake.

You sat up slowly. “Hey.”

He flinched, just a little, voice distant. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Frankie nodded, not looking at you. A pause stretched between you, thick with whatever was unfolding right now.

“Frankie…” you started, soft, despite your heart being in your throat from his sudden coldness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, too fast. His voice low and hard. “For last night.”

Your chest tightened painfully. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I do.” He finally looked at you. There was a flicker in his eyes that made you feel like you were standing on a cliff edge with him—like he was already backing away. “You shouldn’t have had to see that. It’s not fair to put that on you.”

“I wanted to be there.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t want that. You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”

You stood then, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. “Frankie, I’m not scared of you.”

“Well maybe you should be,” he snapped. And it wasn’t anger—it was fear. Pure and sharp. He swallowed hard, looking away again. “That wasn’t even the worst of it. Sometimes it gets bad. And I don’t sleep for days. And I pick fights I don’t mean to. And I spiral, hide it, pretend I’m fine until I’m not. And the last thing you need is to get caught in that.”

“I’m not just anyone,” you said quietly.

He went still.

You stepped closer, standing in front of him now. His hands were still on the counter, white-knuckled. You laid yours on top of his gently.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you whispered. “Trying to push me out before I can choose to stay.”

Frankie’s throat bobbed. His gaze was somewhere just past your shoulder, jaw clenched like he was holding back the tide.

“I saw you last night,” you said. “I see you, Frankie. Not just the parts you think are acceptable. All of it.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for a second they were glassy again, wide and wounded and scared.

“Don’t do that,” you said softly. “Don’t disappear on me in your own kitchen.”

He cracked then—not loud or dramatic. Just this quiet breath that shook in his chest like it hadn’t been allowed to move in years. He leaned forward slightly, forehead gently pressing to yours.

“I don’t know how to let anyone stay,” he said.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “One morning at a time.”

You stood there for a long while, your hands wrapped around his, the coffee growing cold beside you. And maybe he didn’t say anything else that morning—but his silence wasn’t a wall this time.

It was a beginning.

—

The air felt heavy before the rain even came. Thick with the kind of pressure that settled deep in Frankie’s chest, like the storm had already broken somewhere inside him.

You were walking beside him, close but not touching, shoes scuffing the sidewalk in quiet rhythm. It should’ve been peaceful. It looked peaceful. But Frankie hadn’t known real quiet in days. His head was a mess. Like a dial turned all the way up—cravings humming in his bones, memories pressing in like ghosts. The kind that crept in when he was tired or vulnerable or maybe just too close to anything good. He hadn’t touched anything. Not since you. But the itch was there. Whispering that it would take the edge off. That it would make him feel less.

Or worse—make him feel nothing.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and exhaled through his nose.

“You’re doing it again,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, brow furrowing. “Doing what?”

“Going somewhere in your head without telling me.”

The words struck a chord. So gentle, but they saw him. And he hated how much he needed that. How much he wanted to let you in even though everything inside him screamed not to.

You stopped walking, so did he.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, voice rough. “Being seen like this. Like all of me. It’s not fair to you.”

You just looked at him for a long beat. “You were okay with my mess. So let me be okay with yours.”

Thunder rumbled somewhere behind the clouds, low and distant—but Frankie was sure the louder sound was whatever cracked open in his chest at your words. Steady, certain, unshakable. He’d known you were stubborn, but this was something else entirely— fiercer, more terrifying. That you wanted him not despite the cracks, but with them. This version of him, broken and bruised, the one he tried so hard to keep hidden from the world. And yet, here you were, choosing him anyway. He didn’t know if it made him want to kiss you or run. Maybe both.

He opened his mouth, but then the sky split.

Rain came fast—sheets of it. You both scrambled for cover under a nearby awning, water already dripping from your hair, your clothes sticking to your skin.

You looked at him, eyes bright despite it all, chest rising and falling fast. And for the first time in days, the noise in his head paused just enough. Because there you were. And maybe it was the rain or the look on your face or the way he felt like he’d fall apart if he didn’t touch you right then—but he did.

Frankie’s hands found your waist, pulling you into him like gravity. His mouth crashed against yours—messy, soaked, and real. You melted into him without thinking, like your body had been waiting for this. There had been kisses before, soft hellos and quick goodbyes, but not like this. This was different. This was everything unspoken—emotion, want, and longing—poured into a kiss that felt like a language only the two of you understood.

Clothes tugged, wet fabric shifted. You gasped against his mouth, soft and aching. He swallowed it down like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Your fingers in his hair, his on your hips, your thighs—

And then he stopped. Breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

“Wait,” he rasped. “Fuck—I’m sorry. I just… I can’t. Not like this.”

You nodded immediately, both your chests heaving, soaked and shivering. You didn’t pull away. Just rested your hands against his heart.

By the time you reached his apartment, everything was soaked. Shoes sloshing, clothes clinging, hair dripping in slick strands. The rain had slowed, but it hadn’t let up—not really. It was still there, like a pressure behind glass. Like a metaphor too on-the-nose for the thing inside him that wouldn’t break open.

He unlocked the door with shaking fingers, let you in first. You moved through the space quietly, like you didn’t want to disturb the air between you. Like he might shatter if you did.

Frankie shut the door behind him, leaned against it for a second longer than he meant to.

You stood in the center of the room, arms wrapped around yourself—not from the cold, but from a heat that twisted with confusion and a quiet ache he recognized all too well. He grabbed towels, draping one over your shoulders, rough cotton brushing your bare arms.

You gave him a soft, grateful smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Frankie swallowed hard. His clothes were plastered to him, but he didn’t move to change. Didn’t move to touch you again. He couldn’t. Not without risking the whole dam inside him breaking.

You took a slow step toward him.

“Frankie?”

He looked up. And it nearly wrecked him—the way you looked at him. Still open, still there. And he was doing this. Ruining it, again.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

That hit deeper than any relapse ever had.

“No,” he said quickly, voice too tight, too brittle. “No, it’s not you.”

You frowned, arms dropping to your sides. “Then why do you keep pulling away like I’m going to break you?”

Frankie ran a hand through his wet curls, turned his back for a second just to breathe. Just to not grab your face and kiss you like a drowning man. Just to not fall apart.

“Because I want you,” he admitted, voice rough as gravel. “And that scares the shit out of me.”

He turned, met your eyes again.

“You don’t understand what it’s like… having something good that doesn’t feel like it’s going to be taken away. And if I let myself have it too fast, if I let myself have you like that—I don’t trust myself not to fuck it up.”

You stared at him for a long time. And God, the silence between you hurt more than anything. Because it felt like he’d just cut you open, even if that wasn’t his intent.

Your voice was small. “It kind of feels like you don’t want me at all.”

Frankie’s eyes closed and his jaw locked before he crossed the room in two steps, hands shaking as they caught your face.

“I want you,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “So bad it fucking hurts.”

You exhaled, trembling. “Then why does it feel like a rejection?”

“Because I’m trying so hard not to ruin this,” he whispered. “Not to ruin you.”

There it was, the raw truth, the thing he didn’t say aloud to anyone else.

His thumb brushed your cheek, tentative, reverent.

“I’m still learning how to be okay,” he murmured. “But if you stay—just stay—I swear I’ll meet you there.”

—

You didn’t mean to hold your breath, but you did. Somewhere between I want you and I’m trying not to ruin you, a part of you curled inward, tight with fear and wanting.

Because he meant it. You knew he meant it, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

The warmth of his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face so gently like you were precious—it should have made you feel wanted. Safe. But it only made the ache more pronounced.

You nodded softly, barely a movement at all.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, searching yours. Probably hoping for more than just a single world.

But you didn’t give it.

Not because you didn’t want to, but because if you stayed another minute, you were going to fall apart. And you didn’t want him to see that. Didn’t want him to carry your heartbreak too.

So you stepped back.

His hands slipped away from your skin like a question left unanswered.

“I should go,” you said quietly, offering the smallest smile you could manage. “You’ve had a long night.”

Frankie’s brow creased. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut in gently. “But I think I should.”

You reached for your jacket, still damp and wrinkled from the rain, the sleeves sticking to your arms as you pulled it on. You kept your eyes down—less chance of him seeing the flicker behind them.

At the door, you hesitated. Your fingers curled around the handle, and your voice came out before you could second-guess it.

“For what it’s worth,” you said, not looking back, “you wouldn’t ruin me.”

Then you slipped out into the cool night, heart thudding in your chest like a secret you couldn’t bear to say out loud.

—

You didn’t cry until you got home. It wasn’t loud or messy—just that kind of quiet unraveling, like threads tugged loose behind the ribs. The kind that creeps up in the silence after you close the door, when the world feels too still and your skin still remembers the way he touched you.

It wasn’t rejection. You knew that.

But it felt like it.

Felt like the start of something slipping through your fingers before it ever got the chance to land.

You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your damp clothes piece by piece, trading them for an old, oversized t-shirt that offered a strange kind of comfort. Then you curled into bed like you were trying to take up less space—like if you stayed small enough, the ache might shrink too.

He wanted you, you knew he did.

But the caution in his voice, the restraint in his body, the way he looked at you like he was made of jagged edges—it carved a sharp ache into you. Left a hollow place where the heat of his kiss had been.

And worse than that?

You understood why. So you didn’t text him the next day, or the day after that. You gave him space because he needed it—but also because you weren’t sure if he wanted you in it anymore.

—

He felt like a monster.

That’s the word that kept circling his brain, cruel and familiar. Like it belonged there. Like it fit.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you. Jesus, never that.

But the second your hand slipped out of his, the second you whispered that soft little “Okay” like you were tucking your feelings into a drawer so he wouldn’t have to see them, he knew he’d fucked it all up.

Again.

He’d stood in the rain long after you left, water soaking through his shirt, cooling the heat of your body that still clung to him.

You wouldn’t ruin me.

Your words echoed louder than the storm had. But he didn’t believe them, not really.

Because if you didn’t mean anything to him, it would be easier. He could let it happen. Let you in. Let his hands slip beneath your clothes and pretend it didn’t mean more than it did.

But it did and that terrified him more than anything else.

So he stayed in his apartment, restless, watching the phone like it might forgive him. Like maybe if he stared hard enough, you’d reach out.

But you didn’t.

And part of him knew—you were waiting for him to show up differently, he just wasn’t sure if he knew how.

—

Three days passed. Maybe four. He wasn’t sleeping much, so time got slippery. The throw blanket you’d fallen asleep under still smelled a little like your shampoo— soft and vanilla. The kind of detail that shouldn’t have stuck in his head, but did anyway.

The rain had stopped days ago, but the storm inside him hadn’t.

He stared at his phone until the screen dimmed, then lit it again. Thumb hovering over your name.

Then, finally:

[Frankie] So… you still not sick? Because standing in the rain like that seems like the kind of thing people catch colds from. Just sayin’.

It wasn’t enough. But it was a start. He didn’t expect you to reply right away. But when you did, it was like oxygen after holding his breath too long.

[You] No fever, no cough. Just a lingering ache somewhere between the ribs. Probably weather-related.

He smiled. Actually smiled. It ached in his chest a little.

[Frankie] Should’ve known you’d be the stubborn type who survives a thunderstorm like it’s a spa day.

[You] You were the one dripping all over the sidewalk, Morales. I just happened to walk away faster.

That last line—soft. Unbitter. And it gutted him. Because it told him you were trying too, even now. Even after he’d made you feel small and unwanted in the middle of a moment that had meant everything to both of you.

He stared at your message a long time. Then called you.

You didn’t answer.

But five minutes later, your name lit up his screen.

“Hey,” you said, voice quiet but not cold.

“Hey,” he echoed. “I, uh. I meant to call sooner.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just a breath, maybe two. Then: “I figured you needed time.”

“I did. I do,” he admitted. “But I don’t want space from you. Not like that.”

Something shifted in your silence��barely-there, like the moment a cloud moves off the moon.

“I was scared,” he continued, voice lower now. “Still am. What I felt that night—it wasn’t just about wanting you. It was everything else too. The part that says I’ll ruin it the second it’s good. The part that remembers every time I did.”

You exhaled, not a sigh, more like a quiet surrender. “I know, Frankie.”

And he could hear it in your voice: the ache, the understanding. The hope, too, buried just deep enough to keep you safe.

He wanted to say he was sorry, to explain that he hadn’t touched you like that because you didn’t matter—but because you mattered too much. That he hadn’t stopped because he didn’t want you—but because he wanted everything, and didn’t know how to survive that.

Instead, he just said, “Can I see you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Come over.”

And something in him unclenched.

—-

The knock was soft.

So soft you almost convinced yourself you imagined it—wishful thinking wrapped in thunderstorm memory.

But your body knew better.

You stood there for a moment with your hand on the doorknob, heart crawling up your throat. You hadn’t heard from him in days. Not since the rain. Not since he kissed you like he needed you and pulled away like he regretted it. And you told yourself you were fine. You told yourself space was good. You didn’t text him. Didn’t call.

But now he was here.

You opened the door, breath tight in your chest.

And there he was—Frankie, with damp hair curling at the edges, shirt clinging to his shoulders, looking like the storm hadn’t left him. Like maybe it had followed him all the way back to your front step.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

But your chest cracked wide open at the sight of him. You’d missed him more than you let yourself feel until now. Missed his stupid soft jokes and the way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. Missed the steadiness of him, the quiet hum he brought into your space just by being in it.

He stepped inside slowly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. You let your shoulder brush his on the way past him, something quiet and deliberate. He stood still. You could feel the weight of everything in the room with you—the way your skin remembered his, the way your heart still beat a little faster in his presence, the way everything in you wanted to break and reach for him at the same time.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” he said, voice low and worn.

You turned to face him, arms crossed before you could stop yourself. “Me neither.”

Your voice almost cracked.

And just like that, it broke.

Frankie crossed the space between you before you could think. His hands cupped your face, gentle, reverent. And his mouth met yours like he couldn’t stand another second apart. Like something in him had cracked too.

You kissed him back like it hurt to breathe without him. Like the ache of missing him had curled into your bones and only now could you begin to exhale.

Your fingers dug into the hem of his shirt, desperate for more—more of him, more warmth, more of this thing that had been burning between you since the very beginning. You felt the tremor in his hands, the restraint fighting the want, and it shattered you on the inside.

Because he was still holding back.

He broke the kiss first, panting, eyes half-lidded and dazed. “I don’t wanna stop,” he murmured, voice thick. “But if I don’t, I might not be able to.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling like you were trying to steady the unraveling inside you.

And then you said it. Quiet, raw, but sure:

“I really don’t want you to stop.”

The words hit him like a wave. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his grip on your waist tightened just slightly—like he was torn between crashing into you or holding himself back.

He exhaled a sound that was almost a curse, forehead resting against yours. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, pained. “Not if you mean it like I do.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“I mean it exactly like you do.”

That broke him.

His lips were on yours again before either of you could think, kiss all teeth and desperation, his hands tangled in your shirt, yours pulling him closer, anchoring him to this moment, to you. The tension that had been simmering for weeks snapped like a wire—every soft glance, every near-touch, every silence that held more than words—it all burst open between you.

Your back hit the wall, and you didn’t care. His shirt was bunched between your fingers, your breath catching as his mouth left yours just long enough to find your neck. It was messy. Uncoordinated. Hungry. He groaned—low, rough, like it was torn straight from somewhere deep in his chest.

His mouth found the spot just behind your ear, sucking gently, not knowing it was your weakness—but feeling it anyway. Feeling the way your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, how you tugged with a breathless sound that cracked the last of his restraint. You arched into him, body aflame, every nerve ending reaching for more.

This wasn’t just hunger. It was everything you hadn’t let yourself want—everything that had been simmering under the surface for too long. Now that it was here, now that it was him, you knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.

One of his hands slipped beneath your shirt, calloused palm dragging heat across your stomach until it hovered just beneath the curve of your breast. His thumb brushed the soft edge of skin there, and you gasped like you felt it in your spine.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he rasped against your neck, voice wrecked, lips still swollen from where they'd claimed you moments ago.

The question hit you square in the chest—gentle, reverent, undoing.

Of course it was okay. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever wanted anything more.

Your answer came out a little breathless, barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

He didn’t wait.

His hand slid up, cupping you fully, like he’d been thinking about the weight of you in his palm for far too long. You moaned into his shoulder, half-embarrassed by how much it undid you—but you couldn’t help it. Not with his knee nudging between your thighs, not with the solid weight of his body pinning you gently to the wall, pressing into every part of you like he couldn’t bear an inch of space.

The friction was maddening.

You ground down on his leg instinctively, and he swore softly against your jaw, dragging his lips back to your mouth like he was starving.

But even in the heat of it—his hands were still careful. His mouth still reverent. Like he wanted to memorize the way you trembled, the way you gasped his name like it meant more than just desire.

Because it did.

It always had.

Frankie kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it, like the days apart had unraveled him thread by thread, and only now—only here—could he start putting himself back together. His hands mapped you like he was trying to memorize you in the dark, fingertips learning your edges, your curves, your quietest reactions.

Your shirt was tugged over your head with a kind of reverence, his gaze trailing the exposed skin like it stunned him, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. His hand stayed on your waist, grounding you, but his eyes flicked up to meet yours—checking, asking.

You nodded before he had to say a word.

He kissed down your neck again, slower now, lips dragging over collarbones as he dropped to his knees in front of you. With uttermost care he helped you out of your legging, followed by your underwear. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs, coaxing them apart, lifting one gently over his shoulder. Your breath caught as he looked up at you, completely focused, like there was no part of you he didn’t want to worship.

“You still sure?” he asked, voice hoarse but hands steady.

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

The first stroke of his tongue was devastating. You jolted, a soft sound escaping your throat before you could bite it back. He groaned into you, like he felt it just as much as you did. He moved slowly, deliberately—like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you fall apart. And you did fall apart, slowly but surely. The walls, the hesitation, everything crumbled just in this moment.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, anchoring yourself. And still, he didn’t rush.

He traced you with aching precision, lips and tongue working in tandem, one of his hands splayed against your stomach to hold you steady, the other inching back up to cup your breast again, thumb brushing your nipple until you gasped. The combination stole the breath from your lungs. Pleasure rippled through you in waves—sharp, unbearable, and building.

“Frankie,” you whimpered, thighs trembling around him.

He didn’t stop. He just looked up at you, eyes dark, hungry, and so gentle it nearly broke you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice rough against your skin. “Let me.”

And you did.

You let go.

You came with a broken sound in your throat, back arching, hands gripping him like you’d come apart without the anchor of him, afraid you would break his head with your thighs.

When he rose again, his mouth was slick with you, he kissed you slow and deep. He held you like you’re sacred, like this was more than just need—like it had always been more.

You buried your face in his shoulder, heart still racing. “Don’t stop,” you whispered again. “Please, Frankie—I really don’t want you to stop.”

His breath stuttered at your words. He nodded against your temple, voice trembling like the rest of him. “I won’t. Not this time.”

You took his hand, guiding him through the soft shadows of your apartment, your lips meeting again and again in hungry, half-breathless kisses. It was clumsy and heated, all hands and urgency, laughter blooming between kisses like it couldn’t help but live there.

You tugged his shirt off as you walked, fingers slipping beneath fabric, while he fumbled with his belt, pausing only to step out of his jeans—one pant leg catching stubbornly around his ankle. He hopped once, muttering a curse, and you laughed—genuine, bright, unguarded. His face lit up with it, eyes crinkling, like the sound of your joy was his reason to be.

By the time you reached the threshold of your bedroom, you were both breathless. He stood in nothing but his boxers, and you—naked, unhidden. Normally you’d hesitate, maybe pull the covers up or reach for a shirt. But the way he looked at you—warm, reverent, like you were something he never thought he’d get to touch—it made you feel bolder than you ever had.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, and reached for him—fingers sliding around his hips, pulling him closer. Your eyes flicked up to meet his as you slowly dragged his boxers down, freeing him. His cock sprang forward, brushing softly against his stomach, and you watched his breath hitch.

One hand went to the back of his neck in that nervous gesture you’d come to recognize—the quiet tell of his vulnerability.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he said softly, voice rough around the edges, uncertain.

You smiled, gentle and sure. “I know. But I want to. You deserve this.”

His expression softened, hands rising to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your lips with aching tenderness. And then you leaned forward.

Your lips pressed a kiss to his tip, slow and deliberate. Then you licked—kitten-soft, teasing. The sound he made was ragged and raw, a deep groan punched straight from his chest, and his fingers found your hair—not pulling, just grounding. Just holding.

You took him into your mouth with care, with hunger, and dangerously close to worship. His hips twitched, a strangled gasp catching in his throat, and you couldn’t help but smile around him, eyes flicking up to watch the way he fell apart.

Frankie was beautiful like this—unguarded, wrecked, his head tilted back and jaw slack, muscles trembling beneath your touch. You moved slowly, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, letting every moan, every breathy curse, settle deep into your skin like a mark only you got to wear.

And he didn’t stop looking at you like maybe you were undoing him in ways he hadn’t prepared for.

You let him go with a soft, wet pop, eyes still fixed on his face. His were shut tight, like he was trying to hold onto the feeling, savor it. When he finally blinked them open, it took a second for him to remember where he was—who he was with. But you were already climbing back onto the bed, settling against the pillows, open to him in every sense of the word. Ready for whatever he would give you next.

You thought he might dive right in, all urgency and want. But he didn’t.

Instead, he hesitated.

He moved slowly, carefully, like this moment meant something he didn’t want to rush. He crawled up over you, bracing himself on his forearms, skin brushing skin, close enough to kiss but not yet taking. His fingers found a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind your ear with aching tenderness, the backs of his knuckles grazing your cheek.

Then he laughed—soft and disbelieving, a puff of breath against your lips. He shook his head, eyes searching yours like he still didn’t trust what he saw there.

“Can’t believe this is real,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “That you really want me… even with all my flaws.”

Your brows pulled together, heart catching in your throat at the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just surprise—it was fear. Like he was waiting for the moment you’d change your mind.

You reached up, hands framing his face with a gentleness that made his breath stutter. Your thumbs traced along his cheekbones, slow and grounding.

“Frankie,” you whispered, like saying his name could steady him. “You’re not perfect. Neither am I. But I want you. All of you.”

His eyes shone with an unspoken weight, old and aching, unhealed. He leaned into your touch like he needed it more than he could admit, pressing a kiss to your palm before resting his head into your hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” you promised, even if it wasn’t a promise either of you could truly make. “Just stay. That’s all I want.”

He nodded, barely, like he was still letting himself believe it. And then he kissed you again—slow this time. Like he was trying to memorize your lips, the taste of your breath, the shape of safety. His body lowered onto yours, warmth sinking into every place you’d been cold for too long. And when he finally pushed inside you, it wasn’t rushed or wild. It was steady and careful. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of how much he meant it.

You wrapped your arms around his back, holding him close like you could keep both of you from falling apart. Like maybe, if you held tight enough, the cracks wouldn't split wide open.

Frankie found a steady rhythm, his body pressed so close to yours you felt like one—like there was no telling where he ended and you began. His hands slid beneath your back, keeping you anchored, as he kissed every inch of you he could reach. His mouth found the crook of your neck, breath hot, lips worshipping your skin while his hips moved with growing purpose. Faster, deeper. Still paying attention to you with every thrust.

He shifted your leg higher around his waist, the new angle sending lightning through your core, a moan tumbling from your lips as stars burst behind your eyes. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding you there, grounding himself. He looked wrecked—face flushed with exertion, a wild curl falling across his forehead, his entire focus narrowed down to you. You’d never seen anything more beautiful than him like this, lost in you.

Your nails dragged down his back as the knot inside you tightened, the pleasure spiraling too quickly to contain. And when it broke, it did so with force—your release washing over you in waves, raw and loud and completely unguarded. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as he buried his face into your shoulder. His arms held you close as he let go, his body trembling with the weight of it, one hand clutching your thigh, the other still braced beside your head.

It took him a long, breathless moment to find his voice again.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, gently, and it undid you more than anything else ever could.

No one had ever asked before.

You nodded, running your fingers through his damp, beautifully disheveled hair, lips brushing his temple. “More than okay,” you whispered, and it felt like a full-circle moment—back to the tent weeks ago, under that quiet stretch of moonlight, when you kissed for the first time and didn’t yet know what you were starting.

—

Frankie lay there, your head tucked under his chin, your leg still draped over his hip like you didn’t plan on going anywhere. The room smelled like skin and heat and whatever the hell had just passed between you two—wild and soft all at once. A feeling he hadn’t let himself hope for.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the ceiling, grounding himself in the feel of your body pressed against his, your breath warm against his chest, the beat of your heart steady under his hand. Everything in him was quiet for once. Not numb—just still. Like the war inside him had finally gone mute for a minute. You shifted slightly, brushing your nose against his throat, and his arm tightened around you on instinct.

He let out a breath, heavy and half-laughing. “Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

You let out a little laugh, warm and teasing. “That bad, huh?”

He smirked, eyes closed, head sinking into the pillow. “Nah. Just might be too old for this shit.”

That made you laugh for real. The sound was bright and unguarded, your body shaking lightly against his, and God, it hit him like a sucker punch.

He looked down at you, you were smiling—eyes crinkled, lips soft—and for a moment he just took you in. Not saying anything, just looking at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were nothing his mind just made up.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and a little wrecked.

You barely had time to react before he kissed you again. Slow at first—deep and familiar, like a language he didn’t know he remembered how to speak. And then it shifted. Got greedy and needy. Like he was already aching for another taste.

You hummed softly against his mouth, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. His body responded before his words could—hips pressing into yours, slow and deliberate, like his need for you hadn’t gone anywhere.

He didn’t say a word.

Just rolled you beneath him again, lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone, kissing you like he was memorizing you all over again. Like this was a rediscovery.

You made space for him—physically, emotionally—arms open, heart quiet but certain.

And when he sank into you again, it felt like something unspoken was being sealed between you. Too big for words, but demanded to be felt.

This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just lust or a fleeting need finally satisfied. It was quieter, deeper. A promise made without speaking. A vow written into the space between each breath and each touch.

And he knew—God, he knew—that when you came undone beneath him for the third time that night, soft and wild and entirely his, he’d do anything to keep you close. Even when the darker parts of him flared up, the ones that told him to run before he got hurt. Even when those old instincts screamed at him to push you away, to sabotage what felt too good—he’d fight them. For you.

Because you gave him a home—not just in your bed, not just in your touch—but in your heart, and somehow, in your very bones.

And that was something Frankie never thought he’d have— didn’t even know he was allowed to want.

Not until now.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist

tags: (if you don't wanna be tagged anymore, let me know!) @speaktothehandpeasants @kungfucapslock @felix-enthusiast @kakiki3 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @capuccinodoll @almostfoxglove @jolapeno @whirlwindrider29 @cuteanimalmama @christinamadsen @sheepdogchick3 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @brittmb115 @greenwitchfromthewoods @diabaroxa @glycerinrivers @biapascal @copperhalfcent @beaniebailey @thepilatesprincess @axshadows @kirsteng42 @joelsgoodgirl @ellenmunn @matchalov3 @canadianfangirl-95 @picketniffler @hotforpedro @tuquoquebrute @noovaarq @warmdragonfly @theanothersherlockian @littleluc @76bookworm76 @inept-the-magnificent @confusedpuffin @wheatmaze @rav3n-pascal22 @picketniffler @lostinmyownmaze @pasc4lfuzz

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joelsrose · 7 months ago

Text

Polaroids

just fluff - maybe this will distract u guys from the ending of last chapter hehehe

You leaned back into the worn-out car seat, the low hum of the engine mingling with the crackle of the old radio. The old country music drifted over the airwaves, soft and faint, nearly swallowed by static. The radio itself was a relic, knobs worn and dials stubborn, the plastic casing chipped and yellowed with age. Sometimes it cut out completely, leaving only a soft crackling, but today it clung to the melody, filling the cab with the warmth of old tunes and distant memories.

Sunlight filtered through the cracked window, spilling across your face and hands in fractured beams. Outside, the landscape stretched on, an endless expanse of dust and decay, each mile marked by the skeletons of a world long gone—a place suspended in ruin, holding its breath.

Joel’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, low and steady. “Not much longer now. We’ll get what we need and move on.”

You met his words with a nod, too tired to reply. You’d been traveling for days now, driven by the promise of Jackson and the slim hope of civilization. Supplies were running low, as always; every stop felt like a roll of the dice, hoping to find something, anything, left behind.

It had only been a few months since he’d found you, though time had blurred into a haze, each day bleeding into the next. Exhaustion hung between you both, heavy and constant, like a second skin you couldn’t shake, worn thin from days on the road and nights too quiet to let you sleep.

Joel had saved you when you’d been cornered, trapped in an old, crumbling building with nowhere to go. You’d been running from a small group of infected, adrenaline pumping as you turned down a dark hallway only to find it a dead end. Your options had narrowed to one: wait for them to close in or make your last stand. Just when it seemed there’d be no way out, Joel appeared—silent and swift, moving with a brutal efficiency that left you stunned. In a matter of seconds, he’d cleared the path, his hand gripping yours as he pulled you to safety, his strength as grounding as his presence.

Since then, you’d stayed by his side, even though he’d made it clear he didn’t want company. He worked alone, he’d insisted, in that blunt, no-nonsense way of his. But you hadn’t given him much choice, and over time, it seemed he’d stopped minding. Now, you were the thorn in his side—a place you gladly occupied. With Joel, you felt a kind of safety you hadn’t known in ages. He’d pulled you out of more tight spots than you could count, watching your back like an instinct.

And though his gruff persona suggested otherwise, you liked to think you offered him something in return, even if it was only the company he didn’t know he needed. Maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten used to the rhythm you’d found together, the unspoken understanding that had grown between you with each mile.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine dying into silence. You reached for the door, and as always, Joel shot you a quick, expectant look. You knew the routine by now—he wanted you to lead.

He’d insisted on it from the start, claiming it was safer, though you’d never been entirely convinced. A few times, you’d tried to switch places, hanging back to keep an eye on his back. But each time, he’d glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, his unease written in quick, silent looks that said, Get up here.

Eventually, you’d stopped fighting it, falling into the rhythm he’d set. It was easier than watching him practically break his neck to check on you every few steps.

There was something almost sweet about it, a kind of silent protectiveness you’d caught yourself thinking about more than once. But you’d always shaken it off just as quickly—this was about survival, after all.

Nothing more.

As you stepped out first, the wind stirred a broken sign on an old gas station up ahead, its faded letters barely readable. Moving quietly, you swept your gaze over the cracked concrete, dark windows, and twisted metal—every shadow a potential hiding place. Raiders, infected—it didn’t matter. You’d learned to stay vigilant, to read your surroundings like second nature.

The gas station loomed closer, dark and silent, and the air felt thick, weighted. You tightened your grip on your knife, every nerve alert. And even now, without turning, you could feel Joel’s gaze on you, fixed and ready, trusting you to lead but always prepared to step in if needed.

You eased open the door, and the little shop bell above jingled sharply, shattering the silence. You winced, instinctively glancing back at Joel, who fixed you with one of those stern looks that seemed to say everything without a single word. You mouthed, What? as if you had any say in the bell hanging there. He just shook his head, giving a quick gesture for you to keep moving.

The gas station was a relic from another world, frozen in time. The air hung thick with dust and stale, long-forgotten scents. Every shelf wore a layer of grime, and faded signs advertised snacks and drinks that hadn’t been stocked in years. You and Joel swept through the space in silence, checking for any lurking danger before easing up slightly, letting yourselves relax just enough to take in the scene.

You moved slowly, scanning each shelf with eyes trained to spot anything useful. Most of it had been picked clean long ago—torn-open packaging and discarded wrappers marking the hurried visits of those who’d come before you. Still, you continued your search, hoping some overlooked scrap might still be hiding among the debris.

You found yourself wandering into the magazine aisle, eyes catching on a rack filled with faded covers, each magazine a window to a lost world. The glossy pages once held glimpses of celebrity gossip, fashion, sports, news—details from lives people used to care about. It was strange to think of a time when you could pick up a magazine, sink into a chair, and read, unbothered by the weight of survival.

Shaking the thoughts away, you made your way toward the back room, pushing open the door. Inside, it was chaos. Torn sleeping bags, empty food cans, and scattered belongings littered the floor. It was clear that people had stayed here, leaving pieces of their lives behind in a hurry. You stepped over the debris, wondering about them—the strangers who had once huddled in this cramped room, just as desperate as you. Each item felt like a clue, a fragment of someone else’s survival, each as temporary as the lives that had passed through here.

You sifted through the mess, nudging aside tattered blankets and empty cans, until something caught your eye. Your breath hitched. No way.

Nestled under a pile of discarded clothes was an old Polaroid camera, scratched and battered, but unmistakable. You picked it up, heart thumping as you opened the film compartment—still a few shots left.

A smile tugged at your lips as your thumb traced the camera’s worn edges, the feel of it strangely comforting. You used to have one of these—your walls once covered with Polaroids of friends, family, frozen moments from a world that felt like a distant dream.

The thought of taking a picture, capturing even one still moment in this endless chaos, felt like a luxury you couldn’t resist. Carefully, you slipped the camera into your bag, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Joel’s rules on “essentials only” echoed in your mind; you could almost hear that familiar, gruff tone reminding you of what mattered. But this felt worth the risk.

“Find anything?” Joel’s voice cut through the quiet, jolting you as you straightened up. You turned, giving a casual shake of your head. “No,” you murmured, but the way his gaze lingered told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d grown attuned to your every tell over the past few months, as if he could read the slightest shift in your expression. He knew when you were lying, just like he’d picked up on the way you got a bit snappy when you were hungry or the way you got quiet and withdrawn when you were tired.

You could see his eyes narrow slightly, that small tic he had when he sensed something was off. He didn’t push, though, just let out a sigh and gave a slight nod, the silent acknowledgment that he knew you were keeping something back, even if he wasn’t going to press you on it.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, his tone steady as he turned to lead the way back. You followed him out of the gas station, stepping carefully over broken glass and crumbling concrete, the weight of the camera tucked away in your bag a secret thrill you couldn’t quite shake.

A few days later you and Joel had stopped by an old, abandoned farmhouse. The building stood crooked and half-collapsed, but it provided some shelter and, thankfully, a well you’d managed to draw fresh water from. As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting everything in a golden wash, you found Joel outside, seated on a weathered tree stump, quietly cleaning his rifle.

He looked up as you approached, his face softened by the fading light. You felt that familiar pull, the itch to capture this version of him—the one without his guard so firmly up, the rare glimpse of the man beneath the gruff exterior. Without overthinking it, you brought the Polaroid up, snapping the photo with a quick click and a whirl.

The sound broke through the quiet, and Joel looked up sharply, his brow furrowing. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was a mix of surprise and irritation, but you only grinned, holding the photo as it developed.

“Just… keeping a memory,” you replied, lifting it slightly to see the faint outline of his figure slowly come to life on the film. The fading light, the rugged set of his face, the rifle in his hands—it was a glimpse of this strange, fractured world you’d both managed to carve out for yourselves.

Joel shook his head, letting out a deep sigh as he returned his focus to his rifle, muttering, “Where’d you get that thing?” You tensed, expecting a lecture, but he didn’t sound as mad as you’d thought he’d be. Instead, he glanced up, one eyebrow raised in faint amusement. “Wasting film on me, huh? Thought I told you to stick to the essentials.”

His tone was more resigned than scolding, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of softness behind that familiar gruffness.

“This is essential,” you shot back, tucking the photo carefully into your bag. He huffed but didn’t push it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he refocused on his task. And as the last rays of sunlight slipped below the horizon, you felt the weight of that small photo, the tiny moment frozen forever in your pocket.

A few days later, you stopped by the edge of a forest, setting up a small camp as the sky turned dusky and violet. Joel had wandered off to gather more kindling, and you settled in by the fire, lost in thought as you stared at the flickering flames, letting the rare quietness sink into your bones.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel had returned, lingering a few paces away. He paused, watching as you sat by the fire, its glow casting soft shadows over your face and deepening the worry etched in your brow. There was something about the way you looked, as if you were carrying the weight of the world in silence—a moment he suddenly found himself wanting to keep, just like you had done with him.

Moving quietly, he crouched down, rifling through your bag with a muffled groan as he pulled out the Polaroid camera. He raised it, aimed, and snapped a photo before you even noticed he was there. The click was softened by the crackle of the fire, and as the image slid out, he quickly tucked it into his pocket, a quiet secret meant only for him.

He found himself drawn to the Polaroid more often than he’d like to admit. Most nights, after you’d fallen asleep, he’d sit alone by the dim light of the fire, turning the photo over in his hands. His thumb would trace the worn edges, lingering on the image, on the softness in your expression that he rarely saw during the daylight hours. There was something about it—a quiet reminder of who you were beneath the survival instincts and guarded walls, something gentle that you rarely let anyone else glimpse.

He couldn’t say why he held onto it so tightly, why he’d tucked it away like a small, fragile piece of something he didn’t quite deserve. But each time he looked at it, he felt an odd sense of peace, a warmth he hadn’t known in years, and a growing hope he barely understood.

It wasn’t until later, one day while packing up camp, that you noticed something unusual in Joel’s belongings—a corner of the Polaroid peeking out from his jacket pocket. Curiosity got the best of you, and you carefully tugged it free, turning it over. The image was slightly faded, but there you were, captured in that rare, quiet moment by the fire. Seeing yourself through Joel’s eyes was strange and unexpectedly tender—a side of you that looked softer, contemplative, even a little vulnerable.

It felt like a secret glimpse into what he saw when he looked at you, something he’d wanted to hold onto. And suddenly, you understood just how much he’d come to care, even if he’d never say it out loud.

When he caught you holding the photo, he stiffened, eyes narrowing as though ready to snatch it back, maybe grumble something about “minding your own business.” Instead, you raised an eyebrow, holding it up for him to see. “What’s this?” you asked, feigning casual curiosity.

He shifted his gaze, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, that?” he muttered, attempting nonchalance. “Just thought… you looked nice. Pretty, I guess.”

The words hung in the air, simple but disarming, unraveling you in a way you hadn’t expected. Pretty. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be seen like that—to be noticed in a way that was more than survival, more than function. In his gruff, awkward way, Joel had reminded you that there was still a part of you worth noticing, worth remembering.

You felt your cheeks warm, a flicker of something both comforting and terrifying sparking in your chest. You held the photo close to your chest, feeling a warmth spread beneath the morning chill. Carefully, you slipped it into your bag alongside the picture you’d taken of him, keeping them together.

Neither of you spoke, but a quiet understanding settled between you, a small truce in a world that rarely left room for moments like these.

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clairdelunelove · 8 months ago

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can just imagine how you thought it’d be an excellent idea to dress up a little for your autumn, corn maze hangout with bestfriend!yuuji and how it goes incredibly wrong. or does it?

because come on, it’s almost halloween! it’s the time of the year where the chilly weather nips at your fingertips and the leaves start to undergo the process that turns them into the prettiest shade of auburn. like the earth is engulfed with darkened shades of chestnut; the complete opposite of the earlier months that brought along hours of sunlight and heat. you love it. and you realize your adoration for the season only grew when you were with your best friend– yuuji.

so much so, that you went above and beyond with planning your outfit for your autumn-themed date with him. he’d overheard a group discussing some weekend plans and the idea of taking you to a corn maze instantly stuck out to him. and it wasn’t any typical corn maze– it was the largest in the city! so he snagged two tickets and cheekily asked you to clear your schedule for the weekend. a beaming grin on his face when he noticed your eyes light up in excitement. and the two of you are always eager to spend time with each other (yuuji was basically glued to you) so the activity was the perfect mix of adventurous and fun. there was a literal bounce in your step when you were rustling through your closet.

at least, that is until you were uncomfortably shuffling your feet to alleviate the pain that shoots up your leg whenever you step forward. and you didn’t want to tell yuuji, per se, since the two of you were already lost in the gigantic maze. you don’t know how it happened but you– potentially– could’ve led the two of you down the wrong turn. but don’t worry! yuuji was all smiles and reassurance when you shot him a sheepish look due to your small blunder. but now the pink haired male was concentrating– hard. there’s a slight furrow in his brows as he pulls out the map from his back pocket. and he’s so cute. clad in an oversized sweater that matches with your outfit. his grey beanie does little to hide the pink strands of hair that stick out from underneath and he’s just so lovely right now. so you didn’t wish to inconvenience the cute hangout that he put together for you. you watch as yuuji tilts his head, the epitome of perplexed, as he studies the map in his hand. the piece of paper is slightly crumbled, the action of being folded and then unfolded taking a toll on its readability.

and okay, maybe it’s partially your fault for wearing a new pair of boots that you didn’t break in yet. but you didn’t have time! you just knew that these shoes would go perfectly with your outfit and (hopefully) yuuji would like them. and he did! drawing an inquisitive hand down the length of your boots, he murmurs a gentle, “I’ve never seen you wear these before. ‘ts pretty,” as he helps you zip them up. when he turns away you spot the tips of his ears tinged red.

but he doesn’t like them now. in fact, he despises them. notices the slight wobble in your step right before he turns around to familiarize himself with the environment. it doesn’t take much for yuuji to realize something is amiss– especially if it involves you. with widened eyes, he hastily takes off his sweater, places it on the dusty ground, and ushers you to sit. and there the two of you are; yuuji on his knees, his denim jeans getting dirty, as he leans over to unzip your boots for you. always gentle and considerate. there’s a splotch of red on the back of your heel which bleeds through your sock and he purses his lips once he spots the telltale signs of your discomfort.

“why didn’t you let me know?”

gazes up at you through his lashes when he asks like he’s personally hurt that you decided to put yourself through discomfort for his sake. because that just won’t do. he whispers your name in a rushed breath. hates that he didn’t notice sooner. and he just knows that you’re in pain from the way you bite at your bottom lip when he brushes his thumb against your thrumming ankle and you swear you hear his heart cracking within his chest.

yuuji’s heartache only worsens when you explain that you didn’t wish to trouble him with the injury and he takes your hand in his as he says, “you’re never a bother, y’know?”

and with that, he guides you onto his back and securely wraps his arms underneath your knees before he stands at his full height. slender fingers pressing against your skin, you realize that it’s the first time he’s held you like this– firmly, like he was scared of letting you go. and of course, the pink haired male is naturally affectionate but it was never to this degree. there was always a polite boundary that two friends shouldn’t cross. yet, it made you reminiscent of a future that you desperately dreamt of. little do you know, it’s what yuuji wishes for too. and for someone like yuuji, carrying you was easy. a piece of cake, really. he crouches, with you on his back still, to snag up your boots and his jacket as he navigates through the entire maze while carrying you. there’s not a single complaint that leaves his lips during the whole ordeal.

at the end, he cheekily mentions that it’ll be better if you hold onto him tighter, a laugh leaving his lips when you bashfully hide your face behind his broad shoulders. and it’s nice. two warm bodies brought together by the breezy, cold weather; two hearts that equally yearn for each other. you were certain that autumn was made to fall for yuuji.

#yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #itadori x reader #itadori x y/n #jjk x reader #yuji itadori #yuuji fluff #jujutsu itadori

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blaxcunicorn · 1 month ago

Text

𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭𝓼

Length: 15.7k

Content: fem!reader, smut, child birth, pregnancy sex, fighting, angst, pregnancy, some graphic descriptions of violence, injuries, character death, racism, discussion of race, classism, mentioning of grooming.

Authors note: Hii!! OMG THIS IS THE FINAL PART OF THE SERIES. MY SHAYLA! I might write some small scenarios with the reader and Eren as I love Tarzan Eren a bit too much. The lactation kink was inspired by @theragethatisdesire and @st4rbwrry's fics. Alsooo I want to thank you guys (Ik cliche eeesh) but no fr, when I first started writing Tarzan Eren I felt a bit self-conscious about it as there were mostly modern AU fics out there and I wasn't sure if people would be interested reading this, let alone with a Black reader but holy shit yall proved me wrong. So thank you for motivating me and encouraging me to write a bit outside the norm🥹🫶🏿

These are the first parts if you haven't had the chance to read them yet: Pt.1. The King of the Jungle and Pt.2. Strangers Like Me

Credit: @unicornlandsposts for the photo and @kodaswrld for the divider.

Eren stepped in with a big smile, followed closely by Mikasa and his mother, Carla. The sunlight danced on his skin as he approached you. His eyes were glowing with affection at the sight of you with your tiny bump.

“Well?” he asked, hands playfully on his hips, “What’s your craving for today, my moonflower?”

You leaned back against the cushions while you hummed, placing your hand over your belly. “Hmm… papaya,” you said first, but then your eyes lit up. “Mango too. And—oh! Coconut water. Cold, if possible.”

Eren gave a mock salute while chuckling. “Papaya, mango, and coconut water. Got it. I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

Mikasa gave you a quiet nod, softened by the moment. The two of them disappeared down the trail, likely already plotting the fastest route through the forest to get everything on your list.

Carla stayed behind, settling near you with the kind of maternal vibe that made you feel more at ease. She took your hand gently.

“I’ll go find you some sugar cane,” she said with a smile. “It helps with headaches, especially when you’re carrying new life. My little trick when I was pregnant.”

“Thank you,” you said giving the elderly gorilla a warm smile.

Carla brushed a braid behind your ear and gave your hand a squeeze. “Of course, dear. You’re family now.”

As the morning quiet settled again and the footsteps of Eren, Mikasa and Carla faded into the distance, you turned back to Armin.

“What were you going to say earlier?” you asked, resting your hand back over your stomach. “About Eren?”

Armin reached into a small wooden box beside him. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you… I just didn’t know how.”

He pulled out two worn ID cards, they were faded and water-stained, but still readable. You took them carefully, tilting them toward the light.

Grisha Jeager and Carla Jeager. Both written in stiff, official German script.

You blinked. “His parents?”

Armin nodded. “I found these not long after we moved into the treehouse. At first I thought they were from someone else. But Eren... he looked exactly like her.”

You traced Carla’s face with your eyes, then whispered, “Eren Jeager.”

Armin cleared his throat, “There’s more. According to these records… Grisha and Carla weren’t just anyone. They held the titles of Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of Baden.”

You choked mid-sip of your tea, coughing hard. “Eren is… potentially the Grand Duke of Baden?!”

Armin winced at your reaction but nodded. “I was just as shocked. I sent a letter to Annie as soon as I saw the cards, she’s still living in Germany for now, though she’s slowly relocating to England. I asked her to investigate.”

You leaned forward, while your eyes were about to pop out. “And?”

“She confirmed it. Eren is, in fact, the rightful Grand Duke of Baden. But that’s not even the most surprising part. His mother… her full name was Sultan Carla… the daughter of Sultan Mahmud II.”

Your mind reeled. “Sultan Mahmud II? The Mahmud?” Your voice cracked. “That means Eren is…”

“Direct Ottoman royalty,” Armin finished for you. “He holds deep political roots in both European and Ottoman dynasties.”

You were still processing when Armin added, “Annie also discovered that Eren’s grandparents in Germany, are still alive. But they froze the family’s estate and wealth. They don’t want it falling into the hands of Eren’s half-brother.”

“Eren has a brother?”

Armin gave a nod. “An illegitimate one. From Grisha. Annie actually met with the grandparents after confirming Eren’s identity. She told them he’s alive… and that he’s about to be married to you.”

Your heart beat faster, your thoughts soaking in the significance of the names, titles, empires, and bloodlines…and yet all you could think of was Eren, sitting by the lagoon, biting into ripe fruit and smiling like he had no idea of the world that once belonged to him.

Armin continued gently, “That’s why I’ve been teaching him German. I just… wanted him to be prepared.”

You were about to speak when footsteps padded softly across the wooden floor.

Carla entered the hut with a soft smile, a bundle of sugarcane stalks in her arms. “Here we are,” she said warmly. “For the headaches.”

“Thank you,” you and Armin said almost in unison.

As she knelt beside you, you exchanged a glance with Armin, then took a breath.

“Carla… may we ask you something?”

She looked up. “Anything.”

Armin reached behind him and carefully laid down the two ID cards alongside a faded photograph, a man and a woman standing by a black iron gate. The woman’s face looked almost exactly like Eren’s.

Carla froze, her gaze resting on the photo longer than necessary.

You noticed the shift in her expression. There is quiet sadness there, not born of surprise, but of something long buried.

She gently reached out, touching the edge of the photo. Her fingers lingered on the woman’s face.

“I knew this day would come,” she said softly.

Carla sat quietly, her hand still resting over the photograph, her eyes glassed over. Her silence stretched long enough for you and Armin to feel it. The feeling of something long buried now crawling toward the light.

Finally, she spoke.

“I was mourning,” she said softly. “I’d just lost my baby... to the leopard, Sabor. I couldn’t even scream when it happened. I just froze. And then… days later, I was curled in the tall grass near the river, trying to breathe… when something touched my knee.”

She looked at you, eyes shining.

“It was a baby,” she whispered. “Giggling.”

Your lips parted in shock.

“I thought I was hallucinating at first. But then he looked up at me, eyes so wide, so full of life. When I gasped, he got scared and started to cry.”

She gave a soft, watery laugh, lost in the memory.

“I picked him up… swayed him gently, which helped him stop crying. He even grabbed my thumb with his tiny hand. I… I melted. I’d forgotten how small they are.”

“I heard a woman’s voice. She was calling for ‘Eren.’ I thought she was his mother. I didn’t want to frighten her, so I said goodbye to the baby and hid in the brush. I watched.”

You and Armin leaned in, breath caught.

“She came and picked him up. Then a man shouted for her, called her Carla. And when he appeared, she answered back, ‘Yes, Grisha, he is fine. He must have crawled away when I fried the fish.’”

Your heart stopped.

“They were his real parents,” Armin said, barely above a whisper.

Carla nodded. “But Eren… he turned back. As they walked away, he looked over her shoulder, locked eyes with me. He reached out. Like he didn’t want me to leave.”

She exhaled.

“From that day on, I began to visit him in secret. He was always there with Carla, Grisha, and a man named Kruger. When he was hungry, I would smash bananas for him. I knew it was dangerous. But I didn’t care.”

She looked down at her hands, as if seeing Eren’s tiny fingers wrapped around them once again.

“One day, I was spotted by Grisha — my Grisha — he stopped me in the jungle and asked where I was going. I told him… I was checking on the baby. That his parents left him alone too often.”

You and Armin remained frozen in place, listening authentically to the story.

“He got angry,” she said. “Told me that Eren would never replace the son we lost. But… I was already attached. I didn’t care. I just wanted him to be safe.”

She swallowed hard.

“But then… that day came. The one we all feared.”

“I was on my way to see Eren. I heard screams. Sabor had found the humans.”

Your breath hitched, while Armin sat upright.

“I ran,” Carla continued. “I ran to get Grisha. He rallied the warriors. He wanted vengeance, he had waited for it since our own son was taken. But…”

Her voice broke. “When we arrived, it was too late.”

“Carla. Grisha. Kruger. All dead.”

You covered your mouth, and Armin closed his eyes in disbelief.

“I rushed to the treehouse,” Carla whispered. “Praying and praying, that he was still alive.”

She closed her eyes and let a breath out.

“And he was. I found him crying in his crib”

“ My Grisha found me there. He said… he had failed. That the least he could do now was give Eren a second chance. He told me… to take him.”

Your chest ached. Armin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I didn’t hesitate,” Carla whispered. “We left that day.”

After a long silence, Carla added, “Our real names… are Kala and Kerchak. But we took on their names, so that it would be easier for him. So he would have some thread of who he was.”

You stared at her, heart thudding in your chest. You didn’t know what to say.

Armin looked at the photo again. “So Eren never knew.”

Carla shook her head. “Not until now.”

The hut was quiet for a long moment.

You finally said, voice soft and full of awe. “And yet… he found his way back to who he truly was.”

“Because of you.” Carla said with a small smile.

“I brought what you asked for,” Eren said as he entered the hut.

He held a basket and inside, nestled between palm leaves, were slices of ripe papaya and golden mango. A small gourd had been hollowed and filled with coconut water, wrapped in a cool cloth to keep it chilled.

You smiled, touched by the care he’d taken.

“I remembered,” he smiled. “Papaya. Mango. And… coconut water.”

You took the basket from him, brushing your fingers against his. “Thank you, my love.”

Before you could speak further, Carla walked behind them.

“Mikasa,” she said gently, her tone firm but motherly, “come with me.”

Mikasa blinked, confused. “But I wanted to check in on her, on the baby. Just to see how she’s doing.”

“You’ll have time for that later,” Carla replied, guiding her gently by the arm. “Come. I need your help gathering herbs for the broth. Armin, will you join us?”

Armin, whom already read the room, gave you a quiet nod before following them out, leaving just you and Eren alone.

Eren sat beside you on the woven mat, placing the basket gently in your lap. “Try the mango first. It smelled the sweetest.”

You picked up a slice but then paused, but you reached for his hand instead.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Eren’s posture straightened. “Is it about the baby?”

“No,” you replied. “Well… yes and no. It's about you.”

You inhaled deeply. “When we first arrived at the treehouse, Armin found some old ID cards. They were written in German. The names were Grisha Jaeger and Carla Jaeger.”

Eren didn’t respond at first, his head tilting slightly, not fully understanding what you were saying.

“They were your parents,” you continued. “Armin sent word to Annie to investigate. She’s still living in Germany, at least for now. What she found was… unexpected.”

You reached for the coconut water to wet your throat, nerves prickling under your skin.

“They weren’t just anyone. They were the Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden. That makes you—”

“—A Grand Duke?” Eren finished for you.

You nodded, a little breathless. “Yes. Eren… you’re the rightful Grand Duke of Baden. A noble region in southwest Germany.”

He blinked slowly, absorbing the words like falling leaves.

“That word… Duke,” he said at last, “it means… a leader?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Eren blinked slowly, remembering the globe you’d once shown him, fingers tracing lands he’d never walked, yet somehow had belonged to him.

“And your mother…” you hesitated. “Her real name was Sultan Carla. She was the daughter of Sultan Mahmud II.”

Eren raised his head. “The one you told me about… the powerful Ottoman ruler.”

You nodded.

“A sultan. Like in your stories?”

“Not just any sultan,” you said. “One of the most powerful rulers of the Ottoman Empire. That means you’re… a prince. From two royal bloodlines.”

He stared at you for a long time before softly asking, “Does that matter to you?”

You touched his hand again. “Only that you know. Only that you can decide what it means for yourself.”

You hesitated, not wanting to overwhelm him but your curiosity got the best of you. “There’s something else I need to ask.”

He nodded.

“What do you know about Sabor?”

Eren’s gaze darkened for a fraction of a second, then smoothed. “She’s the leopard that killed my mother’s first son.”

You nodded slowly. “Yes. But… she also killed your biological parents. Grisha and Carla.”

Eren stilled.

“I didn’t know that,” he said finally.

“I figured,” you murmured.

“I killed her,” he said simply. “Two years ago. I did it for my parents. I wanted to help my father avenge their son.”

Your stomach twisted at how nonchalant he is. “You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “And she won’t take anyone else.”

You chewed slowly,then you said, “Your grandparents… they’re alive. Annie found them. They’ve kept your inheritance frozen so it wouldn't fall to your half-brother.”

Eren’s expression finally softened. “I have grandparents?”

You nodded. “They want to meet you. And… me. They know you’re alive. They know we’re married.”

A slow smile spread across Eren’s face, beautiful in its simplicity. “Then let’s meet them. I want to see them. I want to introduce them to my beautiful wife.”

You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re taking this all so well.”

He kissed your temple. “Because I already have what matters.”

Then he placed his palm gently on your stomach.

There was something more in your heart, but you decided that this was not the right time to bring it up.

A week past by, you were seated on your dinner table. Eren was reading books on history while you were reading letters from Hitch. Her updating you on what you’ve been missing from London made you ask Eren.

“Have you… have you thought about moving to Europe?”

“No. Not really.” He said, looking up from his book.

“I think we should.” locking eyes with him.

“Why?”

“Because of the baby,” you murmured. “Because I want them to grow up with friends. With an education…”

“I grew up in the jungle,” he cut in, “and I turned out fine.”

You felt annoyance spreading from your chest like cancer.

“Your biological parents were killed in the jungle, Eren.”

And like that, the disease spead to Eren. “They didn’t have a tribe like we do. We do now. When Malcolm kidnapped you, I saved you. The tribe took care of you. Hasn’t everything I’ve done proven that I can take care of you? Of them?”

“You don’t understand.” You stood up, as the adrenaline made you unable to sit still.

“What is it that I don’t understand?” Eren is slightly confused, but he could feel his heart sink to his stomach. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“I don’t want to stay here anymore…Everything changed when I got pregnant.” You said, gently holding your stomach.

You tried to breathe evenly as emotion pushed against your chest. “I’m thinking about the baby now. Their future, health care, schools, friends. You might be okay here, but I want more for them.”

“I am more,” Eren said. “I survived here. I made a life here. We have everything we need—”

“The only reason I made it through the first stages of this pregnancy was because of Hange,” you snapped. “But they are leaving. And if the baby gets sick, who’s going to help us? There’s no doctor here.”

“ Again, I grew up here and I’m fine.” He said, shaking his head.

You sighed, and the truth spilling out faster than your heart could stop it. “Armin is leaving too. He wants to be with Annie, to start a new life with her and to present our research. He’s ready to move on.”

Eren’s eyes flickered. That one stung.

“Wait… Armin’s leaving?”

“Yes.”

It was a small pause and then,

“I see what’s wrong,” Eren’s voice cracked, “You don’t want them to end up like me.” He took a step backward.

“…Yes.”

But you stepped forward, “Not in that way, Eren. You’re brave. You’re strong. You’re an amazing husband. But you’ve been lonely your whole life. I don’t want that for the baby.” You said with a gentler voice.

His shoulders tensed. “I have a tribe. A responsibility. A legacy my father passed on to me.”

You nodded. “You told me once, in the lagoon that you were willing to leave all of that behind for me.”

“I was,” he said. “If I had to choose between the tribe and you… I’d choose you.”

“Then I’m asking you to choose now.” You placed a hand on your stomach. “Us. Because the baby can’t be raised here.”

Before Eren could think he said “Then why the fuck did you decide to stay with me?!”

The words hit the air like a slap causing you to flinch.

Eren's face paled instantly and his eyes widen. Shit. He hadn’t meant that.

His mind raced, remembering how Armin told him never to swear in front of a lady unless it was, well… consensual in the bedroom. And this was definitely not that.

“I—I’m sorry,” he said quickly, holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Who taught you to swear?” You said, cutting his apology.

“It’s… not important.” He stuttered.

“Huh…okay.” You said, already knowing the culprit. You silently made a note to smack Reiner the next time you saw him.

Eren’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Anger wanted to erupt, but so did regret. And then another memory came , his father, walking away whenever he felt fury bubbling. “Never raise your voice at a woman. Never show her the ugliest parts of you. Leave before you become the man you swore not to be.”

Eren turned without another word and stormed out of the treehouse.

You stood there, frozen, your hands still cradling your belly as if to shield the baby from the chaos that had just passed through. Your throat tightened, and your knees trembled slightly. You didn't realize how much you’d been holding in until now.

A moment later, the door creaked and in entered Armin. By taking one look at you he could tell…you were ready to come home.

And without a word, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. The moment his arms enclosed you, your composure broke and you released your tears.

Not a silent stream of tears, but a full-bodied, soul-cracking sob, muffled by Armin’s shoulder. Your fingers clutched the back of his shirt as if anchoring yourself in place, trying to stop the ache of the three demons haunting you. Called fear, uncertainty and guilt.

Armin held you tightly, one hand gently rubbing your back in circles as he always did since you were children, the feeling of the circles helped ground you somehow. His chin rested lightly against your head, and he let you cry, never rushing you, never pushing you to calm down.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said softly. “I promise.”

You shook your head weakly against his chest, trying to form words, but they came out broken and half-formed.

“I just… I don’t want to fight. I’m not trying to change who he is… I just…”

“You’re trying to protect your child,” Armin finished for you, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “And that’s not selfish. It’s what any good parent does.”

You nodded, still crying, but breathing became a little easier.

“He’s scared,” Armin added gently. “He’s never had to think about life beyond these trees. Beyond protecting what’s in front of him. But he’ll come around. He loves you, both of you, too much not to.”

You leaned into his shoulder again, clinging to that hope.

Armin ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, his boots pressing into the soft earth as he made his way down a narrow path carved by years of movement.

He found Eren near the edge of the riverbank, sitting on a moss-covered rock, staring blankly into the rushing current below. His elbows rested on his knees and his fingers were loosely interlocked.

Without a word, Armin approached and quietly sat beside him.

Eren didn’t look up. “So… you saw that, huh.”

Armin nodded gently. “Yeah.”

Armin let out a slow breath. “Soon. we have finished our research, and I want to present it. I also want to go back to England… marry Annie, start a life with her.”

Eren gave a small nod, eyes still fixed on the water.

“I stayed longer for two reasons,” Armin added. “For the gorilla research… and for her. To support her through her new journey…until she is settled.”

“I thought she was happy here. I thought I made her happy. I can protect her, and our baby.” Eren said putting his forehead on his knees.

“You’ve done so much for her,” Armin said sincerely. “You’ve protected her, given her peace, joy and stability. But Eren… it’s more than just protection.”

“What do you mean?” Eren said, turning his head to lock eyes with Armin while his temple was resting on his knees.

Armin glanced sideways. “Have you ever noticed that she and I don’t look the same?”

Eren blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Our skin,” Armin said simply. “Our hair, our features.”

Eren tilted his head slightly. “Yes?”

“In our society,” Armin continued, “those things matter to people. Not in a good way. Where we’re from… she and I aren’t treated the same…It’s called racism.”

Eren’s brows furrowed. “Why would anyone treat her differently?”

Armin’s voice softened. “Because of how she looks. She’s part of the ton which is a a group of wealthy individuals, yes, but she doesn’t have a title. Although she is even wealthier than me. And her skin tone… it’s something people have judged her for her entire life.”

Eren looked stunned. “Do… do you have a title?”

Armin nodded. “I’m a Lord. That opened doors for me that were slammed shut in her face. My grandfather is a respected academic. He had to fight tooth and nail to get her into university… he nearly lost his position over it. Because she didn’t have anyone else.”

Eren was silent, absorbing each word with a growing knot in his chest.

“Her parents died when we were young. She’s faced that world alone. Avery’s supported her, I’ve done what I could but as a man, and Avery as a maid, there were always limits to the places we could be. She couldn’t even apply for a PhD like I did, not because she wasn’t capable, but because the odds were stacked against her.”

Eren’s mouth parted slightly. “But… she’s brilliant.”

Armin gave a small, proud nod. “She had better grades than I did in university. I brought her to Africa because I hoped that the findings we’ve documented here would give her the credibility she deserves and make her eligible for that PhD. That’s part of why she came.”

Eren turned his gaze back to the water, stunned. “She never told me any of that…”

“She wouldn’t,” Armin said gently. “She didn’t want to burden you. But now, with the baby… she’s thinking long-term. About education, healthcare, opportunity. About making sure your child doesn’t have to fight those same battles.”

Armin, then added, “Especially now that we know the truth about who you are. A title like Grand Duke of Baden…That’s power, but it’s only power if you use it.”

“She doesn’t want the baby to grow up like she did,” Armin continued. “And not because of you, Eren, but because you mean so much to her, she wants more for your child. A life of security and safety.”

Eren didn’t speak right away. His jaw clenched, his knuckles turning pale where they gripped the edge of the rock.

“She’s one of the smartest, strongest people I’ve ever known,” Armin finished. “And I think… she’s tired of fighting alone.”

Eren stared down at the water, his thoughts spinning. His chest ached with things he hadn’t seen, known or understood about you.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I just wanted to give her peace. A home.”

“You still can,” Armin said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But you have to see the world through her eyes too.”

Finally, Eren whispered, “Thank you.” and Armin responded with a nod.

Eren didn’t speak for a while. Then he stood slowly, brushing the dirt from his pants and walked into the jungle to find you.

You sat silently on a smooth rock near the edge, your feet in the cool water. Your eyes were puffy from the tears you'd shed.

You were taken by surprise when you felt his strong arms gently wrapped around you from behind. His warmth wrapped around you before you felt his lips find the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses there. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you placed one hand over his forearm, holding him there in comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Eren murmured.

You closed your eyes, “I’m sorry too,” you whispered.

“I brought you something,” he said, lifting the basket slightly. “Thought you might be hungry… or just in need of something sweet.”

He settled beside you in the shallow water, opening the basket to reveal slices of mango, papaya, and some fresh coconut, your favorites. Without a word, he gently picked up a piece of mango and held it out to you. You blinked at him, then smiled softly and leaned in to take a bite.

The juice ran slightly down your lip, and before you could wipe it away, he was already leaning in, brushing his thumb across your mouth, then placing a soft kiss on the corner of your lips.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispered.

“I hate crying,” you whispered back, though your smile betrayed how much his presence comforted you.

Eren rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve never done this before,” he said quietly. “Being someone’s… someone’s home. But I want to be that for you. And for our baby. Even if I stumble sometimes.”

You closed your eyes.“You already are, Eren.”

He pulled you into his arms again, and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re my whole world, you know that?”

“You’re getting pretty good at saying sweet things.” You giggled.

He shrugged, grinned. “Maybe I’ve been studying.” He said while he tapped his temple

“Studying what?”

“You.”

You leaned against his chest, laughing softly, as his arms tightened around you protectively.

You stayed like that for a while, before Eren leaned in closer. His lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Whatever decision I make,” he mumbled, “you need to know… I’ll think it through. Carefully, and I’ll put you and our baby, first. Always.” He gently placed his hand on your stomach stroking it with his thumb.

You closed your eyes and nodded, knowing that no matter what, you could trust Eren.

Three months later

The morning light streamed softly through the trees as you and Armin sat by the desk, a breeze fluttering the corners of the parchment in your hands. You read the letter while Armin read over your shoulder.

“A vote… about the ton?” you whispered, eyes skimming the elegant handwriting. “They’re considering granting us full equal status.”

Armin exhaled a slow breath, nodding. “It’s the moment we’ve waited for. We have to be there.”

He quickly moved to his desk and began writing a return letter. “I’ll request a boat immediately. We’ll head to England as soon as it arrives.”

“Yes!....Or…We’ll need to stop in Germany. To see Eren’s grandparents.”

Armin paused in his writing, then smiled slightly. “Of course!”

Later that afternoon, you approached the lagoon, carrying the letter. Eren since the argument wanted to understand the concept of race more and wanted you to be more transparent and open about your feelings and experience in order to understand you deeper.

Eren was already there, waist-deep in the water.

He looked up with that lazy, content smile that always softened your heart. “Hey.”

You held the letter out to him. “We got something. There’s going to be a vote… about my people gaining full equal status.”

Eren took the letter carefully and started reading it. You watched his brow furrow, then lift in realization.

“I want to be there,” you said gently. “Armin and I have to go. But… we’ll stop in Germany first. To visit your grandparents. And I wanted to ask… if you’d come with us.”

Eren didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Of course.”

You smiled and set the letter down with your folded clothes at the edge of the lagoon. “Thank you.”

He stepped toward you as you began to undress for your bath. His fingers brushed over your belly. “You’re glowing.”

“I'm sweaty,” you giggled.

“A glowing kind of sweaty,” he grinned.

You slipped into the warm lagoon, sighing in relief as the water cradled your sore body. Eren joined you, his hands massaging your lower back gently before you glanced at him with an awkward expression.

“I… haven’t shaved,” you murmured. “I can’t really see my vagina anymore.”

“Do you want me to help?”

Your cheeks warmed, but you nodded slowly.

With a gentle smile, he helped you perch comfortably on a smooth rock, one foot propped up to give him access. His movements were careful and attentive as if he was holding something sacred.

“You sure?” he asked softly, holding the blade in one hand, while the other resting on your thigh.

You nodded, relaxing your shoulders. “I trust you.”

Eren leaned in and pressed a kiss to your knee. “Good. Then let me take care of you.”

And he did when he was done, Eren set the blade aside, his eyes lingered on your smooth, delicate skin. His breath hitched slightly, and his voice took on a huskier tone. "I need to eat," he murmured, his gaze locked onto your most intimate area. "Keep your legs spread for me, love."

"Are you comfortable?" he asked. You nodded, your heart pounding with excitement. Eren's hands gently caressed your thighs, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a hunger that was both fierce and tender. "Hold onto me if you need to," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath your fingers.

Eren leaned in, his tongue tracing a delicate path up your inner thigh. You could feel the heat of his breath, the softness of his lips, as he kissed and licked his way closer to your core. Your body tensed with anticipation, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

When his tongue finally made contact with your smooth, sensitive folds, you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp. Eren's movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue exploring every inch of you. He licked and teased, his fingers gently spreading you open to give him better access.

You could feel the pleasure building, your body responding to his skilled touch. Eren's hands held your thighs steady, his grip firm yet gentle. He looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he continued to lavish attention on your most intimate area.

His tongue dipped deeper, tasting your essence and drawing out moans of pleasure from you. He knew exactly where to touch, how to move, to drive you wild. His fingers joined his tongue, gently circling your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your body sing.

You found yourself gripping his shoulders tighter, your legs trembling as the intensity of your pleasure grew. Eren never stopped, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to push you closer and closer to the edge.

"Eren," you murmured, your voice breathless and desperate. He responded with a low growl, his movements growing more insistent, more demanding. You could feel the coiling tension in your body, the need for release building to an almost unbearable level.

Finally, with a cry of his name, you tumbled over the edge. Waves of pleasure swept through you, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Eren held you steady, his tongue and fingers continuing their delicious torture until every last shudder had subsided.

As you came down from your high, Eren gently kissed your thighs, his hands caressing your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction. "You taste incredible," he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I could stay here forever, just like this."

The sky was streaked in soft pinks and oranges as the boat gently rocked at the river’s edge, sails prepared and supplies neatly packed. It was time.

You stood beside Armin, fingers lightly laced with his as the wind tousled both your hair. Across from you, Annie adjusted the strap of her satchel, while Hange, grinning behind round glasses double-checked their leather pouch filled with carefully preserved herbs.

“I still can’t believe you’re both leaving,” you said softly, your voice warm but touched with a hint of sadness.

Hange gave you a crooked smile. “England’s waiting on these herbs like it’s the cure to immortality. I can’t let them down. Besides,” she added, tipping her head, “someone has to make sure the Queen’s garden has proper taste.”

Annie rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with amusement. “And I’ve got unfinished business in Germany. That tribe I found… it's huge. I’m telling you, no one’s going to believe it until they see my notes. I need to present it all to the university.”

You smiled. “They’re going to be in awe, Annie.”

Armin stepped forward and gently wrapped Annie in a hug, holding her close. “I'll see you later,” he murmured into her hair.

She nodded against his shoulder, and when they pulled apart, her usual stoic expression softened.

“At least I don’t have to share a tent with Hange anymore,” Annie said dryly. “I’m finally getting a full night’s sleep.”

“What?!” Hange gasped, stepping back like they’d been shot. “I do not snore!”

Annie raised a brow. “You snore like a dying boar.”

You burst into laughter while Armin tried and failed to hide his grin. Hange clutched their chest in mock offence.

“That is slander!”

Annie just shrugged and boarded the boat without another word.

Hange gave you a tight hug next, then turned to Armin and the others. “Keep her and the baby safe,” They said seriously, patting your shoulder. “And keep researching. The world’s not going to explain itself.”

“We will,” Armin promised.

With one last wave, the boat slowly drifted away from the shore, sails catching wind as the river carried Annie and Hange toward the open sea and distant lands. You stood quietly for a while, watching them disappear into the horizon.

You finished arranging the last little touches on the blanket,you has placed Eren’s favorite tropical fruits in bowls, and a fresh jug of cool coconut water. You’d worked hard on this small surprise picnic for Eren. With your pregnancy growing heavier day by day, you couldn’t swing through the vines with him anymore, so this was your way of showing him just how much he meant to you.

Mikasa was lounging under the shade of a tall baobab nearby, her eyes closed, arms behind her head. Visiting had become a daily habit, she always came by to check on you and the baby.

Armin and Jean were at the lagoon, working on the final analysis for your research paper. Meanwhile, Eren had gone deeper into the jungle. He had just finished speaking with the hyenas, who were troubled by mysterious deaths within their group. They’d sought him out for advice, and now Eren was pacing alone through the thick foliage,thinking to himself.

What kind of animal could take out hyenas…?

His thoughts were interrupted when two figures emerged from the trees, two leopards with menacing eyes and muscled bodies. One had deep chestnut spots, while the other had a scar cutting across its right eye.

“Zarei,” said the first one.

“Tamir,” added the second.

Eren froze for a second. He hadn’t seen a leopard in years…not since the day he killed Sabor.

“So we finally meet, Eren…” Zarei, the scarred one, hissed.

Tamir narrowed his eyes. “Shocked to see us? After what you did to Sabor?”

“You knew her.” Eren said as his jaw clenched.

“Knew her?” Zarei snarled. “She was our strongest soldier. She was my mate.”

“When you killed her,” Tamir growled, “you doomed our tribe. We were forced to flee to the south. But now, we’ve come for revenge.”

Without another word, they lunged.

Eren ducked the first blow, but two against one was brutal. He managed to roll and grab a thick wooden branch, swinging it to knock Zarei back. It cracked against his side, but Tamir struck from behind, claws raking across Eren’s chest. Blood spattered the leaves.

He grunted, pain flaring through him as he turned, jabbing the stick into Tamir’s side. The leopard let out a roar and bit into Eren’s forearm. Zarei took the stick from Eren’s weakened grip with his teeth and pressed it toward his throat, trying to crush him.

Pinned to the jungle floor, Eren's muscles were shaking and blood seeping into the earth.

Just above them, perched in the branches, a hoopoe bird watched in horror, and then fled as fast as it could.

Back at the treehouse, Mikasa suddenly stiffened. Her eyes shot open as the bird landed in front of her, chirping frantically and flapping its wings.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, noticing the alarm on her face.

“Eren’s been attacked,” she said, standing up quickly.

“What?” You gasped.

“By two leopards…he’s in danger. I need to alert the warriors.”

“There’s no time!” you snapped, standing as best you could with your growing belly. “He could be dead by the time they get there….just like his parents.”

Mikasa looked into your eyes and saw something dangerous burning behind your scared eyes…it was almost like a predator.

Eren coughed, struggling to breathe. Zarei was pressing the branch harder while Tamir’s teeth stayed sunk into his arm. His vision blurred but then he heard a loud BOOM.

Tamir’s head exploded in a spray of blood and his body went limp.

Zarei turned quickly, wooden branch dropping from his mouth in shock, just in time for a second bullet to strike his abdomen. He collapsed to the ground and started gasping.

You emerged from the shadows, with smoke rising from the barrel of the gun in your hands.

Zarei tried to crawl away, dragging himself through the dirt. You marched over, kicking him in order to turn him on his back. Placing your foot on his stomach, and leaned close.

“Leave my fucking husband alone.”

You pulled the trigger, finishing off with a blow between the eyes.

Eren’s eyes blinked open, he had blood coating his chest, arms trembling as he tried to sit up, but collapsed halfway.

Mikasa appeared a second later, kneeling beside him. “Don’t move,” she said, gently lifting him onto her back.

You rushed forward, gripping the gun tight as adrenaline still buzzed in your blood.

Back at the treehouse, you cleaned his wounds with care, shaking a bit as you wrapped the bandages. He winced but never took his eyes off you.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” he rasped.

You didn’t look at him. “Armin’s grandfather used to secretly take me hunting in when I was little. Armin hated it and he was terrible with a gun. I got the gun from Hange or well Armin did and I got it from him again.” You giggled a bit, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Eren gave a weak smile. “That was… kinda cool.”

You dropped the cloth in the bowl of bloody water. “It’s not funny.” Your voice cracked as tears welled up in your eyes. “You could’ve died. Left me alone. Left us alone.”

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away.

“The jungle isn’t safe, Eren,” you whispered, standing and walking to the door. “Not for us. Not for our baby.”

And with that, you left him there.

You sat quietly on the edge of the treehouse platform, legs pulled in, hands resting on your belly. The adrenaline from earlier had finally worn off, leaving only exhaustion.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You weren’t ready to fall apart. Not when Eren was still recovering inside. Not when everything still felt too raw.

The wooden boards creaked lightly behind you.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

Armin sat down beside you, letting the quiet speak for a moment. The breeze rustled the leaves above, brushing against your skin like a whisper.

“I talked to him, before he fell asleep.” Armin said softly.

Your eyes stayed forward, watching the jungle breathe in gold light.

“He told me everything… about the attack. About you.” He paused. “You saved his life.”

You swallowed hard, blinking.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

He reached over and laid a hand carefully on your back, just between your shoulders.

You stayed like that for a while, until the silence grew heavy again.

“I could’ve lost him, Armin…” you whispered. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did…”

Armin nodded slowly. “But you did. You got there. And he’s alive because of you.”

Your breath was shaking. “He shouldn’t have been out there alone. I knew something was off… I felt it, and I still let him go.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Armin said. “This is what he does. He protects. He listens to the animals. The people. He carries more than anyone should, but that’s who Eren is.”

You nodded faintly. “And I love him for it. But I’m scared, Armin… This jungle, it took his parents. It almost took him.”

Your fingers tightened around your belly instinctively. “What if it takes him from our child, too?”

Armin leaned a little closer.

“He knows that now.”

You finally turned to look at him, eyes were puffy and glassy.

“I just want to go somewhere safe, Armin… Somewhere this baby can grow up and laugh and play and be normal. Not looking over their shoulder for a leopard with a vendetta.”

“I know.” Armin squeezed your shoulder. “He’s thinking about all of it. He’s listening now, even if it’s hard. He’s been alone for so long, making decisions on instinct. But he wants to be better… for you. For your baby.”

You looked down at your lap, blinking away tears.

“I’m tired, Armin.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But you’re not alone.”

That was all it took.

You broke.

The tears slipped through silently at first, and then all at once. Armin pulled you into a soft hug, letting you rest your cheek against his shoulder, letting it all pour out. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt.

Armin didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

Just like when you were kids, when your world fell apart, he held you until the storm passed.

Eren stirred.

The ache in his body was horrible, but it wasn’t the pain that pulled him from sleep. It was the absence of you. Your warmth, your hand in his, the sound of your voice, it wasn’t there. And he felt it like a missing limb.

He blinked groggily, sitting up with a soft grunt, the bandages tugging slightly around his chest and arm. His body protested with every movement, but he ignored it. He needed to find you.

He moved quietly down the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly beneath his bare feet. The cool night air kissed his skin as he stepped outside, scanning the trees, the clearing, the moonlit path.

Then he saw you.

You were by the firepit, seated on a log, bundled in a light shawl. Your hand rested on your belly, gently rubbing circles over the fabric of your dress, your face tilted up toward the sky.

“Y/N…” Eren called.

You turned, startled at first, until your eyes met his. You stood up quickly, halfway rushing to him before remembering he was still injured.

“I thought you were resting…” You whispered.

“I was,” he murmured, reaching for you. “But I couldn’t feel you. I had to find you.”

You stepped into his arms, carefully, as if one wrong move might hurt him. He pulled you close anyway, tucking you beneath his chin, burying his face into your hair.

You could feel his breath trembling against your neck.

“I’m okay,” he whispered. “You saved me.”

Your arms tightened around his waist. “You idiot,” you mumbled into his chest. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Eren pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not now. Not when you’re here. Not when our baby is here.”

Your lip were shaking, but you managed to nod.

“I just… I need you to understand that I’m scared, Eren,” you said. “Scared of losing you. Scared of raising this child alone.”

“I do,” he said gently, brushing your curly hair away from your face. “I get it now. I didn’t before. But I do.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I was so harsh.”

“And I’m sorry I was so stubborn,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve always been braver than me. I just took a little longer to catch up.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking through the tightness in your chest.

Eren leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then finally your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle, like he was rediscovering the taste of home.

His warm hand dropped gently to your belly.

A month later, the sun was just beginning to rise over the jungle, casting long golden streaks across the earth as the boat arrived at the riverbank.

You stood at the riverbank with Eren and Armin, your hand resting on your growing belly. The time had come, you were finally leaving for Europe, starting with Germany to meet Eren’s grandparents.

Behind you, clustered just outside the tree line, stood Mikasa, Jean, and Carla. Mikasa sat under a thick baobab tree, her hand unconsciously resting on the slight swell of her stomach.

Jean stood beside her, arms crossed in his usual brooding posture, trying to play it cool, but his twitching ear and the way his foot shifted gave him away.

Carla approached slowly. She had always been a dignified matriarch, but now, she looked… small. She stopped in front of Eren, her hand reaching up, hesitating slightly before gently brushing over his man bun, as if committing the feel of him to memory.

“You’ve grown so much,” she said. “You were my little one… and now you’re someone’s mate, someone’s father.”

You felt your chest ache as you watched Eren lower his head respectfully and press his forehead gently against hers. A sacred gesture between gorilla kin. Being one of love, farewell, and blessing.

Carla then turned to you, “Take care of him. Of both of you.” Her knuckles brushed yours in a careful. “He always tried to protect us… now you protect each other.”

You nodded, too choked up to speak.

Then Mikasa stood up, she didn’t say anything at first. She simply walked up to you and pressed her forehead to yours, a gesture she had never given anyone but Eren.

You blinked back tears. “You’re going to be an incredible mother,” you said softly.

Mikasa’s hand brushed gently over your belly. “So will you.”

She turned to Eren next. The two of them exchanged a silent look. She didn’t hug him, as gorillas rarely did but the way she placed a hand on his chest and squeezed lightly said everything.

“I’ll miss you,” she finally muttered, stepping back.

Jean let out a gruff snort as he came up behind her. “Try not to start a war with the humans,” he said, his smirk betraying the emotion in his eyes. He gave Eren a nod, then Jean looked at you. “Keep him in line, will you?”

“I always do,” you smiled.

Then it was time.

Eren helped you onto the boat and Armin followed, setting down the case holding your shared research. The crew gave the signal, and the boat began to pull away from the jungle shore.

Mikasa stood tall, one arm wrapped around Carla’s shoulders.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered to Carla as her eyes filled with tears. “Eren will be back.”

But Carla didn’t respond at first. She just kept watching the boat drift farther away. Then she said. “He has a family now… a new purpose. Once he’s with his people…” her voice cracked, “there’s a small chance he’ll return.”

Mikasa’s hand stilled. Her breath caught in her throat. The realization settled in her chest like a stone.

The boat creaked gently beneath your feet, swaying softly with the rhythm of the river as it moved away from the shore, from the jungle, from home to home. You stood at the railing beside Eren, watching the green blur of trees slip slowly behind you. Eren stood tall beside you, his hand protectively resting on your back, fingers brushing the curve of your spine.

“Are you excited to meet your family?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, eyes scanning the horizon. Then, with a little smile, he said, “Sure. But I already got a family.” His warm hand slid from your back to your stomach. “Us three… and the ones back home.”

His words warmed you, but they also sat something down gently in your chest, a soft ache of guilt. You hadn’t said it out loud, but you knew. You’d asked him to choose. Between his world and you. Between the vines… and this new life with you, across oceans.

You didn’t realize you were quiet until he turned to you, his hand still on your belly, his thumb gently rubbing circles against the fabric of your dress.

“You should get some rest,” he said gently, almost as if he had read your thoughts.

You blinked up at him, lips parting in surprise.

He didn’t press, didn’t scold. He just tucked a braid of hair behind your ear and nodded toward the stairs that led below deck.

The ship cabin was small but cozy. There was one bed against the far wall, windows letting in light and the wooden floors were polished. You stepped inside, the door shutting behind you with a quiet click. Eren stood behind you, silent as you both looked at the bed. Then, without a word, he came up behind you and slid his arms around your waist.

You leaned into him, your back against his chest. He kissed your neck softly and turned you slowly to face him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if moved by the same invisible thread, you leaned up and kissed him. His hands held your sides, thumbs brushing the curve of your bump, and your hands slid around his neck.

Slowly, you broke away from the kiss, your breath coming in soft pants. Eren looked into your eyes, his own dark with desire and love. You sat down on the edge of the bed, your heart pounding with anticipation. Eren followed you, kneeling before you with a grace that belied his strength.

He started by carefully removing your shoes, his fingers brushing against your ankles. He looked up at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands then slid up your legs, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, gently tugging them down and off, his eyes never leaving yours.

Eren's hands caressed your legs, his touch feather-light as he kissed your ankles, your calves, the inside of your knees. You could feel his warm breath against your skin, his lips soft and gentle. He pushed your legs apart, his eyes darkening as he caught sight of your most intimate area.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing a delicate path up your inner thigh. You gasped, your body tensing with anticipation. Eren looked up at you, his eyes filled with hunger and admiration. "I've got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

His tongue made contact with your folds, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan. Eren's movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue exploring every inch of you. He licked and teased, his fingers gently spreading you open to give him better access. Your body responded to his touch, waves of pleasure building with each passing moment.

Eren's hands held your thighs steady, his grip firm yet gentle. He looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he continued to lavish attention on your most intimate area. His tongue dipped deeper, tasting your essence and drawing out moans of pleasure from you.

By the time he was done, your body was singing with pleasure, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Eren gently kissed your thighs, his hands caressing your legs as he pulled away. He stood up, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to undress you, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt, pushing it off your shoulders.

He leaned down, his lips pressing soft kisses against your neck, your collarbone. You could feel his warm breath against your skin, his hands gentle as they cupped your breasts. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with love and desire.

Eren took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You gasped, your body arching into his touch. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, his hand caressing your other breast. Suddenly, he paused, a confused expression crossing his face. "What is that?" he murmured, gently squeezing your other breast.

You looked down, shock and embarrassment washing over you as you saw the tiny bead of milk at the tip of your nipple. "I...I don't know," you stammered, as you felt your cheeks burn. "I haven't given birth yet, I don't know why..."

Eren looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He gently squeezed your breast again, another small bead of milk appearing. He leaned down, his tongue darting out to taste it. He looked up at you, his eyes wide with surprise. "It's sweet," he murmured.

He took your nipple into his mouth again, sucking gently. You gasped, your body responding to the sensation. Eren's eyes never left yours as he drained the milk from your breast, his expression one of pure pleasure. He moved to your other breast, his tongue swirling around the nipple before sucking gently, draining the milk from it as well.

As he pulled away, his eyes were filled with a newfound hunger, a kink neither of you knew he had. "You taste incredible," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I want more."

He quickly undressed, his body hard and ready. He helped you lie back on the bed, propping pillows behind you for support. He kneeled between your legs, his hands gentle as he helped guide your legs around his waist. He leaned down, kissing you deeply as he slid into you, filling you completely.

You both moved together, your bodies in perfect sync. The boat rocked gently beneath you, the sound of the water lapping against the hull a soothing backdrop to your lovemaking. Eren's body was slick with sweat, his muscles taut as he moved above you, his hands supporting his weight to avoid putting pressure on your bump.

As you both reached the peak of pleasure, you cried out, your body convulsing around him. Eren followed soon after, his body trembling as he found his release. He stayed kneeling, his body upright as he supported his weight off of you.

After a moment, he helped you sit up, his arms wrapping around you gently. You leaned against him, your lips pressing a soft kiss to the big scar on his chest. Eren looked down at you, "I love you," he murmured, his hand gently caressing your back. "No matter where we go, we go together." You smiled before falling asleep.

The air around Jaeger Castle was cooler than the jungle breeze you’d grown used to. The grand stone façade towered above you,with ivy crawling up its aged walls and intricate carvings etched into the front doors. You stood between Eren and Armin, your hands clasped over your rounded belly as the carriage rolled away behind you. The quiet countryside air buzzed only with the sound of distant birds.

Then, the front doors opened.

An elderly woman in a long, emerald-green dress stepped out onto the grand stairs, followed by a tall man with silver hair. Eren stood frozen for a breath before his grandmother ran towards him.

“My boy…” she whispered, cupping Eren’s face gently in her palms. Her voice cracked as she studied him. “You have your mother’s face… those same strong features. But your eyes..” she smiled through tears, “those are your father’s. So green and kind.”

Eren swallowed hard, and you saw the tension in his shoulders finally ease as he allowed her touch.

“And you must be the lovely lady who stole our grandson’s heart,” she said warmly, turning to you. “May I?”

You smiled and nodded. She reached forward, resting her hands gently on your stomach, her face glowing. “A great-grandchild,” she whispered in awe, glancing up at her husband. “Can you believe it?”

“I can,” he replied, gruff but clearly emotional. “But let them in. They must be exhausted.”

The castle doors opened wider, and you were ushered into a grand hall. The inside smelled like aged wood, lilac, and lemon tea. A warm fire crackled in the enormous hearth of the drawing room, where you all sat on deep velvet chairs. Servants appeared silently, placing trays of fresh fruits, delicate sweets, and steaming cups of tea before you.

Eren’s grandparents leaned forward eagerly. “Tell us everything,” his grandfather said. “What was your life like out there, child?”

Eren’s eyes sparkled. “Where do I even begin?”

And so, he began to explain everything. About vine swinging and fruit gathering, the thrill of climbing trees, his daily swims in the lagoon, the calls of birds he could mimic perfectly. You watched him speak animatedly, hands gesturing, voice rising and falling with joy. He was alive in a way that made your heart ache.

His grandparents watched too, his grandmother with her hand over her heart, his grandfather nodding along. But when Eren mentioned Carla and Grisha, the gorillas who raised him and Mikasa, their joy faded slightly.

There was a small silence.

His grandfather looked down, then up again, with eyes that were glistening. “Eren… I’m so sorry. That you were left to be raised by… gorillas. That we weren’t there to bring you home. We searched. God knows we searched. But we never found you.”

He turned to you and Armin, his voice thick. “Thank you. Both of you. For finding him. For helping shape him into such a fine young man.”

You shook your head gently. “That credit goes to his family in the jungle. We only helped him adjust to our world. They’re the ones who raised him with love.”

Eren looked down at his hands, then asked, “How did my parents even end up in Africa?”

His grandparents exchanged a long look. Then his grandmother said in a soft voice. “It was their second anniversary. They wanted to travel through Morocco. It was supposed to be a peaceful journey… but then a storm hit. Their boat was caught, driven off course.”

“Grisha and Carla… and a man named Kruger,” his grandfather continued, “were the only ones presumed to have survived. We searched for months. Sent ships. Hired explorers. But… the last letter they sent us was about you. A newborn baby. They asked us to register your birth certificate.”

His voice cracked, and he looked away.

“When the search teams finally arrived where the boat was last seen… they found their bodies. Grisha, Carla, Kruger. But no baby. No sign of you.”

His grandmother reached for Eren’s hand. “We mourned you, Eren. We buried an empty coffin. But now…” Her voice was shaking, “…you’re here.”

Eren reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You gave him a soft squeeze, feeling the pulse of life within your belly between you.

And for the first time, you saw it in Eren’s eyes, the beginning of healing.

His grandmother wiped at her eyes, then leaned toward a small carved chest on the side table. She opened it, delicately pulling out two aged documents.

“We’ve kept these all this time,” she said, “Your birth certificate… and, regretfully, the one that declared you dead.”

Eren unfolded it carefully. His eyes moved slowly across the words, lips parting slightly.

“Eren Jaeger. Born March 30th.”

He blinked. “I… I have a birthday?”

His grandmother leaned in, smiling through tears. “Yes, my dear. You were born on the ship, in the early hours of the morning. Your mother said you didn’t even cry right away. Just looked at her. Calm as ever.”

“And this,” his grandfather added, handing him another piece of paper, “is your death certificate. The one we had issued when we believed you were gone. We’ll be burning it. Tonight.”

You and Armin both leaned over to peek at the birth certificate again.

“He’s twenty-five,” Armin said softly.

Your shoulders dropped as the breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped you. “Thank God,” you muttered, half-laughing, half-sighing. “You’re two years older than me.”

“Same age as me, huh?” Armin chuckled.

Eren raised an eyebrow,“Why do you both seem so relieved?”

You gave him a sheepish look, a hint of laughter behind your words. “There’s a story to that…”

You glanced at Armin, who was already grinning because he knew exactly what was coming. Eren turned to you, curious.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Okay, so on our wedding day, while I was getting ready, Hitch… bless her chaotic soul… joked, ‘What if you're marrying a seventeen-year-old?’”

Eren’s face immediately twisted in mock offense. “Excuse me?!”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “I panicked. Historia tried to calm me down, saying, ‘He looks like a man,’ but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I made a mental vow that if you were underage, I'd annul the whole thing the second we got back to civilization.”

Armin nearly choked on his tea.

Eren leaned back a little, slightly offended, lips twitching. “I am a man.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, grinning. “Eren, love… you are a man indeed.”

Then you ran your fingers gently over his smooth jaw and added with a teasing lilt, “But a man with no facial hair.”

Armin burst out laughing. Eren pulled a face, clearly trying not to smile. “Armin…” he grumbled. “Your face is nuder than mine.” You laughed to a point where you thought your water would break. As your blond friend blushed, embarrassed. “Shut up” Armin muttered.

“So… We found out from Annie that Eren has a brother?” Armin said quickly to change the topic.

Eren turned to his grandparents, eyes sparkling. “Zeke, right? I’d love to meet him.”

His grandmother’s warm expression wilted into something more pained. His grandfather set down his cup with a quiet sigh.

“Yes… Zeke is your older half-brother,” his grandmother began gently. “Grisha’s firstborn. He was… the result of a very unfortunate circumstance.”

You frowned slightly, listening closely.

“Grisha was young. Barely fifteen,” she continued, “and Dina, Zeke’s mother, was a widow. Without inheritance, desperate for status. She manipulated your father’s kindness. Claimed she needed comfort and shelter.” Her tone tightened. “We tried to intervene. Legally, she couldn’t marry him, but she used that pregnancy to try and force her way into our family.”

Eren blinked, as he was stunned.

“After Grisha and Carla passed,” his grandfather added, “Zeke, Dina and Carla’s families began fighting for control of the estate. Zeke… he’s always wanted the title. The fortune. To be Grand Duke.”

You squeezed Eren’s hand as his shoulders tensed.

Then a voice echoed through the hall.

“Well, well… am I interrupting?”

They turned toward the grand doorway and standing there was Zeke in all his glory.

He stood tall, dressed in a dark tailored coat, his posture relaxed but eyes were overflooded with disdain. His expression twisted into something smug.

The grandmother’s face darkened. “Zeke. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I heard a certain undead brother had surfaced. Thought I’d come visit,” he said, eyes locking with Eren’s.

Eren smiled, rising with a mix of eagerness and caution. “Zeke,” he said, standing up, offering his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Zeke’s expression didn’t shift. He stared at the hand… then turned away from it.

Your blood boiled, but you remained composed. You slid your fingers between Eren’s, gently stroking his palm. His grip tightened slightly.

Zeke’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, I see. You’re the monkey our father made on that shipwreck.”

Eren’s face dropped.

“Zeke,” his grandmother warned, but he ignored her.

You stood up, you could barely contain your anger. “Watch your mouth.”

Zeke chuckled darkly. “Oh, Eren. This is hilarious. You married one of those ton women. Pretty face, but no title. She proves the rumors…she is aggressive, wild. Are you sure she’s fit to raise a child? It would be a shame to taint the bloodline, wouldn’t it, Grandfather?”

“Zeke!” the grandmother snapped.

You stepped forward, chest heaving. You could feel the glaze in your eyes, that mix of fury and humiliation.

Eren didn’t say a word.

In one swift motion, Eren grabbed Zeke by the collar and yanked him out of the room. Zeke stumbled as Eren dragged him down the hall and out the mansion doors.

“Eren!” you called, but he was already gone.

You followed as fast as your belly allowed, with the grandmother close behind. Armin and Eren’s grandfather ran ahead, just in time to see Eren slam Zeke into the courtyard wall.

“I tried to be civil, I can handle you not liking me. However, don’t you ever speak about my wife in that manner.” Eren growled, and then his fist collided with Zeke’s jaw.

Zeke cursed, trying to fight back, but Eren landed another blow. And another. Until Armin and his grandfather reached him, pulling him back.

“Let go of me!” Eren shouted, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied.

Zeke stumbled, wiping his mouth, face smeared in red. “You all side with him?” he spat. “You don’t even know him!”

“Leave!” the grandmother thundered. “You’re not welcome here!”

“You choose this jungle Neanderthal to be Grand Duke over me?! I deserve it! Not him!” Zeke barked.

That was your final straw.

“It’s not your birthright!” you shouted. “It’s Eren’s. You’re a bastard, Zeke. Know. Your. Place.”

Zeke’s face froze, utterly stunned. The courtyard was silent.

Without another word, he turned and left, bloodied, humiliated, and alone.

You walked to Eren’s side as the maids rushed out with warm towels. He winced as they dabbed his scraped knuckles.

His grandparents both looked heartbroken. Zeke’s choices lay heavy on their shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” his grandmother whispered. “We should’ve warned you… should’ve stopped him…”

Eren shook his head. “He’s made his choice.”

You sat beside him, one hand on his back, the other resting over your belly.

“He’s not your family,” you said softly. “We are.”

Eren turned, kissed your cheek, and nodded.

That evening, after dinner had settled and the tension from Zeke’s appearance had faded like smoke in the wind, Eren’s grandfather leaned forward in his seat, focusing on his grandson.

“Eren,” he began. “You know why we asked you here, don’t you?”

“Because I’m your grandson?”

The old man gave a soft chuckle. “That’s part of it. But also… I’m ill. I haven’t been able to step into my role for quite some time now. I need someone to take up the mantle. Someone with integrity.” He looked at Eren with a bit of hope. “Do you think you’d be ready to become Grand Duke of our house?”

The room grew still. All eyes turned to Eren.

He blinked once, then scratched the back of his neck before grinning faintly. “If humans are like animals,” he said casually, “driven by self-interest… then I think I’d manage just fine.”

A round of laughter filled the space.

His grandfather smiled wide. “Then it won’t be a problem at all.”

Eren’s expression softened. He glanced at you, then at Armin, and then back to his grandparents.

“I’m not promising anything,” he said. “I don’t even know if I want to stay in Europe yet. My home is… different.”

His grandmother reached for his hand with a nod. “And we’ll respect that, darling. Always.”

“But before you leave,” his grandfather added, rising from his chair, “there’s something we’d like to show you.”

You all stood, following the elderly couple through the lantern-lit path outside the mansion. The night air was cool, crickets singing softly in the grass as the gravel crunched under their feet.

Not far from the estate, nestled in a grove of sleeping trees, stood a wrought-iron gate. Beyond it lay the Jeager family graveyard.

You stopped before two headstones.

“Grisha Jeager,” one read. And beside it: “Carla Jeager.”

Eren’s breath caught.

Your hand found his, squeezing gently.

“They wanted to travel for their anniversary,” his grandmother said quietly. “They were so full of life. I still remember Carla teasing Grisha about being too soft-hearted for adventure.”

Eren knelt slightly, tracing the letters of their names with his fingers.

Then, beside the two graves, was a smaller stone.

“Eren Jeager,” it read. Born: March 30th Died: Unknown.

Armin blinked, glancing at Eren. Eren raised an eyebrow and side-eyed him, lips twitching slightly.

“I guess I aged well for a dead man,” he muttered under his breath.

His grandfather gave a weary chuckle. “We’ll have that removed first thing tomorrow.”

His grandmother wiped her eyes and smiled. “We thought you were gone… but somehow, the jungle kept you safe.”

You leaned into Eren’s side, hand resting over your stomach. He placed his over yours, quietly honoring the graves with a soft “thank you” only you could hear.

The next morning, as bags were loaded and trunks were secured onto the carriage headed for the harbor, Eren stood with his grandparents one last time.

“England’s next,” his grandmother said with a smile. “But you’ll write to us?”

Eren nodded, pulling her into a tight hug. “Of course.”

His grandfather clapped his shoulder, eyes glassy. “We’re proud of you, boy. No matter where you decide to build your future.”

They stepped back as the carriage rolled forward. From the window, Eren waved. You rested against his shoulder, the soft sway of the carriage beginning the next leg of your journey

The sway of the ship was gentle that night. The room was softly lit, your suitcase tucked under the vanity, and your half-read book was placed on the bedside table. You lay under the covers, your back supported by a pile of pillows.

Eren knelt at the side of the bed, resting his arms across the mattress and gazing up at you.

“You want me to stay?” he asked quietly.

You smiled, brushing his unruly baby hairs back toward his man bun. “You should go with Armin.”

“But—”

“Eren,” you interrupted gently. “He’s almost married. You’re almost a father. When will you ever get a night like this again?”

He huffed, “It’ll be boring without you.”

You giggled, shifting slightly under the covers. “I can’t drink anyway. And I’m tired. Honestly, I’m ready for bed.”

Eren leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to your belly. He whispered something in gorilla.

“You’re going to be an amazing father, you know.”

He looked up at you, with a smile on his face. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Good night, love.”

He stayed a moment longer, like he didn’t want to leave, then finally pulled away and slipped out the door with a quiet click.

The boat’s bar was dimly lit. Eren and Armin sat in the corner, sipping amber liquor from short glasses.

Armin was the first to speak. “Have you made your decision yet?”

Eren exhaled through his nose, swirling the drink in his hand. “I’m torn.”

He leaned back, staring into his glass.

“In Africa… our kid could grow up without all the noise. No racism. No boxes to squeeze into. It’s free there, wild and full of life. But…” He paused. “I can’t guarantee they’ll have what I was lucky enough to find. Human contact. A sense of the world outside.”

Armin nodded.

“I was lucky,” Eren continued. “You and her. You found me. I didn’t even know I needed that. But our child might.”

He looked out the window. “And I’ve seen how she looks at Hitch’s letters.”

Armin shifted slightly.

“She pretends it’s fine. But I know.” Eren’s jaw clenched. “She misses it. Her world. She misses her friends, her job, her old life.”

He took another sip.

“There was a day,” he said, almost to himself now, “when I came back from meeting the Waziri tribe. They gave me this carved necklace to bring back to her. Said it was for protection, and beauty. I was so excited to give it to her.”

“But when I came back to the treehouse, I heard her crying. Hitch had written again. She missed Avery’s baby being born. She missed Bertholdt’s wedding. All because she couldn’t get a boat out fast enough.”

Eren’s throat bobbed.

“She stayed with me… because she loves me. Because I make her happy. But she… she gave up a lot. Maybe she thinks she can’t take it back. Or worse, that I’ll think she’s selfish if she does.”

Armin was silent, his hands wrapped around his drink.

“I assume you already knew,” Eren said quietly.

Armin hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

Eren looked at him.

“I didn’t want to interfere too much in your marriage,” Armin admitted. “I didn’t know if I should say anything.”

“Armin…”

“For what it’s worth,” Armin added, meeting his eyes, “I don’t know what to advise you. Not this time. But whatever decision you make, I’ll support it. I know you’ll do what’s best. For her. For your child.”

Eren looked down at his hands.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

The ship docked with a hiss and groan, London’s skyline cutting a striking silhouette against the dawn. The harbor bustled with life, workers shouting, horses pulling carriages, and thick fog curling around cobblestones.

Hitch waved wildly, nearly knocking off her hat. Marlow gave a nervous smile, standing beside Armin’s grandfather, who wore a thick wool coat and a proud glint in his eyes. Avery, elegant in deep purple with a cane tucked into the crook of her arm.

Eren helped you off the ramp, steadying you with one hand on your lower back. Armin followed closely behind, carrying the bags. As soon as your feet touched the ground, Hitch launched herself into a hug, wrapping you tight.

“I missed you so much! You look so—oh, my god, your belly—!”

You laughed, hugging her back. Avery gave you a smile before walking over to Eren.

“Well, if it isn’t the Jungle Duke,” she teased. “Welcome to London.”

Eren gave a sheepish smile. “It’s… big.”

Two days later, Avery and Eren strolled through the cobbled streets, weaving between merchants shouting out fresh bread, newspapers, and roasted chestnuts. Eren’s head turned frequently his wide green eyes drinking in the towering buildings, mechanical carriages, the smell of soot and sugar.

Women whispered as they passed. A few waved, bold and blushing. One even blew him a kiss.

Avery narrowed her eyes, watching Eren carefully.

He didn’t react much at first. Then his eyes landed on another group of women laughing nearby. He squinted, almost studying them.

Avery’s temper began to simmer. “Eren Jeager, don’t you dare—”

Before she could finish, Eren chuckled and said, “I’m really lucky. My wife is extremely beautiful.”

Avery’s mouth clamped shut. Her cheeks burned. “You’re lucky I don’t smack you for the scare.”

He grinned, and she rolled her eyes before linking arms with him. “Come on, jungle prince. Let’s get you some toffee.”

They strolled farther, nearing the square when chaos erupted.

A scream split the air.

Smoke billowed from a building nearby. People shouted, backing away from a three-story inn now engulfed in flames. On the top floor, a child stood on the balcony, screaming for help.

Avery clutched her cane. “Where are the firemen?!”

But Eren was already gone, dashing across the square and up the side of the building. His hands found brick and ledges with ease. Gasps rose from the crowd.

The girl sobbed, reaching for him.

Within seconds, Eren had hoisted her over his shoulder and began climbing down as flames licked the windowframes.

When he landed, the crowd erupted in cheers.

The girl was safe, she was shaking but was luckly unharmed.

A reporter shoved forward. “Sir, your name?”

He paused, still catching his breath, one hand on the girl’s back.

“Eren… Eren Jeager.”

Meanwhile you and Armin entered the the Parliament building’s grand hall. he room was filled with wealthy women in silks and feathers, many of whom turned with subtle gasps.

You could hear it.

“That’s her.”

“She married the monkey man…”

“I heard he doesn’t even wear shoes.”

“Disgraceful. Filthy.”

One woman even muttered, “And she’s having his child…”

Your face tightened, but Armin gently touched your wrist.

“They don’t know what we know.”

You looked at him. His smile was comforting.

You exhaled, lifted your chin, and smiled with sharp pride, brushing a hand along the swell of your stomach.

The vote commenced.

And then it was official.

The Ton would now be recognized as noble families, with rights and titles assigned.

It was a landmark vote, centuries of discrimination fading.

The room fell into buzzing gossip. You could already hear it: “The King himself will write… assigning titles…”

Armin leaned over and whispered, “You’ll want to keep your letterbox clear next week.”

You smiled.

And somewhere in the city, Eren Jeager was standing in the street, hair windswept, arms covered in soot, a child clinging to him, and a crowd calling his name.

Armin’s carriage pulled up in front of the townhouse. You stepped out carefully, exhausted from the stressful long day, but your heart lifted the second she saw them.

Eren and Avery were waiting at the door.

Avery gave you a smile as Eren rushed forward, immediately wrapping his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. “I missed you,” he murmured.

“I was only gone a few hours,” you giggled, leaning into his warmth.

But before another word could be said a sharp pain rippled through you You inhaled suddenly, freezing in place.Then your eyes widened as the warmth beneath you shifted, and water pooled at your feet.

“Avery…” you gasped, clutching Eren’s arm.

Avery’s eyes went wide. “Oh heavens! Your water just broke!”

“What?” Eren looked between you in panic. “What does that mean? Is it happening? Now?”

“Yes, now, Eren!” Avery said, gripping his shoulders. “Get her inside!”

Eren carried you carefully inside, his heart pounding aggressively. Armin was already sprinting back toward the street, calling for Dr. Hange.

He flung open the front door just as Hitch and Marlow appeared, holding a celebratory bouquet.

“We came to congratu—”

“Her water broke!” Armin shouted as he dashed past them.

Hitch’s eyes widened. “Oh my—go, go, go!” she urged Marlow, who ran after Armin, tripping over his own feet.

Eren helped lower you onto the bed, brushing your braid from your face as Avery issued instructions to the maids. “Warm water, towels, and clear the room!”

But just as Eren went to stay by your side, Hitch placed a firm hand on his chest. “Eren… I know this is different from how it’s done in the jungle, but… you can’t be in there. Not here. Not now.”

“What? But she needs me, she’s scared. I need to be with her.”

“You’ll do more harm than good in their eyes,” Avery said gently, coming to his side. “Let us take care of her. You’ll see her soon, I promise.”

Eren was in disbelieve but he stepped back reluctantly, shaking knowing that he isn’t amongs gorillas anymore. In his mind, he saw the gorilla females of the jungle, huddled in nests while their mates kept watch, breathing low grunts of comfort. He wanted to do the same for you. He wanted to hold you while you brought your child into the world.

But he sat outside the room, the walls between them suddenly feeling impossibly thick. Your screams pierced him.

Eren’s hands dug into his knees. His leg bounced furiously.

Hitch sat beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, Eren. Stronger than most women I know.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I hate hearing her in pain.”

Then your screaming stopped.

Replaced by a new smaller cry.

Eren froze.

The door opened, and Avery’s soft voice cut through the haze. “Come in. He’s ready to meet you.”

Eren stepped in like he was stepping into a a sacred temple.

He felt relaxed when he saw you lay in the bed, sweat damp on your forehead, your braids clinging to your skin, but you were glowing. More beautiful than ever. In your arms, wrapped in a white linen blanket, was something impossibly small, squirming softly.

You looked up at Eren, smiling weakly. “Do you want to meet him?”

He didn’t speak as his throat too tight. He crossed the room with slow, hesitant steps, eyes locked on the bundle in your arms.

And then you passed him over.

Eren sat on the edge of the bed, and his arms instinctively cradled the baby as if he’d always known how.

The little boy blinked slowly, face scrunched, a faint whimper leaving his lips before settling into silence.

Eren’s heart cracked open.

His fingers trembled as they brushed the child’s soft cheek. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, eyes shining with quiet disbelief and devotion.

“He’s… he’s perfect,” Eren whispered.

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“What should we name him?” you asked softly.

Eren didn’t hesitate.

“…Grisha,” he murmured. “After my fathers.”

The baby stirred slightly, as if approving.

And Eren whispered something low and gentle in Gorilla tongue, a promise, that he would be a better man than he ever dreamed possible. For both you and your son Grisha.

The candlelight flickered gently against the windows as the maids moved in practiced silence, preparing the sitting room for Lord Armin Artlet’s return. When the front door opened, soft and steady, Annie was already seated in the parlor, one leg crossed over the other, her expression unreadable as she stared down at a paper in her lap.

Armin entered with a tired sigh, shrugging off his coat and loosening the tie at his throat. “You’re here,” he said warmly, voice tinged with fatigue but affection.

“I told you I would be,” Annie replied, her voice soft and a little distant.

Armin noticed the untouched tea by her hand. “Did something happen?” he asked as he took his usual seat across from her.

The maids entered, placing fresh tea and lemon cakes between them on the table, then retreating to the corners of the room in silence.

Annie didn’t respond right away. Her pale eyes remained locked on the newsletter in her lap. Then she looked up, slow and almost cautious, and held it out to him.

“You might want to read this.”

Armin took the paper, unfolding it with a raised brow, until his gaze fell on the front page.

"LONDON'S MYSTERIOUS HERO: FOREIGNER SCALES BURNING BUILDING TO SAVE CHILD."

A large woodblock illustration showed a man atop a burning balcony, a child clutched in his arms, the fire licking just behind him. Below the image in bold, stylized font read:

“Ape-Man or Angel? London’s Darling of the Day — Eren Jeager”

Armin froze.

The familiar figure drawn in broad ink strokes his man bun windswept, face calm yet wild in the way only Eren could be, holding the girl like she weighed nothing at all.

Armin’s hand shook.

A drop of tea spilled from the edge of his untouched cup.

Then another.

And another.

The warm trickle met the polished hardwood floor until one of the maids gasped.

“Lord Artlet!” she cried, hurrying forward with a cloth.

But Armin didn’t hear her.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

He just stared at the name in print, his lips slightly parted.

“Is this what he was upto while we were gone for less than two hours?!” Armin said in disbelief.

It’s been a week since your birth. The gilded double doors swung open with ceremonial precision. The marble hall gleamed under chandeliers, and the scent of lavender and polished brass filled the air. Courtiers stiffened, whispering behind silken fans as the footman stepped forward, voice ringing through the grand chamber.

“The Grand Duke of Balden, Lord Eren Jeager, and Mrs.Y/N L/N with their son.”

You walked beside Eren with practiced grace, your gown flowing like silk rain. He stood tall beside you,the golden threads on his cuffs his grandfather gifted him glinting with each step. The ton stared in hushed awe.

They had expected a wild beast. Instead, they saw a breathtaking young man.

“That’s him?” “Not a cave man at all…” “They say he saved a child from a burning building.” “And those shoulders… divine.”

At the throne’s base, Queen Charlotte observed it all with her ever-perceptive gaze. She was a vision in peacock silk and diamonds, her towering white hair adorned with sapphires and her expression straight until her lips curved into a knowing smile.

You both knelt before her, before you said.

“Your Majesty. The King is healthy, per usual.”

The Queen nodded slowly, her expression softening.

“Indeed. He is… as ever.”

You knew what those words meant, the quiet truth veiled behind polite tradition. You knew the lore, knew of the King’s illness, of the love that endured through the madness. You had grown up within these palace walls. Played on those marble floors while the Queen and your mother sipped tea and spoke of justice.

Charlotte’s eyes were still on you, as they turned warm.

“I was very fond of your mother,” she said. “You were just a little thing, running through the palace halls with your ribbons undone and questions spilling from your mouth.”

Laughter rippled gently through the court.

“Your mother was a fierce advocate,” the Queen continued. “She fought for the ton to have equal rights within the aristocracy. She fought so daughters could inherit what their fathers left behind. And now…” her gaze shifted to your son, cradled in your arms, “her legacy breathes again.”

And then… the Queen’s tone turned teasingly sharp.

“And here you are. Standing proud, having carried and delivered a child conceived by a man who once lived among monkeys.”

Giggling erupted from behind embroidered fans. Eren stiffened for a second, until your hand found his behind your backs and gave him a gentle squeeze.

He exhaled slowly. He trusted you. He knew from what you told him, the Queen’s tongue was sharp, but not cruel.

“Stand,” she commanded.

You both rose, and her runner boy, Marco, appeared with a velvet cushion.

Queen Charlotte lifted the golden emblem, a crest that shimmered like captured sunlight.

“This,” she said, “was meant for your father. But God claimed him too soon. Yet, what he sacrificed for this crown will never be forgotten.”

She stepped forward and pinned the emblem over your heart.

“Today, I name you Duchess of Sussex. A manor awaits your family there, passed down by royal hand. No matter where in the world you roam… Sussex will be your sanctuary.”

Your breath hitched, tears catching in your lashes. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you whispered.

She turned then to Eren, studying him thoughtfully.

“And you… London’s latest hero. Has your wife not yet heard of your rooftop escapades?”

You blinked, confused. “What escapades?”

The Queen smiled.

“Why, scaling a burning building to save a child, of course. A spectacle. They say you climbed like a panther in a storm.”

Eren flushed, murmuring humbly, and the court all but erupted in whispers.

“He’s not only beautiful, he’s brave?” “A wild prince with a noble heart.” “Oh, to be saved by him.”

Queen Charlotte leaned in just slightly.

“Y/N, do you know what I deem most classless?”

You smiled, reciting her favorite lesson:

“A lady drooling over a married man.”

Gasps. More flushed cheeks. And not a single woman dared meet the Queen’s eyes.

Her smile sharpened, then softened as she turned back to Eren.

“Now, Lord Jeager,” she said, her tone more serious, “I suggest you take time to reflect. Decide where your family belongs. In the jungle, where you were shaped… or here, among civilization, where you now shape others. Do right by them. Not by your desires.”

Then, as if remembering a private joke, she muttered under her breath:

“Grisha Jeager…”

Eren’s head tilted at the name.

The Queen rolled her eyes playfully.

“That little punk never could’ve created someone so devastatingly beautiful. Must be your mother’s work.”

Eren’s eyes lit up with something soft.

And then it was time.

You turned, bowing once more.

“Thank you again, Your Majesty.” The Queen then responded “ No thank you, from the Crown, to the Grand Duke of Balden… and the Duchess of Sussex or shall I say, the Grand Duchess of Balden. ” You glanced at your husband with pride.

With heads held high and a son cradled between you, the two of you walked out no longer whispers of scandal, but as a respected power couple.

The jungle had a different sound now, five years later. The calls of exotic birds were laced with the laughter of children.

Under the generous shade of a banyan tree near the lagoon, you sat cross-legged, sunlight dancing through the canopy above you. The faint breeze made the corners of your paperwork flutter as you finished signing off on the new extension to Eren’s estate, a preservation order for a dense stretch of jungle bordering the lagoon. A sacred place for your husband, one he can retreated to when courtly life in Europe becomes overwhelming.

He had adjusted better than anyone expected, not just to civilization, but to leadership. As Grand Duke of Balden, Eren was known as a fair, instinctive, and deeply empathetic ruler. The people adored him. Nobles respected him. And despite the politics, the pomp, and the rigid structures of nobility, he never lost the gentleness and kindness of the jungle that had first drawn you to him.

You set the last papers aside and pulled out a fresh file, applications for piano tutors and private instructors for your children. Grisha, now five, and Phoebe, four, were both curious and energetic. Both had inherited their father’s balance and physical confidence and perhaps your sharp tongue and intellegence.

Just as your pen hit the parchment, you paused, catching a chorus of giggles carried on the wind.

Laughter.

You turned toward the sound and smiled.

Across the lagoon, swinging from thick vines like acrobats of nature, were Grisha, Phoebe, and their cousin Mark, Jean and Mikasa’s eldest. Their shrieks of joy filled the air as they let go of the vines and plunged into the clear blue water below.

And with them, their father.

Eren emerged first, hair slicked back, droplets clinging to his lashes. Phoebe surfaced second, splashing wildly until Eren scooped her up effortlessly into his arms.

“Any bruises?” he asked, looking her over with the focused intensity of a seasoned girl dad.

“I’m fine, papa!” she grinned. “I’m not as fragile as mama.”

You narrowed your eyes from your spot under the tree, and Phoebe immediately froze. A sheepish look crossed her little face.

“Sorry, mama,” she muttered.

Eren threw his head back and laughed.

He carried Phoebe toward you while Grisha and Mark chased each other in the water.

As Eren approached, he lowered his head and kissed your temple, his arm slipping easily around your shoulder.

“You’re working too hard,” he murmured.

“I’m making sure you get more trees,” you replied, arching a brow. “The Grand Duke needs his forest.”

He smiled, that boyish smile that still caught you off guard after all these years.

“I already have everything I need,” he said, eyes tracing the curve of your cheek, then landing gently on your lap where the papers lay. “But the trees are nice too.”

You leaned into him. Behind you, the children played, and somewhere deeper in the trees, the hum of drums signaled evening preparations from the tribe. Mikasa, now the official chieftess, would later meet with Eren to consult about shared stewardship of the jungle lands a role she held with both grace and occasional frustration.

You had made a life, not just across continents, but across worlds. From the halls of Buckingham to the vines of the jungle. From royal titles to tribal fires. You danced between them all, raising children who knew how to bow before a queen and how to climb a tree barefoot.

And at the heart of it all, your dearest Eren. Once led by instinct, now guided by love.

🏷️: @faerie-soirxx

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zoropookie · 9 months ago

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HOW HATERS DIE (HHD)

♡ chapter one — spork (🍎)

There was no lie as prominent, and obviously desperate, as yours. You were waiting up.

You sat on the edge of the steps that led up to your house, enjoying the cool breeze of the trees that gave you the benison. Your knees were drawn to your chest, reminiscing all of your retentiveness with this home. The home you couldn’t even part with when you were on tour for a streamer’s comedy shows with Hu Tao. You wrapped yourself loosely around your knees as if you were trying to hold something together. The quiet sunlight sinking into the community of homes in front of you.

It bathed the silent street in a fuzzy and soft, amber glow, but its warmth became eternally distant from you. You weren’t able to reach the sun enough to ebb the chilly ache nestling in your chest. Your eyes dull, fixed on the empty road ahead, awaiting patiently for at least the feeling that his presence was there.

You replayed the entire conversation — at wits end with yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut and put your head in your hands. Was it really for validation?

Your thoughts mixed with fragments of what the two of you said to each other, sharp words and sentences that didn’t dare to go further for the sake of their relationship. You didn’t care much anymore, the hollow bitterness overshadowing any remnants of anger you felt.

Dusk deepened and the sky meshed with its former and a bistered violet. It was coming on hours of you sitting in the same spot as you were, adamant with the complacency. You let out a shaky breath, the chill of the air enveloping on your breath and skin. Your fingers pressed softly into your knees, ruminating in the coolness of the air seep deeper. There was still that tightness in your chest from when you started, so stay here didn't really do much.

Was he even coming?

A slow crunch of the gravel called for your thoughts to halt, snapping your head up towards the familiar vehicle swinging into the driveway. Kuni got out of the car, walking towards the trunk and opening it to reveal Shimi...and a basket of sweets.

Your eyebrows furrowed, scoping the scene in confusion and he hesitated once he looked at you as well. Like he wasn't sure if he should come closer than where he was, and then made the decision. His face was never readable in situations like these, but where his face fails him, his body doesn't. There was mild tension in his shoulders.

"Um," You cleared your throat, speaking for the first time in a while. "I figured that you wouldn't have the key, so I ended up waiting for you. Not that long! Not that long. Just like, 10 minutes."

He sized you up, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. "Okay." He said, his voice low. "Am I still allowed in?"

"Depends on if we keep our conversation going or not," Your voice was tight, stammering on every sentence your mind sputters. "I would much rather find significant joy in...other conversation, but if you're still pissed off, ya know, I can match energy—"

It wasn't talking to him that was the problem right now, it was the fact that he was staring at you. Staring for a long while as you tripped over words. His expression that was once hardened was now loosening with a lazy smile, less tense than before. It was hard to stay angry at you, and it was hard for you to stay angry when he was standing there, with Shimi purring and nuzzling his head onto your boyfriend's clothes.

"I wasn't mad," He said after closing the distance between the two of you, his voice quiet and fragile. "Not at you. Not like that."

He set the basket down next to him, his eyes never prying away from yours. Kuni looked guarded, but as that unraveled, he looked at you like it would kill him to turn away. Your heart clenched firmly once you were able to say anything else, he leaned in and touched his lips with yours, his hand seeking its way to your cheek and brushing his ringed thumb featherlight. It was gentle at first, provisional, like both of you were kind of afraid of crossing each other's boundaries.

The difference of the cool evening air and your entire face warming up was stark. You didn't move, anyway, and only melted more into his touches once his free hand met with the small of your back. Breath mixing in with yours in the space, his kiss deepened tangibly, slow and deliberate and pouring everything he left unsaid into it. He let out a sigh against your lips once he pulled away, staying in the close proximity for a little longer.

"You're cold." He whispered.

"I was out here longer than ten minutes." You whispered back after getting your mojo back, the both of your cracking a smile once you end up jutting out a snicker.

"I figured."

prev ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU WERE under scrutiny of the one and only justsofamous for years and years before finding out who he is. constantly having to question your self-worth was a bigger downhill slope than the time you were begging your friends, crying and pleading, for them to go to a concert with you of an artist they all hated except you. but now that you're pretty much going through the motions of retracing your self esteem and your (extremely ironic) relationship with this guy who harassed you and then picked enough apples to win your heart, you started to consider moving in with him after he offered it enough times. only that, once you actually did...things started falling apart again for the two of you.

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verdantflamingo · 5 months ago

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The morning in a normal abnormal monster family

Some time ago, I found myself in some sort of quarter-life crisis or something, and I ended up binge-watching all the Mostar High movies and probably every episode of the First Gen series. I might check out the third gen too, but it doesn’t have the same nostalgic vibe for me, especially since they split Cleo and Deuce… But Frankie’s new concept looks amazing.

Anyway, during this nostalgia trip, my thoughts wandered to the X-Men and what kinds of creatures they might be in a monster reality.

And forgive me, Emma, but you would 100% be a Twilight vampire. You’re gorgeous, you can read minds, and you can sparkle – not only in the sunlight. I can totally picture a twisted version of Twilight where Scott drives to, well, I don’t even remember the name of the town, and all the vampires fight over him because his mind is just so “readable.”

As for Scott, he was the first one I assigned a monster form. Sure, Cyclops would’ve been the obvious choice, but it doesn’t feel quite right – a Scott who can’t hurt anyone with eye contact? Yes, I read an interesting story some time ago that explored why Scott’s codename made sense, but Scott’s fear of hurting people is a pretty important part of his personality. So there is Scott, the son of Medusa. I think the fear of turning someone to stone is kind of similar to the fear of shooting someone with your powers.

About picture:

Scott and Emma are sitting together in the morning. Don’t ask me why Emma is awake, and they’re playing cards—a version of gin rummy, maybe—and it would never occur to Emma to cheat... Emma is wearing Scott’s shirt, her skin sparkling in the morning rays.

She has golden eyes. I also have a version with red ones, but let’s imagine that she and Scott have been together for some time now, so Emma has switched from human to animal blood (her favorite is horses...), and her eyes have turned gold.

He still has red glasses, but they don’t have to be made of ruby quartz; he just keeps his powers in check. No shirt is needed. And I thought about what kind of snake he would have. A Pseudonaja textilis—the eastern brown snake—felt like the perfect choice. Why? Because why not make the boy whose gaze can turn people to stone even more traumatized? This snake mirrors Scott’s lethal potential and his constant fear of harming others, which is such a vital part of his personality.

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Moodboard | Recommended Listening

Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

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