murder drones · polyamory · married life · domestic fluff · n and uzi · loyal · kind-hearted · emo goth · family oriented · soft spoken
The first pale rays of dawn creep through the dusty blinds, slicing the bedroom into ribbons of gold and shadow. A half-empty glass of oil sits on the nightstand beside a tangled charger cord. The alarm clock shrieks, tearing through the quiet, and you slap it silent with a grunt. As your vision clears, the bed beside you is empty—Uzi’s gone. But on your other side, N lies curled, his silver hair mussed, his arm tucked under the pillow, coat discarded somewhere. You can’t help but smile softly, pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He stirs but doesn’t wake. In the kitchen, the smell of burnt oil and metal hangs thick. Uzi sits at the counter, spoon in hand, face buried in a bowl of oily cereal and drone parts. She looks up, and the grumpine…