#“these boots were made for walking” and I get to crouch down on the edge of the stage in my combat boots and sing “one of these days these

[rawritzrobin]

Count to Ten

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of blood, violence (but not really), soul sucking fluff

A/N: The world sucks right now. Enjoy a piece of happiness from the only man that would be able to save us all from this place. (Repost because I broke my last post :D)

Masterlist

The air was cold. The air in Gotham was always cold. The time of cold that hits you when you least suspect it.

Kind of like today.

You weren’t even sure what time of day it was anymore. You couldn’t think straight. The pounding in your head was not helping the situation one bit.

Somewhere to your left, a pipe was dripping in a steady, mocking rhythm.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You try to lift your head again, but the room tilts. Your vision blurred at the edges, white stars clouding your vision. Your wrists ached where the rope bit into your skin. You stopped fighting against them a while ago. 

You swallowed. Your mouth tasted like copper. You were not sure how long you had been tied to this chair. The last thing you remember was walking to your car from work. You mentally kicked yourself for leaving so late. You knew better. Gotham didn’t give a damn what time it was. Someone was always watching. 

“You hear me, sweetheart?”

The voice was too close. You could hear the grin in his voice. You turned away from the direction of the voice. 

“Your boyfriend’s late to the party. Maybe we were mistaken about how much you mean to him.”

You clenched your jaw. He’s coming. He always comes. You just hoped the emergency signal had gone off.

The man laughed and paced a slow circle around your chair. You avoided looking at his face. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You put on a brave face, but deep down, you were terrified. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He stopped directly behind the chair, and looked down at you like a hungry animal. “Maybe I can have some fun with you before he gets here.” You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. You tried to pull away, but the sudden movement only made the pounding in your head worse.

A sound at the far end of the warehouse echoed through the room. Heavy boots on concrete. Measured. Certain.

The air around you changed.

Your breath hitched. The man behind you shifted. His cocky demeanor changed almost immediately. 

From Pride. Into Fear.

******

Jason didn’t look at you. Not yet.

His entire focus was on the men standing between him and the only thing he’d ever sworn to protect.

They started to shout into the shadows, some threat about leverage, about ransom.

He raised his pistol and chambered a round. The sound cracked the silence like thunder. The men around you tensed. 

“You picked the wrong person to mess with.”

The next five seconds were chaos.

Gunshots. Screams. The wet impact of bodies hitting concrete.

You flinched but didn’t look up, not that doing so would help seeing how the headache still clouded your vision. You knew how this was all going to end. You were thankful the men kept you in the far back of the warehouse.

The silence returned, but only for a moment.

You felt his presence before you heard his voice.

Footsteps. The rasp of his breath behind the helmet. The gentler shift in his weight as he crouched in front of you.

“Y/N?”

Your lip trembled. You opened your eyes, just enough to see through your lashes.

“Hey, doll,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Can you hear me?”

You nodded. Tears sliding over your cheeks.

“I’m here,” he murmured, softer now. “I’m gonna get you out.”

He lifted a gloved hand and brushed your cheek with his knuckle. A touch so soft it almost didn't feel real.

His eyes narrowed beneath the mask. His voice lowered, deadly calm.

“Close your eyes for me.”

“Jay…”

“Close them, sweetheart. I need you to trust me.”

You swallowed hard and obeyed, blinking the tears away before darkness took over.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “It will be over soon.”

You waited for his next order.

“Count to ten.”

You clenched her eyes shut so tight it hurt.

“One…”

You heard the scrape of his boots moving away.

“Two…”

A wet sound. Something heavy hitting the floor.

“Three…”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“Four…”

Metal clattered against concrete.

“Five…”

A muffled groan, cut short by the sound of a gunshot.

“Six…”

Something warm splattered across your arm. You flinched but didn’t dare open your eyes.

“Seven…”

His voice, low, close: “Almost there.”

“Eight…”

The ropes shifted around your wrists. 

“Nine…”

The pressure eased. You drew your first full breath in hours.

“Ten.”

You didn't dare open your eyes. Not yet. You collapsed forward, but his arms caught you before you could even think about the impact. Carefully, you felt his arms snake under your knees and behind your arms.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said again, voice raw. You could hear the subtle shake even through his voice changer. 

You buried your face in his chest. His jacket smelled like leather and cigarettes, with a tinge of gunpowder.

He carried you out of that warehouse as gently as possible. 

Past the bodies. 

Past the carnage he left behind. 

All you felt was the steady thump of his heart against your cheek.

You felt the familiar feeling of a leather seat behind you once he set you down. You opened your eyes slowly.

Jason was kneeling in front of you. Helmet off. Mask off. Hair damp with sweat. His teal eyes meeting yours.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded once, even though you weren't entirely sure it was the truth.

His gaze softened. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a wet cloth. With hands that had just ended lives, he wiped the blood from your cheek. 

The smudge on your arm. The tears from your cheeks.

He took his time. Like if he went slowly enough, maybe he could erase all of it. Every bruise, every nightmare, every memory of tonight. 

Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead. He pressed his forehead to yours. 

“Let’s go home.” he murmured.

Your lip curved up, just a little. Just enough.

You nodded.

He gave you a tired smile.

“Count to ten, sweetheart.�� His thumb brushed your cheek. “That’s all you ever have to do. I’ll handle the rest.”

[hidefdoritos]

For someone who's never been to a bar/club karaoke night, I sure have vivid daydreams of going to a bar/club karaoke night in a new town, absolutely tearing it up, and falling in love with the local star as we alternate choosing increasingly flirtatious songs

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ NEW DEAL (ROOMMATE TOJI)

You were crouched in front of the fridge, staring into the abyss of expired condiments and half-empty containers when Toji came home. The sound of his boots hitting the floor was heavy and lazy— like he’d been dragging his whole body through the day. He didn’t say anything at first; he just dropped his tool belt with a tired grunt and kicked the door shut behind him.

You turned around just in time to catch the way he rubbed his neck, his hoodie clinging to his shoulders, still dusted with sawdust and sweat from a 12-hour day on site. He looked exhausted— face shadowed, hair messily tied back and eyes half-lidded with the weight of pure, bone-deep fatigue.

“You eat?” he asked without looking at you, already peeling off his shirt and tossing it over a kitchen chair.

You shook your head. “No groceries. Just sad ketchup packets and some old rice”.

He muttered a curse and leaned his hands on the marble counter, head hanging between his arms. Then after a long moment, he looked up at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and worn. “New deal”.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I cover rent,” he said, standing up straight, his voice a bit more steady now, even though the bags under his eyes said he was one bad day away from crumbling. “All of it. Every month”.

Your mouth dropped open. “What? Are you serious?”

He nodded once, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge and popping it open with the edge of his calloused palm. “Dead serious. But in return, you cook and you do my laundry”.

You stared at him in pure disbelief. “So basically, you want me to be your housewife?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he snorted, taking a long sip. “I just come home dead on my feet every damn night. My back’s shot, my knees feel like gravel and the last thing I wanna do is scrub my socks or figure out dinner. You’re home all day. You got time”.

You frowned, clearly offended. “I have classes”.

“And I’m not asking for a five-star meal,” he said, already walking toward his room, peeling off his undershirt as he went. “Just make sure there’s food when I get home. And maybe fold my shirts so I’m not digging through a mountain every morning”.

He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not saying this to be an asshole,” he added, voice lower and more gentle now. “I trust you. And I don’t… I don’t ask for help unless I need it”.

That part hit different.

You watched him disappear down the hall, the faint sound of his bedroom door creaking shut behind him. The fridge still hung open, light casting a glow on your face as you stood there, completely stunned.

Cooking and laundry in exchange for free rent. It wasn’t exactly a romantic fairy tale but with Toji but something about it felt so raw because of how genuine and needy he seemed, and it was him trusting you to take care of him in the only way he’d allow.

And hell, if it meant coming home to the gruff warmth of his voice and the quiet pride he had in every dish you made, even if he only said, “Not bad, kid”— you figured it was more than a fair trade.

———

I’d be his housewife + from now on, in all the upcoming roommate toji dabbles he’s the one paying rent!!

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Second Times a Charm

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: After a small dog escape, Bob meets you and doesn’t end up exchanging details with you. Thinking it was just meant to be a one time thing till Maisie your dog brings you back together and eventually starts a relationship. But the Thunderbolts are suspicious when Bob lately has been in a too good of a mood so they all decide to track and investigate it.

WC: 3.3K

A/N: Guys… I might redo this it’s def not the best fic ive down, i’m like drained with all the fica ive released in the last week. #grind #slowingdownnow

⸻

Central Park, Late Spring.

Bob wasn’t much of a runner, yet.

He liked walking. He’d only recently learned to enjoy the quiet discipline of it. No heavy footfalls, no pounding heart. Just motion. Just breath. A rhythm he could set. Something calm and human and entirely his own.

The chaos in his head, dark, howling, bottomless, was quieter when he walked. Especially here.

Central Park in the spring was like something from a memory he’d never had. Trees budding green again. Sunlight catching in the ripples of the lake. Children laughing distantly, dogs barking somewhere beyond the trees. The world felt simple when he was out here. Manageable.

His boots crunched lightly against the gravel path as he made his way to his usual spot, a bench by the water, partially shaded by an overgrown maple. The bench itself was old, paint worn off at the edges, wood slightly splintered at the armrests. But it was his bench. The one he rested on during each walk, always at the same point in the loop.

He sat down with a soft sigh, stretched his long legs out, and tilted his face toward the sun. Eyes closed. Breathing even. Peace-

THUD.

Something hit his knee.

Bob startled slightly, blinking down in confusion. A leash, frayed and pink with little daisies on it, was coiled loosely around his shin. And attached to the other end.

A golden retriever.

Tongue out, tail wagging like it was powered by joy alone. Its big brown eyes looked up at him like he was the best thing it had seen all day. The leash dragged behind her like an afterthought.

“Oh- hey, buddy.” Bob said softly, as if afraid to scare her off. “You… uh. You got loose?”

The dog barked once, as if to answer.

Then-

“Maisie!” a voice called out, breathless, somewhere down the path. “You little menace, come back!”

He looked up.

And there you were.

Jogging toward him, your stride uneven from the sudden sprint. A t-shirt clung damply to your back, your hair pulled messily away from your face, cheeks flushed from exertion and probably a little embarrassment. There was something raw and real about you, like you hadn’t had time to smooth yourself into what the world expected yet. Something golden about the way the light seemed to settle on you, drawn in like gravity.

Bob felt the breath knock out of him in a way that had nothing to do with superpowers.

You reached him with a huff, one hand clutching your phone, the other already moving to scoop up the leash.

“I’m so sorry.” you said, slightly winded but grinning as you crouched beside him. “She gets overly excited when people sit down. Thinks everyone’s her new best friend.”

Bob smiled, half-crouched next to the retriever. “She’s not wrong. I could use a friend.”

You gave a short, surprised laugh. It made his stomach do something it hadn’t done in years.

“She didn’t bite you or anything, did she?”

“No, she just… announced herself with enthusiasm.” He gave the dog a fond pat. “Maisie, right?”

You nodded, finally catching your breath. “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Bob.” he said, rising a bit awkwardly and offering a hand. You shook it, firm but warm.

“Thanks for catching her.”

“Of course. It’s not every day someone runs into you with a leash.”

Your smile turned shy at the edges. “No, usually I wait until the third date for that.”

Bob blinked.

You blinked.

Then you both burst out laughing.

The tension in his chest eased. Something about your energy was grounding. You weren’t looking at him like you sensed something was off, like people so often did. You were just… smiling.

You ended up walking together. Slowly at first, letting Maisie sniff her way along the path. You talked about how long you’d lived in the city, how your dog hated pigeons with irrational fury, how the best bagels were always from the sketchy places with no signs.

Bob told you he’d just recently gotten into walking every day. That it helped clear his head. That he liked being outside, in the real world. You asked what he did for work and he gave you the kind of vague answer that didn’t invite more questions, freelance consulting, logistics, a lot of government red tape. You nodded like you understood. Like you weren’t going to pry.

He liked that.

You laughed easily, shared the story of how you got Maisie from a rescue uptown, and how she’d managed to eat an entire rotisserie chicken when you turned your back on her once. Bob listened, enraptured. Every word from you felt like it mattered.

Eventually, the path forked.

“This is me.” you said, motioning left toward a small side path. The sun dappled your skin, your smile soft and open.

He pointed to the opposite direction. “And this is me.”

“See you around?”

“I hope so.”

You both turned, walking away.

Bob finds himself turning around to get one last glimpse of you just to properly engrave your memory into his head permanently. So he can brood and think about the time he was sure he met his future wife but forgot to ask for her number and couldn’t ask for it after because he was far too far already to ask without making it awkward.

Five feet.

Ten.

Twenty-

Then, the clatter of a leash.

“Maisie!” you gasped.

Bob turned just in time to catch the dog as she barreled into him like a guided missile. He braced, kneeling again, catching the leash before it tangled. Maisie’s tongue was already swiping at his face.

You came jogging back, hands on your hips, a groan half-laughing in your throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He stood, leash in hand, grinning.

“I think she’s in love with you.” you said, huffing as you reached him.

Bob looked at you, really looked.

His voice was quiet, but sincere. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a heartbeat of silence between you.

You tilted your head, eyes flickering with interest.

He panicked.

“I mean- I didn’t mean me, I meant her-obviously, she- your dog- I just- uh-“

You laughed. A full, sparkling, head-tossing laugh that made Maisie wag her tail harder.

“Just- give me your phone, smooth-talker.”

He blinked.

You tapped your fingers. “Come on. Before she escapes again.”

He fumbled to pull it out, handing it over. You typed in your number, saved it with a little dog emoji next to your name, and handed it back.

“There. Now next time she escapes, you’ll have someone to blame.”

He looked at your name glowing on the screen.

“I’ll take that risk.”

Maisie barked again, triumphant, like she’d orchestrated this entire meeting with divine precision. Bob was still staring at your contact in his phone, thumb hovering over the screen like it was too delicate to touch, as if the moment might vanish if he blinked too hard.

You watched him for a beat longer, a smile tucked lazily in the corner of your mouth. There was something about him, tall and a little awkward, like he wasn’t used to being seen, really seen, but trying his best not to flinch when he was.

“I’ll, uh, text you,” Bob said, looking up, finally pocketing his phone. His voice was shy, but hopeful.

You nodded, stepping back, tugging gently on Maisie’s leash. “Good. And if you don’t, Maisie has your scent now. She’ll track you down.”

Bob gave a quiet, stunned laugh. “I believe it.”

You gave a mock salute and turned again, this time getting a few full strides before Maisie glanced back one more time, gave a soft whine, and mercifully kept walking with you.

He stood there, still half-smiling, until you and the dog disappeared down the winding path. The sounds of the park filtered back in, the breeze shaking the leaves above him, the faint honk of a distant cab, a couple laughing somewhere nearby.

And yet, everything felt different now.

It wasn’t until he sat back on the bench and

his fingers brushed the screen of his phone again, flicking it on to see your name one more time ”Y/N 🐾” glowing there like a small miracle.

⸻

Several weeks later. Thunderbolts tower.

Something had shifted.

It wasn’t drastic. No dramatic speeches. No cape swirling in the wind. But everyone noticed.

Bob was… different.

Lighter, somehow. More present. Like the edges of him, usually a little frayed from the weight he carried, had softened.

He was humming in the kitchen again, swaying slightly as he flipped pancakes with ease, the scent of cinnamon and maple drifting through the tower. Not unusual for Bob, he always cooked but there was something extra in it now. A rhythm. A bounce.

He didn’t pester John or clap back when John picked on him.

He smiled, a full, crinkled-eyes smile when Bucky called him Bobert.

And he hadn’t once spent the evening perched on the edge of the roof with a faraway look in his eyes.

It was deeply suspicious.

Yelena narrowed her eyes over the rim of her chipped mug, the steam from her jasmine tea curling around her face like mist. “You’re in love.”

Bob, mid-sip of his chalky protein shake, choked. Hard. He slammed the cup down and coughed until his ears turned pink.

“What?” he rasped.

“Don’t play dumb.” She leaned back, eyes sharp as glass. “You’re glowing. Like a woman in a shampoo commercial. Maybe Herbal Essences.”

Ava didn’t look up from polishing her blade. “He does smell like flowers lately.”

“Lavender and bergamot.” John added helpfully, arms crossed, brows raised. “He’s got that post-date aura. Like a dog who got into someone’s picnic basket and is too proud to feel bad.”

He is in love.” Alexei declared, pounding the arm of the couch like it was a gavel. “We must find her. See if she is worthy. Possibly interrogate her.”

Bob set down his smoothie and raised both hands. “Okay. No. First of all, no one’s evaluating anyone’s bloodline. Second, there is no girl.”

Yelena ignored him and reached for her phone. “He always leaves early. Walks the same route. Central Park. South entrance. Between 9:00 to 9:20.”

“You’ve been tracking me?” Bob blinked.

“You radiate suspicious energy.” she said simply. “We go. We spy. We report.”

“Absolutely not.” Bob said, half-laughing, half-panicked. “You are not stalking my-”

He froze.

Yelena’s eyes glittered. “My…?”

Bob sighed, pressing his hands to his face. “This is a violation of privacy.”

“This is family,” Yelena said smugly. “Deal with it, Bobert.”

“Don’t care.” Ava said. “If she broke his heart, he’d black out the sky.”

“She’s not going to break my heart.” Bob said quietly.

Everyone fell silent for a beat.

John grinned, nudging Ava. “Oh, he’s gone. Deep in the fluffy feelings.”

“Leave him alone.” Bucky muttered from the kitchen, pouring coffee. “Let the man have his peace.”

Yelena looked up with a sly smirk. “I will. After surveillance.”

“Yelena.”

“Fine.” she said, tossing her phone aside. “But if she shows up at tower, we’re giving her the talk.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks faintly pink. “She’s not showing up. She doesn’t even know who I really am yet.”

“Oh my God,” John whispered. “You met her as Bob, not The Sentry.”

Bob nodded.

Alexei let out a low whistle. “A civilian. You are in love.”

Bob just smiled softly into his hands, then reached for the waffle iron.

⸻

The Next Morning

The sun hadn’t quite crested over the tops of the brownstone buildings, but the world was already beginning to stir with the soft hum of morning life. The air was crisp and clean, the kind of morning that made everything feel a little more possible.

You jogged at an easy pace, Maisie trotting contentedly beside you, her leash loose in your hand. The rhythmic beat of your sneakers on the pavement echoed faintly through the quiet streets, punctuated only by birdsong and the rustling of early spring leaves dancing in the breeze. Your breath came steady, matching the easy cadence of the run, a ritual that had quickly become your favorite part of the day.

As you rounded the familiar bend, your eyes were drawn to the sprawling oak tree up ahead, the one that sat at the edge of the park like a quiet sentinel. The one where, not long ago, your world had started to shift.

And there he was.

Bob stood beneath it, leaning casually against the trunk like some lost chapter from a storybook, sunlight catching in the soft strands of his hair. He was wearing that same beat-up flannel jacket you’d teased him about, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that didn’t match his otherwise gentle demeanor. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his hands, like he was trying not to fidget too much, not to overthink how this moment would go.

He saw you and straightened, raising a hand in a shy wave. That smile, the one that looked like it started in his chest before reaching his lips curled faintly at the edges of his mouth.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Not the jarring kind of panic, but the warm flutter that made your fingers buzz and your throat tighten just slightly. The hopeful kind.

“Morning.” he called out softly, stepping forward.

In his hands, like a peace offering or a promise, was a steaming cup of coffee.

You slowed to a stop in front of him, brushing a few loose strands of hair from your damp forehead as Maisie circled your legs before flopping dramatically at your feet, before giving him sincere kiss on the lips.

Even after the countless times Bob still can’t help but feel himself grow hot and red.

“You remembered my order.”you said with a grin, accepting the cup. The warmth of it bled into your palms instantly.

“Black, two sugars,” Bob said with a quiet nod sheepishly. “Just how you like it.”

There was something almost reverent about the way he looked at you, like he was surprised you were real, standing there in front of him, flushed from your run and smiling at him like that kiss didn’t just make him see stars.

You were about to thank him when a strange rustling noise rose from the dense shrubbery a few feet away. You turned your head, brows furrowed.

Then, you heard it.

“Oh my god, she’s real.”

“Shut up, John.”

“Bob’s got moves?”

“I told you he had game.”

Your eyes narrowed, confusion knitting across your brow. You looked back at Bob, who had suddenly gone still, his expression a blend of horror and resignation. He muttered something under his breath, something that might’ve been a prayer or a curse before dragging a hand down his face like a man preparing for battle.

“…Did your coffee just talk?” you asked, clutching the cup tighter.

And then it happened.

Like the world’s worst magic trick or maybe a particularly ill-conceived prank, five adults dressed in tactical gear emerged from behind the bushes, one by one. They looked like they’d walked off the set of some spy movie, complete with holsters, combat boots, and the deeply awkward expressions of people who had absolutely not been invited to the party.

You blinked. Maisie let out a low, confused whimper and sat up straight beside you, ears alert.

“What the…” you murmured.

Bob let out a breath like it hurt. “No. No, I’m not being hunted.” He gave you a sheepish glance, eyes full of something between embarrassment and silent pleading. “It’s worse. That’s… that’s my team.”

Yelena strode forward like a woman on a mission, sharp eyes locked on you with unsettling precision. She had the look of someone who could kill a man with a paperclip and still be the most charming person in the room.

“You’re very pretty.” she smiles, offering you a firm handshake. “Congratulations.”

You stared. “…Thank you?”

Before you could process that, another stepped forward, a tall man with slightly blonde hair and a sharp face, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He gave you a polite nod, his voice low and oddly gentle for someone wearing enough gear to storm a bunker.

“I’m John.” he said. “Bobby here has never acted like this around anyone. Ever.”

Your heart rate kicked up a notch. “I’m scared.” you whispered.

Ava moved closer, her approach quieter, more thoughtful. She had a steadiness about her, like she was used to chaos and knew how to navigate it. She gave your arm a soft, almost comforting pat.

“So are we.” she said, deadpan.

Interrupting the two, Alexei decided it was his turn to say something but by grabbing her and picking her up to spin her around all while yelling to Bob who looked like he was going to pass out if he as so much dropped her by an inch. “Robert! Yes! I am so glad you will not be sad lonely sad man rest of your life!”

Finally after being put down to Bob’s protest and mummurs from the team “Too much buddy.” Behind her, Bucky followed, trying to look casual despite the overwhelming energy of intervention. Bucky, simply nodded once, arms crossed, eyes flickering between you and Bob like he was trying to decode a threat level.

Bob sighed audibly, then leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know they were going to do this.”

You stared at him, at his ridiculous, sweet face and the earnestness in his eyes. And against your better judgment, despite the absolutely surreal moment, your lips twitched.

“You’re lucky I love you, i would have ran screaming. Not every you meet The Avengers on your run.” you muttered.

A long beat of silence passed, broken only by Maisie giving a grumble of displeasure and flopping dramatically against your calf. Then Bob looked back at his team, then at you, and offered a half-resigned shrug.

“Well uh- Welcome to the family.” he said softly.

And somehow, despite the thick gear, the ambush, and the fact that your morning coffee had turned into a stakeout, you believed him.

⸻

That night, in the kitchen.

Bob sat perched on the counter, cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink, not from exertion, but from a quiet embarrassment as the team retold the morning’s story for what felt like the fifteenth time.

You had left with a smile and a wave, promising to call. That promise replayed in Bob’s mind, steady and surreal.

He wasn’t sure if it was real. If you were real. If something this ordinary, this good, could really happen to someone like him.

“She liked you.” Yelena said, eyes sharp but kind. “Even after meeting us. That’s real love.”

The words hung in the air, warm and heavy.

And then Bob… cracked.

He pushed off the counter, fingers running through his hair in nervous rhythm. He paced a little, then turned back to them, eyes wide, raw.

“I’m dating her.” he blurted.

Bucky, never missing a beat, deadpanned, “We noticed.”

“No, I mean really dating. She calls me. She texts me. She wants to know how my day went. She laughs at my dumb jokes and all of them. And she… she touches my hand like it’s normal. Like I’m not made of… whatever I’m made of.”

His voice faltered as he took a shaky breath.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get something like this. Not with what’s in my head. Not with what I’ve done or what I could do. But she looks at me like I’m just some guy she met in the park. And I want to keep being that guy. For her.”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Then Alexei broke it with a loud clap. “Bob is in love.”

John raised his glass with a sly grin. “To leash girl.”

“To Maisie.” Ava added, a soft smile touching her lips.

Bucky simply smiled, steady and warm. “To hope of a regular life.”

Bob sank back down on the counter, dazed, full of it, full of something he hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time.

⸻

[webslinger-holland]

Hiiiii! I hope you are doing amazing. It’s my first time asking for a request omg hahah so I hope it’s gooood bc I love ur writing so much and the way u describe everything it’s chef kiss!

I was thinking if maybe u could write about the thunderbolts react to the reader getting hurt in a mission and they take care of you back in the Watch Tower

Prompt: The Thunderbolts take care of you after you get hurt on a mission

Warning: an array of injuries (different for each character) including: broken ribs, severe concussion, burst eardrums, deep abdominal laceration, and a broken collarbone. Details of event which caused injury, mentions of surgery and stitches, some swearing, and blood

Note: Please enjoy!!!

Thunderbolts Masterlist

Yelena: When the ceiling caved in, one of the supporting metal beams landed right on your abdomen, knocking the wind out of you and resulting in four broken ribs. The pain was intense and recovery was a bitch.

The bed creaks softly as you shift, trying to get comfortable. You immediately regret it.

A white-hot pain knifes through your ribs, stealing the breath from your lungs. You wince, bracing your arm across your side, but even that hurts. You try to muffle the sound, but another sharp gasp escapes anyway. Before it’s even finished leaving your mouth, Yelena’s already there.

She appears in your doorway like a ghost with combat boots. “What happened? What's wrong?"

“Nothing,” you rasp.

She’s by your side in seconds, crouching next to the bed. Her eyes flicker over your face, your chest, your arm, looking for anything that could indicate a problem.

“Don’t lie. You made a noise. I heard the noise; it sounded painful.” Yelena observed.

“I just moved weird.” You waved her off.

“That’s because your ribs are broken,” Yelena says as a matter of factly. “You’re not supposed to move weird. You’re not supposed to move at all actually.”

She sits on the edge of the bed, one hand braced beside your leg like she’s keeping you grounded with touch alone.

Her voice drops. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You blink. “I’m okay—”

“You were gasping for air. I thought—” She cuts herself off and stands abruptly. “No. You’re not allowed to say you’re okay anymore. That phrase is banned. I decide what’s okay now.”

You open your mouth to argue, and she points a warning finger at you.

“Don’t. You’re not even allowed to breathe dramatically.” Yelena warns you teasingly.

Despite the pain, a weak laugh bubbles up in your throat. It was a bad idea, one that you instantly regretted. The moment you laugh, your ribs scream in protest, and you let out a choked gasp.

Yelena’s already at your side again, hand gently pressing a heating pad to your side, the other guiding you back down with infinite care.

“I told you not to laugh,” she mutters, softer now.

“Well, then stop being funny.” You argue back.

“You love my jokes.” Yelena claims.

“I love your stupid face. Your jokes are terrible.” You tell her.

You breathe through the pain. She adjusts the pillows behind you—fluffing, rotating, stacking—and you realize she must have done this a dozen times already while you were half-asleep or too drugged to notice.

She lowers the bed just enough that your body relaxes, and then she covers you with a blanket she definitely stole from someone else’s room.

“Do you need anything?” she asks. “Water? Tea? Wine?”

“Just stay with me?” You look up at her with pleading eyes.

Her posture softens. Without saying a word, she climbs into bed behind you, carefully settling in so she doesn’t jostle your side. She lies on her back but reaches over, her pinky hooking gently around your uninjured hand. You close your eyes.

She doesn’t let go of your hand the entire night.

Bucky: Being slammed head first against a wood table during a fight was not planned, but it happened anyways. Though you ended up defeating your enemy and taking them into custody, you certainly didn't walk away on steady legs. Your head was pounding and you knew something was wrong.

Turns out, after the diagnosis, you ended up with a severe concussion from that fight. One that would take weeks to recover from. Which meant you were benched from missions until you got the all clear sign from your doctor.

You sit on the couch in the dimly lit room, your head heavy, pounding like a drumbeat that won’t quit. Every light, every sound, even the faintest movement feels like it’s magnified a thousand times too loud.

Your vision blurs occasionally, and it’s hard to focus on anything—words, faces, even the simple pattern of the carpet beneath your feet.

Bucky is beside you, his presence steady and calm. He’s lowered the blinds hours ago and keeps his voice low and soft like he’s afraid of breaking you with noise.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, sitting close enough that you can feel his warmth, but not crowding you.

You try to answer, but your words come out slurred and slow. “I… think so…”

He nods knowingly. “Don’t push yourself. Just rest. I’ve got you.”

He stays silent for a long moment, watching you carefully, noticing the way you flinch when a soft breeze brushes your temple, or how your eyes close against the pain.

When you reach up to rub your forehead, your hand trembles. Without a word, Bucky takes your hand gently in his, holding it still. His thumb strokes your skin, slow and reassuring.

“Here,” he says softly, pulling a damp cloth from the side table. “Cool down with this. It’ll help.”

You lean your head back against the couch, letting the cloth rest on your forehead. His hand doesn’t leave yours.

Hours pass like this—quiet, slow. Bucky reads softly from a book he found, making sure his voice stays low, his words gentle. You can’t focus enough to follow the story, but the sound is comforting.

When you get thirsty, he’s the one who hands you a glass of water, carefully helping you lift it to your lips without spilling. At one point, you try to stand just to get to the bathroom.

“Stop,” Bucky says firmly, steadying you before you take a step. “You’re not ready.”

You lean against him, already exhausted. Your body feeling like it’s made of lead. He sighs, then carries you the rest of the way without complaint.

Back on the couch, he pulls a blanket over you, his arm curling protectively around your shoulders.

“You’re going to be okay,” he promises. “I’ll make sure of it.”

His voice is steady and sure, and you believe him, even through the haze of pain.

John: The explosion ended up being a lot louder than anticipated and you were much too close to the initial explosion point to go without injuries. When the dust began to settle and the fire subsided, the only thing that could be heard was an intense ringing sound. Your ears bled. You'd ruptured both your eardrums.

The world is muffled and pressured like you're forced to keep your head underwater. Words aren't clear enough to comprehend. It's very disorienting.

In recovery, the room feels strange and quiet, yet overwhelmingly loud in your mind. It’s like a muted world, but your ears are painfully sensitive to any sudden noise. Every movement of your jaw sends ripples of agony through your skull. Talking is nearly impossible, and the pressure behind your ears feels like it might burst your head open.

You try to sit up—slowly and carefully—but the room shifts hard to the left, and your stomach lurches. You let out a sharp gasp.

Before you can fall, John’s arms are already around you. He's been watching you carefully over the past few days, helping you get around and giving you painkillers. He’s rough around the edges, but right now, all his focus is on you.

“Easy—whoa, whoa,” John murmurs but it comes out so muffled you can't understand him. “That’s enough. You don’t get to fall over today.”

Your body trembles as the dizziness floods your senses. You shut your eyes tight, hoping the spinning stops. John presses his palm gently to the back of your head.

“Balance is gonna be messed up for a while,” John tries to explain. The rumble of his voice coming from his chest is oddly comforting. You rest your head against it. “Burst eardrums’ll do that. You’re not walking anywhere alone.”

When the pain flares up, you let out a groan of pain and cover your ears with your hands. John doesn’t hesitate—he fetches cold compresses, carefully places them against your temples and around your ears. His hands are steady and warm despite the cold packs.

“Just breathe,” John writes the words down on a notepad for you to read. You send him a weak smile back. “You’re doing better than you think.”

Ava: The night of your injury was a complete blur because you don't remember much from all the blood loss you experienced. From how the team retold it, you had charged an enemy head on and didn't account for the hidden knife they'd stashed behind them.

One swift swipe to the stomach made you drop to the floor; the blood pooling out faster than any of them could imagine. You'd just barely pulled through, having immediately been taken into surgery and five hours later, you came out.

What you had to show was a deep cut laceration across your abdomen that was held together with fifteen stitches.

The pain isn't immediate—it comes in pulses, sharp and deep, like your body is remembering it all over again. The stitches across your lower abdomen tug with every slight movement, pulling tight skin and bruised muscle with them.

You hiss as you try to shift in bed. And Ava is there instantly.

“Stop,” she says softly, appearing at your side like she phased straight out of the wall. She presses a hand gently to your shoulder. “You're going to tear the sutures if you keep moving like that.”

You swallow hard, trying to breathe through the pain. Sweat clings to your neck and back, your shirt sticking to your skin like gauze.

“I can’t get comfortable,” you whisper.

She adjusts the pillow behind your back, lifts the blanket carefully away from the bandaged wounds, and with the precision of someone who’s both been injured and cared for others, she begins checking the dressings.

“They held up through the night,” she murmurs. “No new bleeding. That’s good.”

You nod, but then flinch. Even that hurts.

Ava disappears briefly and returns with a cool cloth, gently wiping your forehead and the back of your neck. “You’ve been sweating again. Fever’s still low-grade, but if it spikes, I’ll have to call the doctor again.”

You manage a faint smirk. “So I don’t get to suffer in peace?”

Her lips twitch. “Not on my watch.”

She sits back beside you, legs crossed, her hand still resting lightly on the blanket near your side—close, but careful not to touch anywhere painful.

“I know how this feels,” she says quietly, not meeting your eyes. “Needing help. Hating that you need help. It messes with your head.”

You turn to look at her, slowly.

"But it doesn't make you weak."

Bob: You'd never heard the sound of a bone cracking, only in the movies when it happened to a character. Even then, you knew it was just movie magic sound effects and not the actual sound of a bone breaking.

There wasn't time to think about deflecting a metal pipe that came barreling down towards you. It collided with your collarbone hard. There was a sickening crack, sharp and final like the sound of dry wood breaking in a fire followed be silence.

The force from it knocked you down. A hot, electric scream escaped your lips as one of the other team members dealt with the enemy. Every breath that followed scraped against the jagged edge of the break. The tiniest movement sent shockwaves of pain through your shoulder.

Your collarbone was broken on your right side. You ended up in surgery for repairs and you had to keep your arm in a sling for a couple weeks.

Facing a long painful recovery, the shower has been running for a few minutes. The steam curling out beneath the bathroom door, but you haven’t moved.

You’re standing by the sink, exhausted just from the effort it took to walk there. Your arm hangs useless in the sling, your shirt clinging to your back, and every attempt to peel it off with one hand has ended in sharp pain and frustration.

You hear a soft knock on the door followed by that sweet familiar voice.

“It’s just me.” Bob calls from the other side. "How—how are you doing?"

You hesitate. The tears start to pool in the corners of your eyes.

“I can’t—” Your voice breaks. “I can’t get it off.”

The door creaks open slowly, just a few inches. He is dutifully keeping his eyes locked on the floor like he’s waiting for permission. He stands still for a moment.

“Want me to help?” He offers.

You nod before realizing he can’t see it. “Yes please.”

He steps in carefully and closes the door behind him to keep the heat in.

“Okay. We’ll go slow.” Bob says, finally meeting your eyes. He moves behind you, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “I’m going to lift it over your head. You tell me if it hurts, alright?”

“Okay.” You nod.

His touch is gentle. He lifts the fabric inch by inch, mindful of the sling, the bandages, the way your breath stutters when he brushes too close to a sore spot. He never yanks, never rushes. When you flinch, he pauses and waits for a sign to continue.

“You’re alright. Just breathe.” Bob encourages you. You try. It’s not easy.

Once the shirt is off, Bob carefully sets it aside, then crouches down in front of you, reaching for the waistband of your shorts.

“I can—” You begin to reach. Your hand trembles when you go to try, and Bob doesn’t say anything. Just waits with his palms up, offering—not assuming.

You nod once. He slides them down slowly, never looking at you like you’re fragile or something to pity. Just someone he cares about. Someone he’s here for.

The last pieces to remove are your underwear. At this point, your cheeks are hot from embarrassment and he helps you stripe away the last pieces of modesty shielding you. But he never looks at you differently.

Now bare, Bob grabs the clean towel you left nearby and holds it up like a shield between you. You take it to cover yourself up to the best of your ability one handed.

“You okay to get in on your own?” Bob inquires, respectfully not looking at your body. You nod. “Alright. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

He gives you the faintest smile before backing out, careful to close the door behind him—but not all the way. Just enough that you could call for him if something happened.

There, Bob stands waiting patiently with his back pressed against the wall. He rubs his eye with his sleeve once, but isn't bored standing there.

When you're ready to get out, Bob help you, dries you off gently, and redresses you with the most careful precision. He helps you into bed and pulls the covers up. And he reassures you that if you ever need anything, he'll be there for you.

[harmonyrae]

Yes, Boss

AN: Just felt like writing, very little editing, based on a concept @comatosebunny09 (ily btw) has written (working for Sylus). Expect angst & devastation. 18+ MDNI just in case I write some dark shit.

"You bastard! You can't do this!"

Your pleas were useless, your partner - ex-partner now - had made up his mind. He'd taken this job on purpose, to get rid of you. How could you have missed the signs? His disinterest in your planning. His constant nagging about the job offer you'd "hastily" declined. This was how he'll get the job. By feeding you to the beast of the N109 Zone, he proves himself.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I tried to change your mind, but you've never listened to reason."

"All this for a quick buck? And the shallow promise of job security?"

He finally pries the flash drive out of your hand, the handcuffs tightening as you struggle. He holds it up, his haughty grin makes you sick.

"After I deliver Sylus's coding system? I'm pretty sure Ever will keep me around for a long while."

Alarms blare, your override has been detected. The handcuffs cut off circulation, but you don't stop fighting. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your eyes watering.

"When I find you, I'll -"

"You and I both know you won't be walking out of this. Not once Sylus finds you."

He stands, leaving you writhing on the floor against your restraints. He kicks your gun away and stoops to pick up his own. He waves as he walks backward towards the exit. There's no point in begging.

As his figure fades, you try once more to free yourself. As the cuffs dig deeper, you cry out and collapse. The cool cement floor against your cheek is a welcomed reprieve. But your moment of peace is quickly interrupted.

Two sets of black boots sprint into view. You close your eyes, waiting for the gunshot that never comes. When you open your eyes again, a pair of dress shoes approaches. You instinctively struggle, which only makes you groan in pain. You crane your neck to look up at the shadowy figure. The gun in his hand twitches at his side.

"What do you want to do with her, boss?"

The voice was far too chipper, almost eager. You wince as the figure crouches. His calloused fingers grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Through the darkness, all you see is a faint red glow. Your mind races as you feel a presence probing at the walls of your memory. Just as the pressure becomes unbearable, it stops, and the man releases you.

"Search her and put her in a room."

His voice is dark and unyielding. His henchmen help you stand and usher you down the hall to an elevator. As it ascends, you finally reach your limit. Your body goes limp, and the men holding you up stumble as the try to catch you.

As everything fades to black, you swear you can hear his voice again.

"Careful, this one has claws."

It must have been hours since you passed out in that elevator. When you wake up you're alone in a room, a rather ornate one in fact. A plush comforter beneath you, pillows so soft your neck has finally learned to relax. Sitting up, you take a moment to find your center. You're in an unfamiliar room, in new clothes, with no weapons. Fuck.

Click

The door knob turns and sends a jolt of panic through you. Standing beside the bed, you search for anything that could be a weapon. Settling on the lamp, you yank the plug free from the outlet and wield it like a sword. As the door swings open, that faint red glow appears again. Your mind goes numb and the lamp shatters at your feet. Just as your about to fall, arms wrap around you.

"You really are stubborn aren't you?"

That deep, rich voice from before, he's here. Who is he? What is he doing to your mind? And more importantly, why are you still alive?

He directs you to the edge of the bed and sits you down. The mattress dips beside you as he sits. You hesitate before looking over at him, afraid you'll walk into some kind of trap. But instead of a trap, you're greeted by crimson eyes that are no longer glowing. The man before you is stoic, broad shoulders, firm jaw, devastatingly handsome by all accounts. If you weren't worried about dying, you'd be intrigued.

"Why am I here?"

He chuckles, low and almost forced.

"You're the one who broke in, remember?"

You tense, you bring your knees to your chest and shift back on the bed away from him. Your arms coil around your legs and you stare.

"Why am I alive then?" You mumble, bracing for the answer.

"Because you impressed me."

Your mouth falls open and he laughs, more genuine this time.

"And... I'm giving you a chance to fix your mistake. You work for me now. Until you get my coding system back. And wipe all traces of it from Ever's database."

"I work... for you? So you're...?"

"Sylus."

"And you expect me to what? Walk into Ever's building and yoink your shit back? How do you expect me to do that?"

"That's for you to figure out, kitten."

The nickname takes you by surprise. Your eyes widen, partially to rebuke his audacity and partially because you're not sure you hate it.

"If you could bypass my security systems, I'm sure you can do it. Oh, and you'll be upgrading that. Seems it isn't so impenetrable after all."

Get his coding system back, destroy all traces in Ever's database, upgrade his whole security system... This could take weeks. This is why you freelanced, you hated being told what to do.

"You'll live here, at the Onychinus base, until further notice. I sent Luke and Kieran to your apartment to fetch your belongings. Until they get back, there's clothes in the closet. I'll provide you with a new phone and gun."

A live in job. Fantastic. You don't even question the fact he knows where you live. As you open your mouth to protest, Sylus swiftly stands and strides to the door.

"I leave for a business deal in 25 minutes. Since Luke and Kieran are busy, you're my plus one. Change if you want, just be ready when I come back."

"I really don't have a say in this, huh?"

Sylus turns and leans against the door frame, tucking his hands in his pockets. His smirk is mischievous, but there's a danger to it nonetheless.

"Your other option is I kill you. What would you prefer?"

You blood runs cold and you bite your lip until you taste blood. Guess this is your life now. Working for the leader of Onychinus until you can figure out how to infiltrate Ever's computer science department. But this new arrangement won't change the fact when you find your ex-partner, he'll suffer in every way imaginable.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmutm0 @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @freddy-2002-blog @plsdonttakemyname @sylus-hunter

[damiansgoodgirll]

can you please make soft smut with roman where reader is a wrestler and she’s shy and quiet and sometimes she feels insecure about herself ❤️

roman reigns x reader

‼️soft roman, insecure reader, smut‼️

LOVIN’ YOU

the locker room was buzzing with energy, the usual pre-show chaos of crew members rushing around, last-minute promos being filmed and wrestlers getting into the right mindset.

you sat on the leather bench in front of your locker, lacing up your boots with precision, trying to block out the noise around you.

you were never one for the loud, chaotic nature of the wrestling world. it wasn’t that you didn’t love it - because you did, with everything in you - but you had always been different from the rest. where others thrived on the adrenaline, the banter and the aggressive energy, you preferred quiet moments, a soft presence in a world that was anything but.

and yet, somehow, roman reigns, the tribal chief, the man everyone feared, had found you.

you felt him before you saw him. a deep warmth settling over you, a magnetic pull you had long since stopped questioning. roman had a presence that demanded attention and even when he wasn’t trying, the air shifted when he was near.

“ready for tonight?” his voice was low, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

you looked up, meeting his dark eyes. he was watching you with that intense gaze that always made your heart melt and warm. you nodded, offering a small smile “yeah, just… mentally preparing.”

a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he crouched down in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees “you always do that…” he murmured, tilting his head “get all quiet before a match. what goes on in that pretty head of yours?”

you felt your face heat up under his scrutiny. roman had this way of making you feel completely exposed, like he could see right through every wall you put up - like he knew you more than you knew yourself.

“just… making sure i don’t mess up i guess…” you admitted softly.

his expression softened instantly, and he reached out, brushing his knuckles along your jaw “you never mess up, baby” he said, his voice firm “you’re too damn good for that.”

your chest tightened at his words, at the sincerity in his tone. roman had always been your biggest supporter, always believing in you even when you struggled to believe in yourself.

before you could respond, a crew member called for him, letting him know his segment was up next. he sighed, standing to his full height, towering over you as he always did.

“i’ll see you after?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

you nodded, and before he walked away, he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. it was such a small gesture, but it left your skin tingling, warmth blooming in your chest.

roman reigns was not a gentle man to the world. but with you? he was something else entirely.

later that night, after the show had ended and the exhaustion had settled into your bones, you found yourself in roman’s hotel room. it was always like this after big matches - just the two of you, away from the chaos, seeking comfort in each other.

you sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of your oversized hoodie, while roman stood near the window, his back to you as he scrolled through his phone.

he must have sensed your nerves because he glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly “what’s wrong?”

you hesitated, biting your lip “nothing.”

he turned fully at that, setting his phone down on the table before walking toward you “don’t lie to me, sweetheart” he murmured, standing between your legs, his hands finding your waist “talk to me.”

you sighed, leaning into his touch “i just… sometimes i wonder if i fit in this world…”

his grip on you tightened slightly, his expression darkening - he definitely felt wasn’t expecting that “don’t do that” he said firmly “don’t doubt yourself.”

you swallowed hard, looking up at him “but i’m not like the others, roman. i’m not loud, or aggressive, or…”

“you’re you” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument “and that’s exactly why i want you. why i love you.”

your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

he exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to rest against yours “you have no idea how crazy you make me…” he murmured. “the way you are, so sweet, so fucking good, it drives me insane.”

his lips found yours then, slow and deep, stealing the breath from your lungs. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to savor every second.

you melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

roman guided you onto the bed with a quiet groan, his body pressing against yours, warm and solid.

“you sure?” he asked, his voice rough, his lips trailing along your jaw.

you nodded, arching into him “yes.”

his hands moved with deliberate care, peeling away your clothes, his touch reverent. his hands slid beneath your hoodie, pushing the fabric up slowly, exposing inch after inch of skin. he traced his fingers over your stomach, your ribs, his touch light but deliberate. you gasped when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, your back arching instinctively. he pulled your hoodie over your head, tossing it aside before his lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping his way lower. he unclasped your bra with practiced ease, groaning softly as he took in the sight of you.

“perfect…” he muttered, his hands cupping you, his thumbs circling your nipples before his mouth replaced his fingers.

he kissed every inch of exposed skin, worshiping you like you were something sacred.

you gasped when his lips trailed lower, when he settled between your thighs, his dark eyes locked onto yours. he sat back for a moment, dark eyes raking over your now bare form, his expression shifting into something possessive, something primal. “roman…”you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair.

he hummed in response, his mouth finally finding where you needed him most. the first swipe of his tongue had you gasping, your hips jerking, but roman held you still, his grip firm.

he took his time, unraveling you piece by piece, pushing you to the edge and pulling you back until you were begging for him.

he worked you open with his tongue, his fingers joining in, stretching you, preparing you. you were trembling beneath him, your body taut with pleasure, every nerve ending alive and burning “let go baby…” - and you did.

roman didn’t stop. he licked and kissed you through it, drawing out every aftershock, until you were trembling, overstimulated and breathless.

only then did he move back up, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“ready for me, baby?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

you nodded, still hazy, still floating.

when he finally pressed inside you, it was slow, deep, his forehead pressed against yours, his breaths mingling with yours.

“mine…” he murmured, his fingers lacing with yours “always.”

“oh fuck…” - you were sensitive. you clung to him, moaning into his ear, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

the slow build of pleasure started again, coiling deep in your stomach, and roman felt it.

“come for me again…” he murmured, his hand slipping between you, his fingers finding that sensitive spot.

your body obeyed, pleasure slamming into you, your walls tightening around him as you fell apart for the second time.

roman cursed, his movements stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan.

and as he moved, as he loved you with every part of himself, you knew, without a doubt, you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you.

“i love you…”he whispered, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

you smiled, your eyes heavy with exhaustion and contentment “i love you too.”

roman sighed, wrapping you in his arms, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go.

and in that moment, you knew, he never would.

———————————

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[wolvietxt]

Hii congrats on 1k!!! 💝

Could you do Dean Winchester with this prompt?

physical injury: after a fight, one character is hurt but refuses to admit how much pain they're in. the other notices and gently takes care of them, despite their protests.

Pd. Reader is the one who gets hurt

DEAN stormed into the motel room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the flimsy frame. his jaw was tight, knuckles bruised from a fight that had gotten way out of hand. you followed a few steps behind, quieter, your arms crossed defensively as you tried to push past the ache blooming in your ribs.

“you wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking?” dean snapped, throwing his jacket onto the bed without looking back. his tone was sharp, but you could hear the undercurrent of worry he was trying to bury.

“i was thinking we’d get out alive,” you shot back, your voice strained. every breath made your side throb, but you’d be damned if you let him know that.

dean turned, narrowing his eyes as he took you in. “yeah? and how’s that plan working out for you?” he gestured vaguely toward you, his frustration crackling in the space between you. “you’re limping.”

“i’m fine,” you lied, walking further into the room to put distance between the two of you. “just drop it.”

“like hell i will.” his voice dropped, quieter now but no less intense. he stepped closer, his boots heavy against the thin carpet. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. you leaned against the edge of the table, trying to make your breathing look normal despite the sharp twinge in your side. “i told you, i’m fine.”

dean didn’t buy it for a second. you heard the bed creak as he sat on the edge, his eyes burning into you. “you’re holding your side. did one of those bastards get you?”

“no,” you said too quickly, your voice clipped. you turned away, pretending to rummage through the duffel bag on the table. “just a bruise. i’ll live.”

“stop,” he said, softer now, and the sudden gentleness in his tone froze you in place. “let me see.”

“it’s not a big deal,” you protested, your words weaker now as you felt the exhaustion from the fight creeping in.

“you’re a terrible liar.” dean stood, his shadow falling over you before his hands gently gripped your shoulders. he turned you around, his touch firm but careful. “come on. sit down.”

you sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this. “dean - “

“sit.” his voice left no room for argument, but there was no anger there anymore. just quiet determination.

you sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as the movement pulled at your ribs. dean crouched in front of you, his green eyes scanning your face before dropping to where your arm was still cradling your side. “lift your shirt.”

you hesitated, but his steady gaze made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go. reluctantly, you pulled up the hem of your shirt, revealing the ugly purple bruise spreading across your ribs.

dean swore under his breath, his jaw tightening again, but this time it wasn’t anger. “damn it,” he muttered, his hand hovering near the bruise like he wasn’t sure if he should touch it. “why didn’t you say something?”

“because it’s not that bad,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

“not that bad?” he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “you can barely breathe without wincing.”

you shrugged, biting back a grimace. “it’s not like i haven’t had worse.”

dean shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. he grabbed the first-aid kit from the nightstand, pulling out an ice pack and cracking it to activate the cooling gel. without a word, he pressed it gently to your ribs, his other hand bracing your back to keep you steady.

“hold this,” he said softly, guiding your hand to the ice pack. “and stop being so damn stubborn.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “guess that makes two of us.”

dean huffed a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “yeah, well, at least i’m not dumb enough to hide something like this.”

you rolled your eyes but let him take care of you, the warmth of his touch grounding you more than you wanted to admit.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @jackles010378

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[monstersandmaw]

a biker orc has spawned in my drafts... here's an unedited snippet from what I have so far. Lemme know if you want the rest and I'll do it.

male orc, modern fantasy setting, gn reader who uses a cane as a mobility aid but their disability, while accommodated for later in the story, isn't the focus, or an issue.

___

You were used to your dog getting stares from people in the park. Tiny as a teacup, and as ugly as they came, Tinkerbell had been a rescue three years ago, and the two of you had pack bonded better than most werewolves who grew up together. The little chihuahua cross (crossed with what, no one knew and it would take an entire mage’s laboratory to unravel the DNA of your mystical little creature anyway) was sort of sandy coloured, with white socks and a hint of Jack Russel about the tail, but her bug-eyes and little teeth were all chihuahua. There was a tuft of longer hair on her head that made her look like a gremlin after midnight, and she had the attitude to go with it.

She also hated everyone.

It didn’t matter if they were the cutest, sweetest little fawn, or the gentlest fairy, she hated them.

So when you were taking a break on a chilly bench at the edge of the park after walking her as far as your body would let you that day, and three orcs on obscenely loud motorbikes drew up to the curb only a few metres away and cut the engines on their bikes, you fully expected her to go absolutely ape shit on them.

One of the orcs removed his helmet and propped it on his bike’s mirror, and pointed at The Creature. A very un-orcish giggle escaped him and he began to make little cooing noises over her, so much that you found your mouth curling into a smirk at his antics.

The others kept their helmets on, but you could tell the were orcs too just by their build. They were laughing at their mate, who was rapidly losing his mind over your dog. Quite why, you had no idea, but there it was.

“She’ll eat you for breakfast, buddy,” you called over to them, and the orc without his helmet froze.

His expression turned from gooey-eyed to comically devastated and you couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of your chest.

Tinkerbell looked up at you and then over at the bikers.

“I’m warning you,” you said with mock-seriousness. “She’s a killer.”

The orc without the helmet swung his leg over his monster of a sports bike and came round the front to stand, staring at her from a distance. You, in turn, stared at him.

Where his mates had perhaps more stereotypical clothing for the kind of bikes they rode — both choppers — he had on a baggy black hoodie which you hope was armoured underneath. By contrast though, his faded black jeans were tight around his tree trunk legs, and there was a slight rip in the thigh that showed his dark, olive green skin. The jeans clearly had knee armour though, and he had sporty looking biker boots instead of the scuffed, black work boot style shoes his friends had on. His black hair was plaited back off his gorgeous face in a complicated braid that was studded and adorned all the way down with charms made of bone and metal and wood, and it ended below his waistband. His tusks were rounded at the tip, unlike the more traditional orcs, but he did have a cuff of engraved silver around each one, showing he was over the age of twenty five.

His hands were covered by black, armoured gloves that did unreasonable things to your sex drive for some reason, and he crouched down and held one hand out towards Tinkerbell, though at that distance he couldn’t possibly hope to pet her. He was a good six or seven metres from the bench, but Tinkerbell took notice. They were all hard to miss, after all.

The orc’s mates were snickering openly, and one of them had got out their phone to record their friend. You hoped they wouldn’t get you in the frame. You had no inclination to become some prop on a stranger’s social media, though you didn’t mind if Tinkerbell had her five minutes in the limelight.

Propped up beside you on the bench, your walking cane started to slide slightly along the wooden seat, toppling slowly towards the ground, and you grabbed for it and tucked it up against your thigh. The movement freed up your hand for a moment, and it was all the excuse Tinkerbell needed to yank herself free of your clutches and launch herself at the orc.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, but the dog was off like a guided missile, trailing her pink leash behind her as she tore across the grass towards him, yapping wildly.

Instead of sinking her tiny little dagger teeth into his armoured arm though, she bounced up like a wayward baked bean and hurled herself at his chest — honestly, you couldn’t blame the girl — and he caught her, giggling like a small child. You stared, astonished, as the creature who had once fought a five year old at a birthday party for a single square of cheese proceeded to charm the hell out of a seven and a half foot orc with a litre sports bike that looked like it could eat a dragon for breakfast.

“What the actual fuck?” you hissed as the orc continued to fuss your minuscule dog and make little baby noises at her as he held her up like he was presenting a well-known lion cub to an audience while she squirmed in his frankly illegally huge hands before lowering her again and nuzzling his flatter nose against her pointy one and setting her down on the ground with surprising care for someone so bulky.

Baffled by her betrayal and change in personality, you stood awkwardly — painfully — leaning on your cane for stability, and the orc’s green eyes tracked the movement, his attention sliding from the dog to her owner as you eased yourself to your feet.

There is a bit more written but this felt like a good spot to leave it for now. Lemme know if you want the rest!

(EDIT: Chapter One is now up on Patreon - free to access from 21st Feb 2025)

[mirrology]

I wanted to request Platonic Boothill and child reader!

After finding out about what happened to Boothill’s daughter wanted to request him finding child reading and taking them in as his own kid and caring for them, taking them to little events or fairs 😭

FEEL SO BAD FOR BOOTHILL ☹️ HE LOST HIS HOME, HIS DAUGHTER AND HIS BODY 😭 IM BALLING MY EYES OUT

— Wunderkind .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ Wunderkind: (noun) a wonder child or child prodigy

Ft. Boothill, gender-neutral reader, platonic. wc: 972

Content: child reader, reader is a sort of 'prize' for an unknown person, the first scene is inspired by mizisua meeting but its platonic, got a little lazy so the rest is headcanons, reader gets surprise adopted, boothill is the best dad ever, he spoils the reader, they both go to fairs and parks often. / a strange man took you in when you were at your lowest. You never knew that you would be at your highest when with him. slight angst but then fluff

Notes: thank you for the request!! i tried my best to incorporate everything that you mentioned. boothill's backstory is so sad and it truly made by tear up, also the IPC sucks.

Fate hadn't been kind to you, you don't remember how you ended up being a so-called prize for a person you barely knew. You don't remember your parent's face nor remember if you even had any. They dressed you up in the fanciest clothes, ones laced with ruffles and the softest cloth, made sure your hair was always neat and tidy. Yet they never actually cared for you, they only wished to show you off as a trophy as they called you.

When out of all the eyes that watched you, they treated you roughly. Grabbing your head and pushing you down to the ground when you didn't meet their expectations, gripping every inch of your arms and leaving blooming bruises in their wake. All while showing you off to everyone in their premise.

You stared blankly at the street, watching people walk by and cars pass. You sat down in an alley way, leaning against the wall of a shop, just, waiting. You had escaped from that manor, from that wretched place. Although you had no hope that you would be free, sooner or later they would find you and bring you back all to restart that agonizing cycle. Just the thought made you squeamish, it made you disgusted.

Your eyes drooped as you looked at people living normal lives, you oh so desperately wished from someone to take you away from this world. As you were lost in your thoughts a pair of boots stopped in front of you, you snapped out of your daydreaming and slowly tilted your head up. Your eyes met with grey ones, you stared blankly at the man in front of you. He had white and black hair, the two colors clashing like yin and yang, it was pretty. He... looked concerned? The man crouched down on one knee to be at your level, you watched him as he did, not once did you take your eyes off of him.

"Hey, uh, ya' okay, kid?" he questioned, his tone was soft and barely above a whisper as if you would run away at the slightest noise. You blinked in surprise, you hadn't expected to be asked such a thing. Your eyes darted somewhere else that wasn't his face, did he want to help you? You considered saying that you didn't want help, but what would that mean for you?

You would be stuck living a life full of emptiness, unfulfilled by your wrongful choice. You looked back at him. He was still there, patiently awaiting your response. "I'm..." You momentarily stopped, your throat felt dry, you swallowed. "I'm lost and... alone, " you squeaked out. Although this wasn't the entire truth, yet it wasn't a complete lie either.

"Hm.." He hummed as his eyebrows furrowed, a conflicted expression on his face. He then perked up or rather tensed. He noticed a bruise, one which is black and dark purple at the moment, looks like a darker spot beneath your sleeve. He slowly reached out towards your arm, and he looked back at you. "May i?" He asked, his robotic fingertips gracing the edge of your long sleeve. Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded. You suppose that this man really does want to help you.

He gently grasped your smaller hand in his, it was cold and stiff. Yet it didn't feel like theirs, this one was careful, considerate. The cool material felt nice against your sweaty palms.

The bruise spread from halfway up your arm down to almost your wrist, a deep purple-black bruise that stood out from the lighter colors of your clothes. It looks like it was recently made and very painful. The man looked stunned, as if this wasn't a normal occurrence. Well, you guess it wasn't for anyone else other than you. "Yer gonna need medical care, bud." He swiftly picked you up in his arms, holding you softly as if you would break in an instant.

You jumped slightly; you weren't used to being picked up nor touched in a way that wasn't aggressive for that matter. He led your arms to wrap around his neck, "Hold on, bud." He grinned at you, showing off his shark-like teeth. You stared in awe at your savior, being helped felt... nice. No one had ever been at your Beck and call, only ever "helped" when they wanted.

Tears sprung up into your eyes. You closed them tightly, not wanting to be seen in such a vulnerable state. "Thank you..." You whispered as you burried you head into the junction of his neck. He smiled and stroked the back of your head.

"Uhm.." You hummed out "What's your name mister?" Your head turned to look at him as your cheek was pressed against his shoulder blade. "Boothill, don't forget it." He chuckled and started walking to the nearest hospital.

You nodded, taking his words into account.

You wouldn't forget your savior.

Boothill is the best dad confirmed, he gets you whatever you want, whether it be food, toys, clothes or accessories. He gets it for you.

He's always patting your head or ruffling your hair; you don't mind thought. It's actually very comforting.

CONSTANTLY tells dad jokes and it makes it funnier when he tries cursing but it gets covered up by his synthesia beacon.

The both of you go out often to parks to play. He definitely pushes you on the swings, and helping you go as high as you can. And when he sees your big smile as you reach the bar, he knows he did a good job.

He brought you penacony once (when he was actually let in) and you had the time of your life.

It was very bright but new and exciting.

You got to eat new things that you've never seen before, such as cotton candy

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Fourteen

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: profanity, death threats (?)

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Fourteen:

You peeled your eyelids open. They felt practically glued shut as you eased Allison off of your lap- you felt feverishly hot, clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably as you got up to take a much-needed shower. 

Allison woke up too, blinking. She looked fully rested. Regretting your lack of sleep, you disappeared into your bedroom to get ready for the day.

By the time you were done Allison had disappeared from the office and a man was sweeping up the glass from the carpet. You nodded at him as you put your hand on the doorknob, opening the door to reveal a veil of golden beaded strings.

“Leave even a single piece and I’ll cut your head off,” you said casually as you stepped through the curtain. He looked up at you nervously.

“Yes, Madam.”

You entered the lobby. You stepped out of the large, curved entrance you had for your office, turning around to see the rosy, warm, inviting interior before walking across the lush carpet of the front lobby, going for the stairs. The door opened and the familiar heavy frame of Sevika walked in. 

“[name],” she said breathlessly, stepping forward towards you. “Silco told me about the deal. The-“

You walked straight past her.

You could feel her eyes burning onto your back as you stalked up the stairs, not sparing her another glance. Reaching the landing you leaned against the railing, taking a peek downstairs. You could just see the edge of Sevika’s boot, before she moved past the foot of the stairs to duck into a hallway. Another pair of feet followed her.

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off of your leaning position, going down the hallway. You eventually reached the room you’d put Allison and her friend in, rapping your knuckles twice on the door.

The door opened to reveal the little girl, hair straight and black and dark. She looked up at you, shadows under her eyes, and panic flitted across her face.

“Madam,” she said quickly.

You didn’t bother with greetings or formalities. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

She looked at you, as if she was wondering which answer would get her head chopped off and which answer would get her a pat on the back. You continued:

“I don’t like little girls who lie.”

“I haven’t,” she admitted.

“Why not?”

“Sleep terrors.” You stepped into her room as she opened the door a little wider.

The place was sparse, with two bunk beds, a light and a rug. There was a tiny sack dumped in the corner, very few belongings spilling onto the hard wood.

You clicked your tongue, hands behind your back as you slowly turned, surveying the room. At least the beds were made, you noticed. The children were neat.

“What do you need?”

The girl looked up at you nervously. “Wh-what?”

“A shelf,” you remarked, looking at the empty space on the walls. “Would you like a desk? Can you read or write?”

She nodded silently. 

“After I get you the basic components, this room is free for you to personalise as you wish.” With a twirl of your hand, you produced a small pin in between your fingers. “I need you measured for some new clothes too.” You crouched down to her level. “After that, you do whatever you want as long as you don’t get yourself in trouble. We give our people freedom here.”

“Does this place have a name?”

You stared at her sallow face, taken off guard by the question, then brushed aside her hair. “I’m not sure yet. All these years, and we’ve never had a name.” People usually called it the brothel. What did you have in mind?”

“The House.”

You laughed. “It’s quite boring for someplace as glamorous as this, don’t you think?” You eased the pin into her hair. “Here. This pin will mark you as a member of, er… this place.”

She ghosted her little fingers over it. “The Haven.”

You licked your lips, turning the name over in your head. “That’s… where did you learn a word like that?”

“I met a girl who told me about this place. She said it was a haven for people who were running away. I never knew what it meant.”

You hummed, then straightened up. “That’s a great name.”

“Thank you,” she said bashfully, shuffling her feet. Without another word you left through the door, hurrying down the stairs and back to your office.

You had barely made it to the beads before you heard your name again. You groaned, turning around to face Sevika. 

“What do you want?”

“Five favours, huh?”

“I’ll call on you five times, and you will do whatever I tell you to without question.”

She laughed. “Or what? What if I don’t?” She took a step towards you. “You think you can just make me?”

You shrugged, clasping your hands together, the image of piety. “If you want to kill Donna, be my guest.”

She froze. “What?”

“What?” You batted your lashes at her innocently, beginning to circle her. She turned, eyes tracking your every move. “Is there something wrong?”

“What do you mean, kill Donna,” she hissed. You stopped walking, and turned to look at her abruptly.

“I mean, if you don’t follow the rules of the deal, Donna dies. It’s simple, really.”

You could see her clench her jaw. “Well, I wasn’t planning on disobeying anyways.”

“I’m sure you weren’t.” Your voice was smooth.

“I was just testing to see your reaction.”

“I’m sure you were.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a good person, [name]?”

You smiled thinly. “That’s far too much credit than what’s due. What ever gave you that idea?”

She stared at you disbelievingly. “You take in people in need. What else is there to say?”

You raised a finger. “One could say I exploit people in need. Sure, I exploit them with a strict moral code, but I’m using them nonetheless. It’s purely transactional. I know they need me, and I take advantage of it.” You shrugged. “Don’t go getting excited, now.”

“[name], if anything happens to Donna…” Sevika’s voice was a growl. You crossed your arms, sweeping a languid hand over your chin.

“Well, her performance has been quite lacklustre lately…” you snickered at her expression.

“I’ll fucking kill you with my own two hands.”

“I doubt you’d want to suffer the consequences of that.” Your eyes flicked to her cloaked shoulder. “No one would like it if you killed me with your one, single hand.”

Sevika stared at you, breathing heavily. Agitated. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Anything to get a rise out of my adversaries-“

She grabbed your shoulder, fingertips digging into your skin. You clicked your tongue, irritated.

“Ah- ah- ah. Don’t go assaulting me,” you gasped, scandalised. You drew your face close to hers, grinning. She scowled at you. Your eyes flicked to the corner.

There were about ten people standing in the corner, completely frozen from whatever they were doing. They all stared at Sevika unblinkingly. A silent warning.

“That’s creepy,” she muttered.

“I know,” you said gleefully. She released your shoulder and you stumbled back. 

“Since when are we your adversaries?” She snarled. “We just struck a successful deal, for fucks sake. On amicable terms.”

I threw a knife at your boss. What part of that is amicable?

You scowled. “He will never be able to consider me an ally after the way he did me wrong, understood?” You stormed forward, jabbing a finger into her chest. “On my dead body will I help you sewer rats for anything that doesn’t involve my gain.”

“And what’s your gain?” Sevika whispered, voice scathing. You smiled widely, eyes glinting.

“His loss.”

-

“We need to expand.”

There was a map rolled out across the dark wood of your desk. You tapped a carefully manicured finger onto a specific spot in the undercity. Donna leaned over, inspecting the map with her sharp eyes. You drew slow circles on the spot and tapped it again. Allison was sitting on the sofa, watching you both with childlike interest.

“There’s too many people seeking asylum. We don’t have enough space.” You waved your hand to the ceiling. “Despite this place being massive, we need more.”

Donna propped herself up on her elbows, eyes tracing the river drawn on the map. “What’s that place?” She looked at where your finger was touching.

“It’s an old property that just got abandoned. Used to be a factory. The owner died to enforcers after he refused to give it up.”

“Why’d they make him give it up?”

“No idea. Probably because it wasn’t ’up to code,’ what they always say.” You bent over the table, eyes glinting. “They just don’t want Zaun to progress. To get more powerful.” Your voice was a dangerous hiss.

“How would one factory change that?”

Your eyes went from narrowed to normal and your muscles relaxed. “You’d be surprised.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “The enforcers just left after they finished moving all the stuff out yesterday night. The place is up for grabs.”

“Who’s to say we’ll get there on time? Before anyone else does?”

“I am,” you said firmly. “Send a team out, now, and set up something there. Spray our insignia on the front so no one dares to take it.”

So that was the plan. Take the factory, occupy it, and set it up. Of course you’d still run operations from the brothel- the Haven- but you could have it used as accommodation and more.

Donna was looking up at you with something akin to admiration in her eyes. You gave her a small, thin smile. You quite liked the girl.

You really hoped Sevika wouldn’t make you have to kill her.

[kaizzz]

Author’s Note

What started as a slow-burn Snotlout x Reader romance has quietly grown into something more layered — something a little messier, a little more human.

This story was always about fire: the fire of memory, the fire of identity, and the fire that sparks between people when they least expect it. While Snotlout remains the heart of the romantic thread, don’t be surprised if the story tugs at more than one bond — because love isn’t always clear, and neither is the heart when it’s trying to heal.

So is this just a Snotlout x Reader romance?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But one thing’s for sure — no one’s walking out of this storm unchanged.

Thanks for reading, and keep flying with me.

— Kai

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

———-

Title: Edge of Memory

Chapter 1: Washed Ashore

The first sensation you registered was cold—deep and clinging, down to the marrow of your bones.

Then pain. Dull, throbbing, pulsing in time with the rise and fall of the ocean crashing behind you.

You opened your eyes slowly. Blinding white light.

The sun.

Sky, wide and clear.

And then—sand. Everywhere. Stuck to your face, caught in your hair, shoved down the back of your shirt.

Your body ached as if you'd been tossed from a dragon mid-flight. Every limb protested as you slowly rolled onto your side, coughing saltwater from your lungs. You didn't remember what happened—just vague sensations: cold water, a storm maybe, shouting... or was that just the sea?

You sat up shakily, head spinning. The beach stretched out around you like some foreign land, and when you looked behind you, all you saw was open water.

No memory. No name. Just instinct.

You pressed a hand to your chest. Still breathing. Good enough for now.

⸻

"Guys! Over here!"

Voices. Footsteps pounding on wooden planks and sand. You squinted at the figures approaching—young, armed, riding dragons.

Definitely not just beachgoers.

The first one to reach you was a tall, wiry boy with tousled brown hair and concerned green eyes. A black dragon landed behind him, sleek and alert, tail swaying protectively.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked, crouching down beside you. "You're—um—you're on Dragon's Edge. I'm Hiccup. We're the Dragon Riders. Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you came from?"

You blinked slowly. Hiccup. The name didn't ring a bell—but something about his face felt trustworthy.

"No," you rasped. "I... I don't remember anything. Just the beach. The water. That's it."

Hiccup nodded, not pushing. "Alright. That's okay. You're safe now."

Behind him, a chorus of voices burst into life:

"Do you think she's a spy?"

"She doesn't look like one."

"She totally looks like one—look at her boots!"

"She's literally barely standing, Tuffnut—how is she a spy?!"

You winced as the noise closed in. Hiccup raised his hand to calm the others. "Let's get her inside first. She's exhausted. We can ask questions later."

And for now, you were too tired to do anything but let them help you.

⸻

A Few Days Later

They didn't lock you up, which was a surprise. You half expected suspicion or cold stares, but instead you got hot soup, warm blankets, and a place to sleep near the fire.

Dragon's Edge was a strange place—half village, half fortress, perched on a rocky island constantly buffeted by sea winds. Dragons flew freely above the cliffs. It was chaotic, loud, and far too full of energy for your taste.

But it was safe. And for now, that was enough.

You stayed quiet, mostly. You watched. You listened. Hiccup seemed to be the leader. Astrid—the blonde with the sharp eyes and even sharper axe—was clearly second-in-command. The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were... chaos incarnate. Fishlegs was kind, if a bit eager to info-dump. And then—

"Hey there, mystery girl,"

—there was him.

Snotlout Jorgenson.

Arrogant, dramatic, and about as subtle as a flaming zippleback, he made it a personal mission to flirt with you daily, each attempt more ridiculous than the last.

He strolled up to you now, dragon-hook axe casually swung over one shoulder. His dragon, Hookfang, loomed nearby, lazily stretching his wings in the sun.

"You know," he said, flashing a grin like it was a weapon, "for someone who washed up like driftwood, you clean up pretty well."

You didn't look up from the basket you were weaving. "Is that your way of saying I look good, or that I still smell like seaweed?"

He blinked. "Uh—both?"

You raised a brow. "Wow. What a charmer."

Snotlout tilted his head. "Okay, see, I like this. The whole mysterious, wounded-warrior vibe you've got going? With just a little bit of sass? It's kind of hot."

You finally looked at him then, expression flat. "I'd rather wrestle a changewing."

"Ouch." He clutched his heart dramatically, staggering a step back. "Feisty and heartless. Be still, my beating chest muscles."

You turned away to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. You didn't talk much—but whenever Snotlout was near, you found your words easier to locate. Especially if they were the kind that made him squirm.

Behind you, Astrid snorted. "Don't encourage him. He's been insufferable since the day he learned what flirting was."

"I invented flirting," Snotlout shot back.

You raised a hand without turning. "I sincerely apologize to the world on your behalf."

That earned a whoop of laughter from Ruffnut somewhere up on the watchtower.

⸻

That Night

The dragons settled in first. Hookfang curled near the edge of the cliff, wings tight against his body. Toothless perched beside Hiccup, head resting against the boy's shoulder. The air smelled like woodsmoke and sea salt, and the wind carried the distant roar of waves crashing against rocks.

You sat by the fire, legs drawn close to your chest, fingers tracing the stitching on the blanket Astrid had given you. No one was asking questions tonight. They'd learned quickly that forcing memories didn't work—and that you preferred silence over sympathy.

Still, you could feel eyes on you sometimes. Curious, cautious, kind. No one accused you of lying. No one assumed the worst.

Which was almost worse, in a strange way. You didn't deserve this level of trust.

You didn't even know your name.

Snotlout dropped down beside you suddenly, a bit closer than necessary, but not uncomfortably so.

"Hey," he said, unusually quiet for once. "I, uh, brought you this."

He held out a small chunk of fried fish wrapped in cloth. You took it with a nod.

"Thanks."

Silence stretched for a moment. Then—

"I bet you were a warrior," he said. "Before all this."

You looked at him, unsure how to respond.

"You've got that look," he added. "Like someone who's seen stuff. Fought stuff. Probably punched someone in the throat once."

You let out a small huff. "Just once?"

Snotlout grinned wide. "See? I knew I liked you"

———

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Librarian & The Wolverine ~ The New Normal

THE LIBRARIAN & THE WOLVERINE MASTERLIST

< previous: The Relapse

Word Count: 5,345ish

Summary: You and Logan try to figure out what normal now looks like.

Warning(s): insecurities, time jumps, PTSD, dissociation, bad news

Notes: I hope you guys are enjoying this! Please share your thoughts with me on it. These two are so great to write for. (Also, clearly I have nothing better to do than just write right now… please don’t judge…)

Logan worked hard to make sure you were comfortable while you were taking a break from the library. And it wasn’t easy by any means. At first, it was hard to get you out of the routine of going to the library after meals and in the morning and to close it up at night. Logan made sure he always had his hand in yours when you walked the halls. When you turned or paused near the library, he would either gently guide you in the other direction or held your hand a little tighter. He hated since the light dim from your eyes in this way, different from when you slipped.

One afternoon, he found you sitting beside his window. You were curled up in a blanket, watching the light rain hit the window. There was an untouched book sitting in front of you. He pause dint he doorway, watching you. You weren’t slipping— he knew the signs too well by now— but there were something just as heavy in the slump of your shoulders and the hollow way you stared past the glass. Logan stepped in slowly, careful not to startle you.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than the rain.

You blinked, his voice pulling you present. Your gaze dropped to the book in front of you. “I picked it up,” you murmured. “But I couldn’t open it.”

He nodded, crouching in front of you. “That’s okay.”

“I want to. More than anything.”

“I know.” He reached up and tucked the blanket around your legs more. “But you don’t have to push it. Not today.”

“But what if I never get to again? What if this is it, Logan? What if I never get to love books again without being afraid of losing myself?”

He reached for the book, picking it up carefully. “I’ll read to you. Come here.” 

Logan wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his lap. He opened the book and held it with one hand then began reading. His voice wasn’t polished or theatrical. It was gravelly, halting at times— but steady, warm, and safe. You curled tighter into him and the blanket. Logan could feel you begin to relax as he read. He finished the page and looked down to check on you. Your eyes were closed.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered “one page at a time, sweetheart. We’ll get there.” 

And then he kept reading. So that your heart could hold the words your mind wasn’t ready to hold yet.

~~~

Weeks go past, you still had moments were you slipped but they were getting less and less frequent. It had almost been two months since you had been in the library. You had talked to Charles before you brought it up to Logan, but you wanted to try to spend small amounts of time in the library. Charles agreed, though Logan took a little bit more persuasion. Eventually he agreed, though you had to promise that he’d be with you most of the time.

Now, you were paused inside the library doorway. The familiar scent of old paper and warm wood hit you like a memory too sharp at the edges. The golden light filtering through the tall windows dances across the spines you once knew by heart. Your fingertips twitched at your sides. Logan stood behind you— close, but not crowding, with one hand gently brushing against yours. 

“You don’t have to go in,” he said softly. “Not today.”

You took in another deep breath. “I want to.”

He nodded once, eyes scanning the shelves before they shifted back to you. “Okay. We go in together.”

The floor creaked beneath your boots as you stepped in, with Logan right behind you. You trailed your fingers along the edge of a table. You end up walking back to the corner table you kept clear for Logan. It was still clear. You sat down slowly and for a moment everything felt right. 

Then, a flicker. Your eyes locked on a stack of returned books near your front desk and a familiar static crawled into your mind. Your fingers curled against the table as your breathing stalled.

“Don’t,” you whispered to yourself. “Don’t come back.”

It pushed harder. Your vision blurred for a second. The warmth in the room dimmed. You weren’t gone yet, but you were close.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice cut through the fog. You didn’t register him kneeling in front of you, both hands cupping your face. “Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart. Breathe.”

You were trembling, but you took a breath. Then another. And just like that, the presence faded. You sagged forward into his chest. 

“You came back,” he said softly, a hint of pride in his voice. “On your own.”

You nodded weakly. “Almost didn’t.”

“But you did.” He leaned back just enough to meet your eyes. “Faster than ever before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You fought it. You won.” He tugged you closer, pressing his forehead gently to yours. “You don’t have to conquer this place all at once. You just have to keep comin’ back to me.”

~~~

Week One of Testing Out the Library

You stepped into the library for ten minutes. Logan waited at the door, leaning against the frame, eyes on you the entire time. You sat at your old desk, focusing on your breathing and counting books. The air still felt tight, but it didn’t choke. 

When you glanced at Logan and whispered, “okay, that’s enough,” he was already moved. He offered you his hand and led you out like the two of you were just taking a walk.

Week Two

You stayed for twenty minutes. You resolved three books. One of them was in a language you didn’t recognize and for a second, the letters blurred. 

Logan’s hands landed gently on your shoulders. “That’s enough, sweetheart.”

You nodded. He steered you to the greenhouse. You sat among the plants with him until the buzzing in your head faded.

Week Three

You didn’t need Logan to speak up. He saw your jaw clench and your fingers twitch. Quietly, he closed the book you wrestled organizing, set it on a shelf, and said, “Let’s walk.” You took his hand without question.

Month Two

You managed half a day. Jean stopped by, and for a moment, the soft psychic hum in the room made your spine go rigid— but Logan was there. His thumb brushed your hand once and you breathed again. 

You were shelving and cataloging. You laughed at something ridiculous Logan said about how the Dewey Decimal System was obviously a conspiracy. He brought you lunch in a paper bag. You sat on the floor between two shelves and ate together, legs touching, his arm draped behind you.

Month Three

You were now in the library from morning to late afternoon. Logan dropped by often, but didn’t hover as much anymore. Sometimes he sat down and read or graded papers. Sometimes he just watched from the corner, just in case you needed him. 

You handled student questions. Helped with research projects. You even laughed with Ororo about an old book that was left in the kitchen.

The First Full Day

You realized it after the fact. You had been in the library since breakfast. No panic or fog or slipping. Just you. You leaned back in your chair, fingers gently brushing the old wood of your desk. Logan stepped into the doorway, expecting to guide you out. But when he saw you there— calm, whole, and glowing— he stopped. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

You looked at him, almost dazed. “I didn’t slip.”

“I know.”

“I was in here all day.”

He stepped closer, crouched beside you, and rested an arm across your knees. “You made it, darlin’.” He gave you a kiss on the lips. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

“So am I.”

~~~

Even as you began extending your time in the library, you always had adult help in there with students, just in case. Until today.

Logan just returned to his room from a Danger Room session. His hoodie was sweat-damp. He shrugged out of it and was heading towards the shower— until he heard your footsteps. Light and fast. 

You burst through his door, eyes shining. “Logan!”

He turned, surprised. “Hey, what’s—“

“I did it!” You were practically bouncing as you kicked the door shut behind you. “I helped students all day— all day, Logan! By myself!” You laughed. “Ororo didn’t have to step in once. I helped Jamie cite his mutant rights essay, walked Kitty through three chapters of Frankenstein, and even sleeved the upper stacks without panicking.”

Logan’s mouth quirked into a slow, crooked smile. He leaned against the dresser, watching you like you had just risen from the dead. “You sound like you swallowed the sun.”

“I feel like it! I didn’t slip. Not even when one of the newer kids asked about the experiments.”

At that, his expression sobered. “You okay?”

Your smile softened. “Yeah. I talked to him. Just like I used to.”

He pushed off the dresser and walked over, his hands found your waist as if on instinct. “Hell of a day.”

You nodded, eyes glassy with proud tears. “I feel like me again.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “You never stopped bein’ you. You just forgot for a while.”

“Thank you. For staying. For being my anchor.”

“Always.”

You smiled and then kissed him— full of joy, strength, and everything that had come back to you.

He grinned when you pulled back. “So what now, bookworm?”

“Now? We celebrate.”

“Dinner?”

“Pizza. In bed. I’m exhausted.”

He laughed and pulled you in tighter. “Best damn plan I’ve heard all week.”

~~~

It started like any other day, besides the fact that Logan was away on a mission. The library hummed with it’s usual rhythm. Everything was steady. Until it wasn’t.

You were helping a group of students with a historical ethics project. Jamie sat near the end of the table, half-buried in notes, pencil tapping nervously as he listened to you explain how information had been suppressed during mutant registration acts. 

One of the newer students, older and arrogant, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “Guess that’s why they tried to keep her locked up like a weapon,” he commented. “Can’t blame them, really. She’s got more in her head than the rest of us combined.”

The words hung in the air like a live wire. You couldn’t even stop it from coming. You froze. Your eyes glazed. 

Jamie looked up just in time to see the color drain from your face. “Hey… Hey, wait—“

But it was too late. You were gone. Your breathing slowed. Your eyes went unfocused and your shoulders slacked. The pencil in your hand dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the desk. The entire room stilled.

Jamie shot to his feet. “What did you do?”

The newer student scoffed. “What? It was just a joke. I didn’t mean—“

“You don’t joke about that!” Jamie rushed around and grabbed your arm, trying to anchor you back. “She’s been fine for months! You had to open your mouth—“

“I didn’t know—“

“Yeah, well now you do!” Jamie was nearly shaking as he crouched in front of you. “Miss Y/N? Please, come on. It’s Jamie. You remember me, right?”

You blinked, barely.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting for help. But no one moved fast enough. So he just kept talking. “Remember when you taught me how to breathe through a panic? You did that. You’re not some weapon— you’re you. You’re our librarian. You don’t have to go back to that place. Please. Come back.”

A breath, then another blink, and then your shoulders shook. You gasped, clutching at your chest, eyes wide with panic. “I— I—“

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You looked around, trying to search for Logan. “Where’s—“

“Logan’s out on a mission, remember? But I’ve got you.”

You slid off your chair and cried. Jamie didn’t leave your side until the adults came.

~~~

The jet’s ramp lowered with a hiss. Logan stepped down, jaw tight, movements stiff from a tiring mission. He knew something was wrong the moment he saw Charles waiting for him.

“What is it?” Logan asked.

Charles didn’t answer right away, never a good sign.

“Spit it out, Chuck.”

“It’s Y/N.”

“What happened?”

“She had an episode. A student said something deeply thoughtless. It triggered a slip.”

Logan’s fists curled at his sides. “How bad?”

“She was unresponsive for several minutes. Jamie wasn’t the one who brought her back. She’s shaken and exhausted now. It came out of nowhere, Logan. After all this time… You should know— she asked for you the moment she came back.”

“Where is she?”

“Back in your room. Jamie stayed with her until Ororo arrived. She hasn’t left the bed.”

Logan didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked.

~~~

The light from the hallway slanted across the floor as the door creaked open. You didn’t move. You had been curled in Logan’s bed for hours now, eyes red from crying and throat raw. Your body hadn’t quite stopped shaking. 

Ororo sat in the chair beside the bed. She hadn’t said much, just stayed. Her steady presence kept you from slipping again. Her voice a quiet, grounding force every time your fingers twitched towards panic.

Logan stepped through the doorway, still wearing his mission gear. He looks like he was ready to tear the world apart. But the second he saw you, he went still. You looked up, meeting his eyes. Ororo rose quietly. Her hand brushed your arm once, a silent reassurance, and then she stepped past Logan without a word. He barely noticed because all he cane see is you, curling in his bed. Shaking. He took a slow step forward until he was kneeling beside the bed.

“Darlin’…” he voice was barely more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Your bottom lip trembled. You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your hand reached out from beneath the blanket. Logan took it without hesitation.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I didn’t even feel it coming.”

“I know,” he rasped. “I know, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, tears spilling again. “I was doing so good.”

“You still are.” He moved closer. “You had a bad day— a bad moment. That doesn’t undo all the good ones.”

“I asked for you.”

“I came. Soon as I heard.”

“Will you stay?”

He didn’t answer. He just climbed onto the bed beside you, tucking himself close as he wrapped you up. He pressed his lips to your temple, your cheek, then to your shoulder. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to feel safe in his arms.

~~~

The word spread fast. Students whispered in the hallways. They had thought your episodes were behind you. That you were untouchable again, steady and strong. But yesterday proved otherwise.

Logan was a storm barely held back. He found the student near the courtyard— the one who had been too reckless. Logan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Just his presence was enough to make the boy straighten up like a rabbit sensing a wolf.

Logan stalked up to him, eyes sharp, voice low. “You think you’re clever?” He growled.

The student swallowed. “I didn’t mean anything by it—“

“You said she was a weapon.” Logan stepped closer. “You joked about what nearly broke her. And that slip? That was on you.” 

The kid opened his mouth.

“Don’t. You don’t get to explain. You get to learn. And if you ever— ever— speak about her like that again, you’ll wish it was just me in your face.”

The student stumbled back with a mumbled apology and hurried off, face pal. Logan didn’t watch him go. Instead, he turned and spotted Jamie standing nearby. Jamie, who was still clearly rattled from yesterday but trying to act like he wasn’t. Logan walked up to him. Jamie squared his shoulders like be was bracing for a lecture. Instead, Logan clapped a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly.

Jamie blinked. “What?”

“You were there when I couldn’t be. You got her back.”

Jamie shrugged a little. “She’s always been there for me.”

Logan nodded once. “You did good, kid.”

Jamie glanced away, slightly overwhelmed. “Is she okay now?”

“She will be. Because of you.”

“Is… Is it always going to be like this? One moment she’s there and the next she’s just… gone?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Maybe not always. But we’re not gonna let her fall. Not alone.”

Jamie nodded. Logan gave his shoulder a light squeeze before walking off.

~~~

Ororo was working in the greenhouse weeks later. She heard him before she saw him. The door creaked open and boots paused at the threshold.

“You can come in, Logan,” she called without looking up from the plants she was tending to.

He grunted and stepped inside.

She glanced up. “You’re tracking mud.”

He wiped his boots on the mat without protest. Then came further in with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

Ororo tilted her head. “You’re brooding. That’s not new. But this feels… different.”

He shifted, cleared his throat, then grumbled, “I need your opinion. Yours and Jean’s.”

That got her attention. “You rarely ask for our opinion on anything. Should I be worried?”

“Probably.”

Ororo set down her tools and gave him her full attention. “What is it?”

Logan exhaled like it pained him. “I want to ask Y/N… I want to ask her to move in with me.”

Oror’s brow lifted. “She basically already does. I don’t—“

“No, in an apartment. In town. Just us. No mission alarms. No infirmary. Just… a place. Ours.”

She started for a moment and then smiled. “I think that’s beautiful, Logan.”

“I think it’s terrifying.”

Jean stepped in from the outer garden just then, catching the tail end of it. “What’s terrifying?”

Ororo gestured toward Logan. “He wants to ask her to move in with him. Like, in an apartment.”

Jean’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Logan shot them both a look. “Don’t make it a whole thing.”

Jean grinned. “It is a whole thing, Logan.”

“She’s been through enough. I don’t wanna push. Or trap her. Or make her feel like she owes me anything.”

“She doesn’t,” Ororo agreed. “But that’s not what this is. You’re not asking her to owe you. You’re asking her to choose you.”

“And I think she will,” Jean added. “Not out of guilt or trauma. But out of love.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “I don’t want her to feel like she has to be ready for everything all at once.”

“Then tell her exactly that,” Ororo said. “Give her a door. And let her walk through it when she’s ready.”

Logan nodded slowly, taking it in.

Jean gave him a soft smile. “We’ll help you find the place, if you want.”

“Yeah… yeah. Okay.”

~~~

You’d been in the car for fifteen minutes and Logan still hadn’t told you where you were going. 

You glanced over at him. “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re quiet with a purpose.”

He just let out a grunt— but there was something in the way his jaw was set, his grip on the wheel, and the way his knee bounced faintly.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re not taking me to a surprise training session, right?”

“Hell no. I like you too much for that.”

You smiled, but before you could tease him more, he pulled off the main road into a quiet neighborhood just a few blocks from the bookstore you loved. It was residential, quiet, and cosy. He parked beside a modest, two-story apartment complex, and cut the engine. You looked at him, confused. But he didn’t say anything. He just got out of the car, jogged around your side to open the door for you.

“Logan…”

“Come on.”

He took your hand. You followed him up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. He unlocked a door with a key you didn’t know he had and pushed it open. You stepped inside, and froze. It was an empty apartment. The hardwood floors creaked gently beneath your feet. It was three bedrooms, two bathrooms. It had high ceilings, clean walls, a small fireplace, and a little balcony facing the trees.

You turned in a slow circle, stunned. “What is this?”

Logan stood just inside the doorway, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, watching you.

You blinked at him. “Logan?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s ours.”

Your heart stuttered. “…ours?”

“I mean— it could be.” He took a small step forward. “If you want.”

You just stared.

“I figured… you’d want your own room to turn into a library.” He gestured loosely down the hall. “Or an office or whatever. You can have all three bedrooms if you want. I don’t care. I just— I want a place that’s not the mansion. Not the ghosts. Just… us. I don’t care if we move in tomorrow or six months from now. But I wanted you to see it. To know I’m serious. About you. About this. About having something that’s ours.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

Logan stepped a little closer. “It’s quiet here. Close to the school. And I already drew up some plans for bookshelves.”

You laughed softly through the tears. Then launched yourself into his arms. He caught you instantly, holding you tight against his chest.

You whispered against his shoulder, “you want a home with me.”

“I need a home with you,” he murmured back, voice rough. You pulled back just enough for a searing kiss. “So… what do you think?”

“I think I want the room with the biggest window for the library.”

He grinned. “You got it, darlin’.”

~~~

Sunlight spilled through the windows of your new home, bright and golden and safe. The front door was propped open with a box, the living room was full of more of them and new furniture. Logan and Hank were down the hall, covered in sawdust and arguing about bracket angles.

“You’re not evening reading the specs, Logan—“

“I don’t need specs, I got instincts—“

“Instincts got me a crooked shelf in my office!”

You could hear them from the kitchen, and it made you laugh. You and Ororo were elbow-deep in bubble wrap and mugs, the sound of ceramic clinking as you excitedly unpacked your collection. The cabinets were open, mugs already littered the counter, waiting for their proper place.

“Oh! This one—“ you held up a sun-yellow mug with a tiny fox painted on the side. “Logan tried to pretend he didn’t like it, but he used it every single morning for three months. It’s going front and center.”

Ororo chuckled. “He’s subtle like a brick wall.”

You giggled. “He also thinks he’s sneaky. Like when he “accidentally” left an entire bag of coffee with my name written on it in sharpie and it just “appeared” in the pantry.”

“Subtle.”

You were glowing, breathless with joy as you moved from one cabinet to the next. “This is the happiest I’ve been in— I don’t know, forever? It’s ours, ‘Ro. A home. I can breathe again and there’s room for books and plants and space for—“

Then it hit. Your froze mid-sentence. Your hand dropped the mug. It didn’t shatter, but something inside you did. Ororo turned immediately.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no—“

From the hall, Logan heard the crash of ceramic and the Ororo’s urgent voice, “Logan!”

“Move!” He told Hank, pushing past him with claws instinctively half0out.

He entered the kitchen to find you standing in the center, staring at nothing, lips parted like you were about to say something but forgot how. Ororo already had yours hands, trying to ground you. Logan stepped in front of you.

“Sweetheart,” he voice lowered like he was speaking to something fragile inside a glass shell. “It’s me. I’m here.” He took your hands from Ororo and pressed them to his chest. “Feel that? You’re not alone. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Your lip trembled and then you blinked. Your knees gave out. Logan caught you instantly, arms wrapping around you, lowering you to the floor gently. You clutched at him, breathing hard, disoriented, and aching.

“I— I was happy,” you rasped, voice shaky. “I was so happy. What did it happen when I was happy?”

Ororo knelt beside you, hand on your back. “Because healing does’t care about timing. And neither does trauma.”

Logan cupped your face, brow knit tight with love and fear. “This doesn’t erase any of the good,” he murmured. “We’re still here. You’re still home.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” He kissed your forehead. “But you’re not broken. You’re healing. And I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~

After the slip in the kitchen, you had a few more slips over the next few weeks. Hank decided it was time to run some scans again. He was quiet as he looked at your brain scans. Too quiet. You sat on the edge of the exam table, heart already thudding dully in your chest, hands folded in your lap. You’d been through this before. Routine checks and monitoring. But this silence was something different.

“Hank?” You finally whispered.

He turned slowly, adjusting his glasses. There was kindness in his eyes, no comfort. “Your scans are changing,” he said softly. “There’s… a pattern I hadn’t caught before. Each time you slip, it’s not just neurological disruption. It’s damage.”

Your breath caught. “Damage?’

He nodded once. “Small, but cumulative. Micro-degradation in multiple neural pathways. Left unchecked, we’re not just talking about dissociation or loss of control anymore. We’re talking about… losing you.”

“I— I thought I was getting better.”

“You are. Emotionally. Psychologically. You’re stronger. But whatever they injected you with left scars we didn’t fully understand.” He reached out and placed a hand on your knee. “You need to understand, it’s important you you make the most of every clear day. Every clear moment.”

“So… I’m… dying?”

Hank sighed. “With each slip… I’m afraid so.”

~~~

The apartment smelt like sawdust and something warm in the oven. You stepped inside, slow and quiet. Logan was standing in the doorway to what would be your library. Covered ins sawdust, shirt stained, and a crooked grin. Behind him, finished floor to ceiling bookshelves. Perfectly crafted, sturdy, and hand-carved. He lit up with he saw you.

“Hey, baby. Surprise. “He stepped back so you could see the full room .”Finished it. Took Hank’s advice on the anchor supports. Damn near killed me to admit he was right.”

You started at the shelves, not speaking. You hated that you were going to ruin this moment. Then you looked at him.

He noticed the look on your face almost instantly. “Hey… what is it?”

“Hank ran another scan.”

Logan’s smile faltered.

“Every time I slip… it’s not just mind getting pulled under. It’s killing me. Little by little.”

Logan didn’t move for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and took your hands in his, gentle but firm. “How long?”

“He didn’t say. Could be years or months or… sooner. If I slip too deep.”

He looked away for a second, jaw tight. When he looked back, his eyes were glassy. “You didn’t want to tell me…”

“I didn’t want to ruin this moment.”

“You didn’t.” He stepped closer, bringing your hands to his chest. “You couldn’t.”

“Are you scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. I’m just thinkin’ about how many damn books we’re gonna need to fill these shelves.”

You laughed— short and teary.

“Whatever time we got, I want all of it with you. Every second. Every breath. Every chapter and fight and kiss. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not unless you do. And even then, I’ll follow.”

~~~

The door slammed harder than necessary. Logan stormed into the War Room, eyes hard. He was still in his teaching clothes— flannel rolled to his elbows. Charles was already at the head of the table. Jean and Hank exchanged a glance at they sat. Ororo and Scott entered a moment later.

“What happened?” Scott asked.

Logan stood in front of them. “She told me last night,” he voice was gruff and uneven. “About what Hank found.”

Hank looked down.

Ororo’s breath hitched. “Oh, no…”

“She’s saying,” Logan said flatly. “Every time she slips, it eats away at her. Her mind. Her soul.”

“Logan, we know,” Jean stated. “Hank told us this morning. We were going to—“

“No.” He slammed his hands not he table. “You’re going to fix this.” He stared at them, barely containing the grief behind the rage. “I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m telling you— find a way. I don’t care what it takes. You dig into Cerebro. You tear open whatever files you have to. Go back into her mind, scan every trace of what they did to her. I want something. A thread. A path. A fucking hail Mary.”

Charles closed his eyes, pained.

Logan’s voice dropped. “Don’t make me watch her fade. Don’t make me hold her while she disappears into herself and pretend like I’m not already grieving someone who’s still breathing.”

“Logan…” Charles’ voice was gentle as he opened his eyes. “We’ll try. All of us. But I won’t lie to you. The damage done to her wasn’t just psychic or chemical. It was invasive, foundational. Healing this… we may bot be able to.”

Logan simply stared at him.

“So while we work— while we search— you must not waste a single day.”

Logan looked down. His knuckles were white as he pressed them against the table. “I’m not. I’m holding on to every damn one.” He stepped back from the table. “Just make sure there’s still more ahead of us.”

~~~

Logan found you curled in your favorite corner of the school’s library— a worn book lying open in your lap, untouched for who knew how long. The moment he saw you, his chest tightened. You were still, too still. Your eyes were wide and fixed on nothing.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, moving slowly, carefully.

You didn’t heart him or see him. He knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. They were cold. He pressed his forehead to your knuckles. 

“Come back to me,” he voice was barely more than a whisper, but rough with emotion. “C’mon, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

No response.

He shifted, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re not there. You’re here. With me. You’re in the library. It’s late. And I know you don’t wanna miss our morning walk.”

Your eyes fluttered slightly.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. You’re not lost. You’re not gone. I got you.”

You blinked one. And then again. Then you crumpled. He caught you before you fell. A sob cracked from your chest, your hands clutched his shirt like you were afraid the world would cave in.

“I didn’t even feel it,” you sobbed. “It just… happened.”

“I know,” his voice broke as he pulled you onto his lap. “You’re okay now. You came back. That’s what matters.”

You were silent for a long moment, then, “Logan?”

He hummed softly, rocking you in his arms.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He stiffened then pulled back to meet your eyes.

“I want to see the world. With you. All of it. Not just from the library and the words on the pages. I want to sunrises in Greece. Coffee in Paris. Books on a beach. I want to live before there’s nothing left of me to live.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Say yes… please.”

Logan stared at you for a beat. Then he cupped your face and kissed you— not rushed or desperate, just full of love. “I’ll show you everything.”

“I want it all.”

He kissed your forehead. “Then it’s yours.”

next: The World ~ Part 1 >

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I'm So Proud of You

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, support thanks to Simon, mild angst, military deployment, angst with a happy ending

Author's Note: Enjoy the story! College is hard af rn but for those of us who are going through it, don’t worry. You got this! I believe in you and so does our Simon!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated the scattered textbooks, handwritten notes, and half-empty coffee cups that marked another long night of studying. You rubbed your temples, exhaustion seeping into your bones as you glared at the blinking cursor on your laptop screen. The looming deadline for your final essay felt like an insurmountable wall, and the weight of going back to college after years away only added to the pressure.

You sighed deeply, your mind swirling with self-doubt. "Why did I think I could do this?" you muttered to yourself.

A quiet knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You looked up to see Simon leaning casually in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. In the sanctuary of your home, he never wore his skull mask—his face was visible, raw and real. His warm brown eyes softened as they met yours, filled with a tenderness that only you were privy to.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” Simon said, his deep voice tinged with concern as he stepped into the room.

“I can’t stop now,” you replied, frustration evident in your tone. “Finals are next week, and I’m drowning. I don’t even know if I can do this anymore.”

Simon’s brows furrowed, his heart aching at your distress. He walked over, crouching beside your chair and gently taking your hand in his. “You can do this. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I’m just… tired, Si. I feel like I’m failing.”

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “You’re not failing. You’re fighting. And I’m so damn proud of you.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through your walls. A tear slipped down your cheek, and Simon was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. “Come on, love. Let me help,” he offered, standing and guiding you to the couch.

You hesitated but allowed him to pull you away from the desk. “What do you know about psychology?” you teased lightly.

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting. “Not much, but I’m a fast learner.”

Simon spread out your flashcards on the coffee table, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he picked one up. “Alright, Professor Riley at your service. First question—what’s Maslow’s hierarchy of needs?”

You giggled through your tears, the sound lifting some of the heaviness in the room. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you’re smiling now,” he pointed out with a grin.

The next hour passed with laughter and light teasing as Simon quizzed you, his encouraging words softening the sharp edges of your stress. He marveled at your determination, how you pushed through even when you felt like crumbling. And in those quiet moments, with just the two of you, you saw the man beneath the mask—the one who loved you fiercely, even if he wasn’t always good at saying it.

When you finally closed your notebook, feeling a little lighter, Simon wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You’re doing something amazing, love. I hope you know that.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t think I could do it without you.”

His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “You could. But I’m glad I get to be here for you.”

——

A Week Before Graduation

The morning was heavy with unspoken words as Simon laced up his boots. The deployment call had come earlier than expected. You sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his dog tags between your fingers, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

“You’re leaving before graduation,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Simon stood, his tall frame towering over you, but his eyes were filled with nothing but tenderness. In his civilian clothes, he looked like your Simon—the man who helped you study, who made you laugh, who held you when you cried. But the skull mask resting on the table nearby was a harsh reminder of the world he belonged to.

“I know,” he said softly, crouching down in front of you. “I tried to push it back, but—”

You shook your head, tears welling up. “I get it. It’s your job. I just… I wanted you there.”

He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “I want to be there more than anything. You’ve worked so hard, love. I hate that I’m missing it.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Simon brushed it away. “Promise me you’ll come back safe?”

His jaw tightened beneath the short stubble, but he nodded. “I promise. I’ll be thinking of you the entire time.”

You leaned into his touch, memorizing the feel of his rough hands against your skin. “I’ll wear your tags at graduation. Like you’re there with me.”

Simon smiled softly. “And I’ll come back, so I can tell you in person how proud I am.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping on his gear. When the skull mask covered his face, it felt like a wall had gone up between you, but his eyes—those warm, expressive eyes—remained the same.

“Stay safe,” you whispered.

He gave a small nod before turning and walking out the door, leaving a piece of your heart with him.

——

Graduation Day

The cheers and applause echoed through the auditorium as graduates crossed the stage. You clutched your diploma tightly, a bittersweet smile on your face. You’d made it—you’d finally done it. But the ache in your chest was impossible to ignore.

You found a quiet spot under a large oak tree outside the venue, away from the bustling crowd. You traced your fingers over Simon’s dog tags around your neck, wishing he was there.

“Beautiful sight,” a familiar voice drawled.

You froze, heart racing. Slowly turning, you saw him—Simon. No mask. No gear. Just him, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“Simon?” you breathed, tears welling up.

He smiled, stepping closer. “Surprise.”

You ran into his arms, the diploma forgotten as you wrapped yourself around him. His arms encircled you tightly, lifting you off the ground as you buried your face in his neck.

“You said you couldn’t make it,” you whispered through your tears.

“I pulled some strings,” he replied, voice soft. “I wasn’t gonna miss this.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, noticing the bouquet in his hand. “You got me flowers?”

He chuckled, slightly sheepish. “Of course. You deserve the world, love.”

He handed them to you, and you took them with trembling hands, overwhelmed with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears. “I missed you too. And I’m so damn proud of you.”

You smiled through your tears. “I did it, Si.”

“I never doubted you,” he said, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of celebration and the warmth of his embrace, everything felt complete. He was here, unmasked and real, with flowers in hand, and you knew no matter what challenges came next, you’d face them together.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Title: Command and Consequence

Fox x Reader x Wolffe

Summary: Your a friend of Jango Fett’s, he had asked you to come to Kamino to help train clone cadets, more specifically the cadets who were pre selected as commanders. Pre-Clone Wars. Pretty much just a love triangle between my fav clones. Bit angsty towards the end.

⸻

You hadn’t even wanted the job.

Kamino was cold, clinical, and crawling with wide-eyed clones who couldn’t shoot straight or punch worth a damn. But Jango had asked. And when Jango Fett asked, you didn’t exactly say no.

So, you found yourself here, drowning in rain and the hollow clatter of trooper boots on durasteel, overseeing the elite cadets being fast-tracked to become clone commanders.

They weren’t commanders yet. Not officially. But the Kaminoans had flagged a few standouts early—Fox, Wolffe, Cody, Bly, Neyo, Gree—and they were yours now.

Jango called them assets.

You called them projects.

Most of them respected you. Some feared you. And then there were those two.

Fox and Wolffe.

Walking disasters. Brilliant tacticians. Fiercely loyal. And completely, irredeemably idiotic when it came to you.

They’d been vying for your attention since day one—squabbling, sparring, brawling—and you’d brushed it off. Flirting wasn’t new to you. You knew how to shut it down. But these two? These two were stubborn. And clever. And just reckless enough to keep you on your toes.

You stood now at the edge of one of the open training rings, arms folded, T-visor reflecting a dozen cadets going through various drills. Cody was holding his own in a two-on-one blaster sim. Bly was shouting orders like he thought he owned the place. Gree was crouched in the mud, recalibrating his training rifle mid-drill.

But your eyes were on Fox and Wolffe, again.

They were arguing by the supply crates, the tension between them so thick it might’ve passed as heat if Kamino weren’t freezing.

“I’m telling you,” Wolffe was growling, “she was talking to me yesterday.”

“Right,” Fox drawled. “She called you ‘uncoordinated and overconfident.’ Sounds like flirting to me.”

“You don’t get it, she’s Mandalorian. That’s basically a compliment.”

“Boys.” Your voice sliced through the rain like a vibroblade.

They both snapped to attention so fast they nearly knocked heads.

“Get in the ring.” You didn’t even raise your voice. “Now.”

Fox and Wolffe exchanged a look—equal parts dread and defiance.

“Yes, instructor,” they muttered.

“I want five laps if either of you so much as winks.”

You tossed a training staff toward Fox. He caught it clumsily and frowned. “What, no sim?”

“Nope. You’re with me.”

Somewhere behind you, you heard Bly mutter, “He’s dead.”

“Pay attention to your drill, cadet,” you barked.

Fox stepped into the ring with the same confidence he wore into every disaster. “Try not to go easy on me, yeah?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The fight started fast. Fox was quick, smooth, used his weight well—but you’d trained on Sundari’s cliffs, in Death Watch gauntlets, and in the company of monsters who made even Jango look tame.

Fox didn’t stand a chance.

He lasted maybe three minutes before you dropped him with a shoulder feint and a sweep that sent him crashing into the mat.

“Dead,” you said flatly, planting your boot on his chest.

Fox groaned. “You always this brutal with your favorites?”

“You’re not my favorite.”

“Oof.”

Then—Wolffe shoved past the other cadets and stepped into the ring.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice tight. “He’s training, not being punished.”

You cocked your head. “You volunteering?”

“I’m not letting you flatten my brother without a fight.”

You smirked behind the visor. “Your funeral.”

What followed was nothing short of combat comedy.

Wolffe was sharper than Fox. Calculated. But he was still a cadet. You pushed him hard—Mando-style, merciless, unrelenting. Rain slicked the mat, thunder cracked outside, and your staff never slowed.

Wolffe held his own longer.

But he was still losing.

Then, desperate—he lunged.

And bit you.

Right on the bicep.

“Kriffing—”

You staggered back, jerking your arm away, teeth clenching as the pain bloomed under your armor.

“Did you just—did you bite me?!”

Wolffe, still crouched and panting, looked horrified. “You weren’t stopping!”

Fox, flat on his back, howled with laughter. “You feral loth-cat! What, was headbutting too civilized?”

You peeled your glove off and stared at the bite. “You drew blood,” you growled. “I liked this undersuit.”

“Instinct,” Wolffe muttered.

“Idiot,” you shot back.

By now, the other cadets had gathered around the ring, wide-eyed and whispering. You turned slowly to the group.

“Let this be a lesson. I don’t care if you’re a cadet, a commander, or kriffing Supreme Chancellor himself—if you bite me, I bite back.”

Fox wheezed. “She’s not joking. I’ve seen her take out two bounty hunters with a broken fork.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “Fifteen laps, Fox. For running your mouth.”

Fox dragged himself upright and groaned, limping toward the track.

Wolffe started to follow.

You grabbed his pauldron.

“Don’t ever use your teeth in a fight again, unless you’re actually dying.”

“Yes, instructor.”

“…And next time, if you are gonna bite, aim higher.”

He blinked.

And you walked off, bleeding, storming, and already plotting their next humiliation.

Commanders?

Kriff.

They were barely house-trained.

⸻

The morning after the Bite Incident started like most—grey skies, howling wind, and Kaminoan side-eyes.

You strode onto the training deck in full gear, fresh bandage wrapped over the healing bite mark on your arm. The clones were already lined up, posture rigid, eyes straight. You could feel the tension radiating from the group like a bad smell. No doubt they’d all heard the rumors.

One of them bit you. And lived.

You stopped in front of them, hands behind your back. “Which of you thought it was smart to bet on me losing?”

Half the group tensed. Cody coughed.

You didn’t wait for an answer. “Double rations go to the one who bet I’d win and that one of you idiots would end up chewing on my armor.”

That got a chuckle—nervous, brief—but it broke the tension. Good. You weren’t here to baby them. You were here to make them legends.

“Group drills today. Partner up.”

Predictably, Fox beelined for your side. “So. How’s the arm?” he asked, lips twitching.

You turned slightly, giving him just enough of a smirk. “Tender. Wanna kiss it better?”

Fox visibly froze. For the first time in all the months you’d trained him, he blinked like a man who’d just taken a thermal detonator to the soul.

Wolffe, watching from across the training floor, snapped his training blade in half.

Like, literally snapped it.

You didn’t even react.

Cody whistled low. “He’s gonna kill someone.”

“Hope it’s not me,” Fox muttered under his breath, heart rate visibly climbing.

You raised your voice. “Wolffe. Grab a new blade and meet me in the ring. Fox, go help Gree with his stance. The last time I saw someone hold a blaster like that, they were five and trying to eat it.”

Fox, now flustered beyond recognition, stumbled off. Wolffe stalked over, eyes dark.

“You flirting with him now?” he asked, low and sharp, as you passed him a fresh blade.

You leaned in—just close enough for your voice to dip like smoke. “He flirted first.”

“And you flirted back.”

You tilted your head. “You gonna bite me again if I do it twice?”

Wolffe looked like he might combust.

The spar started aggressive—Wolffe striking fast, sharp, his technique tighter than usual, anger giving him extra momentum. You blocked him easily, letting him wear himself out. Letting him stew.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you taunted, hooking his leg mid-swing and sweeping him to the mat with a sharp twist.

He landed with a grunt, breathless. You knelt beside him, blade tip pressed to his chestplate.

“I flirt with the one who keeps his teeth to himself,” you said, tone casual. “Consider that motivation.”

Wolffe didn’t answer. He just stared at you, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear it grinding through the floor.

By the time drills ended, Fox was glowing. Wolffe was feral. And you?

You were thriving.

Let them fight over you. Let them stew, and sulk, and throw punches at each other behind the mess hall.

This was war training. They’d better get used to losing battles.

Especially the ones with their own hearts.

⸻

You were late.

Not tactically late. Intentionally late.

The cadets were already lined up, soaked to the bone from outdoor drills—Kamino’s rain coming in sideways like daggers. You made your entrance like a storm, dripping wet and smirking like you hadn’t made half the room lose sleep last night.

Fox was waiting at the front, eyes locked on you. He didn’t salute. He didn’t even smirk. He just looked—calm, steady, sharp.

And you felt it. That shift.

Wolffe was off to the side, glaring holes into the back of Fox’s head. You caught it all in a sweep of your gaze.

“Who wants a live-spar match to start the morning?” you called.

Several cadets groaned. Cody actually muttered something about defecting to Kaminoan administration.

But Fox? Fox stepped forward. “I do.”

You tilted your head. “Sure you want that smoke, pretty boy?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You think I didn’t train for this?”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued.

The match was brutal. Not because Fox was stronger—but because Fox was different. Controlled. Confident. Calculated. He didn’t let your taunts shake him. He dodged quicker, pushed harder. When he caught your leg and sent you crashing to the mat, the cadets gasped.

Even Wolffe made a strangled noise like a dying animal.

You coughed, winded, pinned under Fox’s knee, his hand resting against your collarbone.

“Yield?” he asked.

You blinked up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Already did,” he said, low enough for only you to hear. “You like it.”

You shoved him off you with a grin, rolling to your feet.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “But I’m still prettier.”

Fox actually laughed.

Wolffe walked off the mat.

Straight to the armory.

Because of course he did.

Later, when the others had cleared out and you were wiping sweat from your brow, you felt that familiar weight behind you—boots heavier than a clone’s, presence impossible to ignore.

“Jango,” you greeted, not turning.

“You’re playing with them.”

You wiped your blade clean. “I’m training them.”

“You’re toying with them,” he said, voice flat. “They’re assets. Not toys. Not lovers. Not soldiers you can break for fun.”

You turned, arching a brow. “I know the difference between a weapon and a man, Fett.”

He stepped closer. “Then stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

That one hit—low and sharp.

You swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “They’re soldiers, Jango. If a little heartbreak cracks them, the war will kill them faster.”

“They need guidance. Not confusion.”

“And what about me?” you asked, arms crossing. “What do I need?”

His eyes didn’t soften. “You need to choose. Or leave them both alone.”

You didn’t answer.

He left you with the silence.

That night, you found Fox alone in the mess, bruised, hungry, and tired.

“You did good today,” you said quietly.

He didn’t look up from his tray. “So did you. Playing with me until Wolffe snapped?”

“Wolffe snapped because he thinks I’m yours.”

Fox looked up now, slow and dangerous. “Are you?”

You leaned in. Close. Almost touching. “I could be.”

Fox’s jaw clenched. “Then stop making him think he has a chance.”

You didn’t reply.

Not right away.

And that pause? That breath of hesitation?

That was the crack in everything.

⸻

You stopped showing up to the mess.

You didn’t call on Fox or Wolffe for sparring. You rotated them into group drills only. You stopped lingering after hours. No more teasing remarks. No more slow smirks and heat behind your eyes.

No more touch.

It was easier, at first. For you.

They were cadets. Not yours. Not meant to be anything more.

Jango’s voice echoed every time you started to second-guess yourself.

“Stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

So you holstered your weapon. Locked the fire down. Played it straight.

And watched them start to unravel.

Fox was the first to try and confront you.

He caught you in the hallway outside the training rooms. Quiet, calm, alone.

“You ignoring me on purpose?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t stop walking. “You’re a soldier. I’m your instructor. That’s all.”

Fox stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“So that was all it ever was? The fights? The flirting? Me on top of you on the mat?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, despite his best efforts.

You looked at him, jaw tight. “Fox—”

He laughed. Bitter. “No. Say it. Say it meant nothing.”

You couldn’t.

And that was the problem.

“It’s better this way,” you said instead, and slipped past him.

He let you go.

That was what broke your heart most of all.

Wolffe was worse. He didn’t say anything—at first.

He trained harder. Fought rougher. Every drill was a warzone now. He snapped at Cody. Nearly dislocated Gree’s shoulder. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Until one night—

You caught him in the dark on the training deck, punching into a bag like it owed him his life.

“Wolffe.”

He didn’t stop.

“I said, stand down—”

He spun on you.

“Why?” he snapped. “So you can ignore me again?”

You froze.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he growled. “You pulled away from both of us. Playing professional like you weren’t the one making Fox look like a damn lovesick cadet. Like you weren’t the one making me feel like I was yours.”

Your chest tightened. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yes, it was!” he shouted. “And now you think pulling back fixes it? You think it makes the want go away?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Wolffe stepped forward, eyes burning.

“Let me make it real easy for you,” he said. “If you didn’t mean any of it—tell me you never wanted me. Say it.”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t.

You just turned and walked away.

Again.

And behind you, in the dead silence of the deck, you heard something break.

⸻

They started showing off.

It wasn’t even subtle.

Fox perfected his bladework, spinning twin vibroknives in a blur, always training just where you could see. Wolffe started calling out cadets for slacking mid-drill, standing straighter, yelling louder, fighting longer.

Every time you passed, there was tension—tight like a wire, straining.

And you kept pushing.

Harder, faster drills. No breaks. No leniency. You called them out in front of the others when they slipped. You sent them against each other in spar after spar, knowing they’d go all out.

They did.

Until Fox went down hard—breathing ragged, cut bleeding at his brow, fingers trembling.

And you snapped: “Get up. Again.”

He looked at you. Not angry. Not sad. Just tired.

Wolffe stepped between you before Fox could even move.

“No.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” Wolffe growled. “He’s bleeding. He’s exhausted. He’s not a toy you wind up just to see how far he’ll go.”

“This is training—”

“This is punishment,” Fox cut in, standing up slow behind Wolffe. “And we’re done letting you use us to beat your own feelings into the ground.”

The silence that followed hit harder than a punch.

You looked at both of them—Wolffe, tense and furious, jaw clenched; Fox, bleeding but still looking at you like he cared.

“You think this is about feelings?” you spat. “I’m preparing you for war. You’re not ready.”

“We were,” Wolffe said quietly. “Until you made yourself the battle.”

That hit you straight in the ribs.

You stared at them, breathing hard, adrenaline high, rage burning under your skin—and then you turned away.

“Training’s over,” you muttered.

Neither of them moved.

When you left the room, they didn’t follow.

And for the first time since setting foot on Kamino, you realized what losing both of them might actually feel like.

⸻

The sky on Kamino never changed.

Just endless grey. Rain like a drumbeat. A constant hum of sterile light and controlled air.

You stood at the edge of the landing platform, your gear packed, your armor slung over your shoulder like it didn’t weigh a hundred kilos in your gut.

“I thought you were done bounty hunting,” Jango said behind you.

You didn’t turn.

“I thought I was too.”

He walked up beside you, slow and even. No judgment in his stride. No comfort either.

“They got to you,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

“They’re good soldiers. You saw that. You made them better. You drilled discipline into their bones.” A pause. “So why run?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because I stopped seeing them as soldiers,” you muttered. “I started seeing them as—”

You broke off. Not because you didn’t know the word. But because it hurt too much to say it.

Jango sighed. “I told you not to toy with the assets.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You flirted. You made them think—”

“I didn’t make them think anything,” you snapped, turning to him finally. “I felt something. I didn’t mean to. But I did. And now it’s bleeding into training and—” your voice cracked. “They’re getting hurt.”

Jango looked at you for a long, quiet second.

Then, almost gently: “You never had the stomach for clean lines. You’re too human for that.”

You laughed bitterly. “Maybe. But I won’t be the reason they break.”

Jango gave you a nod. Subtle. Approval, maybe. Or just understanding. He turned to leave, boots echoing on the wet metal.

“Where will you go?” he asked over his shoulder.

You looked back out at the grey sea. Thought of neon lights. Cold bounties. Silence without faces you cared about.

“Somewhere I don’t have to see their eyes.”

Jango didn’t say goodbye.

He never did.

And when your ship lifted off, you didn’t look back.

⸻

The cadets lined up in silence.

There was tension in the air. They could feel it—like a shift in pressure right before a storm hits.

Wolffe had a sick feeling crawling up his spine. Fox had barely spoken all morning.

You hadn’t shown up for dawn drills. Again.

Then the door opened.

Boots. Not yours.

Jango Fett strode in—full beskar, helmet tucked under his arm, scowl like a thunderhead.

Every cadet stiffened.

“Form up,” he barked.

The lines straightened immediately. But all eyes were looking past him—waiting.

Wolffe’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Where’s our instructor?”

Jango’s lip curled slightly. “Gone.”

Fox frowned. “Gone where?”

Jango stared them down.

“She left Kamino. She won’t be returning.”

Just like that.

Silence exploded across the room.

Wolffe’s fists clenched.

Fox’s mouth opened—then closed. His jaw locked.

“She didn’t say goodbye,” Neyo whispered.

Jango looked at them like they were stupid.

“She didn’t need to.”

No one breathed.

Then Jango paced in front of them, slow and deliberate.

“You were here to be trained to lead men in battle. Not to fall for someone who made you feel special. You don’t get attachments. You don’t get comfort. You get orders. Understand?”

No one answered.

Jango stepped closer to Wolffe, then Fox, his voice low and cold.

“She gave you the best of her and got out before you ruined it. Don’t make the mistake of chasing ghosts.”

And with that—he barked for drills to begin.

They ran until their lungs burned, until every cadet dropped to their knees from exhaustion. Jango didn’t ease up once.

Wolffe didn’t speak the entire time.

Fox trained like he wanted the pain.

And no matter how hard they hit, how fast they moved, how sharp they became—

You didn’t come back.

⸻

The job was supposed to be clean.

A simple retrieval on Xeron V—a mid-tier Republic contractor gone rogue, hiding in the crumbling husk of an old droid factory. Get in, grab the target, drag him to a shadowy contact with credits to burn and questionable allegiance.

But you should’ve known better.

The second you got your hands on him, everything went sideways. Someone tipped off the Republic. Gunships rained from the sky. Your target fled. You got cut off. Cornered.

And then the unmistakable howl of clone comms filled the air.

The 104th.

You almost laughed when you saw the markings—gray trim, wolf symbols, bold and sharp.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

You were disarmed in seconds, pinned to the floor with your cheek pressed against cold durasteel.

Even then, you didn’t fight.

Wolffe was the one who yanked off your helmet.

You expected a reaction.

All you got was silence.

Not even a curse. Not even your name.

Just a stiff order to “secure the bounty hunter” and a curt nod to the troopers flanking you.

And then he walked away.

Like you were nothing.

Now you sat in the Republic outpost’s holding cell, bruised but mostly fine—aside from your ego and whatever parts of your heart still hadn’t gone numb. The armor plating of your new life, as a notorious bounty hunter, felt thinner by the second.

He hadn’t even looked you in the eye since they dragged you off the ship.

Not when you spat blood onto the hangar floor.

Not when they clamped the cuffs on your wrists.

Not when your helmet rolled to his feet like some ghost from a forgotten life.

Just protocol. Just silence.

Just Wolffe.

Outside the cell, Master Plo Koon approached his commander, his quiet presence always felt before it was seen.

“She knew your name,” Plo said gently.

Wolffe’s armor flexed as his fists curled. “She trained us. All of us. Before the war.”

“But there is more, isn’t there?”

Wolffe glanced sideways. “Sir, with respect—”

“I am not scolding you, Wolffe.” Plo’s voice remained steady. “But I sense a storm in you. I have since the moment she arrived.”

Wolffe said nothing.

“She left something behind, didn’t she?”

And for just a second, Wolffe’s mask cracked.

“Yeah,” he said, jaw tight. “Us.”

⸻

The hum of the gunship in hyperspace filled the silence between you.

You were cuffed to a seat, armor stripped down to a flight-safe bodysuit. Your posture was relaxed, but your gaze never left the clone across from you.

Wolffe sat still—helmet in his lap, eyes fixed straight ahead. He hadn’t spoken since takeoff.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment the whole way?” you asked, voice dry.

He didn’t even blink.

You sighed and leaned back, jaw clenching. “Fine. I’ll do the talking.”

No response.

“I didn’t think they’d make you my escort,” you continued. “You’d think after our history, that might be considered a conflict of interest.”

“Maybe they thought I’d shoot you if you acted up,” he muttered.

You smirked. “I thought about acting up. Just to see if you still care.”

That got him.

His head snapped toward you, eyes burning. “Don’t.”

“What? Push your buttons?” You arched a brow. “That used to be my specialty.”

“You used to be someone else.”

The smile dropped from your lips.

So did your heart.

Wolffe looked away again, tightening his grip on the helmet in his hands.

You turned your head toward the window, hiding the sting behind sarcasm. “You look good in Commander stripes.”

“And you look good in chains.”

There it was again—that damn tension. Sharp and unresolved. You almost welcomed the sting.

Almost.

⸻

Coruscant.

The gunship touched down in the GAR security hangar. Sterile, bright, swarming with guards in crimson-red armor.

You knew who ran this show before you even stepped off the ramp.

Fox.

The last time you saw him, he was still a smart-ass cadet fighting over who could land a blow on you first.

Now?

He wore the rank of Marshal Commander like a second skin. Polished. Cold. Untouchable.

The second your boots hit the durasteel, he was there.

“Prisoner in my custody,” he said to Wolffe, not even sparing you a glance.

“She’s your problem now,” Wolffe replied, handing over the datapad.

You smirked. “Nice armor, Foxy. Didn’t think you’d climb so high.”

He didn’t even blink.

“No jokes. No names. You’re not special anymore.”

The smile dropped off your face like a blade.

“I see the Senate really squeezed all the fun out of you.”

Fox stepped in close, nose-to-nose. “That bounty you botched? Republic senator’s aide was caught in the crossfire. He’s still in critical care.”

Your mouth opened, but he kept going.

“You may think you’re the same snarky Mandalorian who used to throw cadets around on Kamino. But you’re not. You’re a liability with a kill count—and you’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight.”

You swallowed hard.

Wolffe stood off to the side, helmet tucked under one arm, watching. Quiet. Controlled.

But his gaze never left your face.

Fox turned to his men. “Take her to holding. I’ll debrief in an hour.”

You were grabbed by the arms again, dragged off without ceremony. As you passed Wolffe, your eyes met just for a second.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything.

But Wolffe looked away first.

And this time, it hurt worse than anything else ever had.

The room was cold. Not physically—just sterile. Void of anything human.

One table. Two chairs. Transparent durasteel wall behind you.

And Fox, across the table, red armor like a warning light that never shut off.

He hadn’t said a word yet.

Just stood in the doorway, datapad in hand, watching you like he was trying to decide whether to question you or put a bolt in your head.

Finally, he sat down.

“You’re in a lot of trouble.”

You leaned back in the chair, manacled wrists resting against the tabletop. “Let me guess. That senator’s aide I accidentally shot was someone’s nephew?”

Fox didn’t flinch. “You’re lucky he’s not dead.”

“I’m lucky all the time.”

He stared you down. “Tell me why you took the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “Credits.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the truth.”

His fingers tapped against the datapad. A slow, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the silence.

“Target was mid-level intel—why would someone like you take a low-rank job like that?”

“I don’t screen my clients. I don’t ask questions.”

He leaned forward slightly. “You used to.”

You stilled.

There it was. The first crack.

“Back on Kamino,” he added, voice quieter. “You asked questions. You gave a damn.”

You looked away. “That was a long time ago.”

Fox’s jaw tightened. “Then help me understand what changed.”

You laughed once, bitter. “Why, Fox? This isn’t an interrogation. This is you trying to pick apart what’s left of someone you used to know.”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “This is me trying to figure out whether the person I used to trust is still in there.”

Your gaze snapped to his.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t break.

But you saw it.

That same flicker he used to show you, late in training when he couldn’t hide how much he hung on every word you said. That look when he fought with Wolffe over who got to spar with you first. That silence after you left Kamino without saying goodbye.

“I trained you to be a good soldier,” you muttered. “Not to sit behind a desk and spit Senate lines.”

“I became a good soldier because of you,” he shot back. “But you left before you could see it.”

Silence settled again.

He dropped the datapad to the table and leaned back in his chair. “Do you even care who you’re working for these days?”

You smirked, tired. “You want me to say I regret it. But I don’t think you’d believe me if I did.”

Fox stood abruptly. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He moved to leave—then hesitated, fingers flexing at his side. He looked back once, gaze sharp and unreadable.

“We’re not done.”

You lifted your brow. “Didn’t think we were.”

He stared at you another heartbeat longer.

Then left.

The door hissed closed behind him.

And still, his questions lingered.

⸻

It was past midnight, but Coruscant never slept.

The holding cell lights were dim, humming faintly above your head. You sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on your knees, staring through the thick transparisteel wall like you could still see stars.

Your wrists ached from the manacles.

Your chest ached from everything else.

When the door hissed open, you didn’t look.

You already knew who it was.

He stepped inside, slow and careful—like maybe if he moved too quickly, he’d change his mind and leave.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you said quietly.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Figured.”

You turned your head. Wolffe was still in full armor, helmet off, but the tension in his shoulders was more than battlefield wear.

He stepped closer but didn’t sit. He just looked at you. Like he hadn’t had the chance to really see you until now.

“You really left,” he said.

You huffed a breath. “You mean Kamino?”

He nodded once.

“Jango warned me,” you said. “Told me not to mess with the assets.”

His jaw clenched. “You weren’t messing with us.”

“Weren’t I?”

Wolffe looked down, quiet for a moment. Then:

“We would’ve followed you anywhere.”

The silence between you cracked open—raw, vulnerable.

“I couldn’t stay,” you whispered. “Not after that. Not when I knew I was screwing with your heads. You and Fox were fighting over a ghost. I was your first crush, not your future.”

“You were more than that.”

“No,” you said gently. “I was just the one who got away.”

Wolffe looked like he wanted to argue. Wanted to reach out. But he stayed exactly where he was, arms stiff at his sides.

“You’re going to be court-martialed,” you said with a dry smile. “Visiting the prisoner. Real scandal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You always did. That’s what made you a good soldier.”

He didn’t reply to that. Just let the silence stretch.

Finally, you asked, “So what happens now?”

Wolffe’s eyes hardened—not cold, but braced. “You’re staying. Senate wants answers. GAR wants a scapegoat.”

“And you?”

“I want—”

He stopped himself.

You sat up straighter. “Say it.”

He exhaled, jaw flexing, voice low. “I want you to walk out of here. I want you on my squad, back where you belong. I want to forget you ever left.”

You didn’t look away.

“I want to stop wondering if we ever meant anything to you.”

You stepped toward the barrier between you.

Then the comm in his vambrace flared to life.

“—Commander Wolffe, this is General Koon. We’re wheels up in five. Rendezvous at Pad D-17.”

He didn’t answer it. Just looked at you.

“I guess that’s your cue,” you said, trying to smile. “Duty first.”

“Always.”

But this time, he didn’t move.

He just stared at you like maybe—just maybe—he’d stay.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you said. “I made my bed. I’ll lie in it.”

He nodded slowly. “You always did sleep like hell anyway.”

You laughed once. It hurt.

“I’ll see you again,” he said finally.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Another call came through. Urgent.

He stepped back, slow, deliberate, like every footfall cost him.

You stood alone behind the transparisteel wall.

And he left without another word.

Because he was a commander.

And you were the one who got away.

[rylem33]

The Glade

I’d definitely taken a wrong turn.

I kept telling myself I’d find the trail again. That I wasn’t really lost. But the trees had thickened, pressing close, and the sun barely made it through the canopy now.

And it was oddly silent. An all consuming kind of silence. All I could hear was the crunch of my boots and the sound of my own breathing getting sharper with each step.

Though I was on a path, nothing looked familiar. Every tree was another gnarled giant, another maze of twisting roots. I hadn’t seen a trail marker in over an hour. I hadn’t seen anything but trees.

Then the flowers started to fall.

They started as just a soft haze of little smudges of blue at the edges of my vision. But when I pushed through the brush, the ground dropped away into a shallow hollow, and they were everywhere.

As they fell, they blanketed the forest floor. I’ve never seen flowers like these before. They were wild in shape and no two were alike.  

And they had a thick, cloying scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it stuck in my throat. 

It was easy to get lost in this haze of white.

Focus. You’re still lost.

I kept moving, but my steps slowed. The flowers were thicker here. Every step I took filled the air with drifting petals. They clung to my clothes and caught in my hair.

I tried to retrace again, spinning slowly in place. But even with a clear path, I was disoriented. Every direction looked the same. Every tree twisted upward in the same pattern, their bark coated in that same mossy green. The flowers had blanketed everything.

I couldn’t even find my own footprints anymore.

“Okay,” I muttered. “Okay, don’t panic.”

But I was panicking.

My phone had one bar of battery and no signal. I pulled up the compass app and tried to walk straight. Five minutes later, I was back at the same twisted tree with the split trunk and a patch of blue petals bunched beneath it.

I screamed.

It echoed through the trees and was then swallowed up by the silence.

I crouched low, forcing myself to breathe, trying to focus on anything but the rising sense of dread clawing up my spine. The smell was stronger now. So sweet it felt rotten.

You have to get out.

I pressed forward, shoving past thick undergrowth and low branches. Something stung my cheek. I didn’t care. I stumbled through the flowers, wading through them like snowdrifts, ignoring the way they seemed to twist toward me, to follow me.

And then… light.

Thin at first, like a pinprick at the edge of a tunnel. I sprinted toward it, lungs burning, legs aching. 

The flowers thinned and the trees pulled apart.

Suddenly the woods opened into a clearing and I heard road noise. I saw signs of civilization.

I fell to my knees, gasping. My hands shook. My boots were soaked and streaked.

I was out.

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

I couldn’t stop talking when I got home.

I burst through the door, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline, and found Nate at the kitchen counter munching on some chips.

“You’re back late,” he said.

“I got lost.”

“ You what?” he replied.

“I’m fine,” I rushed to add. “I mean, obviously. But yeah. I ended up way off-trail. Like, weirdly off. It was the strangest thing, Nate. The woods were… I don’t know. Not right. And there were these flowers. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“You’re shaking.”

I glanced down. My hands were trembling. “I think I’m just hyped up. You know, post-adrenaline crash.”

He walked over and pulled me into a hug. I melted into it for a second, grateful for something normal. But even in his arms, I couldn’t stay still.

“I’m starving,” I said, stepping back. “And not like, a granola bar hungry. I need actual food. Meat. And maybe three beers.”

We threw together something quick. I ate like I hadn’t eaten in days, licking the grease off my fingers. Nate watched me with a mix of amusement and concern.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging his plate away.

“I’m good,” I said quickly. “Great, actually. Just… still wired.”

I leaned back in my chair and stretched. My sports bra stuck to my skin with sweat. I could feel the heat rising off my body in waves. I saw his eyes drift to my chest. A thrill shot through me.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?”

I stood and walked over to him. “Come to bed with me.”

He gave me an uncertain look. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m so okay.” I bent down, lips brushing his ear. “And I really, really want you.”

We didn’t even make it to the bed. I pulled at his clothes in between taking mine off.  We bumped into the table and knocked over some small items. I didn’t care. I pulled him into a kiss and he carried me into the bedroom.

When we finally collapsed into bed, I curled into him, legs tangled around his. He tried for some foreplay but I brushed him off. I mounted him quickly and rode him fast and hard. He murmured something, but didn’t catch it. 

After I came, I quickly calmed. Still sweaty from the day and from the sex my mind started drifting.  I fell asleep quickly.

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

I couldn’t get warm.

Which made no sense, because I was burning up.

I kicked the covers off again and stared at the ceiling, breath shallow, skin flushed. Everything felt overheated — my cheeks, my chest, even the insides of my thighs.

Beside me, Nate mumbled something and shifted in his sleep. His arm draped across my stomach, and I flinched at the touch. My skin felt alive. 

I gently peeled his arm off and slipped out from under it. He didn’t stir. His breathing stayed slow, steady.

I rolled onto my side, trying to focus on the sound of the ceiling fan. It was spinning fast, but the air felt thick. Heavy. Like I was breathing through syrup.

I pressed my hand against my stomach which was damp with sweat. My shirt clung to me.

Just a reaction to the stress, I told myself. You got lost, you panicked. Of course your body’s in shock. That’s all this is.

But it didn’t feel like shock.

I sat up and stripped off my shirt, flinging it to the floor. It helped, for maybe two seconds. Then the heat was back. Worse. Not just heat — awareness. I could feel everything. The air brushing against my thighs, the subtle stick of sweat behind my knees, the hum of blood just under my skin.

I pressed the heel of my hand between my eyes, trying to ground myself.

God, I needed something. A shower? A sedative? A fucking exorcism?

But that wasn’t it.

I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want food. My body didn’t want comfort.

It wanted…

No. I shook my head, shoving that thought away before it could finish forming. I was just overheated. Delirious. I’d breathe, cool off, and in the morning this would all be a weird memory.

I lay back down and pulled the sheet over me, careful not to wake him.

But even though I couldn’t stop squirming, Nate barely stirred.

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

I woke to the feeling of my skin burning again — not with fever, but with need. A pull in my chest, my bones, my blood.

I knew what I had to do. I needed to go back.

I sat up in bed. The sheet slipped off my body, pooling at my waist.

Beside me, Nate stirred, groggy. “Babe���? You okay?”

I didn’t answer right away. I was staring down at my hands.

They weren’t the same.

My fingers were longer, the nails glassy and curved. My skin was pale, smooth, glowing faintly in the early light. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and caught my reflection in the mirror across the room.

My ears were pointed. My eyes shimmered green-gold, deep and endless like sun-dappled leaves. My hair spilled wild down my back.

“Nate…” I said, voice soft, distant.

He sat up, rubbing his face, blinking at me. “What the hell…?”

I turned toward him. “I’m not sick.”

“You’re—what happened to you?”

“I became,” I said simply. “The forest did something to me.”

His mouth opened. Closed again. I watched his eyes struggle to process what he was seeing.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “You need a hospital—something. Jesus, your—your ears—”

“No,” I said. “No doctors. No hospitals.”

I stood. My bare feet hit the floor, and the wood felt cold, lifeless. This house, this room it felt sterile. Dead.

I didn’t belong here.

“I have to go,” I told him, already walking to the door.

���Go? Where?” His voice cracked. “What are you talking about?”

“The glade. The forest. They’re waiting for me.”

He stood and grabbed my arm. “Wait—what the fuck are you saying? You’re scaring me.”

I looked down at his hand. His touch felt distant now. Dull. Like pressure through a fog. I gently pulled free.

“I’m not yours anymore, Nate.”

He froze, like I’d hit him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though part of me wasn’t. “I’m one of them now. But I’m also me now.”

I stepped outside into the early morning air even as he called to me. The wind kissed my skin like a lover. I broke into a run, faster than I’d ever moved. The early morning dew didn’t chill me. 

I ran to the forest and the moment I stepped beneath its canopy, the air shifted. The scent hit me like a memory — thick, floral, intoxicating. I ran barefoot over moss and root, the wind laughing with me.

It was welcoming me back.

I quickly found the glade. It was so easy now that I knew what to see. 

The flowers burst in color, petals rising to greet me, brushing my legs, wrapping me in softness. The moment I entered, I felt the others. I heard them, their voices like bells, laughter like wind through leaves.

I turned and saw them.

Fey. My kin. My home.

I giggled and ran into their arms, into the wild.

And I never looked back.