#He was disoriented and not in his right mind

[kyrsse]

He's my Husband

Chapter 2- Where the Ocean Meets the Soul ༊*·˚notes: sorry this took so long, uni suddenly got busy and I didn't have time to edit this chapter. Please enjoy!! ༊*·˚warnings: car crash, light angst? i don't know brotha

Year 2025

His eyes fluttered open, disoriented. He found himself bound to the chair, a throbbing pain pulsing in his temple. Panic surged through him as he realized the precious item clutched in his hand was gone. Frantically, he scanned the room, his gaze darting everywhere in a desperate search. He strained against the ropes, his efforts futile.

Mc watched him regain consciousness, a smirk playing on her lips. She ambled towards the refrigerator, retrieving a bowl brimming with luscious berries. "If you wanted those berries so badly, all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to resort to such dramatic measures." She placed the bowl temptingly on the table in front of him, the sight of the juicy berries making his mouth water.

She fed him the plump berries, juicy and sweet, they quickly disappeared into his mouth with a satisfying pop. He chewed thoughtfully, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he met her gaze.

"So," she began, "mind telling me what brings you to my closet?"

He remained silent, his eyes twinkling with an unspoken curiosity as he savored the fruit.

He hasn't uttered a single word since I found him. Mute, perhaps? Or maybe his breath is so… pungent, that he's too embarrassed to speak? Poor guy, I can only imagine the stench. A shiver ran down her spine. Life as a pauper is certainly full of surprises.

She let out a soft sigh and pulled out her phone. A little photographic evidence couldn't hurt. The flash startled him, his eyes widening momentarily. He blinked a few times, seemingly confused, then a slow smile spread across his face. He reached out a tentative finger and gently poked the screen, his eyes widening in wonder as his reflection shifted and wobbled.

She chuckled, sending the photos to her best friend with a brief explanation of her unexpected encounter. "Found this adorable lost soul," she typed, adding a heart emoji.

He leaned forward, intrigued by the small, glowing rectangle in her hand. His reflection, a curious stranger, stared back at him. He poked the screen again, this time tracing the outline of his face with his finger.

"Never seen a phone before, have you?" she teased, her voice light and playful. He tilted his head, a curious sound escaping his lips, a soft, melodic hum that made her heart flutter.

"Well, since I'm feeling generous today, I suppose I could give you a ride home," she offered, a mischievous glint in her eye. He smiled, a shy blush creeping up his neck. He gestured towards her car, a small, cheerful hatchback, and then back to her, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of gratitude and anticipation.

"All right, all right," she laughed, "but first, we must find you some proper clothes. You can't go around looking like that… well, you know."

He looked down at himself and shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. She couldn't help but smile back. This was going to be an interesting day.

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She led him to the most expensive shoe store in the mall, the one with the sparkling chandeliers and the impossibly white carpet. The salesladies, all smiles and perfectly coiffed hair, greeted her warmly.

"Bring me some men's shoes," she instructed one of the shop assistants, who promptly obeyed. When they returned, she presented a pair to him.

"Try them on," she said, gesturing towards the plush velvet chair. He looked at her, completely bewildered, then picked up a shoe and tried to slip his hand inside. The shop assistants stifled gig"

"Oh my goodness," she exclaimed, "you don't even know how to put on shoes?"

She couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and tinkling. She knelt, gently taking his large, bruised feet in her hands. "Here, let me help you."

She carefully slipped the shoes on, her fingers brushing against his skin. A strange warmth spread through her, and she quickly looked away, feeling a blush creeping up her neck again. "There," she said, standing up. "So, I'm you're Prince Charming now?" she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

When their eyes met, the playful banter seemed to fade away. A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft murmur of the other shoppers. He smiled, a slow, gentle smile that reached his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.

"We'll take these," she said, pointing to the shoes. "And those pink heels," she added, gesturing towards a pair of sparkly pink heels displayed in the window. "They've been calling my name all day. Make them size… let's see… size seven."

Over the next few hours, they wandered through the mall, indulging in a shopping spree that would make her bank account weep. She bought clothes, jewelry, and even a ridiculously oversized stuffed yellow chick. He watched her with a mixture of amusement and wonder, his eyes wide with every new purchase.

Noticing the tired lines forming around his eyes, she felt a pang of guilt. "Hey," she said, "let's take a break. I'm going to grab a coffee. You stay here and guard the bags. Don't you dare go anywhere, okay?"

She placed the overflowing shopping bags beside him, gave him a reassuring smile, and headed toward the nearest coffee shop.

A few minutes later, she returned, her heart pounding with a frantic rhythm. The bags were still there, but he was gone. "Oh no," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Where did he go?"

Panic surged through her. She scanned the bags "Phew, the cosmetics are still here-- Arghh focus M! He's missing!!" She searched the crowded mall, her eyes wide with fear. She asked the guards, the shop assistants, and even the bewildered-looking pigeons pecking at crumbs. No one had seen him.

Tears welled up in her eyes. The mall, once a wonderland of glittering lights and tempting displays, now felt vast and empty, a labyrinth of despair.

Then, she saw him. He was sitting in the lost and found—lost and found for kids—what the heck is he doing there?! He's thrice the size of a kid!! He continued calmly licking a lollipop, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused.

Relief washed over her, so intense it almost made her dizzy. "Hey!" she exclaimed, hurrying towards him. "What in the world were you thinking? You can't just wander off like that!"

He looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. He held up the lollipop triumphantly. "Found it," he seemed to say, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

She couldn't help but laugh. He looked so incredibly cute, sitting there amongst the crying children, his face smeared with sticky sweetness.

He stood up, towering over the other children, and reached for her. She hesitated for a moment, then found herself wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, his arms surprisingly gentle, and she buried her face in his chest, inhaling the faint scent of woodsmoke and something strangely comforting.

"Let's go home," she murmured, pulling away. It was late, and they were both exhausted.

The room burst to life as I slid the keycard into the slot, illuminating the space with a warm, welcoming glow. He watched with wide, curious eyes, his head tilting as if trying to understand the magic of the card.

"Don't take that out!" I warned, already heading towards the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower. Do whatever you want, just don't do anything stupid."

He waited until the sound of the water filled the bathroom, and then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he reached for the card. The lights flickered, a playful dance of light and shadow that filled the room.

"Stop that!" I yelled, startled. "Or else!"

He tilted his head, seemingly confused by my outburst but he didn't care one bit... He didn't even understand my words, of course, but the tone of my voice was clear: I was not amused. The flickering continued, and I could feel my irritation rising.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a robe around myself. "Stop it!" I repeated, marching towards him, my voice stern. "Are you trying to drive me crazy? Are you nuts? Because I'd be happy to help you find a good doctor."

I pinned him against the wall, hoping to intimidate him. But instead of fear, I saw something else in his eyes - a strange intensity, a blush creeping up his neck.

My heart pounded. I glanced down at myself, realizing my robe had slipped open slightly, revealing a glimpse of my chest. I quickly pulled the robe closed, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. "YAH!! Y-You… you pervert!" I stammered, "I don't even know why I let you stay here after you… after you sniffed my panties!"

I fled to my bedroom, mortified.

He watched me go, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. "What… what did I do?" he thought to himself. "Why does my heart feel so strange? Did I do something wrong? But… she looked so… beautiful when she was angry." He shook his head, confused.

He wandered around the room, his curiosity piqued. There were so many fascinating objects to explore - the television that spoke, the glowing orbs that illuminated the room, the strange contraption that made music. He reached out and gently touched the television screen, his finger tracing the images that flickered across it.

Suddenly, a picture of a girl appeared on the screen, laughing with her friends at a party. He pointed at the screen, his eyes widening in surprise.

He turned to look at the screen, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. He mimicked her laugh, a low, rumbling sound that was surprisingly melodic.

I peeked out from behind the bedroom door, my heart fluttering. He was looking so stupid right now, a soft smile gracing his lips. He had never laughed before, not like that. It was a sound that was both unexpected and strangely endearing.

I felt a blush creeping up my neck again. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

The morning light filtering through the blinds barely touched the television screen, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. He was still there, perched on the edge of the sofa, his eyes glued to the screen, completely absorbed in the fast-paced action unfolding before him.

"Good morning," I said, startled. "It's… it's still early."

He looked up, and I was greeted by the big dark, and swollen circles under his eyes. A stark contrast to the vibrant colors on the screen. Has he not slept at all?!?!

I burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh what the fuck!!! HAHAHA, look at yourself!!!" I snapped a picture of him, capturing the comical sight of him looking like a zombie. He just stared at me, his expression blank.

"Did you stay up all night watching this?" I asked, gesturing towards the television. He yawned a wide, cavernous yawn that stretched his lips from ear to ear. He tried to close his eyes, but the captivating images on the screen seemed to hold him captive. "You need to sleep," I said, sighing. "It's like talking to a wall sometimes."

My phone buzzed with a notification – an invitation from an old friend. "Nevermind... Change of plans, get dressed," I told him, "we're going somewhere." He looked at me, his brow furrowed, but he slowly began to obey, his movements surprisingly graceful despite his exhaustion.

I went to my closet and pulled out the new dress I'd bought during our last shopping spree. After that, I fixed my hair and applied a touch of makeup. When I went to check on him, he was a whirlwind of activity, clothes scattered across the floor like confetti. Oh my gosh

"I'm almost ready, and you're still running around like a… well, like a human tornado!'' I exclaimed.

I quickly gathered the black dress shirt and the limed spruce blazer that I had picked out for him. Then I found a pair of matching slacks and his shoes. "Hurry up," I said, handing him the clothes. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes."

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was greeted by a flurry of excited greetings from my friends. "M! It's so good to see you again!" one of them exclaimed. Aware of the man's presence they couldn't help but ask "And who is this handsome gentleman?"

My heart sank. How was I supposed to explain him? I can't tell them he's a pervert in my closet!! Think M think...should I say it?Hmm, it's not like he'll understand.

"Umm.I.. uhh This is… this is my husband," I stammered, my voice trembling. "We've been married for almost 5 years now but he sadly got into an accident a few months ago and couldn't remember a thing...Dr.Zayne told me it would take a while for him to recover. He also couldn't speak properly or think properly that's why I can't ever leave his side." I said while the others looked at us in pity.

Their expressions softened with sympathy. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," one of them said. "It must be very difficult, not only for him but also for you and your families... I'll pray for you both."

I forced a smile and held him closer while he just looked at me confusingly."It's been incredibly hard," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "He used to be so… vibrant, so full of life. Oh, how I've missed him telling me how much he loves me or the sweet compliments he'd always give me, it's been a very long time since I last heard his voice. I would do anything to hear it again.."

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "What… what do you mean?" he asked, his voice clear and surprisingly strong. "I can speak very well love, what are you saying?" He pulled me close by the waist.

The room fell silent. My friends stared at him in disbelief. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. He could speak? He could talk perfectly well!

"Excuse me," I muttered, pulling him away from the table. "I… I need some air."

We rushed out of the area, my heart pounding."What the fuck?!? what was that?? w-when did you know how to speak?? uh! I mean YOU CAN SPEAK?! This whole time... I thought I was talking to a mute! I thought I was the only one who could understand you!" I silently shouted in panic.

"One word at a time, please... you said you wanted to hear my voice.."He looked at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes."Well, you should've just stayed quiet and saved me from embarrassment!!" I said angrily.

 "I learned how to speak last night," he said, his voice calm and measured. "From the… the talking box. There was a… a human. They helped me learn your language."

"Wha.. what talking box? The television? And you learned an entire language in one night?" I exclaimed, incredulous.

He shrugged. "We… we learn quickly."

I stared at him, speechless. This man, this mysterious stranger who had appeared in my life, was more than just a mute amnesiac. He was… well, he was a lot more interesting than I had initially thought.

"Let's get out of here!" I exclaimed, pulling him out of the place in a rush and hopping into my car. "Ugh! I wanted to be famous, but not this way. There's no doubt I'll be their topic for a few weeks."

During the drive, I bombarded him with questions, It was liberating, knowing he could finally answer. The whole ride was filled with our laughter, the conversation flowing easily, a stark contrast to the tense silence that had previously dominated our interactions.

"I don't live here," I said, "My home is in Linkon. I just came here for a break. How about you? Where do you live?"

He pointed towards the vast expanse of the ocean, his gaze drawn to the horizon. "There."

"Oh really? the island over there? You must be eating fish and other seafood all day, huh?" I teased, a smile gracing my lips. He looked at me and laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that made my heart flutter.

"So," I began, "tell me about your life before… before all this."

He shrugged, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Water. Always water. Sun. Sand. Quiet."

"You lived on the island all your life?" I asked, intrigued.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely."

"Lonely?" I echoed, surprised.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "No one to talk to. No one to share… anything with."

My heart ached for him. He had spent his entire life in isolation, a solitary figure on a remote island.

Suddenly, a deafening roar shattered the peaceful atmosphere. In the rearview mirror, I saw a monstrous truck barreling down the road, out of control. Panic surged through me, icy tendrils gripping my heart. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal, trying to outrun the speeding vehicle. But luck wasn't on my side today. The truck swerved violently, its tires screeching against the pavement, and collided with my car.

The car lurched violently, throwing me against the side of the door. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white, my vision blurring. The world exploded into a cacophony of shattering glass and screeching metal. I was thrown against the dashboard, the air thick with the smell of burning rubber and ozone. "No!" I screamed, terror, flooding my veins. "We're going to crash!"

The world seemed to slow down, each terrifying second stretching into an eternity. I braced myself for the inevitable impact. Then, with a sickening crunch, the truck collided with my car.

Pain, sharp and sudden, erupted in my chest. I gasped for air, my lungs burning. The car, a mangled wreck, was slowly sinking into the icy depths of the ocean. I fumbled for my seatbelt, my fingers trembling, but it was useless.

The car spun out of control, hurtling towards the edge of the cliff. My breath caught in my throat, a suffocating fear constricting my chest. The air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and ozone, and the acrid tang of something metallic. Disoriented, I tried to catch my breath, my ears ringing with the deafening silence that followed the crash.

"Jump!" I yelled, my voice hoarse with panic. "Jump!"

But it was too late. The car plunged over the edge, plummeting towards the unforgiving depths of the ocean. The icy water rushed in, a cold, suffocating embrace. I felt myself being pulled under, the pressure crushing my chest.

Then, darkness.

I awoke with a gasp, disoriented, gasping for air. I was surrounded by a cold, suffocating darkness. Panic clawed at my throat.

Suddenly, a strong arm encircled me, pulling me towards the surface. I broke through the surface, coughing violently, sputtering water.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw him.

He wasn't human.

I looked up to see him, his face illuminated by the pale moonlight. But he wasn't the same. His legs had transformed, merging into a sleek, shimmering tail. Scales shimmered across his skin, iridescent in the dim light filtering through the water.

He looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. His eyes, usually filled with a quiet curiosity, now held a deep, primal fear.

He leaned in closer, his face close to mine. Our eyes met, and at that moment, time seemed to stop. He kissed me, a gentle, exploratory kiss that sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes and clung to him, desperate for the warmth of his body, for the security of his embrace.

As he pulled away, my vision blurred. The world around me seemed to tilt and sway. I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, his face was the last image I saw before darkness enveloped me.

Year 1492

On the first night of her wedding, a chilling emptiness settled over her. Like ghostly whispers, memories echoed through the opulent chamber – bitter goodbyes, tears that refused to dry, and the agonizing weight of a love she knew could never be. Outside, a tempest raged, mirroring the storm within her. A suffocating silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the creak of the heavy door as it swung open.

A towering figure materialized in the doorway, his presence alone casting long, ominous shadows across the room. She flinched, her gaze darting towards the floor.

"What do you want?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

He approached, his heavy shoes thudding against the wooden floor, each step a hammer blow against her fragile composure. He sat beside her, but a chasm of distance yawned between them, a chasm wider than the ocean that separated her from the love of her life.

"Your father spoke highly of you," he rumbled his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "And I... I wish to know more about you."

His large hand, rough and calloused, gently tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. But all she saw were cold, calculating eyes, eyes that held no warmth.

"I... I cannot," she stammered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I'm sorry, but I already gave my heart to someone else a very long time ago. So I'm not fine with the idea of it... Let's uhh just both keep it professional, after all this is an arranged marriage."

A cruel smile touched his lips. "A foolish infatuation, no doubt. I can offer you everything you could ever desire. Wealth, power, a life of luxury. Many women would kill for the position you now hold."

She scoffed, her voice laced with bitterness. "I am not one of them. And please, do not speak of him so lightly. He is not a 'fish boy' as you so condescendingly call him."

Fury ignited in his eyes. "Do not defy me. This marriage is not a mere formality. You are my wife, and you will obey. Attempt to flee, and I will hunt you down. He will pay the ultimate price for stealing you away." 

"Let go of me!" I said while pushing his hands away.

Terror gripped her. His possessiveness was suffocating, suffocating her hope, her joy, her very breath. In a desperate act, she reached for the nearest object, a small, ornate dagger lying forgotten on the bedside table.

"Stay back!" she warned, her voice trembling.

But her defiance only fueled his anger. He lunged forward, and in a blur of motion, the dagger found its mark. A guttural cry escaped his lips as he staggered back, blood blossoming on his chest.

Panic seized her. What had she done? She had taken a life, extinguished a life, all for a love that might never be.

Driven by a primal fear, she fled the chamber, her bare feet pounding against the cold wooden floor. She stumbled through the palace, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Finally, she reached the stables, her gaze falling upon a magnificent stallion, its coat gleaming in the moonlight.

She mounted the horse, urging it forward, the wind whipping through her hair as they raced through the night. She had to escape, to find him, to warn him. But the darkness, treacherous and unforgiving, obscured her path. The horse, startled by a sudden sound, reared, throwing her from its back. She tumbled down the steep cliffside, the cold, unforgiving sea swallowing her whole.

He would come, she thought, her consciousness fading. He would come for her.

But as the icy waters closed over her head, she knew that their love story, like the fleeting moonlight, was destined to remain forever unfinished.

A pair of strong arms encircled my waist, pulling me abruptly from the icy depths. I gasped for air, my lungs burning. Coughing, I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, his face etched with worry. Relief washed over me, so intense it almost overwhelmed the fear still clinging to my bones.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, his voice rough with concern. "What happened? Why are you—"

I cut him off with a desperate kiss, pouring all my fear, my longing, and my agonizing regret into the desperate act. He responded with a fervor that mirrored my own, his lips moving against mine with a fierce urgency. It was a kiss unlike any I had ever known, a desperate dance beneath the surface of the churning sea, a desperate plea for solace, for forgiveness.

Pulling back, I searched his eyes, searching for the same desperate hope I felt within myself. "I ran away," I confessed, my voice trembling. "I couldn't bear it anymore. Life without you... it felt like a slow, agonizing death. I was a fool, a terrible fool, to think I could ever be happy with him."

He held me close, his embrace a lifeline in the chaotic sea. "My love," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I understand. But we cannot be together now. It's too dangerous. You must return."

"No!" I cried, tears streaming down my face. "I killed him! I took a life, and I can never forgive myself. I can't go back to that life."

His face paled. "Yuei, what happened?"

"He threatened me," I sobbed, burying my face in his chest. "He said he would hunt you down, that he would make you pay. I couldn't let him hurt you. I… and I uhh There must be another way. We will find a way to be together. We will—"

"No, Yuei," he said gently, his voice soothing."There is no other way," he whispered, despair creeping back into my voice. "I belong to the sea, and you belong to the land. We cannot survive apart."

He pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my hair. "I know," I murmured, his voice a low, mournful sigh. "I know."

And then, as I clung to him, a strange sensation washed over me, a dizzying sense of peace. I looked up into his eyes, but they were no longer the eyes I knew, the eyes filled with love and longing. They were vacant, empty, devoid of any recognition.

He leaned in for another kiss, a gentle, lingering kiss that seemed to drain the life from my very soul. As his lips touched mine, a wave of oblivion washed over me, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

"A Lemurian, a creature of the deep, possesses a power both wondrous and heartbreaking. With a gentle touch or a fleeting kiss, they can weave a spell that erases the memories of others. This extraordinary ability, a gift of their ancient lineage, serves as a shield against the cruelties of the world, a defense against those who would seek to harm them. For in the face of danger, a Lemurian can simply vanish from the minds of their enemies, becoming an untraceable whisper on the wind."

"Yet, this power, so potent in its protection, carries a profound and agonizing cost. For when a Lemurian employs this ability, they are not merely erasing the memories of their foes; they are erasing themselves from the hearts of those they cherish. Lovers, friends, family – all will forget the Lemurian, as if they were but a fleeting dream, a phantom of the imagination. The bonds of affection, the shared laughter, the whispered secrets – all vanish, replaced by an unsettling void."

"And so, to wield this power is an act of profound sacrifice. It is to choose oblivion over the pain of betrayal, to sever the threads of connection that bind them to the world, to become a ghost in the memories of those they love most. "

The final words, 'I'm sorry, my love,' echo with a melancholic poignancy, a silent testament to the immense love and courage required to bear such a heavy burden. 

RAAAHHH PLS READ THE OTHER CHAPTERS THANKYEWWW

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[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Tags list : @elizalabs3

[randomly--accessed--memories]

@storm-ismyusername

I think I'm leaning toward "The Lost Signal Ending" if we're gonna be fancy about it.

Definitely. Alastor can't stand not being able to communicate, and writing takes too long given how much he likes to talk, so sign language would be his best option. It's infuriating for him when someone doesn't know it and they're stuck at an impasse though.

Oh, he loathes them. This is one incident that Vox is never going to forget. He wants revenge, but right now his priority is helping Alastor recover. He struggles to retain details about the Vees themselves due to the directive that bans him from remembering them, but the fact that they hurt Alastor is burned into his mind. They aren't really individuals in his mind, just two halves of the same entity: the enemy.

The Vees definitely aren't satisfied (maybe if they finish the job and kill him, they'll feel better! Right? Right??), but they don't really have time to grapple with the morality of their actions. A full-on war has broken out amongst all the different overlords due to this development, and that's taking up most of their brain space. Their "plan" for this scenario has also gone screwy because whenever they pictured themselves successfully capturing Alastor, they assumed Vox would be safely in their care. They might've taken him too when they snatched Alastor (Vox would not react well to waking up in his old "prison" and hearing the sound of Alastor in pain over their shared frequency), but Charlie sure as hell wasn't going to leave him behind when she came to rescue Al. Knowing that Vox is out there, tending to Alastor's wounds, with his loyalty to him increased ten-fold... it's worrying, to say the least.

Husk doesn't know what to do. He isn't 100% sure whether Alastor still has the power to keep him here, but his gut's telling him to run while he can. He doesn't want to end up dying for Alastor of all people, but he can't abandon the rest of the hotel crew in good conscience. Husk knows he's not going to be able to convince Charlie to just throw Alastor to the wolves, so it feels "abandon your friends" and "possibly die for the person who's kept you enslaved for the past twenty years" are his only options. In terms of how he feels about Alastor as an individual though... I'm can't decide if Husk is mature enough to pity him or bitter enough to think Al got what was coming to him. Maybe both.

Vaggie's just disoriented at first. The truth about Vox and Niffty hadn't come out yet, so she had no idea why Angel's boss and his business partner abducted Alastor to torture him live on the air (or how they'd even accomplished such a thing since Alastor had been hiding the injury from his fight with Adam for the past several weeks/months). She was actually scared for him and felt real empathy when she saw the state he was in, as well as the effect it had on Vox and Niffty. And then she found out why this all happened. Vaggie feels like a fool for ever letting herself care about Alastor's wellbeing and is grappling with all the same stuff she has to deal with under normal circumstances when the truth is revealed. There might be a conflict between her and Charlie where the shock of the situation makes Charlie double-down and refuse to believe that this was all in retaliation for something Alastor did to Vox, while Vaggie struggles to make her accept reality. Could probably do something interesting with Vaggie and the whole "eye for an eye" thing, given how this is all taking place after she chose not to take revenge on Lute...

Um... this whole situation is... a lot, to say the least. They're relieved to have their dad back, but that relief doesn't last long. No matter what they do, they can't get Vox to calm down– he's beside himself with panic and grief and fury– and he flees back to the hotel with Alastor at the first opportunity. He might not even recognize them when he sees them, they've been apart for so long.

Fineas was 100% on board with the Vees revenge plan from the start. He didn't take part in it, but there's no doubt in his mind that it was deserved. Ondine went in when the Vees first captured Alastor and tried to get him to explain why he did all this. He may or may not have given her a truthful answer. Either way, she was so disgusted that she walked off and left him to his fate. She genuinely thought the Vees were going to kill him and might start having second thoughts when he escapes, though. The kid versions are basically the same, just slightly less involved.

The Vees don’t truly believe they’ll ever be able to accomplish this, but they’ve agreed that if they ever manage to capture Alastor (and are confident they can keep him from escaping), they want to put him through exactly what he did to Vox, and more. Days of torture, broadcasted live on television+livestream for all of Hell to see, until he completely snaps. They don’t know what he did to Vox to rewire his brain, but if they can, they’ll do their best to use their own methods of mental manipulation to humiliate him in the same way before finally killing him.

They’ve also promised each other that if they’re ever able to do this, no matter what Vox says or does, they won’t relent until the job is done. He can hate them all he wants; they’re taking revenge on his behalf whether he wants them to or not.

[lofan]

Have you ever thought about the parallel that there were two people who physically violated Londo, humiliated him, and painfully intruded into his mind (yeah, strange it happened twice) - Drakh and G'Kar, the same one who later became his best friend? They did exactly the same things, but while Drakh wanted to control him, G'Kar wanted to hurt him(even if under the influence of Dust). Londo hated Shiv'kala for that, nothing more. But G'Kar was horrified by what he'd done(at least after Kosh. I think it's a fact that without him Londo wouldn't have survived). He turned himself in and paid for that. 

But THE most interesting and even ironic thing is that later he became his bodyguard, willingly, and Londo agreed. Yes, they've been through a lot before that, and he knew G'Kar better by this time and that he'd do the job, but STILL. That's a LOT of trust—letting him sleep next to him, protect his back and just be there constantly. And they did become friends. Wow.

You can point out that Londo did war crimes against his world and it wasn't easy for G'Kar either, and it's TRUE, but hear me out! That was painful and personal. At that moment he didn't even know that this particular centauri is the one responsible, he just wanted to take it out on someone. So yes, Londo made a lot of shitty decisions, but this was a brave and trusting moment for him. This situation was never mentioned again, but knowing G'Kar and the noble man he became, I BET he remembered that at least a couple of times. 

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (consent somno)

Sleeping with Simon means you might wake up from the tingling yet comfortable feeling coming from your breast, still disoriented from the slumber, letting out a sleepy whimper as the pleasure keeps coursing through your spine like tiny lightnings.

“Morning.” Simon doesn’t even detach his lips from your nipples as he greets you, lapping lazily and rolling the little peaks with his hot tongue.

“Simon…” Your fingers card through his locks to encourage him, he’s always extra horny in the early morning, but the eagerness in his movements is more evident now than the other days, practically burying his face in your breasts. “What got you so worked up today?” you ask him between the moans caused by his antics, his intentional sucking on one of your sensitive buds makes you unable to hold back a whiny cry of bliss.

“Wake up and see you sleeping in my arms, safe and sound…” Simon huffs out a laugh when he gives your nipples a nip, eliciting a yelp on you “You wearing my shirt, leaning against my chest, just the right angle for me to peek in the collar and see those cute nipples of yours…”

“It’s not my fault, you told me to wear one of your shirts last night.” Your pouty facade can’t be kept on for long, not when he finishes taking good care of your now fully hardened nipples, peppering kisses on his way downwards, as if memorizing your body and claiming his territory again with those pink love bites.

“And you’re the one who chose the thinnest and loosest shirt, ain’t you?” Taking your clothed clit between his lips, he smirks as he dart out his tongue, pressing down forcefully at your core and toying it skillfully, so you’ll throw your head back on the pillow and grind your needy pussy against his lips, begging for more with those sugar-coated pleas. “Fuck, all greedy and soaked just from me worshipping your tits, sweetheart? Who’s the eager one now, eh?”

“Just…Just pull down the panties already, god…” Not enough, your mind screams for more, yearns for his lips directly touching your wet folds.

“Bossy.” He chastises you, like you’re an impatient girl craving for candies, but he won’t deny you—or deny himself, from tasting what he’s been wanting since he woke up this morning.

Pulling down your panties and let it pull around your ankles, not even sparing time to take it off properly, he dives back between your thighs, wet tongue gliding through your core, drinking down those nectar as you reach out and push his face down further, the crook of his nose nudging your clit so good that you roll your hips to meet his consistent onslaught.

“Bloody hell, princess…smells so fucking good.” He groans, a low and half-growling one which only worsen your insatiable desires. Even when he lifts his head slightly to speak, his hands immediately move in, sliding two thick and long fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and pressing the correct spots to make you scream out his name.

“Trying to wake the neighbors up with those cute moans, huh? ‘m not sure if they’ll feel grateful.” Thumbs spreading your pussy lips, he latches onto the now-exposed clit, bringing you another level of joy by sucking that twitching little thing.

“Simon! Si- oh, gonna…” You try to warn him before you get pushed over the edge abruptly, liquid gushing out and smearing his face, only for him to moan contently and make sure not to miss any drop.

“What a sight…” Straightening up and looking at the pool of mess staining the bedsheets, before his gaze travel to you face, eyes still blurry and cheeks tinted with rosy red, panting and quivering after squirting so hard for him, Simon smacks your pussy teasingly, earning another delectable whimper from you. “Squirting all over the sheets, will have to change it later.”

“Can’t go another round, baby…” You look down at him the moment his lips touch your puffy folds once again, big eyes meeting his dark ones with satisfaction and tiredness, but your protest is cut off by a soft smack on right on your trembling clit, and further words are replaced with moans when he ducks down to resume devouring his favorite meal, pressing a reassuring kiss to your pussy and croon. “Won’t stop until you squirt again for me, you can do it, love, and you will do it.”

[writingastory]

Headcanons: The Morning After

Prompt: "It’s the first time they’ve woken up together in the same bed, and one partner is mesmerized by the other’s sleeping face—softly watching them wake up, still sleepy and a little disoriented."

Pairings: Xavier x fem!reader; Zayne x fem!reader; Rafayel x fem!reader; Sylus x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, suggestive thingies

Genre: "Normal" AU (no Evol, no Wanderers - just normal life)

A/N: I originally wanted to write some angsty, but couldn't bring myself to it. Life's hard enough, let's enjoy some fluff. Hope you enjoy! 💕

🌟 Xavier was still fast asleep by the time you woke up. The sun was tickling your nose in a way it usually did not - and it took you a moment to realize why it felt so strange. You were not in your bed... or your room for that matter.

🌟 Looking around, you found your clothes strewn about the room - and your boyfriend in bed, right by your side, under the blankets. Naked. Just like you.

🌟 A pleasant shiver ran up your spine, images of the night before flickering through your mind. His touches, his kisses - the way you two entangled under the sheets, and became one...

🌟 You smiled and traced the light marks on your skin. Xavier stirred lightly next to you and you couldn't help snuggling into his back, leaving gentle kisses on the back of his neck. Your fingers traced his spine with a feather-light touch, before continuing to draw invisible patterns into his skin.

🌟 He stirred again and rolled onto his other side, facing you. He blinked a few times and scrunched his nose cutely as the light hit his eyes. You giggled and kissed his nose. "Good morning," you whispered, cupping his face gently. He hummed in response, a small smile forming on his lips.

🌟 Xavier was far from ready to start his day. He scooted closer to you and pushed you onto your back slowly, snuggling into your side, his face hidden in your neck as his arms engulfed you carefully - as if you were a precious treasure that would break if he used too much force. His lips found your collarbone, planting soft kisses on the warm skin there.

🌟 "Good morning, indeed..." he mumbled between kisses, his hand finding your thigh, pulling it over his hips to lock you together once more. His one hand gripped your knee to hold your leg in place as his other snaked around the back of your neck to keep you close to him, stealing kiss after kiss from you, each one deeper and more intimate than the one before - and you suddenly had the feeling that you would not leave that bed for a couple more hours...

❄️ Zayne woke up before sunrise - 5 AM sharp, as he did every single day. His internal clock was as precise as a Swiss watch. He jolted slightly as he felt movements next to him; it was a strange feeling to share the bed. The smallest of smiles graced his lips as his eyes fell onto your form in the dim light of your shared bedroom, buried underneath the many blankets.

❄️ He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand comfortably. Zayne watched you in silence, enjoying the serenity of the moment. He was in no hurry. You two had been dating for months and decided to go on a last-minute vacation in Snowcrest. Away from friends, family - and work. A well deserved break from life that had gotten just a tad too hectic lately.

❄️ Zayne just loved spending time with you. He had invited you on this vacation for this very reason. You two becoming intimate was not planned - but not unwelcome either. It was simply the perfect addition to a perfect day.

❄️ He scooted closer carefully, trying not to wake you up. He just needed to be closer to you now, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips once again...

❄️ You stirred a bit as his fingers trailed over your exposed neck and shoulders, reaching the edge of the blanket. Slowly, he pushed them off your form, small goosebumps appearing on your warm skin. Maybe it was selfish - he should let you rest for however long you needed to - but...

❄️ His lips followed the path his fingers forged a few moments earlier, leaving tender, loving kisses. He felt your stir once more before your opened your eyes, smiling fondly. "Hey..." your voice was hoarse, still thick from sleep. "Hey," he answered quietly, the tiniest smirk forming on his lips. "What time is it?"

❄️ "Probably around 5 AM," Zayne answered, his lips reaching the small dip between your collarbones. You hummed, your eyes falling shut again. "Why are you awake already? I thought we're on vacation?" A chuckle left your lips, and Zayne continued planting kisses on your soft skin. "We are," he answered, slowly rolling on top of you again. "I just... need another taste."

🎨 The air flowing into the room was fresh and cool, carrying a salty taste from the sea. The long white curtains danced in the light wind, the sunlight streaming through the opened windows. You groaned a bit at the sudden coolness, only then feeling the weight on your back. Rafayel clung to you, snoozing happily, his head resting between your shoulders, his arms tightly wrapped around you.

🎨 He mumbled something incomprehensible and nuzzled your skin gently, littering sleepy kisses over your back. His hands shamelessly started wandering along your body, quickly finding and settling on your breasts, squeezing them gently.

🎨 "Good morning?" you chuckled lightly, not minding the needy fondling. "It is a good morning," he answered, his grin audible in his words, his hands squeezing your mounts again as if agreeing to his statement.

🎨 "Stop that," you giggled, trying to wiggle away from him - unsuccessfully. He deliberately pinned you down with a chuckle, his lips attacking your shoulder and neck. "Why would I? The noises you make are just so cute~"

🎨 He was relentless in his attacks, his kisses turning sultrier and sloppier with every passing minute. "Say," he groaned, pressing his hips against your behind lustfully, "this is not just a vivid dream, is it? And last night..."

🎨 You hummed in pleasure, thinking about the passionate moments you two had shared. "I don't think so," you answered with a light smirk, finally able to roll onto your back. He was above you immediately, his eyes filled with need and longing, as if he was still not sure if you were really there or just a cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

🎨 His lips found yours in a sweet kiss, filled with adoration and gentleness. He looked down at you again before stealing another kiss - the second of many many more that day.

💢 Usually, Sylus was a night-owl, and sleeping during the day. However, after your first time making love... he couldn't bring himself to leave the bed, and so he found himself between the sheets, with you in his arms. His fingers drew lazy patterns into your skin absentmindedly.

💢 Your head rested on his chest as you snoozed peacefully, fully content and safe in his strong and warm embrace. He was so sweet. So gentle. So loving. And now, with the way he held you, sleep had a tight grip on you. You refused to wake up and leave your cocoon of warmth and comfort.

💢 Eventually though, your mind was slowly pulled back to reality, your lids fluttering a few times as you woke up. "Good morning, kitten," he whispered, his deep voice filling the silence in the best way possible. You looked up at him slowly, only then realizing that he was, in fact, still there with you.

💢 "Morning..." you mumbled, rubbing your eyes gently. "Don't you have work...?" You yawned, propping yourself up slowly to look down at him. Sylus shrugged in response, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can leave, if you want."

💢 You frowned and snuggled back into his side. "No," you said firmly, wrapping yourself around him slowly. "I was just confused for a second."

💢 He chuckled a bit, wrapping his arms around your form again. "That's what I thought," he smiled, kissing your forehead gently. "Luke and Kieran can deal with whatever's going on today. I'm not leaving this bed until you kick me out."

💢 You quirked a brow, grinning slightly. "Is that a promise?" you asked, nuzzling his neck gently before placing a kiss on his skin, right where his pulse was thrumming. Sylus hummed deeply and closed his eyes, pushing his head back and exposing his neck to you and your advances. You grinned and nibbled his skin, carefully at first... but it didn't take long for you to full-on attack his neck with kisses and love-bites. "Kitten," he droned, rolling onto his back with you on top of him, "I hope you intend to finish what you started."

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Scent

Miguel O’Hara X f!reader

Summary: It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate)

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: Language. Obvs. S m u t. Obvs. Oral, f receiving. P in V (no protection), cum eating. Cheesy probs. Reader says Miguel's name a lot lmfao not beta read.

Minors DNI.

Honestly, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. This is some bullshit and none of it makes sense. Enjoy.

...

Miguel was fucking losing it. 

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep his head on straight. There was a thick fog clouding his judgment, disorienting him like a fever he couldn’t sweat out.

It started with a scent.

Light at first, a barely there whiff of something. 

It lingered at HQ, trailing between passageways and different conference rooms. There were times when it didn't linger at all for weeks. Then it'd start right up again, progressively getting worse.

It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. How could it not be when you spent the most time with him?

It happened once a month for a week at most, and like clockwork, his body reacted viciously, betraying him of all logical thoughts. Your scent seized him by the throat in a sort of chokehold. Some days were unbearable, your scent so strong that he’d have to fight with every muscle and nerve in his body not to touch you, to not bend you over and—

Well. That wasn't a healthy thought.

Recently (the last two months to be exact), he’d have to excuse himself and step out of the room for a few minutes whenever you’d arrive from your world to report for duty, sneaking off to the restroom to tug on his cock till he felt some relief. Images of you would flash in his mind: you on your knees with your lips wrapped around him, or the pained face he'd imagine would twist your features when sinking down on his thick length. He'd come in his hand, sticky ropes of white, using his release to coat his stiff length and go again.

He never truly felt satiated. It was something to keep his appetite at bay. But once he’d come back and face you he’d get hard all over again, drugged out on whatever smell it was that emanated off of you.

He’d salivate like a dog and his bulge would grow uncomfortably large in his skin-tight suit. It got to the point where he couldn’t face you, and whenever you’d greet him he’d return it with a simple grunt, giving you a clear view of his broad, imposing back. He never looked at you anymore unless to sneak in a quick glance and even then, it’d make his cock twitch in desperation, the head weeping, begging to be touched.

He was fucking feral, like a Neanderthal, primitive and obsessed.

You smelled rich, mildly tangy—not like the fruity perfumes some of the spider ladies wore around him. No, it was something else entirely, something earthy, like what he imagined was between your delicate legs. Like wet cunt ready to be taken. 

And God, did he want to take it.

…

"Miguel." 

He tensed up at the sound of your voice, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. Maybe the cafeteria at HQ wasn’t the best hiding spot.

It was the middle of the month—July fifteenth to be exact—which meant you had that smell again.

You were ovulating.

He knew enough about female anatomy to put the pieces together when he realized that about two weeks after his body reacted to your scent, you'd be in a terrible mood.

"What crawled up your ass?" He'd asked you once, keeping his eyes on all his monitors but immediately noting your discomfort. You sat on a chair beside him, head in your arms as you leaned on the desk.

He could feel you glaring daggers at his profile.

"Shut up. I'm on my period, asshole."

He did shut up after that.

Blood immediately began to rush toward his cock, bringing it to life.

You stood in front of him, one hand on your hip while the other held a plastic container from the empanada joint everyone had a taste for. 

"What?" Miguel uttered, keeping his eyes trained on a particular stain on the otherwise pristine white table. Any distraction was a welcomed distraction.

You pulled back the chair opposite of his, plopping down on it unceremoniously. The action sent waves of your aroma toward him like a crashing wave, engulfing him completely. He stiffened, dropping his head slightly while the heel of his hand pressed over his growing bulge. 

"You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?" 

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said through gritted teeth, fangs visible when he grimaced. His scarlet eyes wandered over your face for a few seconds before he ripped them away, barely avoiding the twitch in your brow and the growing frown on your lips.

“Seriously?” You scoffed, “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, two months? I’m surprised I got a hold of you. You’re never in the cafeteria.” You ripped open the container, digging inside to grab the fried little snack. “Do we have a problem I’m not aware of?”

Miguel watched you take a bite of the empanada, committed to memory the way your tongue lapped at the grease coating your lips. His hand pressed harder over his cock, and at that moment he cursed himself for implementing the suit-only rule. He could really use a pair of sweatpants right now.

“Well? Do we?” You challenged him, defiant as always. You had this look in your eye that he’s seen before—your adrenaline was about to kick into overdrive. Always ready for a fight.

He sighed, shaking his head, willing himself to breathe. He felt sweat begin to bead across his hairline, strands of his hair sticking down the sides of his face. Your scent was becoming unbearable, overwhelming him to the point where he felt lightheaded. He licked his dry lips, carelessly running the tip of his tongue over his sharp canines only to pierce through the delicate muscle. The salty taste of iron exploded in his mouth and he grunted, pinching his eyes shut in frustration. 

"Mig."

“No!” He finally barked, slamming a fist over the table. It shook from the weight of his large hand, the empty container almost flying off the surface. You went wide-eyed for a moment at his outburst before pressing the last bite of your snack between your lips, unfazed.

“It clearly doesn’t seem that way,” you replied calmly, but the twitch in your brow remained and your eyes narrowed. You wiped your mouth and fingers with a brown recyclable napkin meticulously, “if you have a problem, say so.”

One thing you had in common with Miguel was your bluntness. You always cut to the chase, saying what you needed to without much thought. It was one of the things that he appreciated in a fellow spider person but right now it only served to irritate him. That last thing he wanted was to deal with someone as fucking stubborn as him.

He must've looked like hell because when you regarded him, the hardness in your eyes softened immensely as if only just realizing his disheveled appearance. You went to touch his hand over the table but he snatched it away before you could, glaring. 

"You don't look so good,” you reasoned quietly, stung by his actions, “d’you need some help?”

"M'fine."

"I don't think—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Miguel hissed, nose flaring and skin burning hot, "I need you to get away from me." 

"What—"

"I'm not gonna tell you again," he seethed, cock struggling to break free from the constraints of his suit, "Go. Leave."

You were stunned into silence, tapping your fingers over the table awkwardly before grabbing your mess and leaving without another word.

Miguel watched you leave with a groan, dropping his head back in aggravation.

He was so fucked.

…

You hadn't shown up to HQ in a while. He couldn't blame you. 

While that should've been a win for Miguel, it wasn't. Sure, the violent attacks on his body had diminished somewhat, but now, just because you weren’t around as much didn’t mean you didn’t leave his thoughts for a second.

He could've called you—had that stupid watch to contact you—see if you were okay. But his pride assaulted him every time he so much as glanced at his watch. 

His thoughts circulated and continued, imagining you in all the positions he wanted to put you in, which landed him back in the restroom for a daily cock tug when he should’ve been working.

The spiderverse needed to be controlled and admittingly, you were one of the best on his team. You were stealthy and intelligent—he needed you more than he'd cared to admit.

And...he missed you.

But you were off fighting crime and restoring the peace in your universe—at least that was the excuse you'd given him, only showing face when it was absolutely necessary.

Which, as of late, wasn’t very necessary.

And still, he suffered.

...

Earth- 0708. 

A shit show of a universe where the height of winter was in the middle of fucking August. It was snowing, small tufts of flurries lightly coating the ground in white.

Miguel knew exactly where to find you. Sunnyside, Lowery Street off the seven train. On the corner of a bodega by the broken lamp post. He could walk to your apartment complex blind if he really wanted to.

And there it was. He could smell you upon arriving—through the concrete and rusty red brick, up the five floors to your window—he could smell you. His hands shook (not from the cold) as his claws gripped the aging wall, his cock doing its usual swelling.

You must have sensed him immediately, slamming your bedroom window open and peering out into the darkness before he could even make it to your window. The cold wind blew and carried your scent. Mierda. 

“Miguel?” You called out, squinting down at him as he scaled the dusty brick wall. When he finally came face to face with you, he lowered his mask, revealing his flushed face and sweat-slicked hair. He could see his breath come out in short, little puffs.

“You couldn’t use the front door like a normal person?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.

“When were we ever normal people?” It was meant to come out smooth as butter but Miguel’s voice was hoarse, throat seemingly drier than the Sahara. He cleared it, stepping through the window, turning around to quickly slam it shut. He was concentrating, forcing himself to take a deep breath before turning around to face you, except, you were already gone, disappearing deeper into your apartment.

He grunted, rubbing his eyes. He thought he’d gotten better at controlling himself. The gentle breathing helped, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling to keep his cock under control. It twitched a few times, and he groaned, exiting your bedroom. It was now or never.

You were in your tiny kitchen, stirring a cup of tea while the TV in the living room softly played some sitcom he remembered you were into. You were in a black hoodie and gray sweats, your hair messily thrown up in a ponytail. He’d seen you this way more than he could count. When did you become so pretty? Miguel didn’t understand it. You were under his nose this whole time, and he never really looked at you. Well, that was wrong. He did, of course, he did, but he never indulged. He was too much of a workaholic for that.

“What do you want?” You asked, monotoned, “I took care of all the bad guys so I know you're not here for that.” You propped your elbows on your kitchen counter, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you peered up at him. You’d always told him he looked massive in your apartment as if his shoulders would cave the entire place in, and now, with you looking at him like that—all doe eyes and confusion—just a tiny thing, well…his cock twitched.

He swallowed thickly, jaw tense as he looked away from you to collect himself.

“I gotta ask you somethin'.” The words rushed out of his mouth, the flashing images on the TV seemingly more interesting to him than anything else.

“Shoot.” 

“It’s… gonna sound weird, bare with me.”

“O…kay.” 

Miguel turned away from you as he always did, hoping to curb his sweltering need to take you against your wall like a beast. “Are you ovulating?” It was quiet for a beat, and his heart flew into his throat in pure mortification.

“What?” 

“You heard me, I’m not repeating it again.” 

“Miguel, what the fuck—” 

“Just—answer the Goddamn question, por favor.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head in frustration. He felt hot, his body burning as if molten lava flowed through his veins. His tone must have done something because when he looked over his shoulder you were on your phone tapping a few buttons.

“...Yes,” you finally answered, bringing your gaze to meet his half-lidded eyes, “according to my app.” 

“Mierda,” He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, “fuck. Okay.” 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Miguel?”

“And you ovulate mid-month? Between the twelfth and sixteenth? No don’t—don’t look at me like that, please,” Miguel choked as he began to pace back and forth, ignoring the incredulous look on your face that was both humiliating and overwhelmingly arousing at the same time, “Just—just answer.” Another beat of silence engulfed you both as you searched the information through your period tracker with a shaky hand.

“Uhh, yeah, t-that’s right.” You placed your phone down on the counter, your tea now cold and long forgotten. “Mig…what’s with the questions? How d’you even know that?”

He finally paused his steps to run a hand through his hair before facing you from a safe distance, hoping you wouldn’t notice the growing erection burning hot between his legs from the angle he was in. If you noticed the large space between you both, you didn’t mention it.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” you snorted at the comment, and again, he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I haven’t been ignoring you by choice, me entiendes?” 

“So what is it then?” You took a couple of steps closer while he took a couple of steps back.

“It’s your scent—you smell so fucking good and it's driving fucking crazy, muñeca.” 

“I-I don’t understand, Mig, what—”

“Look, I don’t understand it either,” he ran a hand through his locks again and again as if ready to rip the strands off, “all I know is you have a…scent when you ovulate every month…and, well…” he dropped both arms to his sides, standing there like an idiot as you stepped closer to drink him in. Your eyes traced him over, his broad shoulders and muscled arms, his thick thighs, and his engorged co—

“M-Miguel?” Your gaze was pinned to his bulge, pushing against the confines of his suit. “Why didn't you tell me anything?”

The question made him burn—made him bare his fangs and curl his hands into tight fists.

"What did you expect?” He spat, pacing again, “How was I gonna tell you some shit like this?" He licked his lips, his body feeling feverish. If he didn't leave soon he was sure to do something he'd regret.

“Miguel, come here.” He ignored you, much too irritated and embarrassed to do anything but just stand there. His jaw clicked, the bone shifting under the skin as he grinded his teeth in frustration. He could hear your footsteps padding softly behind him until you stood in front of him, craning your neck just to make eye contact.

It was unbearable being in your presence. He was going lightheaded again, the arousal almost blinding.

“Mig? D-did you need some help?” You whispered, your fingers ghosting over his chiseled abdomen, ready to trail lower but his large hand gripped you by the wrist, halting your movements.

“No.” He choked, “I’m not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to. Just came to tell you.”

“What if I want to?” You continued, lifting your free hand to press your warm palm over his heaving chest, “What if I told you I’ve wanted to do this for a long time?” 

Miguel hissed as soon as you cupped his erection, gently rubbing your palm up and down the smooth surface of his bulge, hidden behind the silky fabric of his suit.

“Poor Miguel—all this suffering, all this grief, when all you needed was for me to relieve you,” you tutted, feeling how incredibly hard he was, “so I have a scent, huh?” Miguel groaned, his head lolling to the side as he watched your careful movements. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was more than he could have asked for in the last few months. His hand was nothing compared to yours. “What do I smell like then?”

“Like wet pussy,” he swallowed thickly, hands fighting the urge to grip you by the waist, “smells amazing, muñeca.” He hissed again when you gripped him firmly.

“Yeah?” You smiled, your eyes just as hooded as his, “And what do you want to do to me?” 

A growl rumbled in his chest. Without saying another word, he pushed you back against the closest wall, caging you in his large arms.

“You have no idea the things I want to do to you.” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose over yours. Your eyes fluttered, lips parting to take the tiniest breaths, chest heaving in arousal. 

“Show me.” You breathed before Miguel kissed you. He curled around you, sealing you away from everything that wasn’t him. Your scent had his head buzzing, had him licking wildly into your mouth, his fangs grazing your skin more times than you could count. 

He pawed at your hoodie, his claws sinking into the black fibers of the fabric. “Do you care about this?” He said between kisses, skimming the delicate skin underneath.

“It was an ex-boyfriend’s.” You yelped when Miguel tore into the hoodie immediately, ripping apart the seams with ease. You weren't wearing a t-shirt underneath, leaving you bare above the waist.

“Not important then.” He muttered, tossing the thick shreds of fabric aside in favor of touching your bare skin. He noted your eyes, how blown your pupils were at his actions. You were cold, nipples pebbling and goosebumps forming over your arms. Miguel cooed, his thumbs reaching out to rub the sensitive nubs on your chest, tugging them between his fingers. Your head fell back against the wall, a mewl escaping you. 

“Miguel,” you moaned, arching your body into his skillful hands. He brought you flushed against him, pressing his face into your neck and licking a stripe up to your ear.

“¿Qué pasó, hermosa? I barely touched you,” Miguel chuckled, lifting you up in his arms with ease and walking to your bedroom. He threw you on your bed, and within seconds, your sweats were pulled down with your panties, hastily tossed to the side. 

He observed you like a beast on the hunt, eyes trained on your glistening cunt. There it was, the source of his misfortunes for all those months, weeping and swollen with arousal, just waiting to be fucked. His mouth watered, watching you slowly swirl your fingers between your folds, coating two digits with your slick before presenting them to him.

“Wanna taste?”

He saw how your juices clung to your fingers like glossy webs when you wiggled them toward him. He kneeled in front of you, gripping your wrist in his hand and lapping at your essence, plunging your fingers into his mouth. He moaned in relief as if tasting you was the cure to every issue he'd encountered.

You gasped, mouth slightly ajar as you watched him. It was so obscene how this man took pleasure from your taste alone, coating your fingers entirely in his spit. You whined, the sensation of his tongue causing your cunt to flutter, desperate to be filled.

“Miguel,” you whined, “get rid of the suit.” He chuckled over your fingers, letting you feel the tip of his fang over the soft pads before releasing them with a gentle pop. He stood to his full height, dwarfing you, glowing in that suit of his. Slowly, the tech that held his suit together scurried down the length of his body like falling stars until he was completely nude. His cock sprung forward, finally released from its prison, standing large and proud.

“Oh my god,” Miguel heard you mutter, saw how your eyes were trained on the angry red tip, shining with precome. His chest puffed with pride. You licked your lips, mind already set on the task you'd given yourself. You moaned, desperate for a taste of him.

He didn't give you much time to react, surging forward to place a hand around your delicate throat, putting the slightest bit of pressure before pushing you down flat. 

"Next time. I need to taste you." His eyes were glowing, burning red in the dim lighting of your bedroom. He knelt again, grabbing your hips firmly and pulling you roughly toward the edge of the bed before devouring your cunt like a starved man.

"Shit," you cried, hands immediately tugging on his hair as you threw your head back, "M-Miguel." He was insatiable, tongue swirling around your clit several times before lapping at your soaked folds, moaning at the tangy taste. 

"Que rico," he muttered to himself, the vibrations of his voice over your cunt causing you to cry out. He continued his assault, dipping his tongue into your hole, a testament of what was to come. Then, without warning, he plunged his middle finger inside, immediately hitting something that made you see stars. You choked and heaved, pulling at his hair as he fucked you with his thick finger while sucking on your clit.

"Fuuuck, Miguel, I-I think I'm—" you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you came, gushing all over Miguel's mouth and hand. You trembled, almost sobbing when he hadn't let up, feasting on your juices as his finger continued to thrust into you.

"M-Miguel, I can't," you whined, your hands fighting to lift his head away from your aching cunt, but he ignored you, too drunk on your taste to stop. He carefully added a second finger, easily finding a rhythm to thrust into you. The stretch had you gasping for air, thighs trembling on either side of his head. If two fingers were too much for you then his cock would surely be a challenge.

Miguel's eyes were closed, tongue hungrily lapping at the wetness you produced, and within seconds had you falling apart with a wicked moan. Your cunt squeezed his two fingers when you came again, coating his hand and chin with your slick. You sobbed, begging him to stop, and he did, placing a wet kiss on each of your inner thighs before carefully pulling his fingers out.

"Look at me, hermosa." You hiccupped, craning your neck to look at Miguel with blurry eyes. He already had his red gaze pinned on you, and when he had your attention he placed his cum coated fingers into his mouth, humming in approval at the taste.

You were mesmerized, not even fucked by his cock yet but somehow already drunk on the anticipation. You whimpered, watching him lap up the last of your juices on his fingers.

"M-miguel?"

"You taste so fucking good," he growled with a shake of his head, pushing his face into your pulsating cunt one more time to breathe in your intoxicating scent. His hot breath over your pussy made your toes curl, sighing in contentment when he placed a quick kiss on your swollen clit.

Miguel climbed on the bed, caging your hips with his muscular thighs. His cock slid against your folds, your slick already lubricating him. You were still shaking, your hands now finding purchase on his biceps.

"¿Estás bien, amor?" He asked, leaning down to pepper kisses over your tear stained face. He was getting sappy, he knew. He couldn't help it, not with the way you came so pretty for him.

"Mhm," you sighed, letting him arrange your trembling legs over his hips, his cock pressing more firmly into your aching wet core. 

"Good." He spit on his hand and ran it over his stiff shaft a few times before pushing your thighs up so that your knees touched your shoulders, effectively folding you in half. He lined up the head, ready to push in, but stopped when he heard you whimper.

"It's been a while, Miguel," you explained with wet eyes, "I haven't...in a while a-and you're so big—"

"It's okay, I know you can take me, hm?" Miguel brushed a few damp strands away from your sweaty face. He leaned down to kiss you, and he knew you could taste yourself on his lips. It made his cock twitch over you, and with no further delay he notched the head of his cock into your hole, slowly pushing in.

You moaned, eyebrows knitting at the stretch of him. He panted, pushing inch by devastating inch, all the while watching your face for any signs. You were falling apart, eyes screwed shut and nails digging into the meat of his arms.

"I can't," you choked, your hips fighting against the offending pain, but Miguel was quick in securing you in place, continuing to spear you with his cock, "M-Miguel, y-your too big, it's too much!"

"Shhh, hermosa, si puedes," Miguel closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the way your cunt fluttered over him, fighting to take him in, "look how good you're doing for me, mm, así mismo." 

He pushed deeper, swallowing your cries with a kiss as he bottomed out, his balls pressing nicely against your ass. 

"¿Ves? " He cooed, bumping his nose against yours as you whimpered, "I told you, you could do it." He chuckled at your glare, kissing you again before thrusting experimentally into you.

You moaned, tossing your head back, exposing your throat. You felt full to the brim, completely stuffed. Miguel wasted no time surging forward to lick and nip at your neck as he moved above. Each thrust shook your bed, the springs of your mattress coming to life as Miguel fucked you deeper. Your pussy was drenched, soaking his cock as he glided in and out of you effortlessly. The stretch burned but it was delicious, and Miguel knew you were cock drunk when your mouth fell open, tears running down your cheeks.

"¿Así te gusta, hermosa?" Miguel moaned, his breath fanning over your skin as he pounded deeply into you. His cock reached something within you that had a sob ripping from your throat.

"Oh my God," you whined, feeling the constant slap, slap, slap of his balls against your ass, "Fuuuck."

"That's the spot?" He heaved, his fangs glistening with saliva, "That's where you want it?" He continued his relentless pace, hitting that spot with precision over and over again. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him feral, slamming into you until you screamed, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

You came hard, gushing all over his cock, vision blurry and head in the clouds. Miguel helped you ride your high until you were nothing more than a quivering mess below him, sobbing as he continued to thrust before emptying his load inside you.

He grunted, head tossed back as he pressed his hips tightly against you, filling you up with everything he had. 

"Fuck," he groaned, pausing to give himself a moment to breathe before slowly fucking his cum into you. It was too much, leaking out of your hole and over his cock, soaking into the sheets below. "Even better than I imagined." He muttered, shifting to pepper kisses all over your face again. You sighed in content, feeling comfortable in the way his cock was still nestled in you.

"¿Estás bien, muñeca?" Miguel asked, dropping his forehead against yours. He still had you folded in half, his large arms on either side of you. You nodded with a sigh, turning your head to place a chaste kiss on the inside of his wrist.

"Good," he grinned, gently snapping his hips against your ass, letting more of his spend leak from your hole, "cuz I'm not done with you yet."

[catchastarorten]

hey lovely, i don’t know if you take requests but i absolutely love your works!! i wanted to see if you can do a jun ho fic x fem!reader where jun is in a coma after in ho shoot him on that island and reader has been visiting him every day since at the hospital. and one day he finally wakes ip and reader just takes care of him? just like a baby, food, kisses, cuddles. i feel like our man needs that :(

tyy if you would do this, have a great day or night 🩷🩷

Hello, anon! Here's your request :), I hope I did Jun-ho justice because you're absolutely right, the man needs some love and care, and he's gonna get it here. Hope you enjoy this — lots of love! <3

—Feels better with you.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: after everything Jun-ho went through, he was in a coma, you were there with him when he finally woke up. He needed you. And you took care of him while he was recovering.

Content: fluff, comfort, kisses, yearning, a little bit of angst, Jun-ho in a coma then waking up, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.0k

Seeing him lying there, hooked up to machines, pale and fragile in a way you’d never seen before, broke something in you. This was the man who had once held you so tightly, who had whispered promises into your skin, who had loved you with a quiet intensity that made you feel untouchable. Now he looked so far away.

You visited him every day after hearing about how he'd been pulled from the ocean. He was in a coma.

You talked to him, your voice soft but steady, telling him about everything and nothing. You read to him, held his hand, brushed the hair from his forehead like you used to on those lazy mornings. And every day, you hoped he’d come back to you.

The day he woke up, it was like the world stopped. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. Your heart leapt into your throat as you leaned closer, your hands trembling.

Waking up felt like surfacing from a dream that had gone on too long—foggy and disorienting, the kind of dream where Jun-ho wasn't sure if he was still alive or dead. His body was heavy, every muscle aching, but especially from the shot on his shoulder, the weight that it carried.

For a moment, Jun-ho couldn’t remember where he was or why his chest felt so tight, why his head throbbed with such a sharp ache.

But then he saw you.

You were leaning over him, your eyes wide, tears brimming as if you held them back for too long. And when you whispered his name, the sound cracked something deep inside him.

“Jun-ho?” your voice echoed.

He tried to speak, but his throat felt raw, his voice coming out like sandpaper as he rasped your name back. Just your name, like it was the only word he'd held onto all this time. “Y/n…”

And just like that, the weight of the world fell away. You were there, holding his face, your touch soft and grounding, your presence the only thing grounding him to reality. “I’m here,” you told him, your voice thick with relief. “I’m right here.”

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. He wanted to say so much, to explain why he left, to apologize for everything—for leaving without a word, for the pain he knew he’d caused you—but his body betrayed him, too weak to form the sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered instead, the words barely audible.

“Stop,” you shook your head, tears falling from your eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything right now,” you said gently, your voice a balm to his soul. “Just rest, okay? Please.”

He didn’t argue. He never could with you.

In the days that followed, Jun-ho spent more time watching you than anything else. He was too weak to do much else, and honestly, he didn’t mind. Every time he opened his eyes, you were there—staying with him, and he held your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You’d talk to him in that soft, steady voice of yours, telling him about the most ordinary things. It didn’t matter what you said. All he cared about was the sound of your voice, the way it wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting and warm. Like he was home again.

There were times, late at night, when you thought he was asleep, and he’d feel your fingers brushing against his, hear the quiet, shaky breaths you took as if trying to hold yourself together. Those moments broke him more than anything else.

He hated himself for leaving you. For disappearing the way he had, knowing how much it would hurt you. But the guilt wasn’t as strong as the relief he felt now, knowing that despite everything, you were still here. You hadn’t given up on him, and he loves you for it.

When he was finally strong enough to sit up on his own, you started bringing him food—simple things like soup or porridge. He’d watch you blow on each spoonful, your lips pursed slightly as you cooled the soup before holding it to his mouth.

He ate obediently, his eyes never leaving you, his gaze flickering to your lips like he was counting the moments until the bowl was empty and he could kiss you again. 

He wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt.

The first time he finally did, you were brushing your fingers through his hair. Without thinking, Jun-ho reached up and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut as if the touch alone was enough to heal him.

Your heart clenched as you leaned down to kiss him properly, your lips soft against his. It was slow, tentative. Your lips were warm, familiar, and he felt a shiver run through him as he let himself sink into it.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back.

Jun-ho wanted to hold you properly, more than anything. To pull you into his arms and never let go. But the hospital bed wasn’t big enough for that, much to his silent frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh when he gave you a soft frown, but you gave him your arm instead, letting him curl up against you. He rested his head on your hand, his eyes focused on you as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

The frown dissolved from his face, his eyes traced your features as if he was memorizing every little thing about you. His breathing slowed, and you knew he was at peace.

He needed this. All of it. And he needed you.

[rizzanon]

04 | UNTIL IT’S NOT

m.list | prev | next

“What?” You froze, her words barely registering at first. Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Caitlyn, what do you mean? What happened?”

“I—he—” Caitlyn’s voice trembled, her words coming out in a flurry. “I don’t know exactly! His parents called mine early this morning—he was rushed to the hospital, something happened last night—I don’t—” She sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “He’s not okay, (Name). They said he’s in critical condition.”

The blood drained from your face. Your phone felt heavy in your grip as you sat on your bed, stunned, Caitlyn’s voice a distant hum in the background.

Adrien. In the hospital.

Critical condition.

Caitlyn kept talking, her panic spilling over, but you couldn’t process anything else she was saying. The words circled in your head, loud and deafening.

Why? Why’s Adrien in the hospital? You don’t remember this happening back in your first life.

Why?

Why did this happen?

“(Name)? Are you still there?” Caitlyn’s voice broke through, desperate for an answer.

“I—yeah,” you managed, though your voice sounded distant, hollow. “I’m here.”

“You have to come. Please.”

“…I–I know—I’m coming right now, send me the location of the hospital,” you managed to choke out, though your body felt frozen in place.

As Caitlyn’s frantic breathing filled the silence, your mind raced. Adrien. One of your closest friends—someone you thought was safe.

And now he wasn’t.

The call ended, but you didn’t even realize it at first. You sat there in the dim light of your room, staring at your phone, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Adrien’s in the hospital.

He’s in critical condition.

This didn’t happen before.

This shouldn’t have happened.

You scrambled out of bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand as your mind raced. Adrien’s in the hospital. Critical condition. You couldn’t stop the words from repeating in your head, pounding with every heartbeat.

You didn’t bother changing. Your sleepwear—a pair of loose sweatpants and an oversized shirt—was good enough. Grabbing your phone and wallet, you shoved them into your pockets, your hands trembling as you threw open your bedroom door. You didn’t even bother turning on the lights as you stumbled down the halls of Wayne Manor, adrenaline and fear propelling you forward.

You turned a corner sharply, only to collide with something—or someone—solid.

“Miss (Name)?” Alfred’s voice, steady and composed as always, was the first thing you registered. You blinked up at him, disoriented. He was already up, wearing his pristine suit as if the day had already begun. He must’ve been starting his morning duties.

“Where are you off to so early, child?” Alfred asked, concern flickering in his gaze as he took in your appearance—the disheveled hair, your bare feet, and the look of absolute panic on your face.

“I—I…” You tried to answer, but the words caught in your throat. Your chest tightened, and you gasped for air as your hands shook.

He’s in the hospital.

Critical.

The more you tried to explain, the more the words tangled and refused to come out.

“Miss (Name)?” Alfred’s voice softened, his brows knitting together as he stepped closer. “What’s happened? Please, take a breath.”

You shook your head rapidly, clutching at your hoodie. You couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t you breathe? Adrien’s face flashed in your mind—his smile, his laugh, the stupid jokes he told when he knew you were down. And now—now—

“Adrien—” you finally choked out, your voice trembling, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “He’s—he’s in the hospital. I—critical—”

Alfred froze, his usually calm expression shifting as worry etched deep lines across his face. “Adrien?” he repeated softly, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

You gripped his arms suddenly, your fingers clutching the fabric of his suit, desperation pouring out of you. “Alfred, I—I need to go—now! Please. I need to go see him!” Your voice cracked, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

Alfred gently placed his hands on your shoulders, trying to steady you. “Miss (Name), you must calm yourself. You’ll only make yourself ill if you continue like this.”

“No!” you almost shouted, shaking your head violently. “I don’t have time for that! He—he’s—” You stumbled over your words again, your chest heaving as you fought to calm down. “I have to go, Alfred. Please.”

The pleading in your voice finally seemed to register. Alfred’s gaze softened, though his concern didn’t waver. He nodded, his voice low and reassuring. “Very well. I’ll take you there.”

Your hands loosened their grip on his arms, and you exhaled shakily, a mix of relief and urgency pushing you forward.

“Let’s get you to the car,” Alfred said firmly, guiding you toward the door. “I’ll have you there in no time.”

You nodded silently, following him as he grabbed the keys and led you out to the car. The cool morning air hit you as you stepped outside, but you barely felt it. All you could think about was Adrien—lying in some hospital bed, fighting for his life.

This didn’t happen before. Not in your first life.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as Alfred started the engine, his steady driving the only sound filling the silence. You stared blankly out the window, the familiar streets of Gotham blurring past.

Alfred glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his voice gentle. “We’ll be there soon, Miss (Name).”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight of everything sat heavy on your chest. Hold on, Adrien.

Please.

The car hadn’t even fully stopped before you flung the door open and stumbled out onto the pavement, adrenaline carrying you forward. The hospital loomed in front of you, the stark white of its walls and harsh fluorescent lights far too sterile for the storm of emotions crashing inside of you. You barely registered Alfred following close behind as you rushed through the glass doors, your breath shallow, heart pounding in your chest.

You practically skidded to a stop in the hallway, eyes darting around in a frenzy until you spotted her—Caitlyn. She was sitting in one of the waiting chairs, her head bowed, shoulders shaking. Next to her stood her older brother, his hand resting protectively on her back. Further down the hall, Adrien’s parents were speaking quietly to a doctor, their faces pale and drawn with worry.

“Caitlyn!” Your voice broke as you called out to her, and her head snapped up at the sound. The second she saw you, she was up on her feet, rushing toward you. You met her halfway, and she threw her arms around you, her sobs muffled against your shoulder as you clung to her.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she choked out, her voice shaking. “I—I don’t know what to do. I just…”

You tightened your arms around her, trying to steady her even though your own hands were trembling. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alfred quietly approaching, his presence a steady anchor even in moments like this.

“What happened?” you managed to ask, your voice uneven as you pulled back to look Caitlyn in the eyes. Her face was pale, tear tracks streaking her cheeks, and her lip quivered as she tried to explain.

“Adrien…” She took a shaky breath, gripping your arm as if afraid you might disappear. “His parents called mine early this morning. There was—there was a bombing.”

Your heart stopped. What?

“The Riddler.” Caitlyn swallowed thickly, her voice strained. “One of his bombs went off, and it caused a few buildings to collapse—including Adrien’s apartment block.”

What?

“He was home alone. His parents weren’t there last night, so Adrien—he got caught in the debris when the building fell. The doctors said he was lucky to even be pulled out alive…” Her voice cracked. “A lot of people got hurt. Luckily no one died, but Adrien—he’s one of the ones who were seriously injured. They said he hit his head in the collapse. He hasn’t woken up since.”

You stared at her, the world suddenly muffled and distorted as if you were underwater. Caitlyn’s words echoed in your head, but it didn’t make sense. A bombing? Buildings collapsed? No. That shouldn’t have happened. In your first life, you remembered this incident—you were there. You knew the Riddler’s patterns, the locations of his bombs. And not a single one had detonated. Your family dealt with all the bombs before they detonated. Batman dealt with all the bombs before they detonated.

So why had a bomb gone off this time?

Your pulse roared in your ears, your mind racing to piece together fragments that refused to fit.

What changed?

Surely it can’t be because—

You tried to breathe, to ground yourself, but the floor beneath you felt unsteady.

No. It can’t. You made things worse before when you went ahead and tried to help. But no one got hurt then—

A noise pulled you from your spiral—footsteps. The heavy sound of a door swinging open. You turned, your eyes snapping to a doctor emerging from down the hall. It was the same door Adrien’s parents had been pacing near.

Everyone froze. The doctor removed his surgical mask, his expression carefully measured, though there was a flicker of weariness in his eyes. Adrien’s parents rushed forward, and Caitlyn gripped your hand tightly as you both waited, holding your breath.

“How’s my son?” Adrien’s mother demanded, her voice strained, her hands clutched together in front of her chest.

The doctor offered a small, cautious nod. “We’ve managed to stabilize him. He’s out of critical condition.”

Relief flooded the small group like a breaking dam. Adrien’s mother let out a small, broken sob, her husband catching her shoulders to steady her. Caitlyn’s grip on your hand relaxed slightly, though she didn’t let go.

“But,” the doctor continued, and the word sent a fresh wave of tension through the air. “He’s still unconscious. There was some head trauma from the collapse, and we’ll need to monitor him closely for the next 24 hours. Right now, it’s too early to say when he’ll wake up, but the worst seems to have passed.”

The worst seemed to have passed.

Those words rang hollow in your ears as you stared blankly at the doctor. Adrien was alive—for now. He was out of danger—for now. But it didn’t feel right. Nothing about this felt right.

The bombing. The destruction. Adrien’s injuries. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You barely heard Caitlyn whispering, “Thank God,” beside you, or the murmured reassurances exchanged between Adrien’s parents and the doctor. Your mind was miles away, replaying the facts over and over again as if looking for cracks.

Because something had changed. And you didn’t know why.

Or worse—what it meant.

Alfred Pennyworth had seen many things in his time—far too many for a lifetime, truth be told—but watching you now, standing tall as you comforted Caitlyn and Adrien’s parents, stirred something deep and conflicted within him. You were calm, composed, and steady, offering gentle reassurances to Adrien’s mother while quietly squeezing Caitlyn’s hand when her voice trembled. To anyone else, you would appear unshaken, a pillar of support in the chaos.

But Alfred knew better.

His sharp, observant gaze hadn’t missed the way your hands trembled ever so slightly when no one was looking, how you clenched your jaw just a bit too tightly when Adrien’s condition was discussed. He couldn’t forget the sight of you earlier that morning, wide-eyed and shaking as you struggled to form words. That desperation, that fear—it had been raw, unguarded, and entirely unlike you. It unsettled him deeply to see you bottling it all up now, setting aside your own fear and grief for the sake of others.

And Alfred—loyal, caring Alfred—wanted to step forward. He wanted to remind you that you didn’t always have to be the strong one, that you too had the right to feel scared, to cry, to crumble if you needed to. You were still just a child in his eyes, no matter what life had thrown at you. But before he could take that step, the distinct vibration of his phone pulled him back.

He fished it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID.

Bruce.

Alfred exhaled softly through his nose, stepping to the side of the waiting area as he answered the call. “Master Bruce.”

“What happened?” Bruce’s voice was sharp and direct, though there was something else buried beneath it—something tight, almost concerned. “Where did you take her, Alfred?”

Alfred blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. “You saw us leave?”

“I did. From my study.” Bruce’s tone left little room for evasion. “Where did you take her?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Alfred sighed, his voice lowering as he said, “I brought her to the hospital, sir.”

The line went quiet. Alfred could hear Bruce’s breath hitch on the other end.

“Is she hurt?” Bruce’s voice was quieter now, strained.

“No, sir.” Alfred quickly reassured him. “She’s alright. Physically, at least.” He paused, glancing back at you where you still stood, gently rubbing Caitlyn’s back as she cried softly. “One of her friends, I’m afraid, got injured. A boy named Adrien.”

“…What happened?” Bruce asked after a beat, his voice carrying the faint edge of something heavy and unspoken.

Alfred relayed the situation succinctly, his tone measured and professional despite the somber nature of his words. “The boy was caught in the aftermath of last night’s bombing. His apartment block was one of the few that collapsed. He’s out of critical condition now, but he remains unconscious. The doctors are monitoring him closely.”

Silence stretched on the line, and for a moment Alfred wondered if Bruce had disconnected.

Then Bruce spoke, his voice low and firm. “What’s the hospital’s name and room details?”

Alfred furrowed his brow slightly, confused. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“I’ll ensure his treatment isn’t lacking,” Bruce replied simply, but Alfred could hear the underlying intent. “I’ll upgrade his care—better equipment, the best specialists, whatever they need. I’ll make sure he gets through this.”

Alfred blinked, momentarily stunned. Even after all these years, Bruce still had a way of surprising him.

“Very well, sir.”

Regaining his composure, Alfred quietly supplied the hospital’s name and Adrien’s room number, his voice softer now.

There was a brief pause before Bruce added, almost as an afterthought but with unmistakable weight, “Make sure she gets home safely, Alfred.”

Alfred allowed himself a small, reassuring hum. “Of course, sir. I’ll see to it personally.”

Bruce said nothing more before the call clicked off, leaving Alfred staring down at the phone in his hand for a moment longer. Upgrade his care, Bruce had said. Alfred knew Bruce’s methods—he would leave no expense spared. Adrien would have the best Gotham’s medical resources could offer, a quiet gesture of concern through Bruce’s ever-practical means.

But the question is, why? Why was he doing this? Was it out of guilt because he was unable to prevent the events that happened? Or was it because of you..?

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Alfred turned his attention back to you. You were still standing with Caitlyn, your hand resting on her shoulder as you murmured soft words of comfort.

And though Alfred didn’t say anything, he resolved, then and there, to keep a closer eye on you. Because while Bruce would ensure Adrien was cared for, Alfred would ensure you didn’t carry this weight alone.

Bruce sat in his study, the phone still gripped tightly in his hand long after the call with Alfred had ended. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside, but his mind was anything but still. Instead, it replayed the events of the night before—the chaos, the explosion, the terrified screams of civilians.

His jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He’d failed. Again. He wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t quick enough.

The Riddler’s attacks had been calculated, vicious. And though he had managed to subdue him in the end, Bruce couldn’t shake the fact that it hadn’t been clean. Civilians had been caught in the aftermath—innocent people whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No lives had been lost, thank god, but injuries… the injuries were still on him. Their blood might not have stained his hands, but their pain still sat heavy on his shoulders.

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, the exhaustion catching up to him. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to be better than this—always ten steps ahead, always anticipating every possible outcome. That’s what he prided himself on. Yet last night, he’d miscalculated. He missed out a bomb. And because of that, people got hurt. Adrien, an innocent boy who had nothing to do with Gotham’s darkness, had paid the price.

But what rattled him even more was you.

He exhaled slowly, his thoughts shifting to the scene he’d caught through the window earlier—Alfred ushering you into the car, your movements frantic, your posture tense and rigid with fear. Bruce hadn’t been able to make out what was said, but he didn’t need to. He’d seen enough. Your hands were shaking, your breathing uneven, panic rolling off you in waves. It was like watching a dam break—something he hadn’t wanted to see from you.

That terrified him.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as his fingers steepled under his chin. Was this why you quit? Was this what drove you to leave behind the life you’d built alongside him and the others? To leave the Batgirl mantle behind? Or was there something else he was missing?

You’d always been resilient. Stubborn, even. You fought to be Batgirl and he gave it to you. He’d seen you face horrors most adults wouldn’t survive and come out the other side unscathed. Or at least, that’s what he’d believed. Now, though… now he wasn’t so sure.

Was this too much for you? Bruce had thought you wanted to stand alongside him, to carry the weight of the Bat symbol as much as he did. But maybe… maybe he hadn’t considered what that weight did to you. To your life.

And now this boy. Adrien. Someone close to you, someone you cared about, had been hurt. Because of Gotham. Because of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of guilt rolled through him. Was this what finally made you want to quit? The fear of seeing the people you cared about dragged into the dark, hurt simply for being a part of your life?

The thought hit him harder than he cared to admit.

Bruce let his hands fall to the desk, the soft thud breaking the silence of the room. He glanced at a framed photograph sitting just out of arm’s reach—a rare picture of the family taken during a quieter time, years ago, when things felt simpler, almost normal.

Almost.

You were there, smiling brightly as you tugged Jason and Dick into the frame. Bruce hadn’t smiled, but even he couldn’t deny the fondness in his expression. You were about 8, or 9 in the picture? He can’t recall.

But now, the photograph mocked him.

What was he doing?

What had he done?

What hadn’t he done?

Bruce slumped back in his chair, his eyes heavy with the weight of his own failures. He could handle the cost of this life when it came to himself. He’d made that choice long ago, and he bore its consequences without hesitation. But when it came to you, or any of his children—his family—it was different. And somehow, in his stubbornness, in his mission-driven focus, he’d lost sight of that. He’d lost sight of you.

Bruce’s gaze fell to his hands. Strong hands. Calloused hands. Hands capable of so much. But incapable, it seemed, of protecting the people he loved most.

Last night’s events was a cruel reminder that no matter how hard he tried, Gotham’s darkness would always bleed into their lives. It was inescapable. It tainted everything.

And now Bruce couldn’t help but think of you, sitting in that hospital, holding strong for others. Just like he would. He hated that. Hated that he’d let you shoulder that kind of weight. Hated that he was one of the reasons you had to go through that pain.

He knew what Alfred would say—that you were stronger than you gave yourself credit for. And that was true. But even the strongest people had limits, and Bruce feared you’d reached yours long before he noticed.

Bruce inhaled deeply, straightening slightly in his chair. Your friend would get the best care Gotham had to offer; he’d make sure of it. It was the least he could do.

But this?

You..?

It was a good thing that you decided to quit this life of fighting crime.

But what does this mean for you and him?

The room lit only by the faint glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. The shadows stretched across the walls, mirroring the thoughts that gnawed at the edges of his mind. The silence was heavy, suffocating.

He’d told himself that this was what you needed—to leave the life of Batgirl behind. To be free of the darkness, of the violence, of him. It was what any father would want for their child, wasn’t it? A normal life, a safe life. Something better than the path he walked every night.

It was what he wanted for you. But you didn’t want that. At least, not until now.

But now… he sees you pulling further and further away.

You were slipping through his fingers, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

What was he supposed to do?

What could he do?

Bruce knew he needed to fix this. Needed to find a way to reach you. To pull you back in before you closed yourself off entirely.

But did he have the right?

Bruce knows he hadn’t always been the best father he could be for you. But he tried. Keeping you at a distance had been his way of protecting you. Or so he told himself.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

For now, though, all Bruce could do was wait—and hope that when you finally came home, he’d know what to say.

Would he know what to say?

He wasn’t sure.

It’s been three days. Three days since the bombing, since Adrien had been pulled from the rubble.

Yet, he still hasn’t woken up.

Your hand gripped the strap of your bag tightly, your nails pressing into the skin of your palm as you fought to keep your breathing even.

Why is this happening?

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked yourself that question, but today, the weight of it felt suffocating. The answer clawed at the edges of your mind, a whisper you’d been trying to ignore: It’s because of you.

You swallowed hard, trying to push it down, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

If you hadn’t quit, if you hadn’t chosen to abandon your role as Batgirl, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you could’ve helped prevent the attack, maybe you could’ve been there to stop the bomb from exploding before Adrien got hurt. But you had quit, and because of that—

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. No. That couldn’t be true. You didn’t plant the bomb. You didn’t cause the building to collapse. Logically, you knew this. But still, the guilt sat heavy in your chest, an unbearable ache you couldn’t escape.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

In your first life, your family had dealt with all the bombs even though you intervened and accidentally caused more mess for them to clean up.

But now, you’ve changed something—you quit being Batgirl, and that somehow shifted the timeline. It altered events—and now changed the outcome of the future you once thought you knew. Because of that, people you cared about were paying the price.

Things took a turn when you learned Adrien had been moved to a better room in the hospital. A room with state-of-the-art care, better equipment, and a team of top-tier specialists monitoring him around the clock. When Caitlyn told you, her voice shaky but relieved, you didn’t quite understand what she meant—until Adrien’s parents pulled you aside.

“We can’t thank you enough,” his mother had said, her voice breaking as she gripped your hands. “We heard it was your father who arranged all of this. Without him, I don’t know what we would have done.”

Your heart had dropped into your stomach. “My father?” you’d echoed dumbly, the words barely audible.

“Yes, he’s been so generous,” Adrien’s father added. “We’re truly grateful.”

You’d managed a weak smile, nodding at their words, but you weren’t hearing them anymore. Your mind spiraled, their voices distant and muffled as though you were underwater. Bruce did this?

It had to have been Alfred who told him.

There was no other explanation.

And yet, you couldn’t figure out why. Did he feel guilty? Did he think he was responsible for what happened to Adrien, or was this his way of making up for something he couldn’t fix?

Whatever his reasons, it left you even more conflicted. And as the days stretched on and Adrien remained unconscious, that conflict turned into a heavy silence you couldn’t shake.

You kept to yourself more. When Caitlyn asked if you were okay, you’d nod and insist you were fine. When Alfred gently prodded, offering you tea or trying to draw you into light conversation, you brushed it off with polite refusals. “I’m alright, Alfred,” you’d say, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Really, I am.”

You visited the hospital with Caitlyn every day, sitting quietly at Adrien’s bedside. You’d watch the slow rise and fall of his chest, hoping—praying—for any sign that he would wake up soon. Caitlyn would talk to him softly, telling him stories or complaining about school, her voice filling the quiet room. You mostly listened, offering small smiles and half-hearted reassurances, though your thoughts were always elsewhere.

Damian was trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here.

Avoiding you was supposed to be easy. Simple, really. After the argument days ago, Damian Wayne had decided he didn’t want to deal with you—at all. You were emotional, irrational, and completely insufferable. That was his reasoning.

And yet, for some reason, whenever he tried to avoid you, he ended up seeing you everywhere.

Somehow, every time he turned a corner, you were there. Sitting in the library with a book you didn’t seem to be reading. Wandering the halls aimlessly, shoulders slouched. Staring out the window like you were waiting for something—or someone—who wasn’t coming. Every time he spotted you, his stomach twisted with a frustration he couldn’t name, and he’d quickly duck out of sight before you noticed him.

But avoiding you didn’t mean he didn’t see.

You were moping around. For days. He didn’t know why that irritated him so much. It shouldn’t, he told himself, but it did. Truth be told, after Jon came over and, like an insufferable optimist, suggested that he should make up with you, Damian had actually considered it. He’d thought about approaching you—begrudgingly, of course—and try to settle things after your argument.

That was until he saw you pat Jon’s head.

It was as if something short-circuited in his brain at that moment. The fond way you ruffled Jon’s hair, the soft smile you gave him—why had you never smiled at him like that? Why show it to some half-Kryptonian idiot when clearly he, Damian Wayne, was far superior in every measurable way?

He scoffed at the memory, gritting his teeth as he stalked through the manor. “Whatever. If she’s not going to beg me for forgiveness, then why should I?” His voice echoed off the empty walls, and he immediately regretted muttering it out loud. He wasn’t being petty. Definitely not.

But still, the image of you looking miserable stuck in his head like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

He needed to talk to someone about this. Logically, he reasoned, that was the next step.

His father? No, he was tied up with League business and had been away for days. Richard? He’s in Blüdhaven—there was no way he was going all the way there to have this conversation. Timothy? Cooped up in the Cave being useless as usual.

Which is how Damian found himself breaking into Todd’s apartment.

Jason was lounging on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, when Damian casually strolled in through the window like he owned the place. Jason didn’t even flinch, though his eyebrows did twitch slightly at the intrusion.

“You know,” Jason said, deadpan, “the front door exists for a reason.”

Damian ignored him entirely, stepping into the apartment like he belonged there and inspecting a nearby bookshelf. “You read?”

Jason sighed and sat up, placing his coffee mug down. “What do you want, Damian? Lemme guess—got into it with Bruce, so now you’re here sulking?”

“No,” Damian replied tersely, shooting him a glare.

Jason blinked, frowning slightly. “Huh.” His tone was flat, but there was a note of curiosity underneath. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Damian’s posture stiffened, his voice slightly defensive. “I need to ask you something.”

Jason raised a brow. “About what?”

“…. (Name).”

Jason froze, his expression unreadable as he processed the answer. Then, he groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re here because of her? Seriously? Out of all the people in Gotham, I’m the one you came to??”

Damian didn’t so much as blink. “You were the most logical choice. Father is unavailable, Grayson is in Bludhaven, Cain and Pennyworth are busy, and Drake is…” He waved his hand vaguely.

“Being Drake. So it’s a perfectly good reason to be here.”

Jason deadpanned. “No. It’s really not.” He shifted on his couch to face the younger boy.

Silence hung between them for a beat before Jason’s curiosity got the better of him. “So what do you want to know about her?”

Damian shifted, his eyes narrowing. “You were close to her once, no?”

Jason blinked, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who practically lives in the same house with her. Why don’t you ask Alfred or Bruce?”

“I’m asking you because you were actually close to her.”

Jason scoffed, leaning back against the couch, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “No I wasn’t. If anything, you should be asking Dickhead about her.”

“You’re lying,” Damian countered, crossing his arms. “I’ve seen the photos. The two of you were close.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “….What photos?”

Damian smirked slightly, like he’d caught Jason in a trap. “The ones in the Manor. And the ones she keeps in her room. You were always together when you were younger. It doesn’t take a detective to see it.

Jason scoffed. “That was then. Not now. And for the record, you need to mind your own damn business.”

Damian, of course, wasn’t about to let it drop. He moved closer, relentless as ever. “Why aren’t you close anymore?”

Jason groaned again, louder this time, as if the sheer volume might scare Damian off. It didn’t. He shot him an irritated look. “Why do you even care?”

Damian froze for half a second, caught off guard by the question. His face betrayed nothing, but Jason saw the falter in the boy’s gaze, the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t. I’m simply curious.”

Jason barked a short, humourless laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah. Sure. Totally believable.”

Damian glared at him, clearly irritated now. “Tt. You’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Jason shot back, pointing a finger at him. “Why do you care what happened between me and her?”

Damian scoffed, cheeks faintly pink, though he masked it well. “Don’t deflect, Todd.”

Jason exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He stared at Damian for a long moment, debating whether to shut him out entirely or give him something—anything—to make him leave. “Fine! You want to know why we’re not close anymore? It’s becaude she’s in over her damn head.”

Damian frowned, clearly unsatisfied with that answer. “Explain.”

Jason’s eyes darkened, his voice hard. “When she decided to pick up the Batgirl mantle, she didn’t think it through. You think this life is all capes and heroics? It’s not. It’s hell. I know what it does to people. What it did to me. And yet she just threw herself into it like it wouldn’t chew her up and spit her out.” He gestured vaguely toward the window. “I couldn’t watch that happen. I couldn’t…” His voice trailed off, the words dying in his throat.

Damian tilted his head slightly, his tone cutting. “You don’t get to decide what she does or doesn’t do with her life. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to him, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You don’t get it, kid. I’m not gonna stand there and watch her throw herself into this crap like it won’t destroy her. I’ve seen it happen. I lived it.”

Damian didn’t back down, his voice steady but sharp. “She’s not you, Todd.”

Jason barked a humorless laugh. “You sound just like Bruce.”

“Perhaps he’s right,” Damian retorted. “You don’t get to decide what she wants to do. You don’t get to control her life just because you’re scared of what might happen.”

Jason stared at him for a long moment, anger flickering across his face before it faded into something more tired. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “You really don’t understand.”

Damian scoffed. “Maybe I don’t. But at least I’m trying to understand. What are you doing? Nothing, that’s what.”

Jason froze, his jaw clenching as Damian’s words hung heavy in the air. Ok, that really ticked him off. Neither of them spoke for a long beat, the tension thick between them. Finally, Jason let out a long sigh, slumping back against the couch.

“You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Of course,” Damian replied smugly, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Jason waved him off with an irritated glare. “Go bother someone else, brat. I’m done talking.”

Damian didn’t argue, though he didn’t seem entirely satisfied either. Damian turned to leave, his cape swishing as he headed for the window. Just before he climbed out, he glanced back at Jason, his expression serious. “You were close once. Maybe you should try fixing that.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

“Stupid kid.”

Jason let out a long, slow exhale, the kind that seemed to drag the weight of the room with it. His gaze fell to the old photo sitting on his bookshelf—the one Damian had no doubt found evidence of. He hadn’t meant to keep it out in the open. Hell, he hadn’t meant to keep it at all.

But there it was.

Jason stood up, as though pulled by an invisible string, and walked over to the photo. He picked it up, holding it carefully in his hand, the edges worn from years of handling. The image was faded, but it was clear enough—him and you, younger, smiling like idiots. You couldn’t have been more than ten, wearing that ridiculous oversized jumper that used to belong to Dick no doubt, sleeves practically swallowing your hands. And him? He’d had one arm slung over your shoulder, his grin cocky and confident, though it softened just a little in the way his gaze turned toward you.

Jason felt something twist in his chest, that familiar ache that clawed its way up whenever he thought about you. He used to cherish this photo. He still did. He used to look at it and remember a time when things were simple—when the world wasn’t so goddamn broken. Back when you looked at him like he was invincible. Like he was your hero.

“This is stupid…” he muttered again, though his voice had lost its bitterness, softening into something heavy and tired. He ran his thumb along the edge of the frame, the ghost of a memory clawing at the back of his mind.

You’d always been clinging to him back then. Always trailing after him no matter what. Back then, he didn’t mind. He never minded. He’d liked being the one you looked up to, the big brother you trusted most. He let you tag along, let you sit in on his antics because—deep down—it felt nice to have someone who looked at him like that. With so much admiration and joy.

But then Ethiopia happened.

He died.

And when he came back, everything had shifted.

You’d still tried. You still looked at him like you believed there was something good in him. There wasn’t. And for a while, he’d let himself believe that too—that maybe he could still be the big brother you needed. That maybe you wouldn’t look at him like everyone else did—like a disappointment. Like a maniac running loose.

But then he found out you’d picked up the Batgirl mantle.

Jason’s grip on the frame tightened as the memories blurred together, anger mixing with guilt until he couldn’t tell the difference. He hadn’t been able to stomach it—seeing you put on that suit, throwing yourself into this life like it wouldn’t chew you up and spit you out the same way it had done to him. To all of them. You were smarter than that, weren’t you? But no, you were stubborn. And he couldn’t stand that.

Couldn’t stand how much you reminded him of himself.

So, he’d pushed you away.

He had to.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Jason sat back down on the couch, the photo still clutched in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment before letting out a bitter laugh under his breath. “What the hell am I doing…?”

Why was he so worked up over this?

Admitting that this was what he had to do felt wrong. Like the words were jagged shards cutting into his throat. But it was the truth. You reminded him too much of himself—of the kid he used to be before his death, before everything went to hell. And the thought of watching you get hurt, of losing you to the same path that tore him apart, made his stomach churn.

But now…..

Now you had quit. You left the mantle behind. What does that mean for him? What does that mean for everyone?

You weren’t that same kid he knew anymore, the one who tripped over your own shoelaces and laughed like that fall didn’t hurt. You’d grown up. And he? He hadn’t been there to see it. He was dead for the most part, and when he did come back, he’d pushed you away, shut the door between you because he thought he was protecting you.

And now, here he was, talking to a photograph like it could fix the mess he’d made. Bridge the divide he caused.

Jason stared at the image for another long moment before setting it face-down on the table. He didn’t want to look at it anymore. Didn’t want to see what he’d let slip away.

“Stupid kid,” he said one last time, though now it was hard to tell who he was talking about—you, or himself.

The hospital’s fluorescent lights felt too bright as you sprinted down the hall, Caitlyn’s text echoing in your head. You barely processed the directions to the room, you barely paid attention to the nurses or other visitors around you, your legs just carried you as fast as they could.

You skidded to a stop outside the door, your heart pounding against your ribcage. For a second, you couldn’t bring yourself to open it. What if Caitlyn had gotten it wrong? What if—

You shoved the door open before your thoughts could spiral further.

And there he was.

Adrien was sitting up in bed, his light hair a tousled mess, the familiar spark of life in his eyes as he talked with Caitlyn. His parents were beside him, his mother gripping his hand tightly, his father resting a hand on his shoulder. It was real. He was here. He was awake.

“…What’re you standing there for?” Adrien’s voice cut through your shock, his teasing tone so familiar it sent a rush of relief flooding through you.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you bolted forward, crossing the room in two strides and throwing your arms around him. Adrien laughed, though the sound came out scratchy and hoarse. “Whoa, whoa! I just got out of a coma, try not to break me.”

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled into his shoulder, your voice thick with emotion. “A complete idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his tone softer now as he hugged you back. “Missed you too.”

You pulled back reluctantly, giving him a quick once-over. He looked… well, not great, but better than the last time you’d seen him, lying pale and motionless in this very bed. The relief in your chest was overwhelming.

“See? I told you,” Caitlyn chimed in, grinning. “He’s too stubborn to die.”

Adrien rolled his eyes but smirked. “Guess I couldn’t leave you two alone, huh? Who else is gonna keep you out of trouble?”

“Oh, please,” Caitlyn said, leaning back in her chair. “We’d be fine without you.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Would you, though?”

“Don’t be fooled. She cried just as much as I did.” You pointed out, crossing your arms.

“(Name)!! You weren’t supposed to call me out like that..!!”

Adrien and you just laughed, the boy shaking his head. “Thought so.”

You sat down in the chair opposite Caitlyn, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. “How’re you feeling?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Adrien shrugged, wincing slightly at the motion. “Like I got hit by a truck. But, y’know, alive. So that’s a plus.”

“Understatement of the year,” Caitlyn muttered, earning a weak laugh from Adrien.

His parents stood then, his mom brushing her hand over his hair. “We’re going to speak with the doctors for a moment. We’ll be right back, okay?”

Adrien nodded, giving them a reassuring smile. “Yeah, sure. Take your time.”

As the door closed behind them, a comfortable silence settled over the three of you. Caitlyn broke it first.

“So, Adrien,” she started casually, “how does it feel to cheat death?”

Damn.

Adrien snorted, shooting her a dry look. “Fantastic. You should try it sometime.”

“Hard pass,” Caitlyn replied, smirking. “So, you’re stuck here for how long?”

Adrien groaned, tilting his head back. “Probably a couple more days. They’re all freaked out about my concussion or whatever. Something about observation.”

Caitlyn snorted. “Guess you’re stuck eating Jell-O and pudding for a while.”

“Don’t remind me,” Adrien grumbled, though he couldn’t quite hide the grin tugging at his lips.

You shook your head, smiling faintly as you listened to them banter. For a moment, it felt like everything was normal again. But then the image of Adrien’s unconscious form from that night crept back into your mind, and your stomach tightened.

“What happened, Adrien? How—” You faltered. “How did you make it out?”

Adrien’s face softened, his usual joking demeanor giving way to something quieter. “It was… close,” he admitted, his voice low. “Honestly, I thought—I didn’t think I was gonna make it.”

Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably, her smirk fading. “Yeah, well… you scared the hell out of us.”

Adrien gave her a faint smile before turning his attention to you. “But then Robin showed up.”

You blinked, the name catching you off guard. “Robin?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said, his tone tinged with awe. “He got me out of there. I don’t even know how he did it, but one second I’m stuck under some rubble, and the next he’s pulling me out like it’s nothing. If it weren’t for him…”

Your heart skipped a beat. Robin. Damian.

Caitlyn let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Damn, the little guy came through, huh?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Guess he’s more than just Batman’s sidekick.”

Adrien chuckled, nodding. “Way more. He’s the reason I’m still here.”

Caitlyn leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, color me surprised. Thought he’d be too busy sulking on a rooftop somewhere.”

But you weren’t laughing, you barely heard her. Your mind was racing, the pieces clicking into place.

Robin. Damian.

Damian had saved Adrien. Damian.

The same Damian you’d been at odds with just days ago. The same Damian you’d snapped at.

The realization hit you like a freight train, leaving you stunned. You owed him. Damian Wayne, the one person who always seemed to get under your skin, was the reason Adrien was alive.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. How were you supposed to face him after this? What were you supposed to say?

But one thing was certain: you had to at least thank him.

You pushed open the heavy door of Wayne Manor, the familiar creak echoing through the grand entryway as you stepped inside. The weight of the hospital visit lingered on your shoulders, but it was lighter now—your chest no longer tight with worry. Adrien was awake. Adrien was okay.

You exhaled a deep breath, shutting the door behind you before making your way toward the stairs. But as you turned the corner, you collided with a solid figure.

“Watch where you’re—oh.” Damian Wayne, in all his brooding glory, stood in front of you, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he looked you over. His usual scowl was firmly in place, though there was a flicker of surprise beneath it.

You blinked at him, equally startled. “Damian?”

He crossed his arms, as if trying to reassert his usual air of annoyance. “What are you doing here?” he asked, as though it weren’t painfully obvious that you both lived under the same roof.

You raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I live here. What’s your excuse?”

“Tt.” He scoffed, looking like he was already regretting bumping into you. “I don’t have time for this.” He turned on his heel, clearly intending to stalk off, but before he could, you reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait.”

Damian froze, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t believe you’d stopped him. “What is it now?” he asked, his tone sharp but not as biting as usual.

You hesitated for a second, your grip on his sleeve loosening. Then, you spoke. “Thank you.”

He blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “…What?”

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “For saving Adrien.”

Damian turned fully to face you now, his expression briefly betraying his surprise before he covered it with his usual scowl.

“Who?”

Oh right, he probably doesn’t know who Adrien is.

“My friend. He told me what you did.”

Damian’s eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. His posture tensed, though he didn’t pull away from you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though the faintest hint of color touched his cheeks.

“Don’t play dumb, Damian,” you said, crossing your arms. “Adrien told me what happened. You saved him. During the whole, Riddler bombing situation.”

The younger boy’s gaze softened slightly, recognition briefly passing through his eyes, before he scoffed, glancing to the side. “Tt. It was nothing. I would’ve done the same for anyone.”

“Maybe,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But it wasn’t just anyone. It was my friend. And because of you, he’s alive.” Your tone softened, the sincerity in your voice clear. “So… thank you.”

Damian’s gaze flickered back to you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you wondered if he was even going to acknowledge your words. But then he spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I know. You did it because you’re a hero, even if you’d never admit it.”

Damian bristled at that, his cheeks darkening just slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Damian stood there, his eyes fixed on yours in a way that was almost unnerving. The silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward, until it felt like you had to say something—anything—to break it.

You cleared your throat, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Look… I’ve been meaning to say this.”

Damian tilted his head, his expression unreadable but still sharp. “What?”

“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “About the other day, when I snapped at you in my room—I shouldn’t have. I was frustrated, yeah, but it doesn’t mean I should’ve—”

“Stop.”

His voice was quiet but firm, cutting you off mid-sentence. You blinked, looking up at him. Damian’s gaze was softer now, though his brows were still furrowed.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Damian cut in, his voice stiff. He looked uncomfortable, as though the words he was about to say were physically painful to him. “I was… out of line. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. Damian Wayne, apologizing? You never thought you’d see the day. But the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and you felt your chest ache slightly at the vulnerability he was trying so hard to mask.

“I was… wrong,” Damian mumbled, his voice barely above a grumble. His cheeks flushed faintly, and he avoided your gaze entirely, staring determinedly at the floor instead. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence.

You couldn’t help it—you just stared at him. “Oh wow,” you said, your voice teasing. “So you can apologize.”

Damian’s head snapped up. “Don’t make it a big deal!” he snapped, clearly flustered. “I’m just being… reasonable.”

“Right, reasonable,” you repeated, biting back a grin. “Noted.”

Damian stiffened, his cheeks darkening just slightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Me?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re the one acting like this is the most painful thing you’ve ever done.”

“I simply don’t see why this needs to be drawn out into some… melodramatic moment,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

You snorted. “Right. Because you never make anything dramatic.”

Damian glared at you, though the faint blush on his face betrayed his usual cool demeanor. “I don’t know why I even bother with you,” he muttered under his breath.

“Because deep down, you actually like me,” you said, smirking as you stepped closer.

“Incorrect,” Damian shot back immediately, though he took a small step back, clearly flustered.

You let out another laugh, shaking your head. Without thinking, you reached up and ruffled his hair. “Don’t sweat it, Damian.”

His eyes widened, and he batted your hand away almost immediately. “Hey! Stop treating me like a child!”

“Aw, but you are a child,” you teased, grinning at his indignant expression.

“I am not,” Damian huffed, his voice dripping with irritation. But he didn’t storm off like he usually might have. Instead, he lingered for a moment, his hand brushing over his hair where you’d ruffled it.

“You keep telling yourself that,” you said with a wink before turning to head up the stairs.

Damian stayed where he was, watching you go with an unreadable expression. Finally, he muttered under his breath, “Ridiculous.”

But despite his best efforts, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, just a little.

The Batcave hummed with the sound of Tim’s furious typing, the clatter of keys echoing through the cavernous space. Monitors surrounded him, each displaying fragments of information from the Riddler’s last attack: building schematics, bomb blueprints, maps of Gotham. His face was set in a hard line, his jaw tight, his eyes bloodshot from hours of obsessive work.

He couldn’t shake it—the image of the buildings destroyed, the civilians being pulled from the wreckage. All because he’d missed one.

One bomb.

It shouldn’t have happened. If he’d been sharper, more thorough, more focused, those people wouldn’t have been hurt.

His fists clenched against the keyboard. Bruce hadn’t berated him, not exactly. But being “grounded” from fieldwork and told to “reflect” felt worse than a lecture.

Why had he been distracted?

Because of you.

Tim scowled, his typing slowing as his thoughts spiraled. Stephanie had said you just needed time, but time hadn’t fixed anything. You hadn’t returned to being Batgirl yet. The passion you’d once shown, the drive you had—it was like it had vanished. He couldn’t understand it. Why weren’t you fighting to come back?

Why weren’t you acting like you again?

“Tim.”

The soft voice broke through his storm of thoughts. He turned, startled, to see Cassandra standing behind him, her arms crossed, her dark eyes unreadable.

“Cass,” he said, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. “What are you doing here?”

She walked closer, her footsteps quiet as ever, and stopped beside him. “What are you doing?”

Tim frowned. “Working.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady. “More like punishing yourself.”

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “I just… I missed something. People got hurt. I can’t let that happen again.”

“No one died,” Cass said simply, but her tone wasn’t dismissive. It was calm, grounded, like she was trying to anchor him.

“But they could have,” Tim snapped, his frustration spilling over. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I failed. I can’t afford to fail like that again. Ever.”

The cave was silent, but from the corner of his eye, Tim could see Cass’ lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

“You’re just like Bruce.”

Tim froze, her words hitting him like a punch. His eyes widened as he turned to look at her. “I—no, I’m not.”

“Sure,” Cass said, her smile growing.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t say that.”

She chuckled softly, patting his shoulder. “Come on. Get some fresh air.”

“I don’t need—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the staircase.

“Cass,” he protested weakly, but he didn’t resist. She was undeniably stronger than he was, and, honestly, he was too tired to fight her.

As they emerged from the cave and into the manor’s main hallway, Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “This is stupid. I should—”

“Shh.” Cass held up a hand, her attention drawn to the corner ahead.

Tim followed her gaze, his brows furrowing. He was about to ask what she was looking at when he heard voices—your voice, accompanied by a quieter, gruffer one.

Curious, Cass crept closer, pulling Tim along with her. They peeked around the corner, and what they saw made Tim freeze.

You were standing there with Damian.

Talking.

Like, actually talking.

Tim blinked, his brain short-circuiting. Damian, who had been avoiding you like you carried the plague, was now… engaging in a conversation? And you weren’t just tolerating him. You were smiling. Fondly.

As if that wasn’t shocking enough, you reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair.

Tim’s jaw dropped.

Cass tilted her head slightly, watching the interaction unfold. You and Damian were… comfortable? The thought made her brows pinch together in faint confusion. The last she remembered, the two of you weren’t exactly at ease with each other. And yet, here you were, smiling like you weren’t at each other’s throats days ago.

Cass didn’t know if the scene tugged at her heart in a good way or a bad way, but it did tug.

Meanwhile, Tim was outright flabbergasted. His mouth opened and closed, no words forming, as his brain tried to piece together the impossibility in front of him.

You. Damian. Talking normally.

Not only that, but you’d smiled at him—fondly, as if he hadn’t been the same brat who’d made your life hell since the day he arrived. And Damian… Damian was letting it happen. Not scoffing or sniding, but actually standing there. Engaging.

And then you reached up and ruffled Damian’s hair.

Tim’s jaw unhinged.

“What?” he whispered under his breath. “What… what?”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. He could’ve sworn he imagined it, but no. For the briefest moment, as you walked away and Damian watched you go, he saw it.

A smile.

Not the smug, cocky smirk Damian loved to wear when he thought he’d gotten the upper hand. Not the sarcastic quirk of his lips when he made one of his snide comments.

A genuine, soft smile.

“What the fu—”

“Language,” Cass interrupted softly, cutting him off before he could finish.

Tim turned to her, eyes practically bulging out of his skull. “Cass.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her behind another wall, further from where Damian could hear. “What was that?”

Cass tilted her head at him, her expression calm. “What was what?”

“That!” Tim gestured wildly in the direction of where you and Damian had been. “Damian smiled. Did you see that? He smiled.”

Cass shrugged. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Tim repeated, incredulous. “That’s all you’re going to say? Yes?”

“Why are you overreacting?” Cass asked, her voice as measured as always.

Tim froze. “Overreacting? Me? No. I’m just… concerned.”

Cass raised an eyebrow. “Concerned about a smile?”

“It wasn’t just the smile!” Tim hissed, lowering his voice when he realized he was getting loud. “It was the whole thing! They’re talking! Like normal people! You saw it! And she—she patted his head!”

Cass tilted her head, her lips twitching as if she was trying not to smile. “Is that a problem?”

Tim threw his hands up. “Of course it’s a problem! This is Damian we’re talking about. Damian. When has he ever been this… this…”

“Obedient?” Cass supplied, amused.

“Exactly!” Tim said, then paused. “…Wait, no. That’s not the point. The point is—what even happened? Last I checked, they weren’t on speaking terms. Now they’re all… sibling-y?”

“Isn’t that normal?” Cass asked, her tone still maddeningly calm. “For siblings to act like that? Even if they fight?”

Tim opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He froze, staring at her, his brain scrambling to process her question.

Normal. Siblings.

He’d never thought of it that way.

Sure, they were all technically siblings, but Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually tried to build that kind of bond with you. Sure, you were his sister by name. But did he even know what that was supposed to feel like? He knew what his bond with Dick is like, what his bond with Cassandra is like. Hell. he even knew what his bond with Jason and Damian is like. But what about you?

Cass studied his silence, her expression softening. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.

Tim shook himself out of his thoughts. “No, but—wait—this still doesn’t explain how they’re suddenly on good terms. Last time I checked, Dick said they had some huge argument.”

Cass smiled faintly. “People change.”

Tim ran a hand down his face, exasperated. “What the hell happened while I was cooped up in the cave?”

Cass didn’t answer, simply grabbing his wrist again. “Come. Let’s go.”

“What? Wh—”

“Food,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Tim sighed, letting her drag him along to the kitchen. He couldn’t even focus on the fact that he was hungry. His thoughts were too tangled, replaying what he’d just witnessed.

Damian. Smiling.

You. Smiling fondly back at him.

Have you ever smiled at him that way?

He swore he wasn’t confused jealous. Definitely not.

…Right?

dw i’m definitely not killing off people this early 🫣🤭 have this fluff instead 😇🫶🫶 (definitely not planning for anything worse)

taglist (1/2): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel-blog @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @alor-thes | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[rxmye]

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — you're his entire world, his only thought, the very illness that has corrupted his mind and body . . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / mentions of sleep medication / pathetic yandere / suggestive content / a character slightly aimed towards people with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: edited, Lucas first fanfic is out !! . . click here to read it !! <3

He was someone with fleeting attraction—yet a hopeless romantic, who'd spend most of his class time doodling away in his notebook instead of taking actual notes, writing these scenarios that played out in his mind—tired hazy doodles of small characters, blurry lines of writing, scribbled out text, as he struggled to stay awake—

He had never had a proper sleeping schedule, and if he did he'd never stick to it, a night owl who often faced the consequences of his own actions, sleep medication was something he was all too familiar with, the feeling of being restless without sleep, his nerves always on edge, dark circles under his eyes made him feel insecure, and alarmingly out of character.

He felt something touch his back, he froze, nerves all over the place, a pit growing in his stomach as he turned almost instinctively to face whoever touched him, pushing their hand off harshly . . . "Hey Yoichi . . what's up with you man, why so aggressive?!" Lucas asked . . and then he froze, letting out a nervous and rather embarrassed chuckle, "Ah—um . . sorry Lucas . . just feeling a little tired that's all", he replied softly, voice barely coming out.

To be quite honest, when he first saw you, Yoichi thought nothing of it, he sat at the very back and you for some reason, sat in front of him, not that he minds, you're presence covered him from the teachers eyesight, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he was even able to drift off to sleep during that period.

However, it wasn't until he found himself, drawing tiny versions of you in his notebook, little doodles, pink ink staining the paper as he hearted your initials together—his name then your last name . . your name then his last name . . . names of future children—that he realized he was crushing on you . . . big time.

His emotions was fleeting, it had always been, he didn't think much of it . . it was just a simple crush, everyone has one of those, and they go away with time.

Yoichi was a punctual student—and a well organized one—he'd rarely forget his books, much less the notebook with his embarrassing doodles of him and you, it would ruin his image to be quite honest . . yet for some reason he had forgotten it in class today, it could've been his ever-growing restlessness due to a lack of sleep, or maybe the caffeine that's been fucking with his head since early in the morning—he sighed—knocking himself out of his own thoughts, as he twisted the doorknob, hopefully the teacher left the class unlocked.

The door was open, to his utter relieve . . . wait . . . "y/n?", he spoke, taken aback—you were soundly asleep on your desk—you looked so at . . peace . . . calm? . . . Nothing could describe the emotions he felt as he approached you, slowly reaching over to his desk and grabbing his notebook, quickly stuffing it in his backpack—he should go . . , that would be the best course of action . . .

Yet he couldn't . . . he knelt down on the floor, leaning his head on the desk, starring at your face, looking into every curve and line, in his eyes every imperfection just made you even more perfect, the pattern of your breath was soothing to his otherwise restless mind, a soothing scent radiated off of you, and for the first time in months, he felt sleepy . . . like he could sleep without a care . . . everything felt so right. . .—nothing felt displaced or disoriented.

That was the day that started it all, it seems, Yoichi had started forming something that was akin to obsession, he couldn't sleep at all without you—a piece of you—something that reminded him of that calming scent that he felt that day, you calmed his overdriven nerves, you halted his troubles for more than a fleeting moment.

Yoichi knew what he was doing was odd, especially when he found himself picking up the wrapper you threw out, and taking inhaling it, his eyes growing half lidded—he felt like a drug addict—drunk off of you . .

Fleeting touches would tick off his ever delusional mind, a small compliment could set him on overdrive and in the back of his head he knew he was growing addicted, a pit in his stomach grew as he felt slightly disgusted with himself, with the obscene and rather degrading things he'd do, just to get something touched by you.

Lucas stared at his friend, who seemed no better than dead, "Are ya' okay?" he asked, looking him up and down, "You look like a train-wreck", he stated half out of concern and half out of clear disdain and possibly curiosity, "Is it normal?", Yoichi spoke up, taking a gulp of air as he continued, "to want someone so badly that it's hard to explain—like—a part of me feels obsessed, like I feel like carving my own heart out and showing them just to prove my love wont be enough—they could claw out my fingernails—and from where I'm standing, I'd still look at them with only love . . . but at the same time I feel disgusted with the feelings I feel—", Yoichi kept blabbering on, until his friend shushed him, taking a sip of his drink as he jokingly replied, "I mean . . if you love them that much, then their clearly the one . . ."

Yoichi blanked out, as Lucas chuckled, he has no idea how much of his teasing words Yoichi would take to heart that day nor of it's lasting consequences . . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[sleepymarimo]

𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤!

summary: the monster trio's reaction to hearing you say their name in your sleep pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader cw: none!

luffy

it was rare, but it happened. luffy had gone off to roughhouse with usopp and chopper on the deck, leaving you with his precious hat. the responsibility was heavy on your shoulders and you barely had time to ask if he was sure before he ran in the opposite direction, laughing and looking back at you with a grin. "i know you'll take good care of it!"

that was about an hour ago, and you had done your damn best to make sure that the sacred straw hat was secure and in prime condition.

at some point though, the gentle rocking of the thousand sunny along with the overcast weather had you nodding off. you fought to stay awake, but ultimately found yourself dozing off against the railing.

with the straw hat nestled in your arms, your head rolled to the side, you slept.

luffy ended up returning to your spot a few minutes later, eagerly yelling your name until his mouth slammed shut at the sight of you sleeping so peacefully with his straw hat. he seems a little confused at first, head tilting as he looked down at you. "hm? you're tired?"

a toothy grin forms on his face as he steps closer, squatting down so he was eye level with you. the sight of his hat in your protective embrace makes him feel especially warm and he knows he made the right choice in entrusting it to you. his hand reaches for the hat, but as soon as his fingers brush against it, your hold tightens. your brows furrow and you grumble something before your face softens once more.

"no..." you mumble, bringing the hat closer to your heart. "s'for luffy... gotta...take care of it."

when he hears your 'no', he wants to pout, because it's his hat! however, when he catches the rest of your muttered words, his expression shifts into one of utter joy. a gleeful chuckle rings through the air and he can't help himself from waking you.

his arms wrap around your sleeping form and bring you in for a bone crunching hug, a yelp of surprise leaving you as you're rudely awakened. "what? what happened?" you ask, still disoriented and confused.

"nothing!" luffy responds, taking the hat from your hands and slamming it onto your head with a child-like excitement. "let's go eat!"

zoro

you had a long day, worse than usual. stressed out and in need of some time to yourself, you made your way up to the crow's nest where you plopped down onto one of the workout benches. your ever racing mind, plagued with what ifs and unnecessary worry, eventually settles down enough for you to fall asleep as you turn onto your side and doze off.

a while later, zoro heads up there to do some training.

when he noticed you sleeping, zoro simply shrugged and headed towards some dummies so he could practice his three sword style. clearly you were just napping, and he wasn't going to interrupt or tell you to get out.

he gets a few hits in, deliberately making his stabs and swings a tad quieter in a bid to respect your sleeping arrangement, when he suddenly hears his name being called. thinking that he had been too loud, he sheathes his swords and lets out a disgruntled sigh. he could only be so quiet as he trained, and he assumed that you were gonna chew him out for waking you.

however, when he turns, he sees that your eyes are still shut. not only that, but your brows are furrowed and your once neutral expression is twisted into one of slight fear. he takes a few tentative steps toward you, unsure of how to handle whatever it is that's happening.

your breaths quicken. "stop it..." you whine, your body tensing slightly as you curl further in on yourself. "zoro... help..."

his brows shoot up in surprise when his name tumbles past your lips, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. he feels awkward and out of place, though he can't deny the fact that he's flattered and a bit satisfied that, even in your sleep, you count on him to protect you.

he clears his throat, gaze sweeping across the crow's nest to make sure it was empty before hesitantly reaching a hand out. "oi, i'm here." he begrudgingly and affectionately grumbles, pink dusting his cheeks as his hand settled atop your head. "quit whinin'."

your response is almost immediate, your breaths evening out and your expression softening. he scowls and looks away, not believing that this was happening. yet, as he gets back to training, he makes sure to keep an ear out for you, occasionally talking to your sleeping self just so you could hear his voice. 

sanji

you didn't mean to fall asleep in the dining room.

something had you feeling restless, so you took it upon yourself to make a cup of tea before sitting at the dining room table to enjoy it. you didn't expect the tea to be so effective, yet here you were, arms crossed on the table and your cheek squished against the wood.

before the sun had a chance to peek over the horizon, sanji was up and preparing to head to the kitchen. with some extra plates and utensils in his hands that he brought from storage, he made his way down to the dining area.

when he notices you slumped over the table, his expression morphs into one of surprise and then to worry. he's quick to set down the silverware and make his way towards you, about to ask you what was wrong when he noticed your even breaths and peaceful expression.

ah, you were just sleeping. his eyes shine with amusement and admiration, his fingers twitching as he fights the urge to reach out and touch you. instead, he focuses his attention on your mug, his hand curling around the handle before bringing it up to his nose to take a quick inhale. the scent of chamomile and passionflower have him letting out a soft exhale of approval.

"you're gonna have to give me the recipe for this one, mon chérie." he smiles, taking a step back to head to the kitchen.

then, he hears it. a tired huff, as if you were debating with someone in your dream. "no... it's sanji... s'the best chef" you sleepily argue. "s'the best food... ever."

oh, he just melts. his head feels so light from your praise. he practically floats back to you, hearts in his eyes as he fights to keep his tone quiet. "mon chérie, do you really like my food so much that you dream about it?"

he continues to swoon over your sleeping self, his spirit light, when the sound of your grumbling stomach echoes throughout the dining hall. the blond is torn between waking you and preparing you something to eat.

he bends down slightly until he's at your level, before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. his free hand plucks the cigarette from his lips and he gently brings his mouth to your ear, lightly saying your name. "what's your favorite breakfast?"

a happy, genuine smile forms on his face when you actually mumble out an answer. when you wake up and your favorite breakfast is served on a plate in front of you, it's like a dream come true.

[majinbangus]

Unknowingly activating guard dog!Ghost's prey drive while greeting Soap at the airport. -> more here

You're just too excited. It's been forever since Soap's been home and you know that Ghost has been getting antsy about it too after getting an update call from Price. He can't really blame you for taking off the second you see Soap coming down from one of the escalators, running to jump in his arms. Regardless of your reasons, it's still a mistake on your part.

The instant you dart away from him, Ghost is laser-focused on you and giving chase. But you're oblivious. Your attention is on reaching Soap, forgetting the rules of keeping your guard dog nearby. You'll pay for that from the both of them later.

Soap is watching with amusement, seeing you scurry towards him, somehow dodging Ghost's attempts at grabbing you. It's only when you're about to jump in his arms does Ghost catch up, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and jerking you back into his chest.

Your arms are outreached towards Soap, making grabby hands with a cute, disoriented look as you look back at what plucked you up like some unruly, untrained pup. "What the hell, Ghost? Bad dog!"

He's glaring and his chest is heaving, but something tells you it's not because he's out of breath from chasing after you. He leans in, growling, "Naughty move. You ran away."

"I was just greeting Johnny, I don't see what the big deal is?" You glare back, but then another hand grabs your chin and turns your face forward again. You gulp when you see Soap's mean smirk, starting to realize the trouble you're in.

He tuts disapprovingly at you. "Ah, ah, bonnie. Ghost is a good boy. He was only doing his job. I think he's right in being upset with you, and deserves to play with what he caught. Don't you agree?"

You don't try to answer. You already know your fate is sealed and set. There's a foreboding squeeze on your nape, and a shiver runs through you at the rumble in your ear. "Can't wait to have fun with you, pet."

You don't have to ask what kind of fun he has in mind. You know that dogs eat their prey.

[affableramen]

when they finish earlier than you

mature content including sexual themes; established relationships

Wriothesley, Tartaglia, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato, Capitano, Dottore, Alhaitham, Dainsleif, Baizhu

Wriothesley

He groans with emotion but it’s only a few seconds after he realises that you’re still beneath him, still haven't come. Wriothesley looks at your widened, surprised eyes and agape mouth. 

“Bloody hell—”, he spits with a shaky voice. “I’m so sorry, we haven't seen each other for a while and I—”

Wriothesley gently caresses your hip, while chuckling and looking at you half-blushing. “Shit, I must have missed you too much.”

It’s not a problem for him to bring you to the peak with his mouth or hands. 

Tartaglia

He squirts his release with a loud moan, pressing you close to his chest, his face buried into your neck. Those little bites shall leave radiant marks.

“Oh my god…” Ajax moans into your neck. “Oh f-fuck—I—”, he pats your back, “Fuck, I have never come so fast before. It’s not my fault, peanut, you’re too gorgeous for your own good.” He jokingly says, hiding his blush into your neck so you have no idea of it. Ajax is incredibly embarrassed and frustrated with his manhood that got too sensitive too soon.

Neuvillette

Neuvillette feels embarrassed and upset over losing his composure so quickly. He usually lasts long, and finding himself in such predicament gives way to the feeling of guilt and frustration.

“Darling, we can go one more round to get you satisfied. Please forgive me, my love.”

“No need to, Neuvillette, the both of us are tired. We can do it anytime during the week.”

“But I feel so guilty for coming first and not giving you the release you deserved. Let me at least satisfy you with my hands.”

“I don’t mind that, but please don't stress yourself out too much. It’s just sex, we can do many times better later. Nothing changes between us if you simply came early.”

Neuvillette caresses your face softly and speaks with emotion.

“You know that I usually last. I feel so defeated right now.”

To comfort your husband you place a kiss on the centre of his palm.

“Cumming early doesn't make my love to you fade, Neuvillette. In all honesty, I’m glad if I make you so excited that you can barely hold it together.” You give one other awkward but loving smiles. 

Pantalone

“I—I apologise. I did not foresee that, darling”, with a perplexed, disoriented look Pantalone pulls away. He gets purchase on the clean towel and covers his body in shame. A terrific sight, so rare for the Ninth Harbinger who is usually unabashed, especially in intimacy. 

“Oh my—how pathetic!”

You try to comfort him, saying that he must have been both too excited and tired after work, which ended up in premature peak, but Pantalone seems too distressed and angry at his inability to control himself as he quickly vanishes from the bedroom. 

Ayato

With a stiffled moan Ayato finishes, but somehow it feels so wrong - releasing much earlier than you, when his significant other’s orgasm is in question. 

Ayato grabs the towel and wipes himself clean, while looking down at you, your legs still thrown on his shoulders. 

“Oh my goodness”, he laughs at himself, but the laugh is nervous, not cocky or proud as it usually is. The man’s ego seems to die out ridiculously soon, as quickly as he finishes this time.

“We’ll have to go one more round after that…” he hisses, his member still very sensitive. “Once I get ready again.”

Capitano

“Hngghh—” 

Capitano pulls out with a well-heard grunt and pulls you closer to his chest. You are lying on top of him, your bodies are slightly wet when he makes a remark:

“I apologise, wife. It seems my stamina betrayed me tonight”, he gives a smooch to your cheek, brief but filled with devoted emotion. “Maybe if you stay a while like this, I can satisfy you longer. What do you think?” He delivers yet another kiss, this time to your neck. His voice sounds much quieter and he gently runs his hand through your hair.

“We should really stay together tonight. I feel like I need you more than ever. And not a word about this to anyone.”

Dottore

“Dottore, get out of the bathroom, immediately.”

“No!” A grunt and a curse escape from the inside of the bathroom. “I must learn what caused the fail in performance.”

“Dottore, I’m happy either way. Besides you looked quite funny.”

“FUNNY—she thinks I’m funny”, he utters to himself under his breath. “I’m going to check this little idiot for ruining our bedtime.”

Your amused laugh can be heard from the bedroom, as Dottore’s anger at his own manhood looks funny.

Alhaitham

“Oh, Y/N—f-fuck!” Alhaitham certainly does not expect himself to cum prematurely. His face looks red and his expression radiates emotion. You swear you have never seen a face sexier than this. You didn't know that he could ever be able to cum so hard (and so soon). 

Alhaitham scowls, looking at you. “What? You think this is funny? It’s just a one time occurrence.” Another moan escapes his mouth and he covers his face with his hand. “You shouldn't see me like this—”

Dainsleif

Dainsleif falls onto the bed, utterly defeated and pulls you with him. You notice how heavily he is breathing and judging by the perplexed look on his face, never he did expect rushing his own release. He was shocked, to say in the least.

“Don’t look at me like that. You think you’ve defeated me?” Dainsleif groans when you move to his chest. “I will make you finish twice next time, and believe me—much earlier than me.”

Baizhu

Baizhu lets out a moan he did not expect coming and immediately covers his mouth. His face is red and silly when he looks down at you. He is blushing extraordinarily, and the buds of sweat roll over his chest as he towers over you. 

“Let’s pretend this did not happen, my dear”, he runs his hand down your lips and onto your neck. “Oh my goodness, how embarrassing.”

Yet you just give him a sincere laugh. “Baizhu, it’s alright. I enjoyed it immensely.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

Christmas Morning | LN4

🎄 summary ━━━━━━━ Morning sex with Lando on Christmas morning

🎄 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🎄 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.9k

🎄 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The first thing Y/N noticed was the warmth. It seeped through her skin, wrapping around her like a cocoon, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. The faint aroma of pine needles and cinnamon lingered in the air, intertwined with a scent unmistakably his—a blend of cedarwood cologne and the subtle musk she now instinctively linked to Lando. Her eyelids fluttered open, and there he was, still asleep beside her, his dark curls tousled against the white pillowcase.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered softly, though she knew he couldn’t hear her yet. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, one arm draped lazily across her waist, pulling her closer even in sleep. She smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips, marveling at how peaceful he looked. There were no cameras here, no fans or flashing lights—just them, wrapped up in each other.

Lando stirred, his nose scrunching adorably before his eyes blinked open. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, but then his gaze found hers, and a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but impossibly warm. He shifted slightly, his hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. “Did Santa come?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound muffled as she buried her face in his chest. “I think so,” she teased, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone. “But I don’t need presents. Not when I have you.”

He chuckled, the vibration rumbling through her as he tightened his hold on her. “Cheesy,” he accused, but there was no bite to his words. Instead, his fingers began to trace idle patterns along her spine, sending shivers down her body. “But I like it.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the world outside their little bubble fading into insignificance. The sun crept higher, casting golden streaks across the room, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear the faint jingle of bells—probably someone walking their dog in the snow. But neither of them paid it any mind. Right now, there was only this: the softness of his touch, the way his breath tickled her ear, the lazy, contented smiles they exchanged without needing to say a word.

Eventually, Lando’s hand stilled against her back, and he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were darker now, more intense, and Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Especially like this, all sleepy and soft.”

She blushed, her cheeks heating under his scrutiny, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached up to brush a curl from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his temple. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned, that mischievous spark she loved so much lighting up his eyes. “Not so bad, huh? Damn, I must be losing my touch.” Before she could respond, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started off sweet but quickly deepened. His tongue brushed against hers, coaxing a soft moan from her as she melted into him.

Their bodies pressed together, every curve and angle perfectly aligned, and Y/N could feel the heat building between them. His hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and she arched into his touch, craving more. “Lando,” she breathed against his lips, her voice trembling with need.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, brushing against the sensitive skin of her stomach, and she gasped.

“You,” she answered without hesitation, her hands gripping his shoulders as if to anchor herself. “Just you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, he rolled them over so that she was beneath him, his weight pressing her into the mattress in the most delicious way. His lips found hers again, hungry and demanding, and Y/N surrendered completely, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

His hands slid up her sides, pushing her shirt up until it pooled around her shoulders, and then he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head and toss it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over her, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and Y/N shivered under his gaze. “So perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He bent his head, his lips trailing hot kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and lower still, until he reached the lace edge of her bra.

Y/N gasped as he unhooked it with practiced ease, his mouth immediately seeking out her breast. His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it into a hardened peak, and she cried out, her hips arching off the bed. “Lando,” she moaned, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

He hummed in response, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure rippling through her, before switching his attention to her other breast. His hands weren’t idle either; one slid down her side, skimming over her hipbone, while the other cupped her breast, kneading it gently as he lavished it with attention.

By the time he finally lifted his head, Y/N was trembling, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. “Please,” she begged, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears.

“Please what, love?” he asked, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he watched her squirm beneath him.

“Touch me,” she pleaded, her hand reaching for his, guiding it downward until it rested between her legs. Even through the thin fabric of her panties, she could feel his warmth, and she whimpered, desperate for more.

Lando groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against hers as he cupped her through the lace, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had her gasping. “You’re so wet already,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “God, I love how much you want me.”

She didn’t have the breath to respond, her entire body thrumming with anticipation as he tugged her panties down her legs and tossed them aside. And then his hand was on her again, his fingers sliding through her slick folds before slipping inside her, curling in just the right way to make her cry out.

“Lando! Oh, God,” she moaned, her hips bucking against his hand as he added another finger, stretching her, filling her. His thumb found her clit, circling it in time with the thrust of his fingers, and Y/N felt the coil in her belly tighten, threatening to snap.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Let go.”

And she did. With a strangled cry, her body convulsed around his fingers, waves of pleasure crashing over her until she thought she might drown in them. Her vision blurred, her limbs turned to jelly, and it took everything she had just to keep breathing.

When she finally came back to herself, Lando was watching her with a satisfied smirk, his fingers slowly withdrawing from her body. “You’re incredible,” he said, his voice filled with awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, her heart swelling with love and a hint of mischief as she met Lando’s gaze. Before he could react, she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, shoving him back. He landed on the bed with a startled laugh, his hair falling messily across his forehead as he looked up at her with wide, amused eyes.

“Your turn,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with a daring edge. Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers, curling around the fabric with deliberate intent.

Lando’s breath hitched, the playful glint in his eyes quickly replaced by something deeper, more intense. His hips lifted instinctively, a silent invitation, as her touch sent a spark coursing through him. The air between them was charged, her steady gaze trailing over him like a flame, leaving him utterly captivated.

She didn’t hesitate, her lips parting slightly as she took him into her hand, feeling the weight and heat of him. Lando groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip. His hands fisted in the sheets, the muscles in his arms tensing as he tried to keep himself still.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, filled with a mixture of admiration and desire. She leaned down, her breath ghosting over him before she pressed a soft kiss to the base of his length. His whole body shuddered, a choked sound escaping his throat.

Y/N wasn’t teasing now. She wanted to give him everything—every ounce of pleasure she could. Her tongue flicked out, licking a slow path up the underside of his shaft, savoring the way he twitched beneath her touch. When she reached the top, she circled the tip with her tongue, tasting the salty precum that had gathered there. Lando’s hips bucked involuntarily, and a deep growl rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, his voice raw and desperate. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by his reaction, she took him into her mouth, sinking down inch by inch until she felt him nudging the back of her throat. She relaxed her jaw, letting him slide deeper, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. His moans grew louder, filling the room, and she could feel the tension building in his body, his thighs trembling beneath her.

Her free hand trailed up his stomach, feeling the tight muscles contract under her fingertips. She loved how responsive he was, how every touch, every lick, every suck brought him closer to the edge. And she intended to push him right to that brink before pulling him back, wanting to draw out his pleasure as long as possible.

Lando’s hand tangled in her hair, not forcing or guiding, just holding on for dear life as she worked him over. He was close—so close—and she could feel it in the way his breathing became erratic, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly. His hips jerked again, and he let out a strangled cry, his entire body tightening like a coiled spring.

But just as he was about to tip over the edge, Y/N pulled back, releasing him with a wet pop. Lando’s eyes flew open, wild and disoriented, and he stared at her in disbelief. “Y/N… what are you—?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she straddled him, positioning herself above him. His hands instinctively gripped her hips, steadying her as she lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her in one smooth motion. They both groaned in unison, the sensation overwhelming.

“Christ…” Lando hissed through clenched teeth, his head falling back against the pillow again. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away, too consumed by the feeling of him filling her completely. She moved slowly at first, rolling her hips in a lazy rhythm, savoring the friction and the way his hands dug into her skin. His eyes never left hers, their connection deepening with every thrust.

As she picked up the pace, her movements became more urgent, more desperate. She braced herself on his chest, her nails lightly scraping his skin as she rode him harder. Lando’s groans turned into low, guttural sounds, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. The dual sensations made her whimper, her own pleasure building rapidly.

“You feel so good,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “I love being with you like this.”

Lando’s response was a rough, almost primal growl as he sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling as he thrust into her from below, meeting her every movement with equal intensity. The shift in angle sent sparks shooting through her, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “I love you. So much.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his words and the way he was looking at her. “I love you too,” she managed to choke out, her voice thick with emotion.

Their kisses were frantic now, messy and uncoordinated, but filled with passion. Every touch, every thrust, every word was an affirmation of their love for each other. Y/N could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body begging for release, but she held on, wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

Lando, however, seemed to have other plans. One hand slid down between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight circles around it. The added stimulation was too much, and she cried out, her body convulsing around him as she came hard.

Watching her fall apart pushed him over the edge, and with a low, guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his hips stuttering as he followed her into oblivion. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over them.

When they finally came down, they collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together in a sweaty, sated heap. Lando pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his arms tightening around her. “That was… incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with contentment.

Y/N nuzzled into his chest, her heart swelling with love. “It always is with you,” she replied softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

For a while, they just lay there, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of each other’s embrace. But soon, Y/N felt a familiar ache building again, a quiet yearning that refused to be ignored. She shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before whispering, “Do you think we can go again?”

Lando chuckled, his fingers threading through her hair. “You’re insatiable,” he teased, but there was no mistaking the desire in his voice.

Lando’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against Y/N’s cheek as she nestled closer. His fingers still tangled in her hair, he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. “Maybe we should open presents first,” he suggested, his voice low and teasing. “I think I got you something special.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh? And what makes you so sure I can wait that long?” she countered, her hand trailing down his chest, skimming over the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

He caught her wrist gently, bringing her fingers to his lips for a soft kiss. “Because I know how much you love surprises,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And trust me, this one’s worth it.”

She sighed dramatically, though her heart fluttered at the look in his eyes. “Fine,” she relented, sitting up and stretching lazily. “But if this present isn’t as good as you’re making it out to be, I expect compensation.”

Lando’s laughter filled the room, a warm, infectious sound that made Y/N smile. Before she could process what was happening, he leaned down and swept her into his arms effortlessly. She gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders as he grinned down at her, his boyish charm on full display.

“Lando!” she protested through a laugh, though she didn’t resist.

“Patience, love,” he teased, carrying her out of the bedroom and into the living room, where the soft glow of the Christmas tree bathed everything in a golden light. He gently lowered her onto the sofa, his touch lingering as he made sure she was comfortable.

“Wait here,” he murmured, winking before turning to kneel by the tree. His shoulders flexed as he reached beneath the branches, rummaging through the pile of gifts with practiced ease. Y/N couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles moved, her heart fluttering at the effortless strength he exuded.

After a moment, he straightened up, a neatly wrapped box in his hands. Turning back to her with a triumphant grin, he walked over and held out the package, his eyes alight with affection.

“For you, my love,” he said softly, his voice warm and brimming with excitement, as though he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

She took the box, her fingers brushing against his as she did. The wrapping paper was delicate, adorned with tiny snowflakes, and she felt a pang of guilt for wanting to tear into it immediately. But Lando’s expectant gaze urged her on, and she carefully peeled back the paper to reveal a velvet jewelry box underneath.

Her breath hitched as she opened it, revealing a stunning silver necklace with a pendant shaped like a snowflake. It sparkled even in the soft morning light, and Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Lando… it’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied softly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Here, let me put it on you.”

She turned around, presenting her back to him, and felt the cool metal press against her skin as he fastened the clasp. His fingers lingered on her neck, tracing slow, deliberate patterns that sent shivers down her spine. When he finally leaned in to press a kiss to the space between her shoulder blades, Y/N couldn’t suppress a soft gasp.

Y/N pushed herself up from the sofa, her movements deliberate as she made her way to the Christmas tree. She crouched down, carefully retrieving a small, rectangular box tucked away beneath the glowing branches. Her fingers lingered on the neatly wrapped present for a moment before she straightened up and returned to the sofa.

Settling back into her spot, she turned to Lando, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Your turn,” she murmured, holding the gift out to him with a soft smile. Her heart raced as his curious gaze flicked between her and the box, his hands brushing against hers as he took it.

Lando’s brow furrowed slightly with intrigue, and he began to unwrap the gift, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. Y/N’s pulse quickened as she watched him, her anticipation growing with every tear of the paper.

Inside was a custom-made photo book, filled with pictures of their time together—moments captured in candid laughter, stolen kisses, and quiet mornings just like this one. Lando flipped through the pages, his expression softening more with each photograph. “Y/N… this is incredible,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over a picture of the two of them at sunset, silhouetted against the sky.

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of us,” she explained, her voice trembling slightly. “Of everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll still do together.”

Lando set the book aside, his eyes locking onto hers. “You don’t need to give me anything to remember us,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re all I think about, every day. You’re my everything.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she leaned in to kiss him, pouring all the love she felt into the gesture. His hands came up to cradle her face, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” Lando replied, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. “More than anything.”

The atmosphere around them shifted, a charged intimacy settling between them that made Y/N’s breath hitch. Lando’s gaze locked onto hers, his eyes dark and filled with intent. Slowly, his hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of warmth that sent shivers coursing through her. His touch lingered at her wrists for a moment before he grasped her waist, firm yet gentle.

Without breaking eye contact, he guided her onto his lap, her legs straddling him as their bodies pressed flush against each other. The closeness was overwhelming, every point of contact sparking with heat. Y/N could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms, mirroring the rapid thud of her own.

“Do you want…” he began, his voice low and husky, but Y/N cut him off with another kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. There was no need for words; the way she arched into him, the way her breath hitched when his fingers traced the curve of her waist, said everything.

Lando laid her back against the pillows, his lips never leaving hers as he covered her body with his own. His touch was tender but insistent, exploring every inch of her as though he was memorizing her all over again. When his mouth found her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, Y/N couldn’t hold back a moan.

“Lando…” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”

He didn’t need further encouragement. His hand slipped between her thighs, parting her folds with practiced ease, and she gasped as his fingers found her already slick and aching. He teased her slowly, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm, but not enough to push her over the edge.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against her ear, his voice sending shivers down her spine. “Is this what you wanted earlier?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand. “Lando, please…”

He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing her earlobe. “So impatient,” he teased, but finally gave her what she craved, sliding two fingers inside her and curling them just right. Y/N cried out, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, his pace steady and unrelenting. “Let go for me.”

She obeyed, her climax hitting her hard and fast, her body trembling as she clung to him. Lando held her through it, whispering sweet nothings in her ear until she finally came down, her breathing ragged and her limbs heavy.

Before she could catch her breath, Lando shifted, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, maintaining eye contact as he slid them down and kicked them aside. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, every movement charged with anticipation. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her in one smooth thrust. They both groaned, the sensation overwhelming after the intensity of her orgasm.

He started slow, savoring every second, every movement. Each thrust was deliberate, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until Y/N was writhing beneath him once more. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice strained with effort. “I’ll never get tired of this.”

“Neither will I,” she gasped, her nails digging into his back as she lifted her hips to meet his. Their rhythm grew faster, more urgent, until neither could hold back any longer. Lando’s name fell from Y/N’s lips like a prayer as she came undone again, her body tightening around him. He followed close behind, burying his face in her neck as he spilled himself inside her.

[pastryfication]

oscar x reader who has a cochlear implant

sudden silence | oscar piastri

summary: your cochlear implant isn’t always your best friend, but when it fails you at the worst possible time, you feel panic like never before. note: i hope this is what you imagined!! i researched quite a lot to make it as accurate as possible but please correct me if i’ve written something inaccurate xx

everything was loud around you. the engines roaring to life again and again cut through the air and the crowds erupted in cheers whenever they caught sight of a car. the announcers were talking animatedly over the loudspeakers, their enthusiasm clear even if it was just free practice. and on top of all that, the general hustle and bustle also sounded in the background. the high-octane atmosphere was almost headache-inducing. everything was slowly becoming too much for you, the noise deafening, drowning out your thoughts, until suddenly, everything stopped.

suddenly, everything was completely quiet. not a single sound of oscar’s pit crew talking loudly. not a single tyre screeching on the track. just complete silence.

your hand immediately reached up to the small implant in your ear. don’t panic. you forced yourself to take a deep breath. glitches happen. just count to 10 and it should be working again.

1, 2, 3, 4 . . . you took a deep breath again . . . 8, 9 . . . 10 . . .

nothing happened. the silence lingered, the disorienting feeling wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. one of the engineers started shouting something and suddenly everyone was running around, but you couldn’t hear them. you couldn’t hear anything.

you could feel your heart beating away in your chest while your hands started to tremble, clamminess forming in your palms. you tried to steady your breathing again, tried to calm yourself, but everything was suddenly overwhelming. relax. you thought. you can fix it.

fingers fumbling, you reached for the implant, quickly checking the battery. it was still there. adjusting the settings didn’t work either, and it dawned on you like a comet from the sky. there was nothing you could do.

the panic gripped you from the inside and moved into occupying your entire body. hearing was crucial at the track. not just for communication but for safety as well. what if you missed an important announcement? or something critical happening on the track? what if oscar crashed and nobody could tell you?

the visual stimuli—the flashing lights, the cars zooming by, the people moving around you—became slowly overwhelming without the grounding presence of sound. the sensory overload only added to the panic already formed by your thoughts.

what were you supposed to do? alert some of the employees? no. you couldn’t disturb them from their job. find someone else to help? you mind did a quick once over of the people attending the grand prix, but no one who would be able to help you came to mind.

you were on your own.

୨୧

oscar immediately stressed when he exited the car after fp2, finding out that you were gone from the garage. and no one knew where you were.

you had left somewhere in the middle of the session without telling anyone.

it instantly worried him, and with a frown on his face, he made his way to his small drivers room.

you don’t hear him enter, but suddenly, his figure was standing in front of you, a frown on his face as he said something. you couldn’t hear it. it was as if he was miming the words, no sound escaping his mouth.

he must have noticed something in your facial expression, because suddenly, he stopped talking. his face morphed into an even deeper frown of concern, and his hand moved up to point at his right ear, his question evident in the unspoken.

you only nodded, looking down at your fingers instead of meeting his eyes. was he disappointed that you had left?

you didn’t get long to ponder, because he quickly took a step forward, his hand meeting shoulder first to alert you of his closeness before he pulled you into him, both arms wrapping tightly around your frame and squeezing you against his chest in a hug.

the two of you stayed there for a while, his hand rubbing your back gently as you sniffled slightly, trying to keep the pent up tears at bay.

someone must have knocked on the door, because you felt oscar chest vibrate as he lifted his head to shout something in reply, but he didn’t pull back from you.

there, in oscar’s embrace, with his arms shielding you from the outside world, his lips pressing reassuring kisses into your hair, you knew everything would be fine. you could call the audiologist in a moment, and everything would be fixed. but for a moment you actually enjoyed the silence, because you know that oscar won’t let anything happen. with him, you were completely safe, and as long as you had him, nothing could go completely wrong.

[k0mmari]

SYSTEM! SHEN YUAN AU (Pt.2)

Pt.1

Im not done with this, so to the people that wanted more, here it is! I, fortunately or not, have thought way too much again, so once more this is going to be a very, very, VERY long post. If you guys have any ideas about this btw, please do share them! I really am just letting my mind wander a bit more than usual, so maybe someone else can have more structured thoughts than me lol. (Fair warning, there probably will be plot holes, so sorry in advance!)

Please read Pt.1 if you haven't, or this won't make any sense!

After SY warped away from his impromptu meeting with Binghe, the last place he would like to end up would be even deeper into the Endless Abyss, but according to his System, the next piece of the virus was here. While not happy, since his Personal System was (mostly) working as intended, SY managed to activate Ghost Mode and walk towards the next part without having to deal with any of the creatures down there. (He had to try very hard not to get distracted by the monsters, lest his supervisor thinks he also went missing.)

It takes considerably more time to find the virus this time, so much in fact, SY starts to recognize his surroundings from SQH's ramblings (not that he was interested or anything), and he feels a cold sense of dread running down his spine. There was no way he was that unlucky that the object that got corrupted this time was-

He was that unlocky. Lo and behold, after entering a run down ruin, SY is faced with the legendary Xin Mo, power so overwhelming it manifested as dark fire covering the blade. The only reason why SY wasn't immediately writhing on the ground from the sword's power was Ghost Mode, which he could not rely for too long, as his Personal System was displaying warning after warning about Possibility of Corruption and God Like Plot Point. It all meant that SY was on a timer, and if he took too long, the sword would start corrupting his System, which in turn could corrupt him.

Now, since this was a VERY important Plot Point, Luo Binghe had to find Xin Mo or else the plot would derail to an unfixable degree, SY couldn't just snip at it, which was a problem, since manual debugging took a considerably longer time! Still, he summons his Scissors and positions it so he can start at least trimming off the virus.

His plan immediately backfires however, as an ominous crack sounds through the air and he's suddenly pushed away from the sword by a gust of energy. A bit disoriented, he shakes his head and acesses the sit-

Xin Mo, the horrible sword it was, was apparently so OP that it seemed to detect the Scissors at the last second, and the thing attacked back! The metal of the Scissors was dark and broken where it came close to the sword, almost broken in half! Which, not good! It any other time, a pair of broken Debugging Sheers would be more or less fine, if not a major inconvinience (and pay deduction) for SY, but since he'd been warping all over the time for a while now, his Personal System's energy reserves were carefully rationed, and if he were to use a chunk to send the Scissors back for some emergency repair, he'd only have one chance to go back to HQ. Alone.

He couldn't delay it any longer, he desperately needed to find SQH and pray he still had some energy reserves left.

Setting his Personal System's next warp location to SQH's last known location, SY wouldn't have guessed in a million years that he would go back to Cang Qiong Mountain, but whatever; maybe SQH had wanted to start with fixing the bug on Binghe's pendant? Not that this was the right time since it was after Binghe fell into the Abyss, but SQH had never been good at warping. It takes a bit of wandering and going inside different buildings, but eventually his Personal System managed to get a dirrect ping on SQH's System, which sent a massive wave of relief rushing through SY, since it meant that SQH was still slive.

Though as to why he was at An Ding Peak, SY could only guess.

After a bit more wandering, SY enters on what seems to be a (very messy) office space, SY feels all the pieces coming together in his mind. Half sprawled across the table with piles of paper covering the entire table's surface lay the An Ding Peak Lord, which- was already weird, since wasn't this guy supposed to be an enemy of the Peak now? After the whole betrayal thing or whatever? But that would've been something to look into later, were it not for said Peak Lord casually scrolling through a Personal System screen. A Personal System that could only be used by the System's Maintanence Staff.

SY wastes no time in deactivating Ghost Mode, and when SQH's eyes snap to his, the man jumps so high from his chair he almost falls back. It's not a happy reunion by a longshot, since SY immediately jumped his friend co-worker and demanded an explaination, almost screaming about it was all his fault for doing shitty maintenence, and creating this shitty world if it's shitty OP sword which broke his Sheers? Do you know how expensive these are?? I know you do, cause the supervisor never lets you touch the good ones cause you keep cracking all the other pairs-

It takes a more or less one whole hour to calm down SY, but eventually the younger settled and lets SQH say his bit of the story: Apparently, in his messing around with the System's world creation program when he was trying to find the bug in his world, he'd accidentaly managed to get himself actually transmigrated to PIDW, though still with (limited) acess to his Personal System, which let him still send messages to their supervisor and pretend that everything was ok. He'd gotten so unlucky too! Out of all the people to accidentaly select, did it have to be the An Ding Peak Lord? Couldn't it have been Binghe? Or MBJ- (SQH cuts his lamenting when he notices SY's absolutely viscious death glare being stared right through his soul.)

Long story short, he'd initially did try to fix his blunder, but as more time passed and SQH's access to Maintenance priviledges went out one by one on his System, he eventually just... Started actually living there. In fact, he was living so well there that he dared say his life as Peak Lord was even better then when he was with the System! Of course, since he had been integrated as a 'character' now, he had his limitations, he actually managed to get to know his fellow peak lords! He knew the name of his character's family members and his disciples! He'd managed to build a life he never even thought he could have inside the System.

Sure, did he betray the Peak? Yes, yes he did. Were they all going to die in a few years time when Binghe came back from hell? Yeah, yeah they were, and he was immensely guilty and terrified, but! The plot could be changed! He already assumed someone from the System had popped up in the Conference, as when Binghe had recently made his alliance with MBJ, and had mentioned in passing this weird thing that had happened to him just before he fell into the Abyss.

Anyways, eventually SY begrudgingly accepts SQH's decision to stay in PIDW, but he still had to help SY; and so they form a plan: SY was going to transfer some energy to SQH so he could temporarily get his acess to the full version of his Personal System and use his energy reserves to send SY's Sheers and get them fixed. SQH was also going to properly apologize to their supervisor for suddenly quitting without notice AND order some more energy stacks to be sent to SY's System. SY on the other hand had devises a plan to get closer to XIn Mo without the sword exploding his face off:

Infiltrate Demon Emperor Luo Binghe's palace as a lowly staff member and slowly debug the sword from the inside.

A perfect plan! What could go wrong?

SY selects to warp to a time where Binghe had Xin Mo mostly in control, so it is to no surprise he warps to a place were the Demonic Emperor's Palace is absolutely filled with women. Not the best situation, since a lot of people could and probably would be able to see him, but with that many harem members, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume there was also a considerable number of staff, which, to SY's luck, there was! In fact, after he managed to activate a disguise for his clothes so they matched the rest of the servants, no one bat an eye on his presence; at most someone would inquire about his short hair, but other than that he was as noteable as a fly.

The first phase of his plan was already a success, so now he had to move on to reconnaissance which was mostly easy and the worst thing in his life. He was mostly looking for Binghe's quarters could be as he probably kept the sword close to him at all times, though with how big the palace was, his objective had gradually shifted to mapping out the labyrinth of halls as much as possible (SY was very glad that the System allowed him to create a map in real time or he might have gotten lost in the first five minutes). He walks so much he even manages to catch a few pieces of gossip, though the most interesting one by far being one about Binghe:

Apparently, a year ago, the Emperor had a qi deviation where, for a day, he seemed to have completely shifted his personality; he refused to touch any of his wives and kept screaming for his long dead Shizun. SY doesn't really remember that plot point, though his wondering is cut short when he hears people walking towards his direction. instinctively he his behind a dark corner, momentarily forgetting that he 'worked' at the palace now.

At list his bad luck was finally turning over as the Golden Protagonist himself walked past him with one of his wives hanging off his arm, looking just as cool as SY had always imagined. He had to snap himself out of his stuppor though, as two things caught his attention: First, Xin Mo was, predictably, strapped to his waist, still glitched but at least the virus seemed more or less contained, which gave SY a bit more time to work, though the other thing he noticed...

Hanging onto an old-looking braid laid SY's missing tassle that Binghe had found for him all the way back at the Conference.

What the hell was Luo Binghe doing wearing that old tassle at this day and age??

A few days passed and the Tassle Incident (as he called it) had to be set aside, as it seemed that passing as a servant also meant that other servants and even some wives expected SY to actually work. Not great, he sucked at cleaning and the other servants spared no words to make it clear to him, but it at least gave him something to do while he waited for his Scissors to arrive. SQH had sent him a few messages saying he'd gotten his part of the deal done, so now all SY could do was monitor Xin Mo's condition (from very far away), and occasionally manually debug some small virus pieces that had fallen from the sword, which luckily were easy enough to deal with that he didn't need to cut them off.

The only thing that was worrying him now is how... odd Luo Binghe seemed. Of course, he was supposed to be the pinnacle of the Cool Guy trope, so some edginess was to be expected, but Binghe didn't look just Edgy, he looked straight up depressed. There were bags under his eyes, and he barely seemed to tolerate the presence of 99% of his wives, and that damned braid with the damned tassle was still there-

Point is, Binghe acting so weird really threw SY through a loop, and he may have gotten a bit careless. At a random day when SY was carrying some dirty laundry another servant had just shoved at him, he had no prior warning before a voice sounded from behind him: "You seem to have dropped something."

He barely managed to shake off the violent sense of deja-vu that had sucker punched him in the face before he realized what was happening; Luo Binghe was talking to him. Directly to him. Shit- shit! Did he notice? Was Binghe doing a clever call back, spider-man style?? Was SY going to die????

SY shakily turns to Binghe, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor, bowing as much as possible that he still seemed respectful but the bag of clothes he had didn't all just fall to the floor. Thankfully Binghe didn't seem to mind, and simply put the fallen piece of clothing on top of the others and walked away. Though, just as SY was regaining his breath, Luo Binghe's voice stops him again. "You... Have we met before?"

SY trembles something about only being hired recently and not having the opportunity to formaly meet Junshang, and it seems to be a decent enough that Binghe just stares at him for a while longer before walking away. He really should grow out his hair if even the Emperor got weirded out like that...

Binghe started eyeing SY way more after that day. The protagonist would rarely speak directly to him, but SY could feel his gaze as if it were burning; though, since Binghe never said anything, SY just assumed that whatever Binghe's problem with him was, it was likely nothing to worry about.

In fact, it probably was because one of Binghe's wives had used SY is an impromptu act to try to get Binghe jealous (he just frowned, separated the two and walked away) and after that she had gotten infatuated with him, so she'd turned SY into her personal servant. Because of that SY saw Binghe at most two times a week instead of the 50% chnace of seeing his shadow once a week. Wow.

Because of this, as much as Binghe noticed SY, SY noticed Binghe as well, the protagonist seeming to get even more down as the days went. The tassle was still braided in his hair (SY worried it was just going to become a lock at this point), his eyebags never seemed to leave his eyes, and he was always muttering about... something. (SY managed to overhear something about 'fairness' and what Binghe actually wanted...?)

It all culminated at a seemingly random night. Most of the wives and servants had gone to sleep, only the more in-human women still hanging around, and SY, of course, but mostly it was because he wanted to see how close he could get to Binghe's quarters (aka Xin Mo) at night. Not that it was necessary, as when he was walking his attention was adruptly caught by the strangest sight: Luo binghe, sitting on one of the stone stair that lead to one of the many courtyards, being absolutely drenched in rain. The weirdest part was that a few servants and wives had also passed this place, and they all seemed like they didn't see Binghe, or didn't care.

Hating to see such an usually proud man (not that he'd seen much of that either) just soaking outside as if he'd just caught the love of his life cheating with another man, SY decided that at least he'd do a good job as a servant and take care of 'his Lord'. He grabs an umbrella from one of the adjacent rooms and slowly walks outside, covering Luo Binghe's form, not really caring if he was also getting soaked.

They stayed silent for who knows how long, but eventually, Binghe's eyes that had been laser focused on the horizon slowly blink once, as if coming out of a trance, and slowly move to SY's face, up to his hand holding the umbrella. "My Lord should get back inside. He'll get sick that way." SY half murmurs.

Binghe doesn't respond, though after a few seconds, his eyes seem to widen a bit and his breath comes out a little shaky. SY doesn't dare comment on it.

"Have we met before?" Luo Binghe asks again.

"...Yes." Shen Yuan says.

Binghe closes his eyes, and they stay like that for another hour.

Pt.3