#IVE BEEN WAITING A MONTH TO FIRE HER
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ah heem heem......
#literally my boss called me into her office and was like 'if you have anything to say tell me now'#'if we start the investigation and find anything we have to fire you'#and i was like 'you know me. you know that i have never taken anything and never paid for it.'#ive taken stuff and paid for it later that day or the next day#but NEVER?? no#i love this stupid job why would i steal from it#and in her defense she did say that there was no bad blood and we were okay#but like that means that if she sees something weird its like 'nothing personal youre fired'#i literally know she WONT fiind anything weird. thats the point. i didnt do anything#but it makes me feel suspicious and that me saying i didnt do anything is an admission of uilt#guilt#aand the more upset and nervous i get the less believable i seem#which makes me MORE UPSET AND NERVOUS#and i told a coworker about it and they really were acting like i did it#like BITCH IVE KNOWN YOU FOR YEARS YOU THINK I DID IT???#have i stolen before?? did i used to steal all the time and just dont remember???#what if i took something once and was like 'yeah i'll pay for it later tonight' and forgot and now its gonna cost me my job#because heres the thing#that VERY WELL couldve happened#my adhd is a fucking bad i very well couldve done that#she picked the perfect time to accuse me of this to retaliate too#last month we lost a lot of money at our snack market#which indicates a lot of theft#and i live here so it'd be easy for me to do#that doesnt mean i did it tho#god this is so upsetting#and this is gonna be a no news is good news situation bc i dont imagine they'll call me in and be like#'we went over months of footage and you have been found NOT guilty! :D'#like no if they dont find anything they'll just never bring it up again#but like that means im gonna be waiting for the other shoe to drop for the rest of the time im working here
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three’s a crowd…until it’s not— ln4 & op81
smau + blurbs
lando norris x !o’ward sister reader x oscar piastri
pato o’ward x !model sister reader
lando and oscar have been secretly dating for months—no one knows, not even their teams. but when you start showing up at more races, everything shifts. what started as playful banter turns into real feelings, and suddenly the two boys who thought they had everything figured out… want you too. now they’re hiding their relationship—and their growing desire to bring you into it.
fc : kat castellano
not proofread
—
ynowardddd

liked by patriciooward, elbaoward, kikagomes & 875,908 others.
ynowardddd : keeping up with the o’wards pt 987543
tagged : elbaoward and patriciooward
—
username5 : who is the fave sibling??
patriciooward : me
ynowardddd : elba would disagree
liked by elbaoward
elbaoward : i am the glue holding this family together
ynowardddd : ok ok I wouldn’t go that far
liked by patriciooward
kikagomes : you are so beautiful
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : says the prettiest girl on the planet <3
oscarpiastri : can I also be adopted into this family
liked by patriciooward and ynowardddd
patriciooward : can you speak spanish
oscarpiastri : hola?
patriciooward : good enough
ynowardddd : aren’t you already a leclerc? @/charles_leclerc come get your son
liked by oscarpiastri
charles_leclerc : i feel betrayed
lando : pretty gal
liked by ynowardddd
patriciooward : thank you lando😍
lando : meant for yn but…you too mate 😁
—
ynowardddd

liked by lando, mclaren, patriciooward & 1,243,807 others.
ynowardddd : wait…this isn’t indycar. thank you @/mclaren for having us and letting me interview your drivers and make them tell me all their secrets! papaya fam for life 🧡
—
patriciooward : still don’t understand how you got media access
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : im just good like that
mclaren : her charisma and chaos got her the part
liked by patriciooward, ynowardddd, lando and oscarpiastri
lando : well deserved tbh
oscarpiastri : can you be the only one to interview me from now on?
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : i will see what i can do;)
liked by oscarpiastri
username00 : this was the first interview ive actually seen oscar show some emotion
username5 : it was crazy to see him smile that much. we need yn for all interviews!!
mclaren : we think we’re gonna keep you yn🧡
liked by ynowardddd
arrowmclaren : um actually she belongs to us
liked by ynowardddd
nolansiegel : and i won’t give her up easily
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : oml my nolannn love uuuu😭❤️
liked by nolansiegel and patriciooward
lando : i feel like i blacked out and just smiled like an idiot the entire time
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : i tend to have that effect on people
elbaoward : jealous 😔
ynowardddd : we literally invited you and you said you were busy
patriciooward : and yn and i spent half the weekend facetiming you anyway
elbaoward : jeez out here getting exposed
kikagomes : so happy i got to see you!! love you 😍
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : love you more
—
snippets from the interview— ‘5 minutes unfiltered w/ the McLaren boys and Papaya Princess, Y/N O’Ward!’
The interview room wasn’t much, just a plain backdrop, two chairs, three if you counted the one they pulled in for her, and a couple of camera guys too jet-lagged to care about anything beyond focus and lighting.
Still, the second YN O’Ward walked in, energy shifted.
Lando looked up from his phone. Oscar straightened in his seat.
She tossed a bright papaya windbreaker over the back of her chair and grinned. “Gentlemen.”
Oscar gave her a small smile. “O’Ward.”
“Wrong one, but I’ll allow it,” she shot back, settling in with her mic. “Okay. You two ready for the most chaotic five minutes of your media day?”
Lando blinked. “Wait, I thought this was the fun segment.”
“It is,” YN said sweetly. “For me.”
The camera light flipped on. She didn’t hesitate.
“Alright. Rapid fire. Who’s the most competitive between the two of you?”
“Oscar,” Lando said, before she finished the question.
“Me,” Oscar echoed a second later.
YN raised an eyebrow. “Wow. A healthy relationship built on lies. Love that.”
Both drivers laughed, the kind that was a little too relaxed for media. Oscar leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, expression open in that quiet, unreadable way of his. “I think the real question is who’s more competitive—you or Pato.”
“Me,” she replied without blinking. “Obviously. Pato cries when he loses Uno.”
Lando let out an actual snort, slouching further in his seat. “You’re joking.”
“This is supposed to be you spilling their secrets. Leave me out of this!” Pato shouted from the other side of the room.
“Wait—can we get her on the sim? I want to see this competitiveness in action.”
YN tilted her head toward Lando. “Are you inviting me to race you or flirt with me disguised as a challenge?”
Oscar’s eyebrows shot up. Lando blinked.
Then grinned. “Both,” he said casually. “Is that not allowed?”
“Nope, not allowed!” Pato shouted again.
She pushed on.
“Okay. Last question— if you had to tell me a secret or lose your qualifying spot, what are you admitting?”
Oscar was first. “You’re terrifyingly good at this.”
“And,” Lando added, after just a beat, “you look really good in papaya.”
The room went still.
YN blinked. “Wow. That was dangerously close to flirting.”
“Dangerously?” Oscar asked, raising a brow.
She leaned back, pen tapping her notepad. “You two planning on fighting about it or…?”
Lando chuckled. “Not unless you ask us to.”
YN glanced at the camera and smirked. “This is absolutely turning into a reality show. I want executive producer credit.”
The light clicked off. Cameras stopped.
But none of them moved.
Oscar cleared his throat. “Do we… actually have five more minutes?”
Lando looked at her. “Because I definitely have more secrets.”
YN smiled—bright, daring, and completely unfazed.
“Then let’s keep rolling.”
—
“She’s dangerous,” Lando said quietly.
Oscar glanced up. “You’re just now realizing that?”
Lando huffed a laugh, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “No. I’ve known. I just thought I was better at handling it.”
Oscar took a sip of water, eyes narrowing slightly. “And now?”
“She asked if I was flirting with her and I agreed, mate.” Lando let his head fall back against the cushion. “On camera.”
Oscar’s lips twitched. “You kind of were.”
“You were too.”
Oscar didn’t deny it. He crossed his arms instead, fingers tightening briefly. “She makes it easy.”
Lando looked at him, really looked at him, the way he only did when they weren’t being watched. “So… what are we doing?”
Oscar didn’t answer immediately.
The silence settled between them, not uncomfortable—just heavy. Real.
“You and I…” Oscar started, voice low. “We’ve always been… whatever this is. Quiet. Safe. Ours.”
Lando nodded once. “Yeah.”
“And then she shows up. And suddenly, we’re laughing harder. Acting dumber. Getting caught feeling things on camera like idiots.”
Lando leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes sharp now. “So what, Oscar? Are we scared it’s not just us anymore?”
Oscar didn’t flinch. “I think we’re scared it could be something bigger. Something real.”
That hung in the air like humidity—thick, undeniable.
Lando’s voice softened. “Do you want her?”
Oscar looked at him. “Do you?”
Lando didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Oscar exhaled slowly. “Me too.”
They sat there in silence again. But this time, it was understanding. Alignment.
Then Lando smirked, breaking the weight of it with a tilt of his head. “Think she has any idea what she’s doing to us?”
Oscar gave a small laugh. “She definitely knows. She’s just waiting for us to say it out loud.”
Lando stood up, stretching. “Then we better start figuring out how to say it… together.”
Oscar looked up at him, expression unreadable—but the faint smile gave him away. “Together?”
Lando nodded. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No secrets. No one left out.”
Oscar stood too, grabbing his phone. “Then we should text her.”
Lando raised a brow. “Now?”
Oscar smiled. “Before we change our minds.”
—
lando
ynnnnnnn
read at 6:56 pm
yn
landooooo
what’s up guys 🐡
read at 7:00 pm
oscar
we want to see you again. soon.
read at 7:05 pm
lando
we can’t stop thinking about you
read at 7:05 pm
yn
you guys have a little break right???
read at 7:10 pm
oscar
yep
read at 7:12 pm
yn
come to pato’s race next week! i can show you around:)
read at 7:15 pm
lando
we will be there:)
read at 7:20 pm
oscar
see you then pretty girl
read at 7:20 pm
—
ynowardddd

liked by lando, patriciooward, elbaoward & 1,583,907 others.
ynowardddd : life update ft proof of pato being a whiny baby during uno
—
patriciooward : DEFAMATION. i have been framed.
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : you were losing AND crying. pick a struggle please
liked by elbaoward
elbaoward : the great uno incident of 2025🥴
liked by patriciooward and ynowardddd
oscarpiastri : that last photo…bold of you to test our curiosity like that
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : like to keep people on the edge of their seat;)
liked by oscarpiastri
username00 : drop the act piastri we know it’s you
username15 : but then that other picture looks like lando
username10 : so confused
lando : happy to be your personal chauffeur for the week
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : thank you lannnnn💋
liked by lando
username15 : BOOOM confirmed
username00 : that other picture is def oscar tho
—
your pov
I didn’t think they’d actually come.
When I texted Lando and Oscar, it was mostly a joke. A cheeky little “come to St. Pete, witness Pato self-destruct over Uno in real time”.
But then they showed up.
Actually showed up. In Florida. For me.
It felt like something shifted the second I saw them in the paddock. Not just because they looked good — which, obviously, they did — but because suddenly the whole place felt different. Like lighter. Louder. Warmer.
Lando walked in with that usual smug grin, sunglasses on, acting like he hadn’t just materialized in my world like a walking distraction. Oscar had this soft smile, quieter but somehow more intense — like he saw everything and was choosing not to say it yet.
And the wildest part? They stuck with me the entire day.
Pato laughed at how quickly they became part of the fold. Elba handed Oscar the leash to our corgi without hesitation. Lando filmed half a TikTok with us before pretending it ruined his reputation. I couldn’t stop laughing. I couldn’t stop looking. And they kept looking back.
Not in the way guys do when they’re being polite. But like… they were memorizing something. Like I was the most interesting thing in the room — in a room full of cameras and engines and chaos.
By the time the race ended and Pato disappeared into debriefs, I found myself sitting with them on the hood of a random golf cart, legs dangling, watching the sky go gold.
“He actually cried during Uno,” Lando said, half in disbelief.
“There were actual tears,” Oscar agreed, handing me his water bottle like it was second nature.
“He flipped the table,” I added, grinning.
They laughed, and for a second, everything was soft.
Then Lando turned toward me, voice lower. “So… dinner?”
I blinked. “What?”
Oscar looked at me too. Not teasing. Not light. Just… real. “Dinner. With us.”
My heart did this dumb thing where it skipped. Tripped. Something. Because they weren’t just asking me to hang out. They were asking. Lando. Oscar. Together.
I didn’t say anything for a beat. The sun was behind them, and my chest felt too warm for how much wind was in the air.
But then I smiled. “Only if I pick the place.”
Oscar nodded once. “Deal.”
Lando’s grin widened. “And we pay.”
Oscar added, “And we finally tell you the rest of the secrets we wouldn’t spill on camera.”
I leaned back on my palms, trying to play it cool, even though everything inside me was spiraling just a little. “Then you better order dessert.”
Neither of them looked away.
—
The ocean’s a few yards away. The restaurant is small, tucked just off the sand with string lights above us and music humming low through old speakers. The plates between us are mostly empty, but none of us seem to notice.
Oscar speaks first. “This feels like the right time to say something, doesn’t it?”
Lando glances at him, then nods. “Yeah.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay… what are we saying?”
Oscar’s gaze slides to me. “That we like you.”
The words don’t hit me all at once. They sort of… settle. Softly. Like something I already knew but hadn’t let myself believe.
Lando shifts in his seat, tone lighter but still honest. “Both of us. We’ve been talking about it.”
“And thinking about it,” Oscar adds, his voice lower now. “More than we probably should’ve.”
My heart’s thudding way too fast. “You guys are joking.”
“We’re not,” Lando says, suddenly serious. “We didn’t plan it. It just… happened. And we didn’t want to make things weird, especially not with the three of us. But then you invited us today, and it felt like—”
“—like maybe you felt it too,” Oscar finishes.
I can barely breathe.
I don’t know what I expected from tonight — maybe just more of the same teasing, the same comfortable closeness I’d started craving more than I should. But this? Them sitting here, nervous and real, asking me without really asking?
It’s so much.
And yet, somehow, not overwhelming. Just right.
I look between them. “And what exactly are you asking?”
Lando doesn’t hesitate. “We want to try. The three of us.”
Oscar nods. “Only if you want that too.”
There’s a beat of silence where all I can hear is the clink of silverware and the crash of waves just beyond the wall. The warmth in my chest spreads like something waking up.
And then I smile. It’s small at first, but it grows. “You guys are idiots.”
They both freeze for a second.
“But I like you too,” I say, shrugging a little, cheeks heating. “Both of you. And… yeah. I think I want this.”
Lando grins, that boyish, brilliant thing that makes my heart trip over itself.
Oscar’s smile is softer, but no less warm. “You sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Lando raises his glass. “To us, then.”
Oscar clinks his against it. “All three of us.”
—
The beach is almost empty by the time we wander down from the restaurant — the last scraps of sunlight bleeding into the horizon, waves folding over the sand like they’re in no hurry. None of us say anything for a while. Oscar’s on my right, our arms brushing every so often. Lando’s on my left, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes on the ocean. We’re not touching, not quite, but the space between us hums like tension stretched thin. I glance at them — at Lando’s smile softened by the dark, at Oscar’s profile lit in gold by the last bit of sky — and for a second, it’s all I can do to keep breathing. Because it’s real now. Not just banter. Not just glances that last too long. Not just something unspoken. They want me. I want them. And somehow, impossibly, they want this — together.
“You know,” Lando says suddenly, voice low, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous around someone before.”
Oscar laughs under his breath. “Same. And we’ve literally crashed cars at 200 mph.”
I smile, toes digging into the cool sand. “Well, I am terrifying.”
Lando looks at me then, something in his eyes shifting — not teasing this time. Just warm. Unfiltered.
“You’re kind of everything,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it.
My breath catches.
Oscar stops walking. When I turn to face him, he’s already looking at me.
“We don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “Not with you. Not with each other. But if you want this — really want this — we’re in. All in.”
The air goes still between us, salt clinging to my skin, wind in my hair.
And then I step forward — just a little — and reach for them.
Oscar’s hand finds mine first, grounding and warm. Lando’s fingers brush my wrist a second later, and suddenly I’m in the space between them, pulled close, tucked into something that feels so safe I could fall into it forever.
Lando presses his forehead to mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re sure?”
I nod, heart thudding. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Oscar’s hand curls around my waist, firm but gentle, and when he leans in, his lips brush my temple like a promise.
Then Lando kisses me.
It’s soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid to push too far too fast — like he’s savoring every second. And when he pulls back, Oscar leans in next, just as gentle, just as real. His kiss lingers, steadier, more grounding than I expected. I don’t know how long we stand there — the three of us, caught in this quiet little moment under the darkening sky — but I know I don’t want it to end. Because I’m not just falling for them. I’m already in it.
—
oscarpiastri

liked by ynowardddd, lando, mclaren & 2,279,754 others.
oscarpiastri : Exploring.
—
username5 : exploring whom, mr piastri?🤔
mclaren : oooo soft launch??
username15 : admin what do you know??🔪
mclaren : 🤐
ynowardddd : adorbs
liked by oscarpiastri
lando : s’cute
liked by oscarpiastri
username15 : ^^^???
—
lando

liked by ynowardddd, oscarpiastri, patriciooward & 2,289,974 others.
lando : off the grid
—
ynowardddd : wow both of you in your soft launch era I can’t keep up
liked by lando and oscarpiastri
lando : like to keep people on the edge of their seats;)
oscarpiastri : just had to steal my spotlight huh?
liked by lando
lando : I could never osco
liked by oscarpiastri
username5 : WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?
username10 : are they hard launching the same girl??? they look so similar
username15 : I am still so confused
carlossainz55 : cheeky
liked by lando
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ynowardddd

liked by patriciooward, elbaoward, lando & 2,457,887 others.
ynowardddd : had the three most handsome dates to the gala 🧡
—
mclaren : our faves🧡🧡
liked by ynowardddd
arrowmclaren : soooo cute!!
liked by ynowardddd
username00 : they were both just soft launching but went to the gala with yn and pato?
username15 : what if they are with yn?
username10 : throuple??
lando : who is the most handsome though? (me)
patriciooward : don’t start. it’s clearly me.
ynowardddd : already arguing like true brothers
patriciooward : 🤮
oscarpiastri : whoever helped you pick out that dress deserves a kiss
liked by ynowardddd
ynowardddd : gave him plenty
—
The gala is very McLaren — sleek, minimal, orange everywhere, with a million little details that make the night feel expensive. I’m in a dress Oscar helped me pick and Lando has already spun me around twice, just to be “obnoxiously proud” of how good we all clean up. Pato arrives fashionably late, naturally. I spot him across the room in a sharp black suit, talking to someone from Arrow, probably cracking a joke about how he nearly flipped a simulator during testing. I excuse myself from Lando and Oscar and make my way toward him, heels clicking softly across the floor.
“Don’t look so serious,” I say, nudging him lightly in the ribs.
He lights up the second he sees me. “Mira nomás, if it isn’t Miss McLaren herself.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop.”
He glances around. “Where are your boyfriends?”
It takes me a second too long to answer. He blinks.
“Wait—what? That pause was suspicious.”
I chew the inside of my cheek and sigh. “Okay, so… don’t make a scene.”
His eyebrows lift. “That’s not reassuring.”
Before I can say anything else, Lando and Oscar appear on either side of me — perfectly timed, like they planned the entrance. Oscar offers a small wave, cool and quiet. Lando, of course, grins like he’s having the time of his life.
Pato looks between us.
Then back at me.
Then at them again.
“…Are you joking?”
I shake my head slowly.
Lando rubs the back of his neck, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “We were gonna tell you sooner. Just… wasn’t sure how.”
Oscar adds, “We didn’t want it to be weird.”
“It’s not weird,” I say quickly, then glance at Pato. “Right?”
Pato stares at us for a moment — one beat, two — then lets out the most dramatic sigh I’ve ever heard.
“Oh, come on,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “It couldn’t have been just one of you dating her? It had to be both?”
Lando chokes on a laugh. Oscar smiles against the rim of his champagne glass. I feel my chest loosen a little.
Pato narrows his eyes at them, mock serious. “You’re telling me I have to approve two men now instead of one? Double the background checks? Double the overprotective speeches?”
“You were gonna give a speech?” I grin.
“Obviously,” he deadpans. “I had a whole monologue prepared.”
Lando throws an arm around Pato’s shoulder. “Admit it, you love us.”
Pato groans. “I tolerate you. For her.”
Oscar just raises his glass slightly, amused. “We’re very grateful.”
Pato points at him. “Don’t be smug, Piastri. I still know where you live.”
But then he looks at me again, and all the teasing slips away just enough to let something warmer through.
“You’re happy?”
I nod, smile soft. “Yeah. I really am.”
He stares at me for a second, then gives a small shrug. “Then that’s all that matters.”
He pauses. “But if either of you so much as make her cry—”
“We won’t,” Lando says quickly.
Oscar just nods again, more serious this time. “We mean that.”
Pato takes a deep breath, shakes his head like he still can’t believe it, then raises his glass.
“To the chaos trio,” he mutters. “And to YN, for somehow managing to date both of McLaren’s emotionally constipated golden boys.”
I burst out laughing. Lando gasps. Oscar gives a small, guilty shrug.
And just like that, everything feels settled.
—
oscarpiastri

liked by lando, ynowardddd, patriciooward & 2,345,908 others.
oscarpiastri : all mine…both of them :)
—
lando : oh I didn’t know we were doing this today. LOVE YOU BOTH SO MUCH!!!!
liked by oscarpiastri and ynowardddd
ynowardddd : we love you moreeeeee
liked by lando and oscarpiastri
ynowardddd : my oscahhhh ur so cute
liked by oscarpiastri
oscarpiastri : you are the cutest ever
liked by ynowardddd
nicolepiastri : no call oscar? no introduction? i knew you and lando would end up together but id love to meet this beautiful lady as well
liked by lando, oscarpiastri and ynowardddd
oscarpiastri : soon mum i promise
mclaren : YAYYYYYY!!!!!!
hattiepiastri : how did you both get someone as pretty as her????
liked by ynowardddd, patriciooward, lando and oscarpiastri
—
ynowardddd

liked by lando, elbaoward, oscarpiastri & 2,798,054 others.
ynowardddd : being the papaya princess wasn’t enough…i had to make both mclaren boys mine
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elbaoward : more brothers??? sigh
elbaoward : but so happy you’re happy mi hermana
liked by ynowardddd, lando, oscarpiastri and patriciooward
lando : you know you love us elbaaaaaa
liked by elbaoward
lando : the prettiest princess in the world
liked by ynowardddd and patriciooward
georgerussell63 : collected the mclaren boys like infinity stones…i respect it
liked by ynowardddd
username00 : i know zak brown is somewhere giggling and kicking his feet rn
patriciooward : he is
patriciooward : when I used to joke and call them your boyfriends I didn’t expect you to make it literal
liked by ynowardddd, lando and oscarpiastri
ynowardddd : my bad
—
lando

liked by oscarpiastri, ynowardddd, patriciooward & 4,787,054 others.
lando : landoscar + their wag
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oscarpiastri : remind me to approve your captions next time
liked by lando, patriciooward and ynowardddd
elbaoward : disgustingly cute
liked by lando, oscarpiastri & ynowardddd
patriciooward : wag? she is basically running the whole company rn
liked by lando, oscarpiastri and ynowardddd
zakbrownceo : if this ends in a constructors championship you will be my favorite, yn.
liked by lando, oscarpiastri, ynowardddd and patriciooward
patriciooward : she is already your favorite
zakbrownceo : oh yeah oops
—
🌱🐢🐞🌍🌳🌛☄️🍂🍄
#formula 1#f1 fanfic#f1 smau#f1 social media au#f1 x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#indycar#pato o'ward#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando fluff#lando x you#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri#op81 x reader#op81#ln4 x y/n#ln4 fluff#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#landoscar x reader#lando x reader#f1 fluff#f1 poly#f1 polyamory#f1 poly fic#lando norris x reader x Oscar Piastri
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almost lost you (part 2)
firefighter!rafe cameron x best friend’s little sister!reader
summary: topper discovers yours and rafe’s secret
the sirens fade into a dull hum as the ambulance doors slam shut behind rafe. he’s inside with you, holding your hand like a lifeline, his fire gear still half on, face smeared with soot, eyes locked on yours even though they keep fluttering closed.
“her o2’s dropping,” a paramedic mutters. “we need to get her to memorial. now.”
rafe doesn’t let go. not when they push oxygen over your face. not when they insert the iv. not even when topper tries to climb in and is told there’s no room.
“she’ll want me with her,” rafe says lowly, not looking away.
the paramedics glance at each other but don’t argue.
⸻
hours later, the hospital is quiet. the worst of it is over.
you’re resting in a room upstairs, stable now—breathing, awake, but weak. the doctors say you were lucky. rafe knows better. he knows he was lucky. one more minute and—
he exhales shakily, gripping the edge of the sink in the hallway. his hands are still trembling.
“you wanna tell me what the hell that was?” topper’s voice breaks the silence.
rafe turns, slowly. his best friend is standing there, arms crossed, eyes hard—but also confused. shaken. he’s been pacing the waiting room for hours, rafe knows.
“i was going to tell you,” rafe says, voice hoarse.
“for how long?” topper steps closer. “how long have you been—”
“months,” rafe cuts in. “since december.”
topper’s jaw tightens. “you’re my best friend, man.”
“i know.”
“she’s my sister.”
“i know.”
“and you didn’t think i deserved to know?”
rafe looks down. then back up. “i didn’t want to screw it up before i knew it was real.”
“and now?”
rafe swallows hard. “now i’d burn the whole world down to keep her safe.”
there’s a long pause. the weight of the night settles over both of them.
finally, topper sighs. “is she okay?”
“she will be.”
they both glance toward the room. you’re lying in the hospital bed, iv trailing from your arm, eyes closed again—but calmer now.
“she asked for you,” a nurse says, walking up quietly.
rafe moves without hesitation.
⸻
inside, it’s dim. the beep of the monitor is steady. you stir when he brushes your hair from your face.
“hey,” you whisper, voice raspy.
his throat tightens. “hi, baby. you scared the hell out of me.”
“i’m okay,” you murmur.
“you weren’t.” he sits on the edge of the bed. “i thought i lost you.”
you reach for his hand, squeezing weakly. “you didn’t.”
he leans down, presses his forehead to yours. “topper knows.”
your eyes flutter open. “what’d he say?”
rafe exhales a tired laugh. “didn’t punch me. that’s a win.”
you smile, but your eyes well up. “i was calling for you.”
“i heard you,” he says. “i’ll always hear you.”
and for the first time all night, the weight in rafe’s chest lifts—because you’re here. you’re safe. and he’s not hiding anymore.
“rest now,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “i’ve got you.”
and he always will.

#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron angst
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Stupid Interview
no use of y/n bc im sick of it atp || obvs this isn't a real actress||
pairing; Paige Bueckers x famous actress reader
warnings; none that I can think of there might be brain rot but its used jokingly (im chronically online with the humor of a middle schooler)
summary; Josephine Carter does an interview on the tonight show where she reveals her passion for watching upon wbb and how she thinks Paige Bueckers is attractive.
||
You're currently backstage waiting to come out as Jimmy Fallon is introducing you. You've been acting since you were little, mainly smaller roles when younger but the second you graduated high school and turned 18 you went into it full time. You went to college but opted for online with your busy schedule.
It wasn't overnight but you got good role in a movie over a year ago and since then producers have been knocking down your door asking you to be in their next movie. It's honestly a dream come true being able to do what you love and have people praise you for it.
And 1 year and 3 movies later you are now pretty well known you've been told. Think like Glen Powell and how everyone knows him now but they didn't really before top gun. That's what people are saying happened with you as well. And this is the first interview you've done in months that hasn't been press for a movie and you're excited.
"The talented and beautiful actress Josephine Carter!" He says enthusiastically to the crowd who starts cheering at the sound of your name and even louder once you step out onto the stage.
You hug jimmy and sit down.
"So Josephine you've really been busy this past year and I mean really because you just wrapped filming a movie which makes that your third appearance on our screens this year which is just unbelievable" Jimmy says in awe.
"woah when you put it like that it does sound a little crazy. Im honestly so grateful that I have been able to work so much recently and each project ive done has been so amazing and I really just poured my soul into each role and am really proud of all of it"
"Yeah it's incredible what you've produced for us both on and off screen as you have been seeing giving back to the community a lot as well as getting your degree. I mean wow you're just on fire lately"
"Oh god yeah honestly I've always liked school and im graduating in May and I feel good and Im proud of everything ive achieved right now. Im just ready for what comes next"
"Speaking of what comes next what is award winning actress Josephine Carter going to do this next month? We know you start filming yet another movie in April but what about March? Any plans?"
"Not that I can- Oh! Yes! Actually big plans. Im watching march madness. Anyone who knows me knows that im invested and I have been for a while now so that's my entire month right there" you say laughing as the end
"March Madness that's a little unexpected? Mens or Women's?"
"Women's of course. And I dont know, ive been watching since Sophomore year of high school and right now this year im particularly invested" you say laughing at the way you know your friends have had to listen to you talk about Paige Bueckers and how she deserves to win countless times by now.
"what's peaked your interest this year that makes it so special?" jimmy asked genuinely curious along with the audience who is waiting for your answer.
"Well you've hears of Paige Bueckers. I mean her story and the entire uconn teams story these past 5 years have just been so heartbreaking as well as inspirational and everything they've overcome together and especially her. I just genuinely think that not only the team has the talent and commitment to win but that they all deserve this one that they truly should win and it would just be the perfect storybook ending if they do. Oh god that was such a yap attack im sorry. my friends say I can get pretty passionate when talking about this" you say blushing hard from embarrassment of rambling.
"No that was very interesting and I think we can all tell you aren't just a casual watcher which makes it all the better. Do you plan on going in person? Supporting Uconn?"
"I dont think so. I mean ill be checking tickets but I dont know it might be too late to get tickets but I will be watching every game no matter what"
the interview goes on and you and jimmy have good banter back and forth. You mention Paige a couple of times while talking about UConn of course as well as answering some questions about your upcoming movie as well as how you school life has been especially not that your done soon.
"Alright Josephine last question of the night... Who is your favorite uconn player and why?"
"Oh god" you say putting your hands on your face to cover you blush
"right ill be honest since I doubt they know who I am or that they'll see this but uh... Paige Bueckers and the why, I mean ive seen clips of her and read the articles, she seems like a good person and you can tell its genuine.. but also have you seen how attractive she is?" you say smiling and blushing HARD.
"I mean she's 6'0 with the bluest eyes and she's just so beautiful how is she not everyone favorite?" you say blushing even harder but laughing just as hard at your own bluntness.
"I cant believe I just said that. Cut that out!" you say to jimmy and turning to look at the producers.
"Well Josephine this is live sorry to say but as always it was a pleasure having you as well as learning about your little crush. Josephine Carter everybody!" jimmy says hugging you goodbye before you walk off.
You reach backstage before it hits you that you just admitted to the entire world that you think Paige Bueckers is fine. No big deal right? How much can you guys fans really overlap? Maybe this interview won't do well you think to yourself.
NEXT DAY*
The end clip of the interview of you detailing exactly just how pretty you think Paige Bueckers is has gone viral. Your entire FYP and probably everyone else's shows different clips of you smiling like an idiot while talking about her and you just want to live in the ignorance of thinking that Paige hasn't seen it even though there's no way thats possible at this point 7.5 million views later in just under 20 hours.
You might be fucked but ignorance is bliss and thats how you're choosing to handle this.
then you get an alert on instagram, Kk Arnold is going live. of course you click on it always enjoying watching them when you catch their lives.
You join and its just Kk talking to someone off camera telling them to come sit down since the live started. Paige comes to sit down and your heart drops when you look at the comments.
'PAIGE PAIGE DID YOU SEE THE INTERVIEW'
'Josephine Carter thinks you're fine!'
'PAGIE GO WATCH THE TONIGHT SHOW INTERVIEW'
'Paige you should dm josephine'
'Paige did you see what Josephine Carter said about you??'
Kk and Paige read the comments but not out loud. God could this get any more embracing?
You got a pop up on the screen telling to request to join. You always click no you've never requested before and you weren't gonna start now you thought to yourself.
But as fate would have it your dog wanted attention at the exact wrong moment and moves your hand causing you to click request to join instead of the 'x' in the corner and managed to knock your phone onto the floor making you not notice.
You reach down to grab your phone only to come back and see Paige is blushing HARD at Kk's phone and Kk has the biggest most evil smirk on her face. You wonder what possibly could have caused this but then a second later your face appears on screen next to them on the live.
oh shit.
"Are you the real Josephine Carter?" Kk speaks first
"oh um yeah I am. Sorry about the request I didn't mean to but my dog made my phone slip and stuff." you say laughing at yourself awkwardly
"Oh hey you're totally fine im glad you did actually because P Boogers over here has been going crazy that her favorite actress knows who she is"
You laugh at that "why wouldn't I? you guys are famous"
"We're famous? Girl boo I guess we kinda are but anyway we seen the interview or at least the TikTok clips of it. You into Paige or what?" she says very excitedly with the biggest smile
"Woah there Kk Im sorry about her. But I saw the interview. You really know who I am huh?" Paige says cockily
"alright alright I do but I mean everyone on this live knows who you are and agrees with me on what I said in that stupid interview. And I can sleep happily tonight know thing there's new clips for edits tomorrow" you say the last part half jokingly but you know you'll end up getting them on your fyp tomorrow.
"You're a fan of the edits? good to know" Paige says
"stop acting like I didn't tell the whole world you're fine shyt yesterday"
kk and Paige burst out laughing at this and you cant help but feel proud that you made her laugh.
"Don't worry Josephine your little rant on Paige last night could not compare to this video we all have of her talking about you." Paige at this comment tried to cover her friends mouth in attempt to get her to stop but Kk wasn't having it prying Paiges hand off her to continue.
"yeah she had us go see your new movie 3 months ago and we got back to her apartment and she would not shut up about how beautiful you are and how your acting is so good and everything about you. so trust she's just as obsessed or even more"
"No bro don't listen to her she's lying" Paige tries to defend but its no use as you know people have already clipped it and Paiges smile and bright pink cheeks have you believe Kk over her.
"Mmmm I think I believe Kk. but I am very flattered Paige it's always a pleasure to know someone likes my movies" you say trying to act nonchalant but failing
"okay so boom! like you have to come to one of the tournament games girly pop!"
"I'll look but there's probably no good tickets left. Il'l let you guys know if I decide to go though!" suddenly your dog comes and jumps onto your bed to howl in your face begging for attention.
"is that your dog?" Paige asks
"yeah she just wants some attention right now. I swear she hates it when i'm on my phone." you say laughing slightly and turning the camera to show your dog laying on her back with you scratching her belly.
"Wait you have a husky?!" Kk and Paige ask at the same time
"yeah I do! her name is nova" before they can reply nova gets up and walks to the front door begging to be let out for a walk you know you should have taken her on 20 minutes ago.
"alright guys thank you for having me but I gotta take her on a walk! It was great talking to you and I'll let you know if I go watch. bye everybody!" you say as you click off the live but before you close the app you follow both of them on instagram.
@paigebueckers started following you!
@kamoreaarnold started following you!
paigebueckers sent you a message!
your heart skips a beat. Maybe you'll try a little harder in your search for tickets.
||
thanks for reading lovelies part 2?
request are open lmk thoughts or any ideas in the comments
#paige bueckers#paige buckets#paige blockers#uconn#paige x reader#uconn huskies#paige bueckers uconn#paige x azzi#uconn basketball#wnba basketball#dallas wings#uconn wbb#uconn women’s basketball#uconn x reader#uconnwbb#wnba x reader#wnba draft#wnba players#wnba#nika muhl#pazzi fics#my fics#kk arnold#paigebueckers#uconn womens basketball#pazzi
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WHEN THE CITY FALLS | OP81/LS2
an: hello! so this is what ive been cooking up behind your backs recently, a 14k logan? oscar? fic i dont exactly know who the love intrest is per say but its a spiderman!oscar au. so enjoy this story as it has taken a long long time to write lol
wc: 14.8k
summary: three close friends drift apart when one disappears for two years and returns with wealth, ambition, and a dangerous invention. as his creation spirals out of control, the city teeters on the edge of destruction. in the chaos, hidden truths emerge, and one of them may be the only hope left to stop it.
NEW YORK IN THE WINTER WAS ALWAYS A LITTLE CRUEL. The wind rolled in off the river with a bitterness that got under your skin, finding the gaps between scarves and sleeves, and the sky sat heavy above the skyline like it had nowhere else to go. Snow hadn't fallen yet, not properly, but there was the threat of it in the air, sharp and metallic, like something unsaid.
She stood at the corner of Delancey and Ridge, boots damp from the puddles left by yesterday’s half-hearted rain, a coffee gone cold in her gloved hands. Across the street, the lights of a bodega buzzed with the familiar, uninviting warmth of too-bright fluorescents. She could hear someone shouting in Spanish two blocks down, the rumble of the subway far beneath her feet, and above it all, the ceaseless, aching pulse of the city.
Logan used to say New York had a heartbeat. That you could feel it if you were quiet enough. But Logan was never quiet for long.
She hadn't seen him in months.
Not properly, anyway.
Logan Sargeant had always been too much. Too sharp, too quick, too beautiful in the kind of way that hurt to look at for too long. He’d grown into a man that mirrored the city. Cold on the outside, burning with something dangerous just beneath the surface. Blond hair, now cut short, framed eyes too blue to be kind. His childhood had carved out pieces of him, taken soft things and turned them to steel. And still, for a long time, he’d been theirs, hers and Oscar’s. Until he wasn’t.
Oscar Piastri was different. Always had been. Quiet, but not shy. He had the sort of presence that didn’t need to announce itself. A boy with calloused fingers from too many sketchbooks and eyes that saw more than they ever let on. He still lived two floors above her in the same battered brownstone they’d all grown up in, still fixed her leaky taps when she asked, still brought her takeout when she forgot to eat. Sweet, reliable Oscar. But even he was changing, these days.
There were nights he didn’t come home. Cuts he didn’t explain. That distant look she caught in the reflection of a window, right before he smiled and asked her how her day had been.
Everything was shifting, and she could feel it, like standing on the edge of something vast, something waiting to fall apart.
She remembered a time when the three of them had belonged to each other. Summers on rooftops with cheap beer and even cheaper laughter. Nights spent stargazing through fire escapes, hands brushing by accident. Secrets shared like promises.
But that was before Logan disappeared for two years. Before he came back stranger than before—richer, smarter, colder. Before Oscar started vanishing into alleyways and coming back with bruises and excuses.
Now, something hung between all of them. Not quite memory, not quite betrayal.
And she was standing in the middle of it, still hoping, naively, foolishly, that maybe she could hold the pieces together.
Even as they splintered around her.
The wind changed, and she caught the distant clang of scaffolding in motion, another high-rise going up on the Lower East Side, another piece of sky eaten by glass and ambition. She turned down a narrow street flanked by graffiti-covered brick and bins overflowing with city decay, the coffee still untouched in her hand.
There were footsteps behind her: light, familiar.
"You're late," she said, without turning.
Oscar fell into step beside her, his jacket dusted with street grime, hood drawn up against the wind. There was something restless in the way he moved, like his skin didn't quite fit anymore.
"Sorry," he murmured, giving her a sheepish glance. "Had to... help someone out."
She didn't press. Not anymore. The last time she’d asked, he’d lied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
"You look like you've been in a fight," she said instead, eyeing the faint bruise along his jaw.
He gave a quiet laugh. "You should see the other guy."
It was a joke, but it didn’t land. The silence that followed was too familiar. Worn in, like old denim.
She paused at a crosswalk, watching as a cab tore through a red light like the rules didn’t apply. That was the thing about New York. It moved too fast for second chances.
"I ran into Logan yesterday," Oscar said, and the words hit like ice down the spine.
She turned slowly, the name sitting between them like a fault line.
"Where?"
"Midtown. He was just... there. Like he hadn’t disappeared for two years. Wearing some tailored coat and that look he gets when he knows something you don’t."
That look. She knew it too well. The one that made you feel like a puzzle he’d already solved and was just humouring.
Oscar shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw clenched. "He said he wanted to talk. Said he was back for good this time."
"Do you believe him?"
Oscar didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was soft. Tired.
"I don’t know. He’s not the same."
Neither are you, she thought, but didn’t say it.
They walked the next block in silence. It was colder now, the clouds thickening, and her coffee had definitely gone bad. Still, she didn’t let go of it. Something about the weight of it grounded her.
"He asked about you," Oscar said suddenly, his tone unreadable.
Her throat tightened. "What did you say?"
"That you were still here. Still... you."
She looked away. That word felt fragile these days. Like it didn’t mean what it used to.
They stopped outside her building, the stoop still half-covered in yellow leaves that no one had bothered to sweep. The same chipped door. The same rusted letterbox. A world still standing while everything else was quietly coming undone.
Oscar hesitated, eyes lingering on her face like he was memorising it.
"Be careful, yeah?" he said.
"With Logan?"
He gave a short nod.
She wanted to ask him what he knew. What he suspected. But the city was humming again, loud and unrelenting, and she felt suddenly very small beneath it.
Oscar left her with a quiet goodbye and the echo of footsteps on cracked pavement.
She stood there a while longer, staring up at the sky as the first snow began to fall, soft, almost shy, like the city had remembered how to be gentle.
But she knew better.
Some storms didn’t come with thunder.
They came wearing familiar faces.
The lift in her building had been broken since August. The landlord kept saying it was “on the list,” but she wasn’t sure he even knew what a list was. So she climbed the stairs. Twelve floors, each one creaking like it might finally give in under her boots.
By the tenth, her breath was shallow, and her limbs ached with the kind of fatigue that had nothing to do with the stairs. She reached the twelfth landing, paused to collect herself, and then pushed open the heavy fire door.
He was there.
Leaning against the railing of the communal balcony like he'd never left. Like he hadn't vanished without warning and taken something irreplaceable with him. The skyline was a blurred grey behind him and for a second she almost saw the boy he'd been. Grinning, brilliant, with a laugh that carried across rooftops.
"Thought I heard someone dragging their feet up here," Logan said without turning, his voice still that maddening blend of silk and smirk.
She crossed her arms, wary. "You're not supposed to be up here. They locked this level last year after the whole scaffolding incident."
He looked over his shoulder at her, blue eyes lit with mischief and something darker. "Good to know some things never change. You, playing by the rules."
"And you, breaking them."
He laughed, low and easy, and it stung how much of her still responded to that sound.
"Come on," he said, pushing off the railing and walking towards her, hands in the pockets of a coat that looked expensive, like everything he owned now. "I haven’t seen you in how long, and that’s the greeting I get?"
She tilted her head. "You’re lucky you’re getting anything at all."
He stopped in front of her, closer than comfort allowed, and for a breath she thought he might apologise. But Logan Sargeant had never been good with guilt. He just looked at her like he was still trying to work her out, still trying to stay two steps ahead.
"You look the same," he murmured. "Only sharper. Like the city’s finally caught up with you."
"And you look like you just stepped out of a stock portfolio."
He grinned. "Guilty. I’ve done alright for myself."
She narrowed her eyes. "Doing what, exactly?"
He glanced away, then back, the grin fading into something more deliberate. Calculated.
"That’s actually why I’m here."
"Right. You didn’t just come back to loiter on rooftops and haunt old friends."
He chuckled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’ve been working on something. A project. Something big."
She didn’t answer, just waited, still as the concrete beneath them.
"It’s tech," he continued, leaning on the railing again, gaze drifting out over the city. "Osc—well, he wouldn’t get it. He’s got his whole... moral compass thing going. But you always saw things clearer."
"You mean I didn’t try to stop you when you crossed lines."
"No," he said, with a flash of sincerity. "You understood why I crossed them."
That silenced her.
"I need someone who can help me with the neurological interface part," Logan said after a pause. "It’s experimental. Military-adjacent, but I’m reworking the design. Smarter, more elegant. I’ve hit a wall."
"And you thought of me."
He looked at her again. This time, there was no smirk. Just that boy she used to know, hidden somewhere behind too many sleepless nights and bad decisions.
"I never stopped thinking about you."
The lights flickered above them, a thousand pinpricks in the corridor.
"I’ll send you the specs," he said, without much more, heading toward the stairwell. "Just have a look. That’s all I’m asking."
He paused at the door.
"I missed you."
Then he was gone.
And she stood there alone with her cold coffee and thoughts, because the boy she’d loved was still in there somewhere.
But something else was growing in him, too.
Something dangerous.
Her flat still smelled faintly of jasmine and burnt toast. Comfort and chaos in equal measure. She tossed her keys onto the counter, kicked off her boots, and tried not to think about how Logan had sounded when he said I missed you.
She failed, obviously.
The email came in not long after she’d switched on the little lamp by the sofa, its warm glow chasing away the creeping dusk. Subject line: Interface: concept files. No message, just the attachment. Classic Logan. All mystery, no manners.
She hesitated before opening it. Something in her gut twisted, instinct honed over years of knowing when things seemed fine but weren’t. Still, curiosity had always been her fatal flaw, and Logan had always known how to wield it.
The file was... extensive. Schematics, neural maps, prototype visuals. It wasn’t just “tech.” It was weaponry. Not in the conventional sense, but in potential. A sleek glider prototype integrated with AI feedback loops. A cognitive synchronisation helmet that could read and respond to neural signals in real time. And then there were notes in the margins, written in Logan’s exacting hand.
Emotional override needed. Current model reacts too strongly to fear.
Must correct aggression triggers. Still too unpredictable. Or not?
User = control. No limits. No interference.
Her heart beat faster the more she read.
It was brilliant. Unquestionably. Years ahead of what most companies were developing. But there was a coldness to it, a ruthlessness she didn’t recognise. Or maybe she did, and just hadn’t wanted to see it before.
She pushed the laptop away, stood, started pacing. There’d been late-night conversations once, Logan talking about power, about how the world didn’t reward kindness, about how if he had control, things would be different. Better. He’d laughed when she called him dramatic. Said she didn’t get it.
Maybe she hadn't.
Until now.
A knock rattled the door. Sharp. Three taps.
Her heart lurched, she didn’t know why, but she opened it without checking the peephole.
Oscar stood there. Hoodie up. Eyes wide.
“You saw him,” he said.
She nodded.
“He gave you something, didn’t he?”
She stepped back silently, let him in. He stalked to the kitchen like he lived there, which, in some ways, he always had.
“I didn’t open it right away,” she said, like it mattered.
Oscar didn’t look at her. His jaw was tight.
“He’s not just back to catch up,” he said. “He’s working with people. Dangerous ones.”
“How do you know?”
He finally turned, and there it was, that look again. Like he’d seen too much. Like he was balancing on a knife’s edge between exhaustion and something heavier.
“Because I followed him last night,” he admitted. “I saw him meeting with Oscorp defectors. People no one good wants to be seen with. And I found this.”
He pulled something from his jacket, crumpled, faintly singed. A test printout. Identical design language to the file on her screen. Same logo Logan had tried to scrub from the schematics. Only this version had a name scrawled across the top.
“Project Harpy.”
She stared. “Harpy?”
Oscar nodded grimly. “Old military codename. The original model was meant for field destabilisation, crowd control through terror. They scrapped it. Too unstable. Logan’s trying to rebuild it.”
She sat down, hard.
“So what do we do?” she whispered.
Oscar’s expression darkened. “We stop him.”
But she wasn’t sure if he meant to stop the project.
Or stop Logan.
She didn’t speak for a long time.
She just let Oscar talk while he moved around the kitchen like he needed to, like stillness might swallow him whole. He talked of what they could do with liminal information until the sunset. He had poured two mugs of tea even though she hadn’t asked, but at no point did she talk about the file, until she did.
The sun began to set through her small window when she pointed at her screen.
“He’s not building a weapon,” she said eventually. “Not just that. It’s like he’s building himself into it.”
Oscar’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” She hesitated. The words were thick in her throat. “He used to talk about it. Control. Power. Not having to be afraid anymore.” Oscar leaned against the side of the sofa, his shoulders taut. “He was afraid. All the time. You know that.”
“I know,” she said. Quiet. “I was there.” And suddenly she was back there. Fourteen, rain on the fire escape, Logan shaking with cold and rage after another row with his dad, her arms around him, his whisper against her skin: Don’t let go. Promise you won’t let go. (By the way the devilish idea i have for this part)
And she hadn’t.
Not until he made her.
Oscar watched her carefully. Like he saw too much and said too little.
“You cared about him.” It wasn’t a question.
She didn’t deny it. She didn’t look at him either.
“It wasn’t just friendship,” she said finally. “But it never became anything, not really. Just moments.”
Oscar nodded slowly, like he was memorising the shape of that hurt. He didn’t push. He never did.
“You should get some rest,” he said. His voice was gentler now. “You’ve been up since early this morning, and this isn’t something we’ll figure out in one night.”
She didn’t argue. Her limbs were heavy, and the anxiety had started to settle somewhere deep in her chest, too wide to dislodge. Still, when she walked toward the bedroom, Oscar followed, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It had happened before. Sleepless nights and old films, falling asleep shoulder to shoulder on the sofa when the city felt too loud. This was just that again. Except it wasn’t.
He hesitated at the door.
"You sure?" he asked, quiet.
She nodded. "Yeah. I don’t want to be alone tonight."
And he didn’t say anything more. Just stepped inside and laid down on the far side of the bed, facing the ceiling. There was space between them. Not enough, not really.
She lay on her side, back to him, staring at the wall.
Her mind was still on Logan.
On the way he’d looked at her, like she was still his. The way he’d said ‘I missed you’ and made it sound like a promise and a warning at once.
He wasn’t just back with a plan. He was back with purpose. And she knew, deep in her bones, that he’d find a way to use what they’d shared. Twist it. Weaponise it, like everything else.
Oscar shifted behind her. She could feel the warmth of him, the rise and fall of his breathing.
He didn’t touch her. Didn’t try to.
But there was something unspoken in the air between them, like maybe he wanted to. Like maybe he had for a long time.
She closed her eyes.
And all she could see was Logan.
The morning came grey and low, clouds pressed against the windows like the city itself couldn’t quite wake up.
She blinked against the dull light, the bedsheets twisted around her legs. The other side of the bed was empty, cold already. Oscar was gone.
She sat up slowly, brushing her hair from her face, the weight of the night before still knotted in her chest. For a moment, she let herself wonder if she’d imagined him being there at all, just another ghost in an apartment full of them.
When she stepped out into the front room, the kettle was cooling down. A cup of tea waited in the microwave, hastily made, eliciting a small chuckle out of her. He’d always done the same thing in the past couple of months.
From the corridor she could hear her neighbour’s cat meowing for access to the balcony. She walked to the front door, turned the bolt then pulled, only to get halted by the chain still being on.
She frowned.
Oscar couldn’t have left that on from the inside. Not unless…
She stopped herself. Told herself he’d maybe left through the fire escape even though he knew it was dangerous.
But something about it itched at the edge of her thoughts.
Brushing it off, she let the cat out and walked back into the kitchen, pulling out the cold tea, not bothering to heat it.
Logan’s file still sat open on her laptop, the schematics staring back at her like a dare. She skimmed them again—lines and circuits, symbols she recognised from years of university lectures, annotated with little notes only someone who knew her would write.
You always hated redundancies. Fixed it for you.
Bet you’d tell me this is idiotic. (You’re probably right.)
It was the kind of thing he used to do. Tease. Impress. Show off. It used to make her laugh. Now it made her heart sit wrong in her chest.
She walked up to the laptop and noticed something she hadn’t earlier, then she grabbed her coat.
Fuck looking like a normal human being, she thought.
Then in her head she heard sixteen year old Logan in her head, “Who would even care if I walked out the house in my boxers, we’re in New York!”
The note had an address, the building across town where her and Logan went when Oscar was working. An old sublet on East 19th. Classic Logan.
She told herself she was only going to get answers, that she wasn’t seeking him out.
The streets were quieter than usual. Maybe the weather had kept people in bed longer. Or maybe the city was holding its breath.
She reached the building just after eight. Tall, red brick, windows like hollow eyes. The lift here did work, and she took it up to the aforementioned floor, her heart shuddering harader with every number that ticked past. It wasn’t normal for an office this big to be so empty.
When the doors opened, he was already waiting.
Like he’d known she’d come.
“Morning, love,” Logan said, barefoot, tousle haired, mug in hand. He looked too at ease in this makeshift studio. “Miss me already?” She stepped out slowly, ignoring the flutter in her chest. “Where is everyone?”
He tilted his head. “Funny thing about abandoned buildings. They tend to be, well. Abandoned.”
“You’re working out of this?” she asked, eyebrows lifting. “Seems dramatic, even for you.”
He took a sip of his coffee, unbothered. “Bit of peace and quiet does wonders. Besides…” He leaned against the doorframe, gaze trailing down her like a memory. “Nice of you to drop in first thing in the morning. Makes it less lonely.”
“You’re working out of this?” she asked, raising a brow. “Seems dramatic, even for you.”
He took a sip of his coffee, completely unbothered. “Bit of peace and quiet does wonders. Besides…” His gaze flicked over her, slow and deliberate. “Nice of you to drop in first thing in the morning. Makes it less lonely.”
She folded her arms. “You left that address on purpose.”
Logan didn’t deny it. Just smiled. “Wasn’t sure you’d catch it. But I figured if you did, you’d come.”
“I came for answers.”
“No, you came because you’re curious,” he said, stepping back into the open space of the studio. “Same as always. You can’t help yourself.”
She looked to her left where she could hear some whirring. The makeshift lab was cleaner than she expected, industrial, minimal. Wires looped neatly along the floor, diagrams pinned in lines along the concrete wall. In the centre, the table buzzed softly with low-power tech, a prototype glinting in the low light like something half-born.
She walked past him, slowly, keeping her distance. “Oscar said you’ve lost it.”
Logan gave a low laugh. “Oscar’s always needed someone to blame. You know that.”
“He’s not wrong about this.”
He came to stand beside her, not too close, just enough that she could feel the heat off him. His voice lowered.
“But you didn’t turn away either, did you?”
She looked down at the schematics spread across the table. Her fingers itched to move the pieces around, rearrange the formulae like puzzle pieces, solve it before he could ruin it.
“I’m not saying it’s safe,” she murmured. “But if I help you. If I take charge of the framework, maybe it doesn’t have to be dangerous.”
His smile deepened. “There’s the girl I remember.”
She shot him a sharp look, but he only stepped closer.
“I don’t need saving, you know,” he said, voice softening. “You’re not here to fix me. You’re here because part of you gets it. Part of you wants this.”
She swallowed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like we’re on the same side.”
“But we are,” he said, and this time his hand brushed hers as he reached past her, innocent, almost, except for the way his fingers lingered. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
She could feel the pull of him then, quiet and dangerous, like gravity had changed its mind about how the world worked. Her skin was humming with it.
“I knew you’d come around,” he whispered.
Her breath caught, just for a second. His face was close now, the warm edge of his smile only inches from hers. Not cocky. Not smug. Something gentler. A softness that wasn’t supposed to be there.
And that’s what made it dangerous.
She should have stepped back.
That would’ve been the smart thing, the right thing. But her feet didn’t move, and neither did his, and between them was a silence that thrummed with everything unsaid.
Logan's eyes searched hers, not in that arrogant way he used to do when he knew he had the upper hand, but quieter. Something unreadable settled behind his lashes. Like he was trying to remember the shape of her from the inside out.
"You’re shaking," he murmured, voice barely above a breath.
She wasn’t. Not really. Just, wired. Overcaffeinated without the caffeine. Her nerves pulling taut in ways they hadn’t in years.
"No, I’m not."
"You are," he said, and there was something close to amusement in his voice, but not cruel. Just observant. Just Logan. "You always do, when you’re trying to make a decision too fast."
She looked down. At his hand on the table beside hers. At the blue glow of the screen reflecting off the metal. Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to.
"You don’t get to do that. Pretend like nothing’s changed."
His head tilted slightly. "Who’s pretending?"
"You left." She met his gaze again, steadier now. "You disappeared and let us believe—"
"I didn’t want you part of it," he said quickly, not sharply, but with a force that startled her. "You and Oscar. You still see the world like it’s got rules. I see it for what it really is."
"You think that makes you better?"
"No." He paused. "I think it makes me prepared."
She stared at him. "You’re planning something you can’t undo."
He didn’t argue. Just leaned in slightly, enough that his breath hit the edge of her cheek. “Maybe. But if you’re there to build it with me, then maybe it won’t need undoing.”
The worst part was, a part of her understood. Not agreed. But understood.
And that part of her wanted to reach for the plans. To take the mess he’d made and drag it into something better. Safer. Less like him.
Her throat was tight. “This isn’t fair.”
"What isn’t?"
"You. Doing this." Her hands balled into fists. "Looking at me like that."
He smiled again, soft. Painful. “Like what?”
“Like you’re still sixteen and I’m still stupid enough to believe you'd never hurt me.”
That landed. She saw it flicker through him, fast, behind his eyes.
“I never meant to,” he said quietly.
Silence fell again, sharp-edged and too loud.
Then, softer this time, gentler: “You don’t have to say yes right now. Just don’t walk away.”
She should. She should. But instead she found herself sitting on the edge of the table, just beside him, her shoulder brushing his.
She didn’t look at him. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure,” he said, a little laugh curling under the word. “Of course not.”
His thigh pressed lightly against hers. The contact was nothing. Barely there.
The distance between them had dissolved without her noticing, and now it was all heat and unspoken things sitting heavy between them.
The blue light of the schematics cast soft shadows across his jaw. He looked almost gentle like this, in the stillness. Almost.
And then her phone buzzed in her pocket, she pulled it out.
They both glanced down at the screen.
Oscar.
She froze.
Logan looked too, and smirked. “Well, well. Speak of the boy scout.”
She hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.
“You should answer,” Logan said, casual, but something about the way he leaned back slightly told her he was watching very, very closely.
She swiped to pick up, bringing the phone to her ear. Her voice came out thin, too even. “Hey.”
“Where are you?” Oscar’s voice was immediate. Concerned. “I’m at yours, doors open but unless you’re hiding from me I can't find you.”
She glanced sideways, heart pounding. Logan had turned away, giving her space, but not really. His head was tilted just enough to hear every word.
“I’m getting bagels,” she said quickly. “Sorry. Forgot my phone was in my pocket.”
A beat. Oscar didn’t sound suspicious, just soft. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… needed air. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
She hung up before he could say anything else. The quiet in the room returned like a blanket pulled too tight.
Logan turned back to her, expression unreadable.
Then he reached out, slowly, fingertips brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before trailing lightly down to her cheek. The touch was maddeningly soft. Familiar.
“Some things never change,” he murmured, thumb grazing her skin. “You’re still covering for me.”
Her breath caught. She was furious at the way her chest responded to it.
“I used to cover for you when you skipped school or snuck out past curfew,” she said, voice sharp. “Or when your dad came asking where you were and I had to lie to his face.”
“This isn’t that,” he said, quiet now. “I know.”
She looked away, jaw tight. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”
His hand dropped, but the air still felt like it was holding its breath.
“I don’t have to,” he said simply. “You’re already here.”
Two weeks passed, just like that.
The city moved around her, traffic and sirens and steam rising from manhole covers, but it all felt quieter somehow. Like her world had shrunk down to two flats, a laptop, and a dozen unsent texts.
She was spending her mornings at Oscar’s, helping him track down fluctuations in the local power grid, strange pulses he swore weren’t natural, though he never quite said what he thought they were. Afternoons were spent in Logan’s repurposed studio, surrounded by circuitry, algorithms, and a headache that wouldn’t quite go away.
She told herself she was keeping both of them from doing something stupid.
Logan’s work had evolved. Rapidly. Too rapidly, if she was honest. The first few days were just sorting through the wreckage of what he’d built alone, poor shielding, over-ambitious neural syncing, feedback loops that would’ve fried the average person’s spine.
She’d streamlined it. Quietly, carefully. Introduced control parameters, adjusted the safety thresholds. He let her, too. Even seemed to enjoy having her close, watching over his shoulder like she was the only one who could keep him steady.
Sometimes he didn’t even say anything, just looked at her like he was memorising the way she moved.
Other times, he flirted like it was breathing.
“I still think the copper’s a bad call,” she muttered one afternoon, squinting at the prototype’s inner casing.
“Still bossy, I see,” Logan replied, crouching beside her. “Haven’t changed since you used to correct my spelling.”
“I was right then, too.”
He laughed, low and warm. “Yeah. You usually are.”
He was close again. He always was. There was always a reason for him to lean in, reach past her, touch her arm or shoulder in a way that felt like an accident and wasn’t.
And she let him. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. That this was about control. Keeping him from spiralling.
But when he looked at her, sometimes it felt like the ground wasn’t solid beneath her feet.
Meanwhile, Oscar…
Oscar had started keeping things from her.
She noticed it first in the small things. His laptop slammed shut when she walked in. A folder buried too deep in his hard drive. The time he said he was on a walk but came home bruised and didn’t explain why.
She didn’t push, not yet. But it stuck to her, that unease. Oscar didn’t lie. He never lied.
And that, somehow, made it worse.
“You’re working too hard,” he told her one night, curled up on her sofa, hoodie pulled over his head. “You haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. I can see it.”
He passed her a takeaway container without a word. She took it. Ate. Didn’t mention the thin layer of grime under his fingernails or the split on his knuckle.
She couldn’t be in two places at once. Couldn’t keep playing translator between two boys who wouldn’t speak to each other, both of them caught in some war she didn’t fully understand.
But she stayed.
Because part of her believed she could still save this—save them.
Even if it cost her something she hadn’t yet named.
The prototype pulsed with light now. Not constant—irregular, like a heartbeat gone wrong.
She sat on the floor of Logan’s studio, cables tangled at her knees, half a dozen failed failsafes spread out in a messy sprawl beside her. The heat off the core was stronger than it had been yesterday. Too strong.
“You pushed it again,” she muttered, pulling off her jumper and tossing it aside. The room felt like a greenhouse.
Logan crouched beside the desk, tools in hand, utterly unbothered. “Tweaked the resonance field. It’s stabilising, relax.”
“No, it isn’t,” she snapped. “You’re running through safeguards faster than I can write them.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, smirking. “Don’t sound so impressed.”
She didn’t answer. She was too busy running diagnostics on the regulator he’d overclocked while she was out yesterday. Again.
“Logan, if this field collapses, you’re not walking away. I won’t be able to stop it next time.”
His smile faltered, just slightly.
“You could always walk,” he said after a beat, soft.
She didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
Because he knew she wouldn’t.
That night at Oscar’s, she barely spoke. She sat at the window while he worked on his computer behind her, typing fast, a faint tremor in his right hand. She stared down at the streetlights blurring in the rain, her thoughts still half in the lab.
Oscar’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, frowned, then stood.
“I’ll be back in a bit.”
She looked over. “Now?”
“Yeah. Just need to check on something near the subway. Weird power spike.” He shrugged on his jacket.
“Want help?”
He hesitated. “No. It’s… not that kind of thing.”
She nodded slowly. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
Oscar didn’t respond.
She found the first real clue two days later.
She was at hers, rummaging for the spare charger Oscar kept leaving behind, when she noticed his hoodie hanging on the back of her chair. Not unusual. But when she picked it up, something dropped out of the pocket.
A small, torn scrap of red fabric. Coarse. Like something from a costume.
And blood. Dried.
Her stomach turned.
In Logan’s studio, the tech was louder now. Humming, thrumming. Hungry.
“You need to slow down,” she said firmly, voice hoarse from too many sleepless nights.
He looked at her, really looked, and for a second there was a flicker of something that unsettled her.
“I can’t,” he said. “We’re so close.”
“Close to what?”
He didn’t answer.
She opened the interface, scanning the data. “You adjusted the neuro-link sequence without telling me.”
“I knew you’d try to stop me,” he said simply.
She stared at him. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
And still she didn’t leave.
The following night she didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Between the hum of Logan’s project, now an ever-present pressure at the base of her skull, and Oscar’s half-answers, dodged questions, and suspicious bruises, sleep had become more theory than reality.
The next time she saw Oscar, it was because she followed him.
She hadn’t meant to. She told herself she was just walking the same way. That she was being ridiculous. That the scrap of red in his hoodie pocket meant nothing.
But then he ducked down an alley. Pulled something from under his hoodie.
A mask.
Her heart stopped.
Not metaphorically. Actually, stopped.
She stepped back, too fast, her heel scuffing the concrete. A tiny sound. He heard it.
“Hello?” Oscar turned, eyes narrowing behind the red half-mask. The rest was still bunched in his hand.
She froze.
He stared. She stared back.
Silence swelled.
Then, quietly: “…You followed me?”
She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to breathe, let alone speak.
Oscar’s shoulders dropped. His hand dragged down his face. “Shit.”
“You’re Spider-Man.”
It wasn’t a question. She already knew. Knew in the pit of her stomach, where every late night and bruised knuckle and sudden disappearance made a sick kind of sense.
He didn’t deny it. Just looked at her, gutted.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?” Her voice was sharp. “Before or after I found your blood all over my living room?”
Oscar winced. “I didn’t want to put you in danger—”
She laughed. Bitter. “Bit late for that.”
She left before he could explain more. She couldn’t hear it, not then. Not while her phone buzzed again with another update from Logan’s build log, another late-night adjustment she hadn’t signed off on.
When she got back to the studio that night, the air felt wrong. Too charged.
The prototype was alive now. She didn’t know what else to call it. It moved, pulsed, responded.
Logan was there, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, eyes wild with possibility.
“You’re back,” he said, barely glancing away from the display. “Look at it. It’s listening to me now.”
“It’s not supposed to listen to you,” she snapped, storming in. “It’s supposed to run on code, not instinct.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “I rewrote the framework.”
“You rewrote the laws of physics, Logan. That wasn’t the deal.”
He finally looked at her. Really looked. And for the first time in days, he frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re asking me now?” she snapped. “After pushing this thing to near-collapse? After locking me out of your logs for twelve hours?”
“I knew you’d try to stop me.”
“You don’t get to cut me out and still act like we’re on the same team.”
The lights on the core flared, hot, blue-white. She stepped back.
“This isn’t what we started,” she said, quieter. “You’re not building something. You’re becoming it.”
Logan’s eyes softened, but it didn’t comfort her. It made her skin crawl.
“You sound like him.”
“Don’t,” she said.
“Why? He’s the hero now, yeah?” Logan’s voice was almost calm, but it carried teeth. “Little Mr Boy Scout. You going to run to him now? Tell him how to stop me?”
“I didn’t run to anyone. I tried to fix this.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
“But you knew. All this time, you knew you’d have to choose.”
She didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And she hated that more than anything.
She didn’t remember getting home.
Her keys had slipped once at the door, hands shaking, and she’d stood in the hall for a full minute before trying again. Inside, the apartment felt alien, like she was walking through someone else’s life. Same chipped mugs in the sink. Same plant in the corner. But her breath wouldn’t steady.
She dropped her bag in the hallway, still half-zipped. Kicked off her shoes. Didn’t even bother with the lights.
She collapsed onto the sofa, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight like she could physically hold herself together.
Then the tears came.
Silent at first. Just that awful stinging behind her eyes, the kind that made you clench your jaw until it ached. But then they spilled—fast and hot, her face buried in the sleeve of her hoodie, sobs breaking loose in sharp bursts.
She cried for Logan. For Oscar. For the version of herself that used to laugh when they bickered and dreamed about changing the world.
She cried because she didn’t know who to save anymore. Or if she could.
And eventually, exhausted, she crawled into bed and let the darkness take her.
Somewhere else in the city, Logan didn’t sleep.
He stood in the centre of his makeshift lab, hands trembling slightly with the excitement. He had done it. He had done it.
The prototype was alive. The neural interface he’d spent weeks perfecting hummed quietly beneath his fingertips. Every line of code he’d written, every sleepless night, all the warnings he’d ignored—he could feel it now, like a rush of euphoria. It was working. It was all working.
The helmet sat next to him, sleek, matte-black, perfect in its design. But that wasn’t the prize. No, the real victory was the neural link, the thing embedded deep into his spine now, fusing with him. The prototype wasn’t just a tool anymore. It was an extension of him. It was him.
He grinned, sliding the helmet onto his head with a steady hand. The system activated almost immediately, a soft pulse across his temples as the neural interface kicked in. He could feel it, like a second mind connecting with his own, feeding him streams of data in a way he'd never known before.
For a moment, there was only clarity. Pure, untainted clarity. He could see everything, every problem, every solution, unfolding right before him like an intricate map.
Logan’s breath was slow and deep, taking it all in.
“This is it,” he muttered under his breath, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “I’m better than I’ve ever been.”
But something shifted in that moment. The device, still humming beneath his skin, pulsed again. Stronger. A sharp, sudden sensation rippled through his back as if a small surge of electricity shot through his spine. He flinched, but only briefly. It was... new. But it didn’t hurt. No, it was something else. Something... right. He wanted to feel it again. To keep pushing, to see how far it could go.
He let the neural link go further, feeling it sync even deeper. His movements were faster now, every thought sharper, more precise. His hands moved on their own accord, as if his body had learned a new language, a secret code he hadn’t known existed.
Then, with a sickening click, the mechanism inside him did something unexpected.
It shifted.
He froze as the connection between his mind and the device deepened, spreading like roots beneath his skin. His spine arched involuntarily. The sensation was so strong, like a burning thread threading into the base of his skull and down into his very bones.
“Shit,” Logan breathed, but his voice was strange to him. As if someone else were speaking through him.
The machine responded, not in words, but in need, an urgent pressure building in the back of his mind.
He could feel it now. A presence. Something more than just the tech he’d so carefully crafted. It wasn’t just a tool anymore. It was beginning to take control.
But there was no panic. No fear. Logan didn’t fight it. He welcomed it.
Because this... this was power. True, unbridled power.
The device shifted again. It was deeper now, rooted inside him, crawling into places his mind could no longer reach. He could feel something warm spread under his skin—a new sensation, foreign but thrilling. The neural link was more than he’d ever imagined, connecting him to a world of data, a world of control.
And that was when it happened.
The device, a part of him now, locked in.
A flash of metal. Then, suddenly, his back screamed as the device pressed itself fully into his body, sharp, invasive, but unmistakably his. He felt it—like a part of him had been replaced. A pulse of satisfaction rippled through him, and Logan gasped, arching his back with the sensation.
He laughed then. Giddy. Overjoyed.
“I knew you’d get it right, mate,” he whispered to himself, eyes wide with exhilaration.
Then, with an almost casual ease, he lifted his hand. The suit flickered to life around him, surrounding him like a second skin, sleek and dangerous.
Logan’s grin spread wider.
This was only the beginning.
It wasn’t long before Logan’s chaos began to bleed into the city.
The streets had always been a chaotic tangle of New York life, but now it was... different. A sense of purpose flowed through the air, heavier, more suffocating. The city had no idea what was coming for it.
First, it was the banks. Security systems shorted out, alarms blaring as vaults cracked open. But there was no robbery, just the vault doors hanging open in a strange, silent invitation. Then, the power grids flickered, like the entire city was breathing under his control. The hum of lights and machines warped, flashing erratically as if they were under a spell.
And then came the sky.
Logan hovered just above the city, a dark silhouette against the glow of Manhattan’s skyline. He watched as the skyline bent to his will, grinning, watching the chaos unfold. His body, still bound in that sleek suit, pulsed with the unnatural energy the machine had given him. His back burned with every pulse, but it wasn’t pain—it was power.
And the power tasted sweeter with every second.
Back at her apartment, she jerked awake.
A crash. Her eyes shot open. A sound too loud. Too close.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Just stared into the dark, trying to will the sleepiness out of her bones.
The next crash was louder. A thud against the fire exit door. Her heart skipped a beat.
She shot up, breathing shallow, slipping out of bed. She grabbed her phone for light, but instinct told her exactly what she’d find.
Her bare feet hit the cold floor, and she made her way towards the balcony, hesitating just before the door. The night air pressed against the glass.
She reached for the handle, taking a breath, and then—
The door swung open.
She froze.
There, standing tall and too at ease on the balcony, was Logan.
But he wasn’t the Logan she knew.
The suit he wore was alive with that strange pulse, glowing faintly like it was breathing. It wasn’t just a suit anymore. It was part of him.
He turned to her, a flicker of recognition behind his eyes, but it was distant. Cold. Something had shifted.
A slow smile spread across his face, but it wasn’t playful. Not the teasing grin from their past.
“Hello, love,” Logan’s voice was flat, empty. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
She swallowed. “Logan...?”
He stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers with an unsettling focus. Then, without hesitation, he reached up and pulled off the helmet, tossing it aside.
And for a moment, everything was still.
His eyes, empty. Hollow. Not a trace of the boy she used to know. No warmth, no playfulness, just this void.
Her heart twisted painfully in her chest as the entire suit shifted, shrinking away from his body. It detached slowly, too slowly, as if the suit was resisting coming off. But eventually, the black, sleek material slipped away, revealing his bare chest. His torso was toned, but marked with strange, angular scars, and along his spine, there was a faint glow beneath his skin. The machine inside him, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Logan stood there, chest rising with the faintest of breaths, eyes cold as ice.
“It worked,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “You helped me make it work. And now…” He took a slow step forward, closing the space between them.
She took a step back. “What... What are you doing, Logan?”
His lips curled upward into something that was not quite a smile.
“Doing?” He stepped closer again, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “I’m taking control. Taking what’s mine. This city—hell, the world—it’s mine now. And I’ll do what I want with it.” He gestured to the machine on his back, an almost reverent look in his eyes. “I’ve earned this, haven’t I?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. Her body trembled, unable to contain the sharp, raw sorrow that hit her all at once. “Logan, please, this isn’t you. This isn’t what we wanted.”
Logan chuckled, a dark, cruel sound. “This is exactly what I wanted. This is the future. The one I should’ve had all along.”
The pain in her chest deepened, and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She stepped back, clenching her fists as sobs wracked her body. “I—I tried. I tried to stop you...”
Logan’s gaze softened for a moment, just a moment. But it was fleeting. He stepped forward again, closing the distance.
“Sometimes people just need a little... push.” He brushed a hand across her cheek, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the coldness in his eyes. “Thanks for helping me get here. I couldn't have done it without you.”
She flinched away from his touch. “Please, Logan... don’t do this. You’re not a monster.”
He didn’t reply. He only stepped back, looking at her one last time, eyes unreadable.
“You’ve got your own path now. And I’ve got mine.”
With that, he turned, stepping into the night putting his helmet back on, the suit forming back around him as he disappeared into the city’s skyline.
She stood there, trembling, heart breaking in her chest. The tears fell freely now, silent, unstoppable.
She collapsed onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, shaking as she let it all out.
And then, almost instinctively, she reached for her phone.
Oscar’s name flashed on the screen, a call already incoming.
She answered before she even thought about it. Her voice was shaky, tear-filled.
“Os... Oscar...” She couldn’t hold it together. “I—I need you.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice sharp with concern. “Where are you?”
“I—I’m at my apartment. But it’s...” She choked on the words. “It’s Logan. He’s... he’s gone too far.”
Oscar was quiet for a long moment. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t save him, Oscar,” she whispered. “He’s not the boy we knew. He’s something else. And I—I couldn’t stop it.”
Another beat of silence.
“I’m coming,” Oscar said, the urgency in his voice clearer now. “I’ll be there. Just hang on.”
But as she hung up, all she could do was sit there, hands trembling, staring at the dark, empty space where Logan had stood.
The city had just gotten darker.
She didn’t move.
The night had cooled, but she didn’t feel it. The city buzzed and breathed beneath her, unaware of the shift that had just taken place. The world looked the same, and yet everything had changed.
She stayed crouched, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes fixed on the spot where Logan had stood. The faint imprint of his boots was still on the concrete, the last ghost of him. The boy she’d known, laughed with, fought with, loved in some strange, quiet way, was gone. She’d seen it in his eyes. There was nothing left to reach for now.
The machine had taken him.
And worse, she had helped.
She didn’t hear him at first. There was just a breeze, a shift in the air, then the soft sound of the railing above just shifting.
Her breath caught.
She looked up.
There he was, silhouetted against the sky, crouched in that way only he could, black and red suit hugging to every line of him. The mask was off.
Oscar.
His brown hair was messy, eyes wide, searching.
His expression dropped when he saw her.
“Hey,” he said, soft, like she might shatter.
She didn’t respond.
He stepped off the railing and landed with barely a sound, moving toward her like he wasn’t sure if she’d let him close. She watched him the whole time, as if she was trying to reconcile the boy next door with the man in the suit. She hadn’t let herself picture him like this, not really. But now, here he was.
Not a rumour. Not a hunch.
Spider-Man.
She blinked at him. “It’s really you.”
He nodded, a bit helpless. “Yeah.”
She let out a quiet breath, something bitter on her tongue. “God, of course it is.”
Oscar crouched beside her, close enough that their knees nearly touched. “I wanted to tell you so many times. I just, I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”
She let out a small laugh, raw and humourless. “Oscar, I’ve just watched someone I love walk off my balcony with a machine in his spine and a war in his eyes. You actually being Spider-Man barely makes the top three things ruining my week.”
His face faltered, and she saw the guilt tighten around his eyes. She hated that it made her want to comfort him, when she was the one falling apart.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”
Oscar hesitated, then reached out slowly, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the cold concrete. She didn’t pull away.
“Was it really that bad?” he asked.
She turned to look at him then, really looked at him.
“It wasn’t Logan anymore,” she said. “He took off his mask and there was just… nothing. Like he’s not even in there. Just this thing. This machine. And he thanked me. He thanked me, Oscar, like I was the final piece he needed to destroy everything.”
Oscar didn’t say anything. He just took her hand properly now, fingers curling around hers. She let him. It was warm. Grounding.
“I tried to save him,” she whispered. “I thought if I stayed close, if I made the plan safer, I could stop it getting this far. I really thought I could pull him back.”
Oscar’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “You don’t give up on people. That’s what makes you... you.”
Her throat tightened.
“I think I’ve finally lost him.”
Oscar looked away, jaw tense. “Then we’ll stop what’s left of him.”
She glanced down at their joined hands, then back at his face—open, earnest, a little scared. She saw everything now. The boy she grew up with. The man he was becoming. Spider-Man. Oscar. All of it.
“I didn’t want you to be this,” she murmured, more to herself. “Didn’t want you to have to carry this, too.”
His voice was soft. “I don’t have to. Not alone.”
The tears came again, but quieter this time. She leaned forward and let her forehead rest against his. He didn’t move. Just stayed there with her, in the quiet, in the heartbreak.
The city roared on below.
But for a moment, there was only the two of them.
Still.
Together.
Waiting for the dawn.
Logan was quiet for a few days.
Too quiet.
The news blamed the citywide power outage on a transformer fault in Queens. A minor fire, a bit of faulty wiring, easily fixed. No casualties. Nothing to worry about.
She didn’t believe it for a second.
She’d seen the look in his eyes that night. The machine in his back hadn’t just bonded, it had chosen him. The silence that followed wasn’t peace. It was the kind of stillness just before the storm breaks.
She went through the motions. Helped Oscar with patch-ups, tracked minor disturbances around the city, and pretended, poorly, that she was sleeping at night. But the weight in her chest never lifted. It sat there, heavy and constant, like something had already begun to rot.
It was the fourth morning after Logan had crashed onto her balcony when she woke up with that feeling.
It wasn’t panic. Not quite. It was deeper. Older. Something primitive, instinctual. Like the way birds knew when to fly south. She blinked at the ceiling, her body still, her skin prickling.
She knew where she needed to go.
She didn’t shower. Didn’t dress properly. Just jeans, a hoodie, old trainers. The studio on East had been left untouched since Logan vanished into the sky, but the thought of it sat stubbornly in her gut.
She walked. No cab, no train. Just her and the cold spring wind, biting through her sleeves and keeping her sharp. The city was halfway between sleep and wakefulness, too early for full chaos, too late for quiet.
When she got to the building, the doors were jammed with a piece of scrap metal Logan had clearly wedged there. It took effort to get inside, but eventually, she slipped past the creaking frame and stepped into the hushed stillness of the lobby and up the stairs.
Dust floated in the light like falling ash.
The desk was as he’d left it. Blueprints scattered, wires half-soldered, bits of tech that buzzed faintly with residual charge. She moved carefully, like disturbing anything might trigger some dormant trap.
She pulled the schematics towards her, different from the ones he’d left on her laptop. These were earlier. Cruder. Full of aggressive red ink. One line circled in particular, over and over again: Adaptive neural integration interface.
She stared at it. Below, a note in his handwriting: If it bonds properly, it learns. Improves. Evolves.
She felt cold all over.
Then she noticed something else, a flash drive tucked beneath a paperweight. No label. Just a scratch down one side like it had been jammed into too many ports too fast.
She slipped it into her coat pocket.
That night, the city began to burn.
She didn’t see the first explosion, she felt it. The tremor in the air. The faint hum through the soles of her feet. Then came the sirens, the lights, the swell of panic rising like a tide.
People pointed at the sky. Phones were raised. Social media lit up.
A shadow swept across midtown, unnatural, too fast to be a drone, too erratic to be human. Police scanners scrambled to keep up. A laboratory in Tribeca collapsed in on itself. A substation in Brooklyn sparked, then died.
And then, at 1:07 a.m., she opened her window and saw him.
Logan.
Hovering, back arched with the pulse of the suit. The device on his spine glowed like an exposed heart, veins of light crawling up his neck, down his arms. He moved like liquid shadow, graceful, terrifying, wrong.
A building behind him erupted in a blossom of fire.
She gripped the window ledge, breath caught in her throat.
This was no test run. This was war.
She stayed by the window for too long.
Too long to pretend she wasn’t watching. Too long to convince herself she wasn’t hoping, praying, that he’d turn around and look at her. But Logan didn’t glance her way. He just soared higher, then dipped low toward the skyline, fast and sleek like a blade. The machine moved with him, or maybe he moved with it. It was impossible to tell where the man ended and the weapon began.
By the time the screaming sirens reached her block, she had already stepped back inside.
She didn’t turn on the light. Just the television.
Every channel was the same, static, noise, hysteria in different tones. Fires. Blackouts. Emergency services overwhelmed. Civilians told to shelter indoors. Then, on one of the live feeds, the camera caught it.
Spider-Man.
Oscar.
She sat on the arm of the sofa, staring at the screen like it might offer answers. He swung down from a rooftop, landed in the middle of a crumbling intersection, and caught a falling girder mid-air like it weighed nothing. There were shouts, flashes of red and blue. More drones, or things, shot past overhead. He flung himself after them without hesitation.
He looked small on the screen. Fragile, even. But she knew better. Knew how strong he really was. How he fought like it mattered.
Because it did.
Because it always had.
Her fingers twitched.
She stood up suddenly, heart racing now for an entirely different reason, and crossed the room to her coat. She pulled out the flash drive and stared at it, the scratch on its side catching the light.
Whatever Logan had left behind, whatever he hadn’t wanted her to see, it was on this.
She booted up her laptop on the kitchen table, fingers trembling slightly as the machine hummed to life. The screen blinked awake with a quiet whirr. She hesitated only a moment longer, then slotted the drive in.
It didn’t load immediately.
There was a pause. Like it had to think. Then the screen flickered, and a window opened on its own.
NEURAL LOG SEQUENCES – LOCKED
[Enter override credentials]
She stared at the prompt, breath held.
It was protected. Of course it was.
She tried the obvious first, his birthday, their old lab login, his mum’s name. All rejected. But then she remembered the sketchpad he'd carried around at university, the one he'd covered in graffiti-level drawings and handwritten equations.
There’d been a name on the back, in big crooked letters.
PYTHIA.
She typed it in.
The screen shivered, then shifted.
Override accepted. Begin sequence.
And then it began to unfold, video, files, half-recorded logs. Logan, speaking into a mic, wild-eyed, frantic, rambling. Diagrams of the neural link. Schematics she hadn’t seen before. And beneath it all, buried in subfolders, something labelled:
Secondary Protocol: Autonomous Control – ENABLED
Her heart dropped.
Autonomous?
She clicked into it, pulse quickening.
The code was dense, written in loops she couldn’t untangle on sight. But the gist was clear enough: the device was more than just a conduit. It was learning. Growing. Thinking. And if it ever deemed its host compromised...
Her hand flew to her mouth.
It could override him.
She stared at the screen, stomach twisting. Somewhere outside, the sky lit up again. The TV blared with the sound of sirens and glass breaking. Spider-Man’s suit flashed red across the screen as he leapt from another collapsing building.
She looked at him.
Then at the code.
Then back again.
Logan wasn’t the only one in danger now.
The whole city was.
She barely noticed the sun come up.
The screen cast her in blue light, soft and cold, as line after line of code scrolled past her tired eyes. Her fingers hovered above the keys, pausing only to scribble something down on a notepad already crowded with frantic, looping handwriting. There were equations she hadn’t touched since university, frameworks that were half-Latin, half-madness. Logan hadn’t just built this system, he’d buried it beneath ten layers of arrogance and desperation.
Some of it she recognised. Neural feedback loops. Power modulation. Synthetic stability thresholds. The kind of tech that could map a mind in real time and reroute its impulses. And then—
That secondary protocol again. Buried deeper than before, like it knew it shouldn’t be found.
Failsafe active. Host override requires dual-auth.
Failsafe. Dual-auth.
She exhaled shakily, raking a hand through her hair.
He’d written a backdoor. Somewhere, hidden in this madness, Logan had coded a way out, but it needed two keys.
Hers… and his.
A laugh escaped her, dry and bitter. Of course. Even in his descent, he’d tethered himself to her. Even now, when he was burning the city to the ground, he’d built the lock with the hope. No, the assumption, that she’d come looking for it.
That she’d come for him.
Outside, the chaos was escalating.
More sirens. The screech of tyres. At one point, a distant blast shook the windows in their frames, and dust from the ceiling rained down onto the table. She barely flinched. The TV was still on, the volume low, but the footage was relentless.
Buildings damaged. Streets overrun.
Spider-Man caught on every screen, swinging, diving, shielding people with his body, his suit scuffed and singed. And always trailing behind him, a blur of green and black and red, fast as hell and twice as cruel.
Logan.
Or what was left of him.
She pulled her focus back to the code. She couldn’t think about Oscar now, couldn’t think about the way his voice had trembled the last time they’d spoken. Couldn’t think about the ache in her chest when Logan had said her name like it still meant something.
All she could do was work.
She didn’t have a suit. Or powers. Or a symbol to rally behind. All she had were her hands, her brain, and the blueprint of a boy she’d once known, before the noise, before the machine, before the world shifted beneath their feet.
So she dug deeper.
Piece by piece, she traced the architecture. Tried to isolate the command lines. She could see where it had learned him, mirrored his rhythms, his instincts, his anger. It didn’t just amplify Logan.
It became him.
But it was still code.
And code, at the end of the day, could be broken.
She scribbled a new set of instructions. A loop. Something rudimentary. Crude. It wouldn’t dismantle the suit, but it might delay it. Mute the feedback for just long enough to slip in a second override. If she could get close enough.
If Logan hadn’t already been consumed entirely.
Her hands stilled.
And for the first time in hours, she allowed herself to feel something.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Resolve.
She snapped the laptop shut, tucked the flash drive into the pocket of her jacket, and grabbed the notebook.
There was still time.
Not much.
But maybe, just maybe, enough.
She ran.
Half of Manhattan was still gridlocked from the chaos, so she took side streets, back alleys, her boots slick from rain and city grime. The wind had picked up, warm and electric, the kind that came just before another storm. By the time she reached the gates of the old university lab, dusk had begun to stretch long fingers across the skyline.
The side door was still jammed the way she remembered, too old to lock properly. She slipped inside.
It was all exactly as they’d left it years ago. Dust on the shelves. Faint smell of solder and burnt coffee. A poster on the far wall still read “Innovation Starts With Curiosity”, curling at the edges from time and apathy. She moved quickly, muscle memory taking over. Lights on. Equipment powered up. She opened her laptop, connected the drive, started reworking the patch code.
The room filled with the hum of machines, old fans stirring warm air as night fell thick outside the narrow windows. It was like stepping back in time, except everything was burning now, and she didn’t have Logan at the next station over making jokes under his breath.
She barely registered the sound of footsteps behind her.
Not until the door creaked.
She turned, already knowing.
Oscar stood there, mask in hand, hair sweat-dampened, face drawn tight with exhaustion and something close to fear.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low.
She didn’t look up from the code. “And you shouldn’t be out there alone.”
He stepped inside, glancing once around the room like it was foreign to him. “I was at the dockyard. He’s not slowing down.”
“I know.”
“I mean it,” he said, more firmly now. “That thing, it’s not Logan anymore.”
She paused. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, just for a second.
“I can fix it.”
Oscar’s silence filled the space like smoke. She finally looked at him.
“I can,” she repeated, quiet but certain. “He built it with an override. I found it. I just need time.”
Oscar came closer. “He almost levelled a power grid and threw a firetruck into the East River.”
“I know,” she said. “But I can’t just, leave him. Not like this.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s too dangerous. You get close to him again and he won’t let you walk away.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, her mind flicked, uninvited, to a memory.
Summer. They were nineteen. Still cocky, still stupid, still full of fire.
She’d fallen asleep on the floor of this very lab, cheek against her notebook, and woken to find Logan sat beside her, hoodie half-off, legs stretched long in front of him. He’d scribbled something into her notes in his messy handwriting.
Don’t drool on the equations. It’s not cute.
She’d punched him in the arm. He’d grinned like he always did—sharp, dangerous, charming.
But then he’d looked at her.
Really looked at her.
“D’you think we’ll still be here in ten years?” he asked, quiet, for once. “Changing the world and that?”
She’d snorted. “We’ll be lucky if we haven’t blown up the chemistry block.”
He’d gone quiet again. Then: “If I ever do something stupid. Proper stupid. You’d stop me, right?”
She’d blinked at him, half-asleep. “Course I would.”
He’d smiled.
“Good. Then I won’t need to be scared.”
The memory faded, ripped away by the whirr of her laptop and the weight of the moment.
“I promised him,” she said softly, eyes burning now.
Oscar stood frozen for a long moment, then exhaled. “You’re not sleeping. You haven’t eaten. You can’t carry this alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Yeah?” His tone was sharp now, but not cruel. Just scared. “Because it feels like you’re walking into fire and locking the door behind you.”
She didn’t reply. She just turned back to the screen and started typing again, faster this time. She felt, more than heard, Oscar step back. The sound of the door closing behind him was softer than expected.
She didn’t cry.
Not this time.
There wasn’t time for that.
The hours bled together.
She barely felt them pass.
The world outside could’ve stopped spinning and she wouldn’t have noticed, except it hadn’t. It was spinning faster, spiralling downward, chaos growing in concentric rings. And every minute she didn’t find it, Logan moved further out of reach.
He was losing control.
She could feel it, see it in the footage that looped endlessly in the corner of her screen. At first, there’d been a strange precision to his destruction, almost deliberate. Now it was messier. Unpredictable. The drones no longer moved like extensions of him; they twitched erratically, glitching mid-air before launching into full attack. Bridges crumbled, rooftops sparked and smoked. People fled from shadows they didn’t understand.
He wasn’t just hurting the city anymore.
He was unravelling with it.
The code showed the same thing. She saw it in the neural sync logs, spikes and crashes in the feedback loop. Moments where Logan fought the system and lost, over and over again. The machine was still learning, evolving, tightening around him like a vice. Every time he lashed out, it pulled tighter.
God, Logan…
She didn’t sleep.
Didn’t eat.
She drank cold coffee from the faculty fridge and paced the lab like a caged thing, the override protocol always just out of reach.
And then, just past four in the morning, it surfaced.
Buried beneath three false folders, nested in what looked like corrupted code. A failsafe, just like she’d suspected, but not for stopping the machine entirely. That would’ve been too clean. Too merciful.
No, this was something else.
SYNC INTERRUPTION: Host Reboot
Her pulse kicked.
She opened the code and began skimming, fast, desperate. If she could isolate the connection for even twenty seconds, she might be able to destabilise the link between Logan and the core AI. That would give him time, her time, to force the manual override and reset the system.
It wouldn’t destroy the suit.
But it would give her a window.
She was shaking now. With relief. With adrenaline. With something dangerously close to hope.
She hit compile, shoved her hair out of her face, and turned to the TV as she reached for her phone.
The channel blinked into view.
Breaking news. Live feed.
Midtown skyline. Fires glowing like veins through the dark. Smoke curling into the morning light. Cameras struggled to keep up with the movement, drones dipping and swerving above a cluster of skyscrapers. Then—
A flash of red.
A figure swinging in low, catching the edge of a crumbling crane and launching upward again.
Oscar.
She stepped closer.
The camera jerked suddenly, and then, there he was. Logan.
Hovering like a shadow against the buildings, wind flattening his hair, the exposed machine in his back pulsing with frantic light. He wasn’t wearing the full suit now. His shirt was gone, and the interface curled like metallic vines across his spine, lit from within. His face was twisted, something between euphoria and rage, and for a second, even on screen, it looked like he was screaming.
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
The skyscrapers. It had to be downtown. She could get there.
She could end this.
She grabbed her drive, stuffed it into her jacket pocket, and ran from the lab without even shutting the door behind her.
The city was on fire.
Not literally, though close enough. Sirens howled through the dawn, lights ricocheted off glass towers, and somewhere above it all, two shapes danced a deadly arc across the skyline.
She sprinted through the last blocked-off street, breath ragged, shoes pounding against the pavement. Her lungs burned. Her head was ringing. But she could see them now, Oscar and Logan, silhouetted against the breaking light. The drone-suit glinted with a mind of its own, flaring whenever Logan lifted his arms, the neural plates at his back twitching like muscle.
He was slipping, completely.
She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the yells from NYPD, ducking a toppled barricade and scrambling over the scorched bonnet of a car. A figure swung low—Spider-Man—webbing across a collapsing crane, then launching himself up again.
Then he saw her.
He landed in front of her so fast the wind nearly knocked her over.
“You shouldn’t be here!” Oscar’s voice was muffled by the mask, but his posture was tight, shoulders hunched, heart in his throat. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’ve got it, Oscar, I’ve got the override, I can stop it!” she said, pulling the flash drive from her pocket, her hand trembling.
“You don’t understand,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s not him anymore, he’ll kill you.”
She shoved past him. “Then let me die trying to save what’s left of him!”
Oscar hesitated, but it was enough time for her to break into a run, heading towards the fire escape of a nearby tower.
“I’m serious!” he shouted. “You need to get back, now!”
Then: thwip.
A line of web shot past her, too fast to dodge, and stuck to her wrist, yanking her sideways. She screamed as her hand was slammed against a metal bollard, locked in place with a quick twist of white tensile silk.
Her chest heaved.
“Oscar!” she yelled, her voice shattering the air. “You didn’t—you can't—!”
He froze at the sound of his name.
It hung between them like smoke.
She realised too late what she’d done, called him that, here, in front of everyone.
His masked head tilted, almost slowly, like the moment itself had hiccuped. Then he backed away, leapt upwards into the fight again, vanishing behind clouds of debris and twisted scaffolding.
Her arm pulled at the webbing. It wouldn’t give.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck’s sake!” she muttered, kicking at the post.
A man nearby, mid-forties, in a delivery jacket, hovered awkwardly. “Uh—d’you want help with that?”
She looked at him, wild-eyed. “Yeah—yes—get it off!”
He reached into his satchel, pulled out a penknife. “Mate of mine works NYPD. Says these webs dissolve in acetone, but, don’t have any, so…”
“Just cut it!” she snapped.
With a few frantic scrapes, the fibres began to tear, and her wrist came free, red-raw but usable.
She was already running.
The rooftops. She needed height. A direct line of sight to Logan’s core. She dodged a toppled pylon, shoved open a cracked door, and started up the emergency stairwell of the nearest skyscraper.
Ten floors. Fifteen.
Her legs screamed.
But she had to get to him.
Had to make him hear her.
Because if she didn’t, he’d be gone forever.
The door to the rooftop flew open with a slam that echoed off the concrete.
Wind slapped her in the face, hot with smoke and static.
Below, the city churned like something alive, sirens and screams, the low thrum of failing power grids, the crackle of burning air. But up here, it was clearer. She could see everything. The skyline was broken in half, and above it, like a god gone rogue, Logan hovered.
The machine in his back pulsed, erratic now, convulsing in jagged beats. It glowed an unnatural blue, veins of energy crawling up his spine like lightning caught mid-strike.
She dropped to her knees near the roof’s edge, tugged her laptop out of her bag, jammed the flash drive into the side. Her fingers flew.
The code opened like a wound.
Override sequence. Neural interrupt.
Come on. Come on.
Far above, Logan turned mid-air.
The suit twitched.
Her screen glitched. Static burst across her files, like interference from a signal too close, too aware.
She gasped as her laptop jolted in her hands.
The machine had noticed her.
“Oh, shit.”
A whine built in the air, low and sharp like feedback from a speaker. Logan’s silhouette flickered, just for a second, and then he dived.
Straight for her.
She scrambled to her feet, laptop tucked against her chest, backing towards the roof’s water tank. Her heart beat so loud she thought it might break through her ribs.
He landed like a thunderclap, skidding across the concrete.
The metal across his body sparked and shuddered, the plates shifting of their own accord, iridescent and alien. But his eyes, when she dared meet them, were still blue. Still his.
Almost.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice came out raw. Filtered. Like the machine was speaking through him.
She gritted her teeth. “Finishing what I started.”
The interface on his spine whirred, and without warning, a drone peeled off from his shoulder, slicing the air between them. She ducked, just as it fired, blasting a chunk from the water tank behind her.
The shockwave threw her sideways, her laptop skidding across the gravel.
She reached the device just as Logan’s boots crunched against the roof behind her.
“You’re clever,” he said. “Always were. That’s what I liked about you.”
His voice faltered for half a second—glitched again.
She clicked into the override field, half-blind with panic. “You still like me, Logan?” she whispered, not looking up. “Or is that just the parasite talking?”
A pause.
Then a guttural sound—half-laugh, half-growl.
Another drone rose beside him.
She had seconds.
Fingers flying, she bypassed the firewall. The override sequence popped into place—final confirmation blinking red.
“Don’t,” Logan said, stepping forward. “You do this… I might not be able to stop what comes next.”
She looked up. Her face was streaked with tears, hair whipped wild by the wind.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m still going to try.”
And she hit enter.
The override hit like a jolt, Logan staggered, a distorted scream tearing from his throat as the neural plates along his back sparked violently. One of the drones spun out mid-air, crashing into the neighbouring rooftop in a shower of metal and flame.
She crawled forward, watching in breathless horror as the machine writhed against him. It was peeling, slowly, like something alive being torn from flesh. Wires sparked where metal met spine, smoke curling upwards into the dawn.
And for the first time in weeks, she saw him.
His chest heaved. His eyes flickered—blue, clear, human.
“Logan?” she breathed.
He looked at her. And for a second, just a second, it was him. Her Logan. The boy with the bright smile and sarcastic mouth and stupid drawings in her notebooks.
Then another drone swooped low overhead and she ducked, heart hammering. Across the sky, Oscar was still fighting, swinging between cranes and girders, webs snapping taut as he tore drones apart mid-flight.
The machine shrieked through Logan’s mouth, and suddenly he turned on her again.
She scrambled backwards, nearly tripping over loose cabling. Her laptop was fried, screen cracked down the middle, override incomplete. He stumbled after her, his movements disjointed, like the machine was losing control but still fighting to keep him moving.
Her hand hit something cold.
A metal pipe. Bent and rusted at the end.
She didn’t hesitate.
With a cry, she swung it, hard. It caught him across the side, knocking him sideways. Sparks flew from the exposed tech in his back as he dropped to one knee, groaning.
“You have to fight it!” she screamed. “Logan, please, you have to fight it!”
His face twisted, not rage, not pain. Fear.
Then the parasite’s voice came, warped and layered, more hiss than speech. “You should’ve let him die.”
He stood, half-dragging his limbs, half-possessed by the thing trying to survive.
And then, it happened.
The edge.
The roof was crumbling under the chaos. A drone hit one of the girders supporting the fire escape, and Logan, caught in the aftershock, stumbled backwards, right to the ledge.
His heel slid.
He tried to steady himself, but the machine spasmed, twisting his body the wrong way, making it worse.
She bolted forward without thinking.
He slipped.
“No, Logan!”
Her hand snatched his wrist just as he went over the edge.
They teetered there, weight balanced on the brink of nothing.
His eyes locked on hers.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice cracking.
He was trembling. The machine twitched violently across his spine, cables whipping against the wind. For a terrifying second, it looked like it might rip him out of her grip.
Then, in the quiet, broken like a breathless memory, he said it.
“Don’t let go,” he choked. “Promise you won’t let go.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I won’t,” she said. “I never would.”
Her fingers ached with the strain, the sharp bones of his wrist slipping against her grip. The metal was hot, burning hot, sparking and writhing as the machine fought back, twisting Logan’s body unnaturally, trying to pull him down.
“No—no, I’ve got you—Logan, hold on!”
He was trying. God, he was trying. His free hand clawed at the ledge, feet scrambling against thin air. But the parasite wanted free, it wanted to fall, to vanish into the wreckage, to consume him entirely.
And he was so tired. She could see it in his face.
He looked up at her, lip bloodied, eyes filled with a kind of quiet terror. “I don’t— I can’t—”
“Yes, you can!” she sobbed, whole body shaking. “You’re not going to die down there! Not like this!”
But the slick of oil and blood and smoke was too much. Her grip slipped.
“No—no, no, no—”
And then he fell.
“LOGAN!”
The scream tore from her like it ripped something inside her open. Raw and ragged, it echoed across the rooftops, down the streets below, every inch of heartbreak threaded through the sound of her losing him.
Oscar, mid-air, froze.
He turned toward the sound, toward her scream, and saw Logan drop like a stone through smoke and broken glass.
No hesitation.
Oscar dived.
He twisted through the air, webs snapping out towards building edges, traffic lights, anything he could latch onto.
The wind howled in his ears.
He reached out, arms outstretched—
Come on, come on—
And just before Logan vanished into the chaos below, Oscar caught him.
The impact jostled them both hard, nearly yanking Oscar’s shoulder out of its socket, but he held on, webbing them into the side of the nearest tower, both of them swinging low before slamming into a scaffold.
Above, she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air, hands still out like she was trying to grab him back from the edge.
She didn't realise she was still crying until the salt hit her lips.
Her voice was hoarse now, the scream still lodged in her chest.
But he was alive. Somehow.
They were both alive.
She didn’t remember how she made it down. She flew through the stairwell, lungs burning, knees nearly buckling with each turn. Her ears rang with the sound of her own blood rushing, feet slipping on concrete, heart pounding so violently it felt like it might give out altogether.
The scaffolding came into view at last, twisted and dented where they’d landed.
And there—
Oscar was kneeling beside Logan, the mask torn halfway off his face, chest heaving. His hands were slick with blood and oil, arms braced around Logan’s body as he leaned in and yanked.
A wet, sickening crack echoed out as the machine tore free from Logan’s back, an unholy thing of metal and wire and exposed circuitry, screeching as it detached. Logan let out a strangled cry, barely conscious.
“Jesus—” Oscar swore, tossing the machine away like it burned him. “I need a medic! We need, someone call an ambulance!”
She sprinted the last few steps, nearly falling onto her knees beside them.
Logan was sprawled out, blood spreading beneath him. His chest rose in shallow, stuttering breaths, skin pale, eyes fluttering.
She reached for him, cradling his face in shaking hands. “Logan—Logan, stay with me, yeah? It’s me, I’m here—just stay with me, please—”
Her voice cracked, a sob breaking free as she pulled him against her, his blood soaking into her sleeves. He didn’t move much, just the faintest turn of his head toward her, like he knew.
“I couldn’t save you,” she whispered. “But I’m here. I’m still here.”
Behind her, Oscar stood frozen.
He watched as she held Logan, rocking him gently like they were sixteen again, back before any of this, back before wires and drones and masks.
His hands, still trembling from the fight, curled into fists at his sides.
This was the girl he’d grown up with. The girl he’d loved quietly, patiently, always from the corner of the room. The girl he thought, maybe, one day.
But here she was. Crying into Logan’s chest like the world had just fallen through her hands.
Oscar looked away.
The sirens wailed in the distance now, growing closer.
And all he could do was stand there, watching her stay for someone else.
Oscar didn’t wait for the medics.
Didn’t wait for her to say anything, or even glance back.
He just pulled his mask down over his face again, jaw tight, breath sharp. The webline hissed as it latched to the edge of the building. And then, he was gone. One smooth motion, vanishing into the skyline with a thud of wind and fabric.
She didn’t even see him go.
One week later:
The hospital smelt like antiseptic and regret.
Late afternoon light filtered in through the blinds, striping the floor in gold and grey. Machines beeped steadily, too steadily, and the occasional murmur of nurses bled in from the corridor beyond.
Logan lay still in the bed, tubes in his arm, bandages pressed tight across his ribs. The scars down his spine were fresh and angry, burnt-in reminders of the thing that had burrowed into him. He hadn’t said much since they’d pulled it out. Mostly, he just stared.
The door creaked.
Oscar stepped in.
No mask now. Just him. Shoulders tense beneath his hoodie, one hand still faintly grazed and bandaged. His eyes flicked to Logan’s, but neither of them spoke straight away.
It was the first time they’d been alone in weeks. Maybe months.
Logan gave a faint smirk, dry as dust. “Thought you’d swing in through the window.”
Oscar didn’t smile.
“I wanted to look you in the eye when I asked why.”
A beat. The machine beeped in the silence between them.
Logan’s gaze drifted back to the ceiling.
“You wouldn’t get it.”
Oscar stepped closer, brows furrowing. “Try me.”
For a long time, Logan didn’t speak. He looked… small. Not physically, Logan was still tall, still built like he could hold the weight of the world, but there was something hollow behind his eyes now. As if the parasite hadn’t just burrowed into his body, but had found the last untouched bit of him and snuffed it out.
“I was tired,” he said eventually. “Of being nothing. You remember what it was like. Always someone better, always someone smarter. I thought… I thought if I made it mine, I could control it. The chaos. My name would mean something.”
Oscar’s jaw clenched. “So you built a machine that nearly levelled the city. Brilliant.”
“She was trying to help me.” Logan’s voice was quiet, bitter. “She believed in me. Even when I didn’t.”
Oscar looked away at that, just for a second.
Then he stepped closer to the bed, eyes hard.
“You used her.”
“I loved her,” Logan snapped, voice cracking like brittle glass. “And maybe that makes me worse. But don’t stand there pretending you didn’t want her to choose you.”
Silence. Electric. Sharp.
Oscar’s fists were tight at his sides now, but he didn’t move.
“You broke her heart,” he said, softly. “And you’re not the only one who has to live with that.”
He turned toward the door, one hand already reaching for it, before pausing.
“She’s not here,” he said without looking back. “Because she’s tired, Logan. Because she nearly died trying to save you.”
Logan didn’t respond. He just lay there. Staring at the ceiling. Staring at nothing.
The door clicked shut.
And Logan was alone again.
the end.
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Fifth Bullet: Where the Fire Left Ashes
cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader pt. 5 (wc 3.6k) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part IV part VI warnings: MDNI!!!! swearing, violence, gun usage, mature language, mention of death/blood
“Pfft-” Shidou clapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders jerking with the effort not to laugh.
“You can laugh. I don’t give a damn,” Kaiser muttered, puffing on his cigar and glancing out the window like he wasn’t hoping for a distraction.
Shidou lost it. “P-PHAHAHAHAHAH! You got all sour and moody over that? That? You sittin’ here lookin’ like a kicked dog ‘cause of some sentimental shit?”
Kaiser’s jaw twitched. He exhaled smoke slow, like it’d calm him. It didn’t. He shot Shidou a glare, then gave him a firm shove off the bed.
Shidou let out a wheeze as he hit the floor with a thud. “Aaah, Mihya, you amuse me,” he said from the rug, grinning like a damn fox. “Makes me feel all poky inside.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Shidou sat up, rubbing his back, eyes glinting. “By the by, mind explainin’ why your calendar’s sittin’ on August of 1885? It’s May, dumbass. It’s actually starting to piss me off”
Kaiser didn’t even look. “Because I was gone for nine months, you nosy ant. Try keepin’ up.”
When he finally glanced Shidou’s way, the bastard wasn’t on the floor anymore. He was standing near the dresser, poking at the neat little pile of art supplies Kaiser had laid out earlier.
“Oooh, what’s this? For lil’ ol’ me? You shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t touch it,” Kaiser warned, voice low.
“These pens,” Shidou said, lifting the box with a twinkle in his eye. “I knew a fella who had these exact ones. Real pedo. Found him facedown dead in a ditch, pens shoved straight up his ass”
“Stop,” Kaiser growled, and snatched the box out of his hands with a sharp motion. “Don’t fuckin’ touch it.”
Shidou threw his hands up in mock surrender, that grin never leaving his face. “Whoa there, sweetheart. I ain’t mean no harm.”
He wandered casually around the room, inspecting the walls like he lived there. “So…this is for her?”
Kaiser didn’t answer. He sat back down, propped his elbow on his knee, and took another drag from his cigar.
“When you plannin’ on givin’ it to her?”
“Hopefully never,” he muttered under his breath.
Shidou let out a snort that turned into a strange wheezing giggle. “What kinda laugh was that?” Kaiser shot him a disgusted look. “You sure you’re not possessed?”
“I might be,” Shidou shrugged, crossing his arms with dramatic flair. “Possessed with secondhand embarrassment, considerin’ how shit you are at apologizin’. Lord, it’s painful watchin’ you try.”
Kaiser narrowed his eyes. “It’s not exactly my strong suit.”
“Yeah, no kiddin’. You hand over flowers like you’re surrenderin’ at war and mutter some half-dead ‘I’m sorry’ like it’s gonna erase the whole mess. Brother, she’s got more reason to shoot you than to hug you.”
Kaiser looked away. “I know.”
“You want her back?”
There was a long pause. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft crackle of the cigar.
“…I want her to be okay,” Kaiser said finally. “That’s all.”
Shidou tilted his head. “That ain’t all. You love her. Which means you’re gonna have to grow a damn spine and say what matters.”
Kaiser ran a hand through his hair. “You make it sound easy.”
“‘Cause for once it is, dumbass. Just tell her you’re sorry like a man. No riddles, no dramatics. Just plain words. You’re only makin’ it harder the longer you wait.”
Kaiser didn’t answer. He just stared at the pencils in the box like they might give him courage.
“Can I give it to her?” Shidou asked with a wink.
“Touch it again and I’ll break your wrist.”
Shidou laughed. “There’s my boy.” You sat at the table, eyes fixed on the card as if it might shift or speak if you stared long enough. It had been sitting there for nearly an hour now, untouched except for the crease your thumb had left when you placed it down.
The quiet was broken by the soft jingle of keys at the front door. A moment later, your father stepped inside, boots dusted from the road, his hat in one hand.
“Hello, Y/n.”
“Hi…” you replied, voice low and unfocused.
He walked over to you, eyes filled with the kind of softness only a father could carry. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and steady.
“How’s it going? You feelin’ any better?”
“Huh? Oh…yeah, better,” you said quickly, eyes flicking away from the card. “Better, I guess.”
He gave a small nod, not quite convinced, and turned to head toward the bathroom, talking over his shoulder about the rough ride home and the broken wheel on the wagon. He got a few steps before he stopped, voice dipping just enough to catch your attention.
“You know, Kaiser told me it was just an argument. Said it got a little heated.” His eyes scanned the floor. “Didn’t expect to come home to a broken vase.”
Your stomach twisted. “Ah- I forgot to clean it. Sorry, I…”
You trailed off as he sighed and crouched beside the shattered pieces still resting in the corner.
“I couldn’t think straight,” you admitted, guilt curling in your voice.
“It’s alright, dear. Everything’s alright,” he said gently, gathering the larger shards with care. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”
When he stood again, he glanced at the table and his eyes landed on the card.
“This from me?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Yes. It’s for you.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know…it didn’t say.”
He hummed low in his throat, thoughtful, and took the card into his weathered hands. His eyes scanned the front, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he slid it into his coat pocket.
“I’ll open it later,” he said, voice unreadable.
That made your head tilt slightly without meaning to. There was a shift in the air, subtle, but not unnoticed. Like something unspoken had just taken up space between you.
He didn’t explain. He simply gave you a soft pat on the shoulder and walked into the next room, leaving behind only the echo of that strange, deliberate pause. "…Without any hint of escape…without any hint of escape…" you murmured, barely aware you were speaking aloud. Your gaze lingered on the closed door your father had disappeared behind, but you said nothing. You just thought. And thought. Something in you stirred uneasily, like a clock ticking too fast. You didn’t know what, or when, but you felt it, soon, something would happen. Something that would finally give you a hint. A clue to whatever message that card held, and who had sent it.
"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO-" BANG "HEADSHOOOOOT!" Shidou’s voice cut through the woods like a whipcrack of chaos.
Kaiser exhaled and lowered his rifle. The rabbit lay still, just a few meters away.
"Could’ve gone a little higher," Isagi muttered, adjusting his aim as he studied the next cluster of bushes.
"Like you could shoot a damned thing if your life depended on it, you empty-skulled fool," Kaiser snapped, tossing the rifle carelessly onto the patchy grass. He leaned back against his pale-coated horse and lit a cigar, the match flaring briefly against the afternoon sun.
Isagi rolled his eyes and raised his gun again, more focused on the movement in the brush than on whatever insult Kaiser had thrown his way.
"That one’s mine," Shidou grinned, tongue slipping out of his mouth as he pointed toward the rabbit. "That’ll be my dinner tonight. Hope it ain’t riddled with bone."
Ness, off to the side, stayed quiet, his fingers moving deftly over a pair of disassembled revolvers. He glanced at the sky like it might tell him something.
"What’s our next stop?" Ness asked finally, not looking up.
Kaiser didn’t answer right away. He took a long draw from the cigar, then breathed the smoke into the air like he was tired of everything around him. His voice came low and steady.
"You three go wherever the hell you feel like. I’m headin’ to her place."
Shidou gave a sharp whistle, grinning wide. "Well, I’ll be damned. The Emperor’s finally makin’ a move. You be sure to use some protection, now-"
BANG
Isagi fired again, taking down another small creature without so much as flinching.
Kaiser flicked ash off the cigar, ignoring Shidou’s crude comment, and pulled himself up onto his white horse.
The other three men watched as he settled in the saddle.
"Good luck," Ness offered, his voice dry, but not unkind.
Kaiser rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, then tugged the reins and set off down the trail without another word.
Behind him, Shidou laughed to himself. "Bet he forgot how to apologize properly."
Isagi didn’t even look over. "Bet he never knew how in the first place."
"How much we bettin’?" "Twenty dollars," isagi replied "Deal," Shidou smirked as they watched Kaiser ride off toward town.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the dry dirt road as Kaiser rode his white horse through the narrow path back toward her home. The wind tugged at his coat and ruffled his already-messy hair, but his hands stayed tight on the reins. His lips moved quietly, breath shallow, voice barely audible over the rhythm of hooves on packed soil.
"I can do this…no, I can’t…no, shut the hell up, you’re doin’ it…" He exhaled hard and looked down at the small box tied with a velvet ribbon in his saddlebag, now repacked and neater than when he bought it.
"Just say the damned words…mean it for once…" He slid off the horse as he reached the porch, dusted off his coat, and held the box in one hand. His knuckles were white around it. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the door like it was a firing squad.
Then he knocked.
From inside, you were leaned against the kitchen counter, chewing lazily on a biscuit you had scrounged up, still caught somewhere between aimless thought and bitterness. Then came the knock. Sharp. Intentional. Not impatient, but certainly not casual either.
"Now what in the world…? Better be someone with a damn good reason," you muttered to yourself as you wiped your hands and made your way to the front.
You should have asked who it was.You should have waited.But you didn’t.
You opened the door, and there he stood.
Not a smirk in sight. No swagger. Hair a tousled mess like he hadn’t touched a brush in hours, though his coat was elegant, expensive as always, like he’d made a rushed effort to appear respectable.
"what the hell are you doin’ here?" your voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and rising fury. "I told you not to come near me. Not again. I told you to never speak to me"
"Y/N…" he said, almost like a plea.
"Leave, Michael. I swear, you stay one more second and you’ll make it worse. Dad!" your voice rose as you turned back into the house.
"Wait," he said quickly, stepping forward, though not crossing the threshold. "Please, just…listen for a second. I’m not here to start anything. I’m just..."
You stopped, but your eyes burned.
Kaiser swallowed and looked down for a second, the hand holding the box tightening ever so slightly.
"I am not good at this," he admitted, voice low and steady, but vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before. "Hell, I’ve never been good at it. Never knew the right words, and when I did, they always came too damn late. You were right to be mad. I was wrong, and I was careless. I said things I shouldn’t have. Did things worse."
He finally looked at you, really looked at you.
"I don’t blame you for hating me, not after what happened. I hate myself plenty for it. And I ain’t askin’ you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not ever. I just needed you to know…I’m sorry. Sincerely. I don’t expect that to fix what I broke, but it’s the only honest thing I got left to give."
He slowly held the box out to you.
"This…isn’t a bribe. It ain’t a trick. It’s just something I picked up, thinking maybe you’d like it. That’s all."
You stared at it, not moving at first. The box was beautiful, the ribbon tied too neatly for someone like him. Suspicion warred with something softer in your chest, and your brows furrowed.
You finally reached out and took it. The moment your fingers touched the box, your arms dipped downward.
"For the love of---what the hell is in this? Rocks?" you muttered.
Kaiser gave a faint chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching despite the heaviness in the air.
"Quality ain’t light, sweetheart," he murmured, then immediately regretted the familiar term and looked away. "Sorry. Habit."
You didn’t reply.
The weight of the box in your hands was nothing compared to the silence hanging between you both. You looked away, completely at a loss for words. Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came. There was nothing for you to apologize for.
"I…will get going. See you," he said, almost under his breath, before turning around.
"Bye…" you murmured, so quiet it barely reached the air behind him.
That wasn’t the Michael Kaiser you’d seen at the bar just a few days ago. There was no trace of that smug confidence, no heavy swagger. Just a tall, tired man with something you hadn’t seen in a long time, remorse. But beyond that, behind the eyes, behind the tension in his shoulders, you still saw the little boy you used to know. You didn’t want to think about that right now.
You turned back into the house, closed the door with a soft click, and looked down at the box still heavy in your arms.
"To my dearest Y/N," you read aloud from the small card tied to the ribbon. Your fingers brushed it once before tucking it against the lid.
Without letting your father hear the stairs creak beneath you, you made your way up to your room, step by quiet step. Once inside, you placed the box gently on your table, hands still unsure, then slowly pulled the ribbon loose.
You didn’t read the card first.
Instead, you lifted the lid and froze.
Shock hit you first.
Inside was a full set of art supplies. Not just a few scattered items, but a careful, curated collection. The canvas you had been saving up to buy today. Brushes, new ones, still bound in paper that matched the exact size and shape of the ones you needed most. A thick leather-bound sketchbooks that practically begged to be filled. Then your breath caught again.
A pair of earrings nestled in a small velvet pouch. Gold. Not plated. Real. Elegant, yet small enough to wear without drawing attention. You blinked.
Your gaze swept lower.
"Are you joking…?" you whispered as your fingers touched a pristine, untouched tin of Faber-Castell pencils. The real kind. Imported. The kind artists dreamed about but never got to hold in their hands.
And there, folded neatly at the bottom, was a single ribbon. Soft, sky-blue, with a delicate floral edge. You ran your fingers along it without thinking, unable to stop. The texture was smooth, almost like silk. So pointless and pretty. You couldn’t look away from it.
Your mouth had gone dry, but still you felt your focus pull in tighter and tighter. The longer you looked at everything, the harder it became to breathe evenly.
This was too much.
Far too much.
And somehow, exactly right. You finally looked over at the card, fingers hesitating only for a second before you opened it. The paper felt thick between your hands. And his handwriting, surprisingly, was beautiful. Elegant, almost aristocratic. A part of him you’d never seen before, like a secret he hadn’t meant to share.
To my dearest Y/n,
I don’t know if you’ll ever want to read this, not after the way things ended between us today. Maybe you’ll tear it up. Maybe you’ll let it sit unread in a drawer somewhere until the ink fades and the corners yellow. But if there’s even the smallest chance that you’ll read it, then I have to write it, if only to stop myself from going mad.
It was stupid, all of it. The arguing, the way I snapped at you. I don’t even remember what lit the fuse, just the way the fire took hold and burned straight through us like dry brush in summer heat. You looked at me different after. Like you were done. Like you’d seen some part of me you didn’t recognize anymore.
And I hated that more than anything.
I’ve been carrying something heavy for a long time now, something I never dared lay down between us. I kept it hidden in my chest like a loaded gun, pointed inward. I figured if I never named it, it couldn’t ruin what we had. But maybe that was foolish. Maybe not saying it out loud is what ruined us instead.
Y/n, I think I’ve loved you since we were kids, long before either of us knew what love meant. You, with your grass-stained skirts and scraped-up elbows, telling me I was being reckless again. You, who always knew when to call me out, when to pull me back. You were the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t just wild trouble. You saw something good, even when I couldn’t.
Do you remember the time we raced down by the river, when the water was high and the wind near tore the hat off my head? You laughed so hard you could barely breathe, and I thought right then, God help me, I’d give anything to be the reason she laughs like that forever. I never said it. Never had the guts. And now I wonder if maybe I waited too long.
You were always meant for more than this dust town and the mess of boys who don’t know how to hold onto what matters. I was afraid of that. Afraid you’d outgrow me, leave me behind like boot prints in the dirt. So I kept my mouth shut and let the years pile up, thinking maybe someday I’d be enough.
But today proved I’m not. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know the truth before the silence between us sets in too deep. If this is the last thing I ever get to say to you, then let it be this:
I loved you before I even knew I was capable of it. I love you still, even now, with my pride cracked.
And if you never speak to me again, I’ll understand. But I’ll carry you with me, always, tucked into the spaces between all the things I never had the courage to say.
Yours, Michael Kaiser
You didn’t move. Not at first. You just sat there, the card resting on your thighs, the room silent save for the faint creaking of the old wood beneath your chair.
Your eyes had gone wide without realizing it.
Then, without any warning, a single tear traced its way down your cheek.
Your fingers loosened against the card as your gaze shifted toward the box beside you. You looked at it like it had changed, like the objects inside now meant something more than what they were.
"Michael…" you whispered.
You looked around the room, as if expecting someone to explain it to you. But no one came. And you didn’t know why.
You didn’t know why it hurt.
Or why it didn’t.
Not yet.
You stared back down at the card, unmoving.
It was hard to believe the same boy from your childhood, mud on his boots, reckless glint in his eye, always one bad decision ahead, was the one who wrote this. That’s what made it all the more difficult. That’s what turned your throat tight and your chest hollow.
Maybe that’s what made you feel like crying in the first place.
With a trembling breath, you folded the letter and stuffed it back into the box. You couldn’t deal with this right now. Not this. Not when the walls of your room suddenly felt too small, like they were closing in on you along with your thoughts.
You had no choice but to shove the box under your bed, out of sight. Maybe your father wouldn’t notice. Maybe you could pretend none of this ever happened, just long enough to breathe.
But the moment you stood up, your heart betrayed you.
No, you needed to see him.
Right now.
You didn’t care if it made sense. You didn’t care how badly he’d hurt you just days ago. All you knew was that if you didn’t see his face, hear his voice, something inside you might crack for good.
You bolted down the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet as you made for the door.
But your father’s voice caught you like a rope pulling back.
"Y/n, can I talk to you?"
You blinked. "Hm?"
He was standing near the parlor with a faint look of concern etched into his brow. One hand rested on the back of the armchair, his shoulders stiff like he hadn’t quite figured out how to ask what he needed to.
"Just for a moment," he said, his tone gentle. "It won’t take long."
You stood still, torn between two kinds of weight, your past waiting behind you and your future galloping out the door ahead.
You swallowed.
"...Sure. What’s going on?"
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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv
masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward
A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33
Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.
Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.
Word count: 7.1k
“How did it go?”
Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon.
It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore.
Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.
“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen.
“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him.
Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.
He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.
He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced.
The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to.
“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging.
Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived.
“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked.
“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke.
Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed.
“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod.
“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.” Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.”
Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?”
Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father.
His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.”
He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side.
“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.
There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.”
Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her.
In some ways, she was grateful for it however.
They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare.
Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge.
She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom.
“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered.
She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.”
“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered.
She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again.
“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes.
She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself.
Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle.
Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.”
Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar.
“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin.
Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder.
The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away.
They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest.
“Thank you, Lady Tully.”
She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him.
Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.”
He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did.
“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.”
Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing--
“Are you sure?” She asked.
However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words.
Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him.
Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard.
The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times.
Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her.
She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed—
“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped.
She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows.
“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes.
If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.
“My Lady?”
She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail.
“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.”
“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back.
He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that.
He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face.
His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place.
He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked.
He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing.
The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face.
He pitied her, truly pitied her.
“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them.
“My lord.”
Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man.
Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied.
The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate.
The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized.
The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding.
“Yes, of course.”
Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath.
He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable.
“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly.
Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again.
Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently.
“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze.
“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.”
“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath.
He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment.
He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours.
They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said.
Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior.
He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window.
“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.”
His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?”
The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered.
His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table.
He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell.
“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.”
Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?”
“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments.
“Thank you.” He quietly replied.
He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”
“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink.
In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything.
“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”
Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.
masterlist | backward
TAGLIST: @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms
#davos blackwood#benjicot blackwood#house of the dragon#house blackwood#kieran burton#benjicot blackwood x reader#davos blackwood x reader#benjicot blackwood fic#hotd#hotd 2#benjicot blackwood imagine#benjicot blackwood x oc#benjicot blackwood masterlist
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bambi's worlds masterlist

Aegon The Conqueror (a song of ice and fire universe)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Aemond Targaryen (house of the dragon)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Alex Volkov (twisted love)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Azriel (a court of thorns and roses)
azriel x needy oc drabble
mirror sex with azriel
Poly!Bat Boys Fics (a court of thorns and roses)
there's a man in the woods (poly!batboys x oc)
rhysand prequel, part one, part two, part three, part four
rhysand, azriel, and cassian were blessed by the cauldron with a mate. although, the circumstances were never seen before. the three males each had a mate, and it turned out to be the same female they were each bound to; bambi. they had spent months trying to track down the female that had been haunting their dreams and they finally did. she was tamlin's "mate". he had somehow discovered bambi was the rhysand's mate, so he took her as his own lover to spite him. tamlin still blamed rhysand for the death of his true mate, rhysand's sister. however, this plan to get back at rhysand was short lived seeing as the bat boys showed up and took her to the night court with them, leaving tamlin in their dust. pissed that he no longer had the upper hand, tamlin snuck into the night court and kidnapped bambi
Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier (marvel cinematic universe)
the winter soldier's weakness
bucky and y/n have been free from Hydra for two years, trying to make a life of their own. but that becomes a struggle when bucky is framed for a bombing (3,036 word count)
Cassian (a court of thorns and roses)
weekly tryst
cassian meets with a teacher at nyx's school once a week. she's the most perfect thing he's ever seen
Casteel Da'neer (from blood and ash)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Chris Evans
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Cregan Stark (house of the dragon)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Copia/Papa Emeritus IV (the band ghost)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Damon Salvatore (the vampire diaries)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Din Djarin (the mandalorian)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Eddie Munson (stranger things)
the freak and the new girl (eddie munson x y/n)
y/n is new to hawkins high this year and everyone she's dated has treated her terribly. she's convinced she'll never find a healthy relationship, until eddie munson changes everything.
part one, part two, part three
caught (eddie x oc)
eddie catches bambi dry humping a plushie on his bed.
Geralt (the witcher)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Harry Styles
after show special (my first fic !)
harry can't wait to get you alone after his concert, so he takes you to his dressing room (harry x y/n).
Harwin Strong (house of the dragon)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Jaime Lannister (game of thrones)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Jaqen H'ghar (game of thrones)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Jim Hopper (stranger things)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Joel Miller (the last of us)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Margaery Tyrell (game of thrones)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Nikolaj Coster-Waldau
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Rafe Cameron (outer banks)
rafe drabble (rafe x oc)
rafe drabble
hard and soft (rafe x oc)
rafe waited impatiently for bambi to get out of the shower after she rejected his request to join her. when she comes out of the bathroom completely nude, he takes matters into his own hands.
Rhaenyra Targaryen (house of the dragon)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Rhysand (a court of thorns and roses)
mating frenzy (prequel to there's a man in the woods but can be read as a stand alone)
when bambi accepted her bond with rhysand, a mating frenzy ensued.
Rhys Larsen (twisted games)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Rick Grimes (the walking dead)
reunited (rick x y/n)
rick thought he knew what true, unconditional romantic love felt like with lori. she was his first love, the mother of his child. but that was nothing close to what he felt with you. you had the ability to turn him into the most deranged man alive, someone unrecognizable and downright psychotic when it came to protecting you. you could also bring him to his knees and turn him into a puddle at your feet. he could be the softest, gentleness man to exist if you wanted him to be. you were his, and he was yours. simple as that. when he woke up in the hospital to find the world had ended there were only two things on his mind; carl and you. he needed to find you.
season 5 rick grimes smut drabble
living constantly on the move was stressful, making it hard for bambi to sleep most nights. so, rick helps his sweet girl fall asleep.
chronically ill in the midst of calamity
living during the apocalypse is hard to begin with, it's even worse when you have an autoimmune disease like bambi. rick and bambi have been a couple since before the world fell apart, and they've found themselves in the worst conditions they've had to withstand so far. the longer she goes without proper hydration and nourishment the worse her symptoms are becoming. he's not sure how much longer he can take seeing her so weak.
fascination
rick spotted bambi a month ago in the woods, and ever since he had been watching from afar. when her group is attacked by raiders and she's the only survivor, he takes the chance to be her knight in shining armor
Sandor Clegane (game of thrones)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Simon "Ghost" Riley (call of duty)
bambi and her bodyguard (simon x oc)
simon "ghost" riley is bambi's bodyguard, he worships the ground she walks on, but fights his feelings for her. well, until he can't anymore. (simon x oc).
needy little girl (simon x oc)
simon is trying to focus on paperwork in his office on base, bambi is the ultimate distraction.
simon riley lactation kink drabble
Sodo/Dew Drop Ghoul (the band ghost)
sodo/dewdrop drabble
Steve Rogers (marvel cinematic universe)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Terzo/Papa Emeritus III (the band ghost)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Visenya Targaryen (a song of ice and fire universe)
nothing yet, but coming soon!
Wade Wilson (marvel cinematic universe)
cookies and clay (wade x little!oc)
#masterlist#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen masterlist#alex volkov x reader#alex volkov x you#alex volkov masterlist#andy barber x reader#andy barber x you#andy barber masterlist#august walker x reader#august walker x you#august walker masterlist#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel masterlist#aemond targaryen x oc#alex volkov x oc#andy barber x oc#august walker x oc#azriel x oc#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x oc#bucky barnes masterlist#cassian x reader#cassian x you#cassian x oc#cassian materlist#casteel da'neer x reader
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Bedside Manner - Chapter One

The Ghoul x Reader
When it comes to job prospects in the Wasteland, being a nurse isn't all that lucrative. So you're Dom Pedro's assistant, where your nurse skills of administering drugs come in handy with sedating the Ghoul. (Not really following canon, just taking my own spin on stuff)
Genre: fluff, fallout angst (more in future chaps anyways), strangers to accomplices to ambivalent friends to lovers, heated moments of tension, probably eventual smut
Word count: 2.2k
Masterlist | Next Chapter
Holy fuck, does shoveling do a number on your back.
You groan as you roll back your shoulder, and throw the shovel behind you.
Dom Pedro has been on your ass about this shift. You have to take the Ghoul to Dom’s workshop, where he’ll carve him up, when the sedatives have worn off and the pain will be ever-present and lingering. You figure Dom’s angry about something else– and what better outlet is there than torturing a ghoul?
It’s not something you like to do, carrying this extremely heavy, tall undead-man through Dom Pedro’s house by using a rope system and tugging, and then after Dom Pedro’s had his fun. re-administering drugs that will prevent the feral nature from taking him over, but it’s necessary and it pays well.
Pedro’s a little too elite to do this himself anyways. That’s why he hired you, a former nurse who used to work at a charitable hospital– one that was eventually claimed by the Brotherhood.
You try not to think too much about your former, much more fulfilling career.
The mildly disturbing scent of a living corpse hits you as you open up the casket. The Ghoul isn’t the worst ghoul you’ve ever had to look at, but he’s still a little creepy, and you stare at him as he lies there.
Is he awake? Pretending to be asleep so you’ll be caught off guard, and his gun will fire rapidly, making a bloody mess out of you?
You’re well aware of the risks. You just have to hope that today’s chemical cocktail IVs are correct, and enough is administered inside him so that he’s truly, really, fast asleep.
You carefully tie around his wrists and legs– you feel, somehow, the slightest bit of warmth, something that could suggest a pulse from the veins of his wrists– but you know that’s ridiculous and continue on.
/
Dragging him to the workshop makes you feel a little guilty. His face sometimes smacks onto the wooden floors of this cabin if you’re not careful, and you always whisper a hushed “Sorry!” Even though he’s not human.
You don’t want to be on his bad side, even if he can’t hear you.
“Why the fuck isn’t there a more moral way to make caps?” You exhale, a common complaint you always have.
You tie him to the torture-chair, wrapping rope around his torso and arms and legs, so he can’t break free, adjusting his hat so it stays on, and because– despite the Ghoul’s reputation as a bounty hunter, you feel like he deserves a little respect with his belongings– and now you’re waiting for Dom Pedro to come and cut him up.
You don’t know why Dom Pedro does this. Is there some sort of use for ghoul skin and blood that you don’t know about? Or is it just purely torture, since Dom Pedro’s kept the Ghoul alive for so long, even giving him the false kindness of anti-feral ghoul drugs so he’ll be entirely aware of every inch Dom Pedro’s knife cuts into him?
You don’t know. And it’s not exactly like you’re important enough to know that information, anyways.
/
The Ghoul stirs awake. He blinks– he’s back in the workshop, yet again.
He’s only half aware of how he gets here. He knows there’s definitely a woman involved– someone soft, with pliant fingers and hesitant motions that suggest she doesn’t want him to get hurt as she drags him from sleep to being butchered– he only vaguely remembers seeing her back, just once, maybe a few months ago.
He turns to the side, ready for Dom Pedro to be seething in the corner over whatever their beef was and brandishing that scary, rusted axe.
He’s not there.
Oh. The Ghoul blinks again, his eyes clearing up as he does.
It’s you. You’re the woman, the nurse that Dom Pedro uses to administer all these drugs into him.
It’s almost a little shocking, a little tantalizing to him to actually see you. Two-hundred years of memories doesn’t exactly give him the most clear of minds, but he knows you’re the one who’s always just hazy, on the edge of his peripheral vision after being tortured, in his dreams after you sedate him.
“Hey, nurse…” He can hardly talk, but you jolt in your spot, and turn to him.
“Uh–” You stare at him, entirely flabbergasted. “You’re not supposed to be awake!”
“Well, I am. What’re you gonna do about it?” He yawns, still ever so slightly woozy from the drugs.
The Ghoul notices a knife on the table. He tips his head toward it.
“Cut me free.”
“Are you fucking crazy?!” You shake your head immediately. “Dom Pedro will kill me.”
“Dom Pedro’s a bitch if he’s killing someone willing to do the hard work for what, a couple hundred caps?” The Ghoul raises his non-existent eyebrows, and you swallow. “You don’t know how rare that is nowadays.”
“And I’m supposed to just trust you? The Ghoul, the most terrifying, ruthless, brutal killer I’ve ever known?” You narrow your eyes at him, with every adjective tossed out of your hissing mouth, coming closer and closer to him.
“I like how you describe me, keep going.” He jokes, looking up at you, but he snarls suddenly and you flinch.
The Ghoul grins in satisfaction, white pearly teeth, very square and rigid in their appearance, something that should look handsome on the right person and instead, is a little unnerving right now.
Still attractive, though, and you question yourself.
“Let me go, sweetheart, and I promise your death won’t be as half as painful as he could make it.” He drawls, and you swallow but shake your head.
“I’m not interested in being a mercy kill.” You state, and he sucks on his teeth.
“That’s a mistake.” He leans closer to you, somehow straining against your carefully tied knots to do so. “I’d be doing you a favour.”
“Well, I’m a coward. I’m not all rough and tough and shooting every single person I see, unlike you and Dom Pedro. I’m not gonna die in glorious battle, and I don’t want to die anyways.” You’re glum. “I only took this job because being associated with him protects me.”
The Ghoul is silent for a moment.
“And what if you were associated with me?” He asks, not actually intending anything serious, but he feels an urge to tease you ever so slightly. “That’s protection, isn’t it?”
“What?” You glance back at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe because I’m trying to bargain my way out of here, maybe because you’re the one who’s been kind enough to make sure I’m not chafing with how you tie these fucking ropes– and I’m assuming you drug me, right, sweetheart? You dull the sick pains he gives me.”
“Uh… yeah, I do.” You pause. “Stop trying to sweet talk me, Ghoul.”
“Nah, nurse. It’s funny and I wonder what Dom Pedro will do when he sees you talking to me.” The Ghoul says, another shit-eating grin upon his face.
Oh.
That’s actually quite bad, you think. The Ghoul hasn’t just been trying to coax you with compliments so you’d help him escape– the longer he’s kept you in this conversation, the closer you’ve gotten to his Plan B: Dom Pedro’s wrath.
“I’m guessing a smart lady like you would be more afraid of him.” The Ghoul keeps prodding, and you glare at him. “Rather than me.”
You know he’s right. Your eyes give away what you’re thinking as you ever so slightly glance to the table.
There’s a syringe of chems there, meant to send him to sleep after Dom Pedro has done his worst. Usually Dom Pedro takes the initiative to do that himself, because as he tells you, he likes being the only one who can send the Ghoul to sleep, the closest Dom Pedro will let him ever get to death. And then you’re stuck with dragging his comatose body back to the grave that awaits him.
Maybe you can just put a stop to the Ghoul’s philandering right now, and get yourself out of here before things get bad. Dom Pedro wouldn’t even notice– the Ghoul would seem as out of it as he was supposed to be at this time.
It’s only a second of you looking over there, but the Ghoul is quick– too quick, immediately understanding what you intend to do– and he somehow pushes his chair forward, at you, aiming his foot to kick at you with what limited motion he has in his restraints.
You get shoved back with a grunt, and you see him edge towards the knife on the table– but you knock him backwards with a shove, and the chair tips back, only stopping on it’s back legs due to the ropes extending from them, tethered to the back wall and through the gear and pulley systems that are ever present in this workshop.
The Ghoul’s kept his grip around your wrist, though, from where his hands are tied on the armchairs, and you fall back with him, balancing on your tippie toes and your hands on the top of the chair. Your hair brushes against his face as you lean forward, and you attempt to move away, but he won’t let go of you, instead sighing with gratification as he looks up at you from here.
“Huh. This is a compromising position, isn’t it?” The Ghoul licks his teeth as he keeps pulling you towards him, and you hear the wooden floor creak under you as the chair wavers in the air.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, c’mon, cut the bullshit.” He scoffs, still trying to get you to budge into helping him. “You really think Ol’ Dom Pedro won’t think you’re conspiring with me now, after it looks like you’ve taken a lover–”
There’s a sudden sound at the porch of the cabin. You and the Ghoul both turn to look out the window– and it’s definitely one very drunk Dom Pedro struggling to open the door.
You duck, out of fear that he’ll see you through the window, in the delicate moonlight, and the Ghoul tuts as your face comes near his jaw.
“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” He looks at your trembling face nonchalantly, as you try to make a decision. “Free me, and we’ll escape together. Use the drugs, and you’ll be stuck under Dom Pedro’s grubby fingers making exceedingly meagre wages.”
“How do I know you won’t just abandon me as soon as you want to kill a bounty?” You whisper, and he rolls his eyes.
“You don’t. But I always repay my debts.” He says, and you don’t really believe him at all, but the more time passes by, the more you know that he won’t even seem appropriately sedated for Dom Pedro’s wishes– so you wordlessly nod.
The Ghoul won’t let go of you, so you’re left careening to the side as his arms hold you to him. He’s keeping such a tight grip to ensure that you scrabble for the knife– and you do.
“No sneaky bullshit.” He spits out, and you, despite being of the Wasteland, had no mind to kill him. No, that would’ve certainly looked bad as well.
Dom Pedro’s favourite lap dog, dead? His bounty killer, who does it for the love of the game? His favourite ghoul to torture? The one who did something so bad it’s basically unspeakable, and Dom Pedro would be livid if he wasn’t ultimately the one to kill him in the end?
You could say goodbye to your head if you killed the Ghoul. You know your place– even if you get paid to administer drugs to him, you’re no better than a dealer, a sweet face providing a nice bedside manner.
You make quick work of the ropes restraining him, and the Ghoul stands up before ducking behind a table, putting his finger against his lips, shushing you.
You’re very careful now. Dom Pedro is coming down the hallway, and any second now, he’s going to check to see if you brought the Ghoul here.. Luckily, Dom Pedro’s so drunk, he’s taking his time, stumbling and groaning.
After mulling over it in your mind, you decide to take the full syringe on the table. Less evidence, and you figure maybe Dom Pedro will be so drunk he’ll forget you were supposed to be here anyways.
And after second-guessing it– you think fuck it, and take the entire briefcase of drugs with you.
The Ghoul whistles very slightly at the sight of that. “You’re committing.”
You resist the urge to ask him what other choice you have, since running out on Dom Pedro is a great way to have a bunch of bounty hunters after you– you’re relying on selling some drugs, and bribing the Ghoul with some so he’d have to continue protecting you after he inevitably says he’s completed his debt by helping you escape.
“Let’s go.” You mouth, and he nods.
He’s not one to care about personal space at all, though– and he lifts you up over the ledge of the other window, pushing up on your thighs, away from the hallway where Dom Pedro is finally coming in– and you feel your face turn hot at the close contact, halfway over the ledge into the outside, with his hands on your waist as he hoists you away.
You don’t even have time to think about it as you land lightly on the ground together, because he’s right behind you, hands still on your waist for a moment, and then he lets go, and together you move quickly.
#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#the ghoul#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard#fallout tv#fallout tv series#fallout amazon#fallout prime#fallout x reader#ghoul x reader#fallout#fallout 2024#fallout show#the ghoul fluff#the ghoul fallout#fallout series#amazon fallout#series: bedside manner
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yandere wonder woman headcanons
diana prince x reader
tw // people pleasing, manipulation, usual yandere stuff, lasso of truth being used to interrogate/misused
big buff girls pls hmu ;) jk.... unless
missss diana prince i love you sooo much
wonder woman is known as a compassionate hero that values the truth (ive been reading the comics guys im so smart 😊) (ngl finding good comics for my girl was hard so rec me some pls)
shes kind, caring, so incredibly empathetic
she’s stubborn, reckless, and a hardcore people pleaser (shes just like me fr!!)
the first time diana prince meets you was a complete accident. she was running after a getaway car when she spots you. headphones in, attention completely on your phone. with another burst of energy, she launches herself in front of the car, one arm out to protect you and another arm to stop it completely. you can’t move frozen in fear as the car smashed into her arm, almost . you were pulled into her arms without a second thought.
“are you alright?” her face was overcome with worry.
you break down into sobs, “thank you. thank you. thank you” you bury your face into her shoulder
in that moment, all diana wanted to do was take you away from all of it. your touch on her skin felt like holy fire. you were angelic.
from then on, you saw her every day. first at a coffee shop, then at the grocery story, then at your work, then in front of your house. she wouldn’t pretend like she didn’t see you. no secret stalking. she would come up to you, ask you how you are and ask you about your day. to you diana became one of your closest friends. to diana , you were the one.
one day, she’ll tell you that she’s in love with you
“(y/n), i must confess something to you.” she turns to you on the couch.
you look over at her and she almost melts, “what’s up, di?”
she takes a deep breath, “i like you.”
��oh.” she stares at you, waiting for more. “diana, i’m not sure how i… feel about you.” you try to let her down easy, but she grabs your hands.
“(y/n), everything about you makes my heart stop. i wait with bated breath for any word from you. i would give you my soul if you asked. i love you.” diana got closer to you as she spoke. you try to inch away, but her grip on your hands were too strong. guilt swims as your mind processed her words. “please don’t say no. i love you, (y/n). i would do anything to prove it.”
you let out a breath, “maybe let’s go on a date first?” you see her eyes light up and you smile, happy to make her happy.
you keep going on dates with her becuz u didn’t want to upset her and she seems so sincere with her feelings
dates to dating to engaged to married
at the end of the day…. ur a people pleaser just like her
she would do anything for u babes like… anything
the emotional manipulation, the gaslighting, diana takes it to the MAX
she knows you would fold if she pressures u enough
shes so mother, mommy, wife, mother of my children
she babies you
like a lot
yk that post i made earlier about genius yanderes or wtv? its like that
she doesn’t trust u to do anything
treats u like a grown child
but its cuz she loves you!!!!
if you decide enough is enough and that u don’t want to get involved romantically…
“you’re lying to me.” diana’s eyes were fierce as she glares at you. it hadn’t gone too far but as she led you to the bedroom, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, you knew you had to tell her.
“i’m sorry, diana. i don’t like you like that. you’re my best friend. i just… didn’t want to lose you.” you were sobbing as you sat on the edge of the bed, head in your hands.
“all these months… you had been LYING TO ME?” with one push to your shoulders, you land flat on the bed. she straddles your hips, hands pushing your shoulders into the bed. you feel her hands tighten.
“please, diana, i’m sorry.” you choke out a sob. she lets go of your shoulders before leaning back to sit on your hips. you take in deep breathes as she shakes her head.
“no no no. you’re lying.” her eyes looked crazed and you don’t respond, fearing her strength. she starts to laugh. “you love me, i know it. the truth will prevail.” she states, she gets off of you. you sit up, afraid to move. you see her grab her lasso.
“diana, don’t you dare.” you try to move, but with one quick whip, her lasso had looped itself around you. you were trapped. “diana, don’t do this please.” you beg.
“what is your name.” diana’s eyes were cold, as she interrogated you.
“(y/n).” you can feel the words tumble out of your mouth.
“where are you.”
“in your bedroom.”
“do you love me, diana of themyscira.” you try to keep your words in, fighting the lasso. you know she would twist your words. “DO YOU LOVE ME, (Y/N). YES OR NO.”
“yes.” you sob as the word gets ripped out of you. the lasso loosens.
she wraps you into a hug. “i knew it. i knew it. i know you love me. i don’t understand why you’re fighting, (y/n), but we will figure this out. together.” she smiles at you, tears streaming down her face. you don’t respond and she presses a kiss to your lips.
i need her so bad guys i want a big buff gf soo bad i want u diana prince
not movie diana. FUCK movie diana. this is only comics diana. fuck ww 1 & 2 and FUCK gal-can't-act gadot.
#like and reblog <3#yandere#x reader#yandere x reader#gender neutral reader#wonder woman#diana prince x reader#diana of themyscira#wonder woman x reader#yandere wonder woman#yandere diana prince#yandere diana prince x reader#emotional abuse#mentions of babying#guilting#lasso of truth#misuse of lasso of truth#yandere dc#diana prince#diana of themiscyra
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The fire in her eyes | part 3



She was Hydra’s secret weapon—firebound, nameless, and controlled. When the Avengers storm the last hidden base, Natasha Romanoff comes face to face with the girl behind the flame. A mission becomes a rescue. And maybe… something more
Pairings: natasha Romanoff x female OC
Word count: 1,7 k
Warnings: mention of trauma, Flashbacks, fluff, slowburn
Chapter three | Smoke and Silence
Days go by slowly. The medical wing felt less like a cage now, even though she gets monitored constantly. It feels more like a foggy glass box. Still sterile, still quiet, but no longer like a prison. During the day, her memories are coming slowly back from what happened over the last few months. These memories feel rather foggy. But at night, they are more vivid than ever. It’s like Amaliya relives the loss of control and the mind manipulating all over again. It always ends up with her waking up sweaty and flame sparkling on her fingertips. Her strength was returning - slowly. Her fire still sparked when she got emotional or had nightmares, but Bruce had designed elemental dampeners built into her wristbands to keep flare-ups in check while her nervous system recalibrated.
Amaliya is sitting crossed-legged on the bed, hands resting behind her head. She had no longer IV lines clinging to her. The silence here was different. Not empty, just different.
The silence is broken by the door hissing open, the familiar red head entering, again. But this time with a tray in her hands.
“Don’t get too excited, Its just soup.” she said softly, setting it down on the side table and sitting down on a nearby chair. “But I made it. Sort of.”
Amaliya arches her eyebrow. “You cook?”
Natasha shrugs. “I microwave. Close enough.”
The corner of her mouth twitches in amusement at her answer. Natasha didn’t miss it.
“You should eat. Bruce says your body’s still running hotter than average. You are burning calories like a furnace.”
Amaliya glances at the soup. She can’t deny that she is starving. But her appetite has been gone for the last few days.
“I am not hungry.”
silence hangs between them two. Natasha studies her, trying to find out whats going on in the head of hers. She is harder to read than other people, thats for sure. But that makes her even more curious. She points out:
“You’ve barely said a word to anyone since you woke up.”
Amaliya avoids her gaze and mutters “I have nothing to say.”
“Everyone has something to say.”
“What do you want to hear? I burned people alive, Romanoff. Whats your team waiting for? Trying to lock me up?”
Natasha shakes her head. “No one is trying to lock you up. Hydra did enough of that for a lifetime.” She pauses and asks: “do you remember anything before the base?”
Amaliya thinks for a moment. Her memories are a blur and everything is mixed up. She isn’t even sure what really happened and which memories were only nightmares.
“I remember only pieces. Flashes, fire, screaming.. It’s a lot.”
“They probably wiped your memories. Hydra likes blanks—it’s easier to rewrite someone who doesn’t remember who they are.”
Amaliya is still avoiding her gaze.
“And if there’s nothing worth remembering?”
“Then you get to build something new. From scratch. Most people don’t get that chance. We can help you control your powers, and make you a part of the team.”
Amaliya is considering her words. A part of the team? She never had something like this. Before hydra took everything from her and make her to a weapon without a choice, she had nothing. She says in a quiet voice:
“You really think I can be one of you? An Avenger?”
The redhead smirks slightly.
“You are already wearing Stark-Brand pajamas. Thats halfway there.”
That makes Amaliya huffs in amusement.
“I am serious.”
“So am I. I’ve seen worse start from less. And honestly, you’d be doing better than half the guys on the roster. At least you don’t talk in movie quotes or bench-press helicopters to prove a point.” Natasha explains.
“Why are you trying so hard for me?” her ember eyes narrow slightly.
Natasha pauses before answering:
“Because no one did for me.”
Amaliya looks away again. Her fingers flex on her lap- there is a soft flicker of warmth, but it dies down before it can ignite.
Amaliya meets her gaze again. “You shouldn’t trust me.”
Natasha leaned back, arms crossed. “I don’t. Yet.”
That made Amaliya snort softly. Honest. At least that was something.
“But I want to,” Natasha added. “And the others… they don’t see a monster. They see someone who survived. That matters around here.”
Amaliya lets her words sink in. She wouldn’t admit it yet, but Natasha gives her a tiny bit of hope back. Hope that she can be a person again. A better person. She doesn’t know a lot of Natasha, since she is very guarded. But there is a mutual understanding between them. Then she finally reaches for the soup, the words leaving her mouth half-jokingly.
“If I get food poisoning, I am gonna set you on fire.”
Natashas eyes glisten with amusement, she retorts with a deadpan face:
“Fair. Just aim away from the curtains.”
Thats the first time she sees Amaliya smile. It’s just a little, but genuine smile.
Over the next few days, she interacts more with the avengers. Each one on their own way. Steve drops by with books. Biographies, poetry. Nothing too heavy.
Bruce ran scans and gave her updates—without treating her like an experiment.
Wanda lingered by the door once, their eyes meeting briefly. Something passed between them. Mutual damage. Mutual power.
Tony mostly waves from the window, clearly still wary of fire in enclosed spaces.
But Natasha keeps coming back.
Sometimes with coffee, sometimes with awkward conversation starters, sometimes just to sit in silence. But it gives her some sort of comfort.
#natasharomanoff#natasha romanoff#blackwidow#avengers#fluff#natasha romanoff x f!oc#wlw#marvel fanfic#fanfic#slowburn
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tw child death and manipulation!! again!!! heh i love torturing tehse guys... quick happy hc so ppl can scroll uhh pr3typriincess liked to host teaparties with c00lkidd and bluudud and liked to make bluudud dress up as the princess/damsel in distress in princess-knight-dragon games. c00lkidd insisted on being hte dragon or big bad evil villain and pr3typriincess would usually be the dashing maiden/female knight that saved a very unenthusiastic bluudud from an overenthusiastic c00lkidd!! dressing up is very necessary yes based off that pr3typriincess still tries to organize tea parties but c00lkidd rarely comes and bluudud physically cant come?? outside of a robot controlled thing which is basically hsi avatar for every game he plays,,, i think forsaken would be a computer steam game he can boot up and pr3typriincess's world/home/room idk is just another game he can start... the survivors see bluudud as like this mech robot and not the actual kid (c00lkidd also looks kindave regular outside of rounds but during rounds helike transforms adn twists into an 8 foot tall part drakkobloxer monster! looks back on my shapeshifter hcs) c00lkidd died to a malfunctioned ride WITH 007n7 in the crowd waiting for him to come out so all 007n7 knew is the scream that came from his mouth and his mangled body they all died on their birthdays and i think their birthdays would aso be in their age order so bluudud died/went missing due to a car crash first, then pr3typriincess died however she died or got forsakened, and 007n7 could only watch as the pattern finally got to his kid 118o8 and bluudud do/did less of the outward "MUAHAHA i am EVIL and i am here to HACK natural disaster survival and turn it all ONE COLOR AND PNG!!!! " and more of mind messing things... like flipping the og roblox house around in the museum or shifting painting hues to be a slightly different color... 118o8 warns bluudud not to do hugely noticeable things like uh. setting the grocery store on fire (slash reference) or terrorize the pizza place (looks at c00lkidd) but he still soemtimes does it... 118o8 is too afarid of her son becoming a manchild completely reliant on her or a future significant other so she makes him do chores instead of completely grounding him even though he is 11 / 12 and is supposed to be reliant but wtv... since bluudud is a mech in forsaken but organic in bluuworld i think that the spectre would be like "hey guys! a new killer!" and every survivor is dreading their appearance but they never appear for like two months (cause bluudud was still recovering from actually being hit by a car adn not having any medical supplies or even having a bed (ive played bluuworld all there is is like 10 blunnies, a pc with a white-screen behind it, a toilet, like 5 paintings, a giant rock, a wip store, a bird cube behind the house, a dance floor, and like this emo guy in the corner of the map)). and then theres a robot and they still assume that the killer is out of commission or refuses to participate or somehow escaped adn the robot is replacing the actual killer instead of c00lkidd just being tricked its basically pyrovision. everything is ACTUALLY rainbows and puppies and sparkles to him and ppl say different things as well!! bluudud is controlling his irl forsaken self using the computer so all his dialogue, movement, and everything else is preplanned and prebuilt in so he can actually check the stats of everyone else and review strategy so hes actually one of the more skilled killers from your dearest pi-non.... hope you enjoy the children suffering
Ough... you make them suffer so terribly, pi-non. By the way, have you been here before? If not, hello!
#forsaken#forsaken roblox#roblox forsaken#forsaken headcanons#tw manipulation#tw child death#pi-non#c00lkidd forsaken#bluudud forsaken#pr3ttypriincess forsaken#Mod Two Time🗡
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Summertime Sadness (part 2)
Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader
Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort
Ten years ago: the first time you met Simon
Today: the first time Ghost meets you
Tags: mental illness, therapeutic boarding school, self harm, suicide attempt/suicidality, self harm, abuse, parental abandonment, much the same as last chapter. This fic is unedited because I don’t feel like editing it lol. If you see spelling/grammar issues, no you didn’t.
TEN YEARS AGO
Reader POV
-
It’s intake day.
Intake day happens once a week, always on Wednesday.
You don’t know why they pick Wednesday. It seems pretty arbitrary, doesn’t it?
On intake day, the nurses and counselors make all the current residents of the inpatient program line up to greet the newbies. You actually look forward to intake day. Everyone here is so boring and routine; your roommate never speaks unless spoken to and she always keeps her earbuds in. On intake day, the hope that someone nice will be admitted survives for the few hours of the intake itself.
It usually dies right after. There was one polite girl who smiled when you waved last week, but she was transferred to a different facility that night before you could learn her name.
You’ve been here for three weeks, so that’s three intake days.
You’re not sure why you’ve been here so long. It seems a little excessive; you’d think by now they’d realize your stuff isn’t so bad and maybe you could transition to outpatient appointments?
It’s a little dissociation and some minor depression. Not bad at all.
But your doctors agree, albeit gently, that you should stay for the full five month course.
The program isn’t so bad. The facility sits on a sprawling multi-acre property in the British countryside, where everything is beautiful and verdant and always chilly. It’s lovely. The tea is good. You’re getting used to how they take it here. It’s nothing like the sweet tea you drink back home.
You suppose that’s another reason why they won’t let you go home even though you’re okay; there isn’t a home to go back to. Your dad hasn’t looked you in the eye since Mom left. At least the orderlies here greet you in the morning.
(What Dad doesn’t know is that before she left, she told you she loved you and to wait for her. Soon, she’ll take you away from this place and you’ll never have to see your dad again.)
Before you head to the foyer, you check your hair in the mirror of your room’s suicide-proofed bathroom. A young teenage face stares back at you with cheeks flushed red from the sun. You trace your deep smile lines with the tip of your finger, then practice smiling. You would have feel better about moving to a therapeutic boarding school if you’d been greeted with a smile.
At first, you think the newest crop of poor souls will be uninteresting at best. Listless rich kids detoxing off Mommy’s coke, frightened preteens who’ve never been away from their parents for an extended period of time, and a few teenagers straight from an ER, IV bags and all.
And then you see him get off the bus last.
He’s tall, towering over everyone else. A lanky, almost skeletal build, with a bored, aloof expression on his face. He hides the Zippo lighter he was playing with in his sleeve before the nurses catch and confiscate it.
There’s something horrifically severe about him. He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, but he carries himself like he’s a blade and the world is filled with monsters.
His eyes are large and dark, rich brown irises rimmed with pale blonde eyelashes. And they’re kind, even though he would probably hate having that pointed out.
You decide then and there that you’ll befriend him. He could use a friend; everyone here does. He’s beautiful in his sharpness and elegant in his abrasiveness. Maybe you can coax more of that hidden kindness out, show him that it’s worth more than his anger. You wouldn’t be able to stay away if you tried.
You both like playing with fire, though you prefer less literal ones.
-
TODAY
Ghost POV
-
Your smile fades swiftly as if it was never there to begin with.
There are two ghosts in this room. That’s what you are; a ghost of the girl he knew.
He watches and waits for you to shift uncomfortably and start blabbering to fill the silence like you used to. “Why’d you make them call me?” Ghost asks when it’s clear that you won’t.
As soon as you explain, he’s out of here. Ghost meant it when he said he never wanted to see you again.
You’re the last living reminder of the past he’s tried so hard to kill. The beeping sounds of your heart monitor spell out his mistakes in a grating, irritating rhythm.
Your answer disappoints his expectations. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Ghost doesn’t hear any wistfulness or longing in your voice, anything that would tell him that you’re clinging on to the boy you thought he was. Only a bone-dry and hollow statement of facts.
“What do you want?”
You ignore his question. At fifteen, you were good at that. At twenty-five, you’re better. “You got any cigarettes I could bum? You look like you still smoke them,” You say as you fiddle with your torn, bleeding nail beds with the classic anxiety of nicotine withdrawal.
He does that too when a mission stretches too long without a resupply and he finishes his cigarettes early to stave off hunger.
Ghost remembers fighting with you over the pack of smokes he smuggled into the program. He would hold it way above your head and laugh as you struggled to reach them. But you never gave up - they were bad for him, and you liked him too much to see him die of lung cancer.
He remembers the determination in your eyes and your unwavering faith that he could be saved.
“They’re bad for you,” Ghost echoes.
If you remember that moment, you don’t show it. “You know what else is fucking bad for you?” Your tone is so acerbic that it gives him whiplash.
He can’t resist taking a shot. “What, being a prick?” You just… bring out the worst in him. You make him feel as unhinged and unmoored as he was when you first met.
You roll your bloodshot eyes.
“I wasn’t going to call you out on that. I was going to say benzos and vodka. Also throwing yourself headfirst off a bridge.”
“Oh.”
What is he supposed to say to that?
“Why did you come?” You ask after a long moment of quiet interspersed by that fucking heart monitor.
Ghost grinds his teeth into each other as he reflects. He hates doing that; the inside of his skull is a bad place. “…I don’t know,” He admits. Coming here was a mistake; Ghost understands that now.
The foul taste on the back of his tongue is guilt. But why? You did this to yourself. You brought him here to play games and fuck him up, so why is he the one who feels… bad?
You sigh. “Simon-“
“Ghost. It’s Ghost now,” He cuts you off with more violence than necessary.
Your mouth settles into a tight, pained line. “Ghost. Go away.”
“But you called me here.”
That provokes a reaction.
Ghost sees it and immediately wishes it hadn’t.
You stare him straight in the eye, your dilated pupils peel back his mask and see the face underneath. Your skin is tinged gray and your bottom lip blooms red with blood from where you’ve bitten through it.
He wants back the child sobbing for his forgiveness on her knees, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
“And it was a mistake, and I should never have done it, and I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t going to pick up the phone. That I was truly alone.”
So the memory of him is a knife you’re using on yourself. Fucking disturbing.
“Oh.”
You raise an eyebrow as you wave. “Bye.”
Right.
That’s it.
Though your dismissal rankles, Ghost does as you ordered and takes his leave of you.
His work phone vibrates a few times.
Only one person calls that it. “Captain,” Ghost greets.
Captain Price clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Lieutenant. When can we expect you back?”
‘Tomorrow’ is on the tip of Ghost’s tongue.
He’s never taken a day off in his career, which means he’s got at least a year or two in built up vacation time. “I’ll be gone for a while longer, sir. Not sure yet how long,” Ghost answers promptly.
It’s only for a few more days, a week at most. Long enough to make sure you won’t try to kill yourself again, long enough for the guilt freezing his blood and choking his lungs to fade.
“Alright, Lieutenant. Keep us posted.”
“Yes, sir.”
TAGGING: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner
#summertime sadness#cod#call of duty#modern warfare#modern warfare 2#cod modern warfare#cod modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost Riley#Simon Riley#Simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost x you#Simon riley x reader#Simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#ghost riley x reader#ghost riley x you
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🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎
51 for 🪽:
---
“Good luck,” Buck whispers to Eddie as the conversation starts. There’s no judgement in his eyes. Just empathy. Eddie’s not sure he deserves it.
The conversation is messy. It’s painful. Marisol is hurt. She’s angry. She doesn’t understand. She asks Eddie to reconsider. To ask himself if it’s the brain injury talking, not him. But he knows it’s him. He knows this is just part of the problem with who he is, fundamentally. So he holds firm to his choice. He ends things between them.
Afterwards, when he looks for Buck - he’s not sure why, maybe for reassurance? - he finds that his guardian angel has finally disappeared.
iv.
It’s over a month before Eddie sees Buck again. By the time he does, he sort of thinks he might have imagined the whole thing. He was concussed, after all. And clearly going through something, on the relationship front. It makes sense his brain came up with an imaginary coping method. Weird that it was Buck and not, for example, Shannon. Whatever. Concussed and misguided beggars can’t be choosers, right?
Wrong. Wrong, because it’s not his imagination at all.
He’s at the Promenade in Long Beach when he sees him again. Which is ironic, sort of, because this seems like the place to be if you want to see people you thought you lost.
When it happens, he’s looking through a store window at a woman who looks exactly like Shannon. Like, exactly like her, just with different hair and style of dressing. It’s the second time he’s seen her. The first time, he was out with Chris. He couldn’t do anything. This time, nothing is stopping him. He’s desperate to know how this is possible. He’s about to step foot into the store, when…
“Bad idea, man.”
Eddie spins around to see Buck, wings and everything, standing cross-armed, looking at him with a disapproving expression.
“Buck,” Eddie says very quietly. He doesn’t want any passersby to think he’s crazy.
“Eddie, man,” Buck sighs. “Of all the reasons I’ve been called back here. Come on, you know that’s not her.”
Eddie blinks. Yes. Yes, he does. But…
“But she looks just like her,” Buck fills in for him. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I have eyes.”
---
51 for 🍎:
---
Eventually, Athena makes him change and clean himself up. She has him change into a set of civilian clothing. She doesn’t bother to try and get him to leave. She knows he won’t.
He falls asleep in one of the chairs in the waiting room. He’s not sure how. His only guess is that stress and fear have completely wiped out his body.
When he sleeps, he dreams. He’s always had active dreams. Loud, frightening dreams. The kind of dreams that were only softened when alcohol soaked. This is no different.
Bobby dreams he’s standing on the porch of his childhood home. It looks like an early autumn day in St. Paul. For a moment, it’s a comforting scenario. And then Bobby feels wracked with worry. He’s an adult, but he’s standing here. In this place. Alone. Why is that? Where is everybody? His wife? His team? Where are his children?
As if in answer, Bobby hears a bright trill of laughter coming from inside the house. He turns towards it, follows it inside through the front door. The sound leads him through his old living room, all the way to the kitchen. The kitchen he once burnt, on the night his father died. But instead of that particular ghost, he finds others.
All three of his biological children are in the kitchen. Buck, Bobby Jr., and Brooke. They’re baking cookies. Buck is wearing an apron with little cartoon fire engines on it, carefully instructing the kids on how to measure and mix ingredients.
“Oh my god,” Bobby exhales when he sees them. “You’re all here. You’re all together.”
Brooke smiles at him. That big, warm smile that used to feel like balm on a wound after a hard day of work.
“Where else would we be, Daddy?” She asks.
“Are you going to help us?” Bobby Jr. asks.
“Yeah,” Bobby says, sort of breathless. “Of course I am. Thanks for getting started, Buck.”
Buck smiles and shrugs. “You had to know I’d beat you here, Bobby.”
Bobby blinks and frowns. He’s not sure what that means. He shakes it off and takes a step towards the kitchen.
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arcane prompt "hospital"?
[jinx deserves the world, also it's nice to let cait use her girlboss disposition for good sometimes, yknow. ao3 here.]
///
you hand caitlyn a cup of black tea she probably thinks is beyond shitty; it's all they had at the cart in the courtyard, and you still have no idea how to make proper tea anyway. still, she smiles — small, and residually scared, but genuine — in thanks. she's been crying, you can tell: her eyes are red-rimmed and the sweater of vi's she'd thrown on in the middle of the night is rumpled around the sleeves, like she'd used them to wipe her tears.
'she's going to be okay, right?' you look at vi's still, bruised form in the bed. 'they didn't, like, tell you really bad news while i was gone or something.'
caitlyn steadies herself. 'no,' she assures you. 'she's going to be just fine.'
'okay,' you say, and you trust her because she loves vi and because she's a doctor, and mostly because at this point caitlyn wouldn't lie to you. you scoot your chair forward and lace your fingers together with vi's hand, the one without an iv taped into it, and squeeze gently, just a hello. the doctors had explained that she's on a lot of medicine to keep her comfortable, plus the anesthesia from her surgery, so she's not going to wake up until midday at the earliest. but just in case she can feel you, you want her to know that you're there. you remember coming out of the worst sedations, medication that was wrong for you or just way too high a dose, to vi slumped next to your bedside, her big, strong hand steadfast around yours. 'did you see her x-rays or medical history or something?'
'i didn't intend to,' she says in way of an answer.
'ah.' you fiddle with vi's fingers. 'gnarly, huh?'
she puts her tea down on the small table near the bed and runs a hand through her hair before she scrapes it up into a messy ponytail. 'i knew, in theory,' she says. 'we've talked about things, of course. i'm able to help take care of when her chronic back pain flares, and how she really should have a surgical repair on her bad shoulder. but, i just, well. i suppose i comprehend the breadth of it now, more completely at least, the details in a way i can understand.'
you don't know; you don't ever want to know, not like that. vi still has nightmares about prison, still doesn't eat enough sometimes, still refuses heating pads and advil sometimes after a hard shift. 'yeah.'
'and i suppose, too, that it's hard to know how much she's hurt, even if it's so much less bad now.' she shrugs, helpless, and looks at you. 'i just love her.'
it had been terrifying, to get a call in the middle of the night from the fire department: vi had been in a building when it collapsed, and she was hurt and it was, potentially, very bad. you're not sure who they'd called first — you or caitlyn — but she'd texted you a minute after and offered to pick you up so you could both wait at the hospital while vi was in surgery. it had taken two hours before her dad came out and explained that vi had some internal injuries that still needed more fixing in surgery, as well as a few bruises and scrapes, but she would recover fully with time.
'you should move in with each other,' you say.
caitlyn pauses for a few moments, but then she lets out a quiet laugh. 'how long have you been holding that in?'
you shrug. 'you guys have been together for two years. i know vi wants to.' you don't mention that you hack into caitlyn's person email on occasion, just because you like to be nosey; you don't mention that you'd seen her and vi send property listings back and forth the last few months. 'i know she hasn't said anything to me because she doesn't want to upset me, or make me think like she's choosing you over me, or whatever.'
caitlyn considers it calmly. 'she would never do that, you know.'
'yeah.' you do; it's the thing you know most in the world. 'i also know that she's scared that if she doesn't help me at much, i'll have another episode.'
that, caitlyn has no response to.
'i've talked about this a lot in therapy.' you squeeze vi's hand, just in case she's listening too. 'at first i couldn't manage any of it without her, for sure.'
vi had spent her first month out of prison visiting you in your tent in the scariest part of town, not pushing, just bringing you food and warm clothes, comfortable blankets; she'd sit with you for hours if you'd let her, even if most of the time you talked to voices only you could hear and saw things she never would. finally, you agreed to go to the hospital with her, and from there it was more months of getting clean, and trying different medications, and really lame group therapy, and coming to terms with your diagnosis. vi was there as often as she could be, clean-cut for once while she went through the fire academy. you don't remember many details, but when you'd finally gotten released, she'd brought you to this small, rundown one bedroom apartment that she'd made as nice as she could. the first night you were home, she fell asleep in bed next to you in less than a minute, a few tears on her cheeks, seemingly of their own accord. it's always been a measure of love you'll always be a little in awe of.
'but, like, i remember my meds on my own now. i have a system.'
caitlyn's smile is honest-to-god proud. 'that's no small feat.'
you try to act nonchalant, but she's right: most of your medications have side effects that require other medications to off-set, and it's a nightmare if you don't coordinate them properly. 'and, like, my graduate program is going well, and i have friends, and i like climbing. i feel, not good, i guess. maybe i'll never feel good. but i feel real, and most of the time the world feels real too.'
caitlyn lays her hand on top of yours, and vi's.
'anyway,' you say, clearing your throat so you don't cry. you run your free hand through your hair, grown out some now after your "interesting decision," as vi had said, last year during a meltdown. 'vi can move out, and ekko can move in to our apartment. he's —' your boyfriend? your best friend? your favorite person, other than vi?
caitlyn smiles gently. 'he is.'
'he knows what to do, if i need help.'
'and i know you want to live with vi, and i know she wants to live with you.' even though you invade their privacy by checking emails, you'd never spill the beans that they've both individually been looking at rings. 'i can manage, without her there as much. i don't think either of us ever thought that would be our reality, which is why vi hasn't brought it up. i know she's still scared, probably forever. it was scary.' you take a big breath and then let it out; when you'd first gotten your diagnosis, it seemed like you would never get to be a full, independent person, and then it would be a death sentence. 'but i want to try. i can try.'
caitlyn squeezes your hand, and vi's too. 'i believe you will do wonderfully, in both my professional and personal opinion.'
'oh. really?'
she nods. 'you haven't had a full blown episode in over a year. i see you manage your days, and your impulses. clinically, you're actually a great patient. personally, you're a pain in the ass sometimes, but not because you're unwell.'
'just because of my stunning charm and incredible sense of humor? my flair for the dramatic?'
'something like that, sure.'
you laugh. 'thank you, so so much.'
she rolls her eyes but she's still fond of you, especially in the early morning light. vi's eyes are both bruised blue, but caitlyn had told you that surgeons had finally fixed her broken nose after it broke again this time: you're pretty sure vi hasn't been able to breathe properly since she was, like, twelve. at the very least she'll snore less, so a win for all of you. 'we found a house we want to put an offer in on,' she admits.
'yeah?'
she nods. 'it's not too far from your place, and it's right on the park.'
you scoff, just for posterity. 'fancy.'
she's unfazed by this point. 'we — well, vi was going to tell you, but i know it's fine if i do. we know you and ekko want to keep your current place, and i'd actually like to sit down with both of you and see if there's any way i can assist with your rent or other budgetary items.'
you're definitely, 100% about to cry, all of a sudden.
'she is so proud of you, for even being able to consider pursuing increased independence.'
you sniffle.
'but, the brownstone we're looking at also has a fully finished basement, with a bedroom and a small living area, its own bathroom. we've planned for it to be your space, whenever you want it, for any reason, for however long you'd like to stay. a night, a year. you will always have a home with violet, which means you will always have a home with me too.'
you have to do your deep breathing: sometimes kindness, especially given freely, is what makes the world slide most off-kilter. there are always voices telling you that you don't deserve good things, that caitlyn, and vi, and ekko, and vander, and even caitlyn's parents, when you go over to their giant ass mansion for celebratory dinners or parties, are lying to you. but you put your head down against your joined hands and count to ten, whisper it aloud, and then sit back up. caitlyn is waiting patiently.
'how big is the house?'
she laughs, heartily, and pulls out her phone to show you pictures and specifications. it's beautiful — not that you'd ever expect less of caitlyn kirammen — but she also tells you the plans she has to decorate, and your chest aches with a happiness so tinged with grief when she casually explains things vi wants in each room too. it's a life you never dreamed you'd get to have, and you know vi has probably been having total menty-b's about all of this, but she deserves a home more than anyone you've ever met.
'it's fine, i guess,' you say, after caitlyn finishes showing you their plans for the patio and yard.
caitlyn laughs. 'up to your standards?'
'could use more neon.'
'keep it confined to the basement, and you've got a deal.'
'ugh.'
'the only request i have is that you not blow it up.'
you pretend to contemplate. 'that's reasonable, i guess.' you look around at all the monitors proclaiming your big sister's strong heart and lungs and brain, despite it all. 'vi's gonna be so relieved that we don't have to have a heart to heart when she wakes up.'
caitlyn looks at the still planes of vi's face adoringly. disgusting, still. 'she'll be difficult enough as it stands, i'm sure.'
'total pain in the ass.'
////
you spend the first night after vi moves out in your apartment with ekko, and you fall asleep with your head tucked into his chest, safe still, even now. that weekend, you haul a duffle bag of your stuff — clothes, toiletries, a quarter of your lab, a few cans of spray paint — to vi and caitlyn's new house. neither of them are home yet, vi stuck grumpily on desk duty for the evening and caitlyn's meeting running over.
but your key turns in the lock, and your favorite snacks are stocked in the pantry. eventually, they both get home, and they're happy to see you, and caitlyn laughs at the improvements you've already done to the walls of the basement. vi ruffles your hair and you bully both of them into ordering tacos like you want, even though they have plenty of things you could cook at home. caitlyn is polite enough to let you curl up with vi on the couch, just for tonight, and you fall asleep, safe and warm, there too.
#arcane#arcane fic#caitvi#jinx. babygirl no1#vi... getting stabbed in any universe... it's more likely than you think#SISTERS! it's all a love story!
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My Lady Strong (IV)
Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?
word count: 1,495
CW: bullying, feelings of neglect and isolation
Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen can be read as x reader)
Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part
disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC
It had been nearly a year since the events of Driftmark. Since her mother and brothers had left to Dragonstone. A year since her fathers death. And yet she already had a new father, one she did not like, alongside his two daughters. She had also gained a new brother. But she hadn’t met him, and she doubted she would meet him soon. As each day passed the distance between Dragonstone and the red keep seemed to get bigger and bigger.
“My dear?” she heard Alicent call out, having gotten closer the last year, Alicent had become more and more of a mother to her, and being her 9th nameday and her mother and brothers nowhere to be seen, to Aemma it had began to seem like Alicent was more of a mother to her than her own. A fact little 9 year old Aemma could not stomach to admit.
“Yes?” she asked, looking up from her spot in the library. She had found her time often spent alone as of late. Aemond having become more distant since the incident. And Heleana, well was Heleana, keeping to herself, though she had become more and more isolated since her wedding to Aegon last month. And Aegon spent most of his time at the bottom of a bottle in the depths of kingslanding. So she resided in herself spending days in the library by herself, in a spot that used to be her and Aemonds to just becoming hers. And the few spare moments Aemond seemed to give her were spent training Vaghar, or watching him train with ser criston. He no longer wanted to chase after each other in the godswoods, or read in the library. Or simply just existing in each others company. She understood, somewhat, he was becoming a man, a man hell bent on learning everything in him to defend himself, to learn to fight. Everyone was growing up, but her, and she was being left behind.
“My sweet girl, what's wrong?” Alicent questioned, rounding the corner to see Aemma in what she knew to be her spot. “Hmm? You seem to spend every moment alone, and I know many girls at court who would die for a moment of time spent with you.”
“What girls? Helena only ever wants to be by herself, and seems to ignore me every time i spend time with her, and the last set of girls you summoned just whispered rumours behind my back. I don't wish to spend time with them, i just want Aemond, and he doesn't want me.”
Sighing, Alicent moved down to her level, talking her hands in hers, “that's not true, Aemond still adores you, he is, well-... he's becoming a man and needs time to grow, and after the events of driftmark, well they changed him, just give him time.
“Time? Thats all ive done, it's been almost a year, and not even a moon had passed after driftamrk has he started to ice me out. He was supposed to marry me, and yet he's completely changed!”
“He's a boy, a twelve, Trust me sweetheart, he's just a silly boy who thinks he has to do all of these things to make up for his lack of eye. He thinks you will not love him, think him to be hideous, that is why.” Alicent responded, soothing Aemma, by stroking her hair.
“Well that's just plain stupid!”
“I know,sweet girl, but all boys are.” Alicent continued “ know, we have a birthday ball and feast to attend, and my gift is waiting for you.” she said standing up and inviting Aemma up with her.
In her chambers, laid out on her bed was a white dress embellished with gold. It had puffed sleeves that slimmed down to cover her arm. The dress was lkonger than her usual dresses, and more wide, though not by much. Glod was laced around the neck line, and out edges of the dress, with gold and silver jewels scattered across it, creatijng a pattern down the bodedice. The white itself seemed to shimmer, as if moonlight was bouncing off it. When she put it on she felt pretty. She felt beautiful. Her hair was tied up with a gold ribbon, decorated with pearls and butterflies. For this she knew the gift was not Alicent but Aemonds, or atleast he had some influence. Butterflies. The thing they always used to chase, and the thing ameond loved to compare her too. Butterflies.
The feast was magnificent, lords and ladies from all over Westeros had come, and she had received more than enough gifts and attention though not from anyone that mattered to her.
Aemodn was there from the start, though he stuck to eating rather than actually spending any time with her. His attention seemed to be elsewhere.
“Aemond?” she questioned, trying to capture his attention “Aemond, are you enjoying the feast?” he did not reply, looking down at his plate instead, avoiding eye contact. “Aemond?” she pushed again “Aemond!? By the gods answer me!”
“Hmm?” he hummed looking up, allowing her to see the book placed in his lap.
“Gods why wojnt you talk to me?” she asked, moveing to turn to him, her eyes filling with tears, “ for the last six moons i have been acting like a stay dog trying to get your attenion, and now even at a feast helped in my honoru, you brign-” she reached forward grabbing Aemonds book “- a book. A book? To my own party, instead of talking to me. Why?”
“Aemma, please-”
“No, tell me.!”
“Gods, you're a child!” he snactehd the book from her hand, “your just a silly little girl, can't you understand that, you could not defend me, and when you had the chance to you ran off to your pathetic mother, and then come crying to me for help, whilst i have just lost an eye to your bas-” he shook his head, a look of shame fillking his face as he sees her eyes filled with tears, “gods!” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face, reaching forward “Aemma- it's been a lot lately, i have had to relearn everything, to fit with the loss of my eye, and i, look im sorry, i just snapped. But you have to understand, i cnat be a child anylonger, being your friend, and litening to your childish escapades caused me to be in this situation. Now I have to be a man, I have to stop being a child.”
“So you have to stop being my freind, to go on your silly little- your, to be a man? What does that even mean?!” she cried, “it's my nameday, can you not just be my friend for today?” she was begging,it was almost pitiful.
Aemonds face changed, snapping form the look of shame and regret to annoyance, to cold and still, a face evewryone would soon be familiar with, “ and why would i want to do that” he sneerd, dropping her hand, and standing up, before briskly leaving the room without a single glance back.
The rest of her night was spent alone. With Heleana leaving not shortly after Aemond, followed by Aegon muttering something about doing his husbandly duty. Alicent and her grandsire had already left an hour in, the King's health failing him, and forcing many of the lords and ladies to leave, as if their only purpose was to talk to him and not her. So she was left all by herself bar a few older cousins that she did not know.
But the remaining hours she was forced to stay, many lordlings asked her to dance, and it turns out Alicent had already summoned some more girls to King's Landing, arranging a meeting witht them at her own ball. Taking her mind of the event sthat had happened prior, evne if for a few hours. For a few hours she wasnt so alone, for a few hours she was just a nine year old girl celebrating her name day, celebrating with her friends. People who over the next four years would become the only people she truly had.
And when she did finally retire to her rooms, and she was well and truly alone she cried, she knew no one would knock and have late night celebrations, just as no one had knocked at midnight to wish her a happy name day. Just as Aemond did not spend every second of the day with her, smuggling her all the food she wanted, and giving her a gift for every hour of the day. She spent it alone, and she would spend the next four namedays alone, crying. She would celebrate with her ladies, though it would never be the same, she owuld dance with strangers, and not ameond, where dresses gifted by people other than her mother and Aemond. Her family would become more distant and Aemond becomes less and less her Aemond.
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Taglist (bold means could not tag)
My lady strong: @aemondssiut@idonotknowenglish @sydneyyyya @wondergal2001 @whitejuliana1204 @meowtastick @bellaisasleep @tinykryptonitewerewolf @sarahkimtae @winchesterfamiliebusiness @iiamthehybrid @zzz000eee @spookydaddy01 @melllinaa @ateliefloresdaprimavera @aelora-a @aleemendoza2425-blog @chittakii @gghoulzz @ryiana @duckworthbean @cynic-spirit @may-machin @Gianinaa19 @wolfiealina @unique7676 @yentroucnagol @loserwithnofriends @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @urmomsbananabread @azaleapotterblack @delaynew
Hotd: @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17 @flrboyd @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar
Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter
#aemond fanfiction#aemond targeryen#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targeryen x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd#ewan nation#house of the dragon aemond#dark aemond x oc#dark aemond targaryen#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark aemond x reader#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere hotd#my lady strong#aemond x strong!reader#sacha writes ✍️
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