#and i thought it was so lovely to be in her presence... i felt so happy that we could still talk like that and have it feel so natural

[ch3rrybbie]

hii since you're taking requests could you write something with azriel? maybe something where reader is bonding with Lucien over unrequited mates (except azriel doesn't know they're mates, it has only snapped for her) and she thinks he wouldn't want her but he totally does and is super jealous and then happy ending lol. thanks!

Afterglow

Warnings: angst, reader is depressed?, mentions of canon violence

Note from author: tysm for the request, uni is being uni atm so struggling to write so quick lol but I hope you love itttttt will try get other request and next Randall part out heheh.

———

Lucien had to take you to the great open of the spring court. He was desperate to console you. His worry was etched across his face and yet you felt nothing.

So he sat beside you and waited.

———

You started off into the vastness of the green. Breathe. If you squinted a little the scenery grew blander and reminded you of the mortal lands.You thought back to how this pain had grown.

Your mother had always warned you love made you weak. She saw how deeply you loved Feyre at such a young age, you’d go tripping over branches just to be near her. She saw that if that was how much you loved a friend , to truly love someone would almost certainly destroy you. And human turned fae you felt how much the bond was too heavy to carry.

Your love for Feyre took you north of the border, you were by her side through every fight. Fists clenched and teeth bared. She was your sister and you fought like it. You’d seen every turn of leaf with her and you were so ecstatic to see her reunited with her blood sisters with a baby on the way truly, finally happy.

Yet you were in despair.

———

You, Feyre and Lucien had an instant bond. You rode all over the spring courts, ate, danced and laughed together. Tamlin however, your lip curled at the thought of him.

After being whisked away to the house of wind you remember the exact day you met the cause of all this hurt.

You’d suddenly felt a presence coming, you turned to Rhysand and demanded to know who was here. Both Feyre and Rhysand were stunned as you were still human. Then he approached alongside Cassian and you could barely tear your eyes away. Your heart knew him, your soul , your very being.

And yet he was nothing but sterile towards you only relinquishing a firm nod. Cassian on the other hand swept you up like a mighty warm wave telling you he’d heard lots about you.

———

Months later when your mission to Hybern went disastrously wrong the pain of seeing Azriel broken and dying on the hard stone floor made you want to sweep him up into your arms. All splashing and screaming from Nesta and Elaine had been tuned out you couldn’t help but stare at him breathing cinched. You tried shouting down whatever feeling you had but nothing. Your eyes urged him to get up, look up anything.

“Bring her”, the king lazily waved his hand at you. His men dragged you by your hair, you writhed and screamed.Closer and closer they dragged you level with Azriel and the others. The great hall span and they slammed your head against the stone, chaos ensued with Feyre screaming and Elaine wailing.

In your blurred state you opened your eyes to see shadows and a scarred hand straining your way.

You awoke the freezing water. The cauldron was somehow ice and fire it burned and cooled. It was life and death itself. You prepared yourself to accept the latter.

The mother lent down and kissed your eyes,she bound her blood to yours and gave you a gift.

You didn’t remember much after that.

———

You were in a coma for many moons, Feyre and Rhys sent for healers across the land mostly because your gift from the mother had shown itself. Your longing for home had caused the room they rested you in to be flourishing. It was a sight to behold even Nesta admitted.

Great roots twined around the bedposts, ivy curled around the door, moss and wiry grass shot up from the carpets and flowers bloomed. Elaine took to maintaining your garden, Nesta read to you and Feyre wept over you and stroked your hair. When Lucien had arrived to court he ran straight to your room and shadows seemed to watch over you in everyone’s absence.

Everyone did their part in looking after you, everyone but Azriel.

Throughout your sleep, the flowers rustled, grass weaved its way up to you and roots kept watch. All whispered the events around you, another odd gift of the Mother.

The day you awoke you wasted no time in searching for Azriel, the last you remembered he was dying. You followed the great rope in your soul that had replaced the string that previously tugged you to him.

The study was still and beautiful as you remembered, more so in his presence. His wings grew taught as he sensed your presence. “I’m awake” you couldn’t help but proclaim.

He turned, “I can see that” he coldly threw back.

Your world crumbled, even as fae he couldn’t love you or even feel more than indifference.

He brushed past you, “I shall alert the others”.

You shoulders sank, and yet your heart warmed at the thought of seeing everyone. After an hour of being grabbed, hugged and kissed. You’d all shed as much tears as you could. Feyre and Lucien offered to walk you to your room.

Before you slipped into your room you couldn’t help but ask, “Is he okay?l”. They didn’t even need to ask who, Luciens face softened and Feyres grew taught.

“The past few months have been hard for him Y/N”, Feyre gently lay a hand on your shoulder.

You attempted to be sympathetic before losing control of your temper, “And it wasn’t hard for me?! The least he could’ve done was visit once!” You threw the great oak door to your room open and slammed it in their faces uncaring of how juvenile you were being.

“Y/N” Feyre pleaded, you heard Lucien pull her gently away stating you needed space.

You allowed your anger to flow out of you, translating into great black ropes of thorns growing everywhere and they bowed out of the way of no one but you. That’s not to say everyone didn’t try. One by one they knocked and burst in, only to be defeated by thorns which was entertaining for awhile until you realised yet again everyone came but him.

You send crawling ivy about the house searching for him. It found him in the garden with Elaine, you let it shrivel and die there. You didn’t care who saw anymore.

The thorns grew sharper.

———

Lucien burst in one afternoon he didn’t speak a word, he barelled straight to you. Strands of his fiery hair and drops of blood left in his wake. He grabbed your wrist dragging you out of the fetal position. He winnowed you to the only place he had ever truly seen you happy.

Spring court.

———

“She’s gone!” Feyre cried panicked as she burst into the study. Rhys rushed to her as Cassian and Azriel shared a confused glance.

“Who?” Rhys questioned.

“Y/N, Lucien went up to try coax her out and they’re gone”

Rhys and Cassian froze anticipating Az’s reaction.

Azriel stormed out the room with Cassian not far behind.

“Az where in the cauldrons name are you going we don’t know where she is yet”

“I don’t need to know” he spat back

Cassian gripped his shoulder, “Don’t be stupid” he chastised

“What if it was Ness”

Cassian let him go stunned into silence.

Rhys informed Az mentally you were in the spring court offering to winnow him but he was gone and soaring towards his heart.

———

Lucien carefully started to talk from beside you.

“We were so happy here so I just- , I don’t know I thought I could force that joy back” he looked at your mournful gaze and sighed.

“He’s your mate isn’t he?”

Your head snapped towards him, Lucien could’ve sworn the grass did too.

“Elaine is mine”

The wind stopped and the grass stood still.

You said nothing crawling closer and laying your head on his shoulder, you felt at home.

You felt like a child again.

Tears blurred your vision and you let them slip.

The wind resumed, grass swaying peacefully.

“You know I’ll always love you Lucien no matter what, I mean not like that but you know”

He roared with laughter making you jump and burst out laughing.

You both calmed and watched the vast fields you could’ve sworn you heard the roars of Tamlin in the distance. He stayed away nonetheless.

You rested your head back on Lucien’s shoulder and your tears swelled again.

“What do we do?” you mournfully asked him.

You felt him breathe in sharply before cutting out

“I don’t know” a pause, “but I know you can’t do what you were doing we’re worried about you and rightfully so, I mean you’re been down right lazy. And so cliche, come on thorns-“

You cut him off shoving him over, you never would get used to the new strength you had.

You saw the playful glint in his eye and lept to your feet sprinting away he gave chase and you were back to where you started running around fields being chased by one of the platonic loves of your life. You wished Feyre could happily be here again.

But you finally felt happy again.

Truly.

———

Azriel no longer had to sense your presence he heard your giggles from afar. What he saw made his fists curl. Lucien had grabbed you and started spinning you around. His fury pushed him to land with an earth shattering crack.

He advanced on Lucien as he dropped you in confusion.

“Azriel what are you doing-“

Lucien fell to the ground as Azriel shoved him with thankfully not all of his might.

You surged forward to come between the two. Azriel felt as though the reedy grass was wrapping around his legs.

“What in the cauldron are you doing?!” You yelled, fury sounding across the clearing.

Lucien’s eye squinted as he assessed the situation a slow smile crept onto his face, “I’ll leave you two to it”.

He disappeared.

Azriel still seemed furious, “You can’t just disappear like that Y/N you scared us half to Hybern and back”

Your rage was once again summoned , “Do not delude yourself into thinking you care for me Azriel”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spat back

You felt your hands start to shake with anger coursing through you, all this time he disregards and runs from you and NOW he wanted to play possessive.

“You do not get to turn up and demand me to stay at your beck and call when half the time you fly out any room I enter! Shouldn’t you be guarding Elaine or finding places to hide from me”.

Shame finally dared cross his face and he turned from you. His shadows grew more agitated. They retracted from being near you, their proximity startling you.

You turned on your heel and marched into the woods, you needed to get away from him. Before your rage turned into a confession.

“Y/N” you heard him mutter.

You fell into a soft march that was further percussioned by his footfall.

Great knarled trees lining the meadow attempted to stop him from entering the dense forest but he pushed through his shadows staying a whisper away from you.

His shadows didn’t bother reporting back to him.

He knew where you were.

Hunched over the pool of starlight he could’ve sworn you’d crawled out of it,the softening sun cast a glow through the dense trees, a fallen star had come and somehow stolen his heart.

He didn’t even want it back.

———

The pool transfixes you, Feyre had shown it to you during your time there and it soon became your private diary. Little whispers you’d let skim across the surface and lift the weight from your shoulders. When you met the inner circle and came to know Velaris you were so sure you were home. That the stars had listened. You were now sure they must’ve forsaken you, ripped out your heart and replaced it with a dying star.

You paid no mind to the crunch of leaves, you’d already felt him follow you there was no need for him the make his presence known.

“Go home” you spat coldly eyes not lifting from the pool of starlight.

“Come home with me” he gently offered.

“My home is closer to here than I ever thought it could be in Velaris” you muttered.

His hurt was palpable.

Good.

As Lucien just did he relented and came and sat next to you in silence.

The dying star inside you was getting darker with the realisation you’d always feel like way about him and you couldn’t have a mortal lifespan this would be generations of hurt.

So you spoke.

“Why Azriel, why are you here who sent you” you muttered dejected.

“No one. I-….” He trailed off lost thought, jaw clenched with the unspoken.

“Tell the truth” you sighed.

“Please just for once in all the time you’ve known me give me something” you begged.

He looked back over to you, wind brushing over you how he longed to.

He steeled himself, guard finally dropping.

“I was so afraid watching you that day”.

Silence as your brow furrowed.

“Your human body was so fragile, tossed around like blown sand.” Eyes tearful and locked on you.

“And I had to lie there dying and watch you almost die and that was a greater anguish than anything they could’ve unleashed on me”. He sighed as he saw you squint at him.

You stood angrily finger pointed at him as Nesta did. He couldn’t help his lip twitching,you really were one of them.

“If this is some ploy to bring me back to Velaris you will find you’re sorely mistaken in its use.” A great seething hiss of air spat at him.

He couldn’t help but laugh, only you could take a confession with suspicion. From almost crying to the woman he loves to laughing in her face, could this day get any worse?

“You jest?! I laid in wait of you for seven moons Azriel and you were nowhere to be seen! Lusting after Elaine I suppose” A dry laugh cut from your mouth.

All humour abandons him

“Is that what you suppose?” He huffed.

He rounded on you and stood towering, gathering the patience he needed to confess.

Patience found he continued.

“I couldn’t bear to see you laid there unmoving” he breathed deeply he looked furious. “I’d only just recovered so I sent my shadows although I suspected they were already watching when I couldn’t”.

Your face softens. Shoulders sagging.

He continues, breaking those walls you so flimsily held against him.

“For that I apologise, I should’ve been there no matter how much it hurt. I was with Elaine because her gardening reminded me of you the most” he smiles “after you so spontaneously decided to decorate it was the closest thing I had to you, the only thing of you I could touch”

Your lips part in want.

“I have wanted you from the moment I smelt you, and when I saw you my fate was sealed” he smirks at your lust struck face, hand going to cup it.

“Why not tell me?”

“I saw how well Elaine and Lucien’s discovery went” he smoothed his fingers against your lips.

You seized his hand, “I felt it when I was human, I felt you when I was human and I always will”.

Tension was strung like the fireflies now floating above you as dusk encroached.

He smiled and crushed his lips to yours in what felt like a thousand years of longing.

You both drew back just staring at each other,relief blatant.

“Let’s go home” his eyes pleaded.

“Sure” you smile

“I’ll cook” you smooth hair behind his ear as his eyes widen.

“Are you sure?” He asks warily.

“I tell you I’ve known you were my mate when I was human and you question me?” You laugh heartily.

“Now move it bat boy” you march off with a smirk.

He has no choice but to follow his heart.

And come up with an apology and thank you for Lucien.

[beloveds-embrace]

Hi Noona! First, I just want to say that I am IN LOVE and OBSESSED with your Dukedom au’s, especially all the delicious ANGSTTTT you’ve been feeding uss. Your writing is literally what’s keeping me going and I can’t stop rereading all your works!! <3<3

But imagine if Knight!Konig comes back, maybe he regrets leaving reader and has realized that he loves her but he comes back to see her in that state and to see that she is OVERRR all these men being so neglectful and just numb to everything. What would his reaction even be or how would reader even react to seeing Konig coming back, basically with his tail tucked under? Would reader treat Konig even worse than the 141 since he left her and literally abandoned her?

Hi!! Thank you so so much for your kind words!! 💕💗🫶🏻 here is how i think it’d go if konig showed his ugly mug again 🙂‍↕️ thank you to @awkward-fink for helping with the little german bits! 💗

Dukedom au masterlist

angst dukedom where konig leaves

König had thought, in the weeks after leaving, that distance would provide clarity. His departure had been necessary- he’d convinced himself that the pain of watching you suffer was more than he could bear. Watching you slowly fade, your spirit cracking under the weight of the neglect, was something he couldn’t stomach.

It had been a decision made from guilt and a twisted sense of self-preservation. He had left, and in the absence of his presence, he believed he was giving you space to heal, to be free of the burden of his involvement in the chaos that seemed to constantly surround you.

But as the days turned into weeks, something gnawed at him. The silence of your absence was deafening. The image of your hollow eyes, the light leaving them as his words registered, the way you recoiled from every touch, from every word, stayed with him. Every step he took away from you felt like it was dragging him deeper into a well of regret.

But wasn’t until he heard rumors- whispers among the servants, hushed conversations in the alleyway, because he couldn’t help himself but keep an ear out for you- that he realized how deeply wrong he had been.

You weren’t just neglected now.

You were gone. Your fire had dimmed to a flicker, nothing but a broken shell of the person you had once been.

And the thought of you, isolated, suffering, and numb, shattered him more than he cared to admit.

Es war meine Schuld.

The day he returned to the duchy was gray and overcast, the sky heavy, a dark glare that felt aimed at him. König stood outside the manor gates for a long while, his breath fogging in the cold air. His heart hammered in his chest, and every instinct screamed at him to turn back.

But he had to see you. He had to make things right, even if it was too late.

He’d made the decision to return quietly- no grand gesture, no apologies spoken aloud. Just the hope that your eyes would soften at the sight of him, that you might, just maybe, let him back in. That you’d let him kneel in front of you, hold your hand to his lips so he could renew his vows of protection and loyalty.

But as he crossed the threshold of the manor, something in the air felt wrong. He could feel the weight of the place pressing down on him, as heavy as the sky outside. The halls were eerily still, and the silence wrapped around him more like a shroud than a safe blanket.

The first person he encountered was Kyle. There was no warmth in head butler’s eyes- just a cold acknowledgment of his return. When Kyle spoke, his voice was tight with bitterness. “You’ve returned,” he said simply, gaze hard. “Do what you must. Her Grace is in the conservatory.”

König felt the sting of that comment, but he didn’t falter; whyever would he care for the words of one who also had a hand in your pain and suffering? Though he did notice that Kyle, for once, spoke your title with no hatred, but respect.

True to the butler’s words, König found you in the conservatory, sitting among the flowers, your back to him. There was an untouched tray of tea nearby, delicate curls of steam rising, alongside a plate of pastries.

None of that mattered.

König’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of you. You looked different- distant, lost in a way he hadn’t expected. As if your body was here, but the rest of you was somewhere so far away he would never be able to reach you.

“Mylady…” His voice broke the stillness, like a tremor in the air.

You didn’t turn around. Not at first. You knew it was him before he even spoke, the heavy weight of his presence unmistakable, the sound of his footsteps unforgettable to your ears.

There was a flicker of something inside you- a flash of anger, a fleeting hope, a moment of disbelief. But it was all… meaningless, swallowed up by the crushing numbness that had taken root and spread its branches in your chest.

“… Why are you back here, König?” you asked, your voice soft and flat, void of any emotion. You don’t look away from the flowers, the only colors your eyes seem to notice these days.

König stepped closer, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out, unsure of whether you would allow him to approach. His throat tightened, the guilt in his chest like a snake wounding around his ribs. “I… I made a mistake, mylady. I shouldn’t have left you.”

The words felt weak, fragile. Nothing like what he wanted to say. But this was where he had to start, he thought. This was where he could rebuild, piece by fragile piece.

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a dull, hollow gaze. There was no anger in them- not really. He had left, and it had shattered you, and now you kept the shattered pieces protected.

“You left me,” you whispered, brows furrowing, frown tugging down. “You left me when I needed you the most. There wasn’t- there wasn’t a better offer somewhere else, you just… left me.”

The snake around König’s chest constricted painfully. “I know,” he said, raw and aching. “I know, mylady. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that. Das war ein Fehler.”

You stared at him, your gaze unblinking, the silence between you thick and heavy. Bitterness swelled in your throat, like ash. “And now you want to come back?” your voice was barely above a whisper, accusatory. “You… think that’s going to make everything better?”

He flinched, the words cutting into him like a knife. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to want me here. But I need to try. I need to—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice suddenly louder, sharp with pain. You hold your face in your hands, breaths shaky. “Stop- stop pretending like you can fix this. You all left me to rot. I’m… I’m beyond fixing. I just want to be left alone now.”

König’s heart shattered at your words, his breath catching in his throat. He had never imagined it would be like this- never imagined the depth of your suffering even if he should have.

“I should have stayed,” he said, trembling, weak in the face of your pain. “I should have fought for you. But I didn’t. And now… I don’t know how to make it right, mylady.”

The silence between you stretched, your eyes fixed on him as if you were searching for something- some sign of the man who had once stood by your side, who had once made you feel safe. But all you saw now was a stranger whose words yoy struggled to trust.

“… Why didn’t you fight for me?” you asked at last, quietly, the tears that had been held back for so long finally threatening to spill. But you didn’t let them fall- not yet. Your chest ached, your hands trembled, but you held on.

König opened his mouth, but the words failed him. He had no answers for you- only the crushing weight of his own guilt.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought leaving would right thing to do, for both of us. But it wasn’t. It was the worst thing I could have done, mylady. I am… sorry. Truly.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the numbness in your chest swelling to an unbearable weight. You could have screamed, could have told him everything you had bottled up. But instead, you just… turned away.

“I can’t do this,” you decide, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep letting people in only to have them leave. I can’t.”

König didn’t reach for you. He stood there, helpless, aching with the knowledge that he had done this to you- had left you to drown in your own pain, to rot in the silence of a house that cared so little.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again, his voice thick with regret, but you didn’t turn back. You didn’t even acknowledge him anymore, merely focused on your flowers once more, thick tears slowly spilling down your cheeks.

König stood in the conservatory, the glass walls surrounding him, and for the first time in a long time, he understood the depth of his failure. The path back to you seemed impossible now, the distance between the man he had been and the woman he loved growing farther than he ever thought it could.

Still, he stood there like a dutiful Knight. He had left you once, and unless you specifically order him to leave… he won’t abandon you once more.

[charlesf1leclerc]

Summary- one day your whole world turns upside down and where will your lives go from here 

Warnings- teenagers, smut , alcohol mentions, not thoroughly proof read ( so let me know if any major errors )

A/N- please note this story is only for entertainment and not in anyway linked to what real life people mentioned in this story may do or how they may act! 

SERIES MASTERLIST

9 months prior- 13th of November Lando’s birthday 

Lando’s house was buzzing who knew someone could have this many friends. I guess someone whose house is big enough to fit the whole year level will invite the whole year level.  But this was a bit extreme for only a 17th birthday. 

I didn’t really want to be here but in order to not get bullied and love a normal teenage life I had to experience the fun sometimes so here I was surrounded by a bunch of people I don’t like at a snobby boys birthday.

I don’t drink but there had to be some form of non alcoholic drink in this house so I escaped to the kitchen to look. As I stood in front of the open fridge I felt a presence beside me and then I saw him.

“ you good rummaging through my fridge “ 

“ maybe if you put some actual drinks out not just pure alcohol I wouldn’t have to”

“ you’re at a party sweetheart” he laughed

“I’m 17” I snapped

“Me too” he grinned 

“ none of use are allowed to be drinking and if we are drinking you should have a parental note”

“Ok now you have really brought the mood down”

“ why are you talking to me anyway lando? ” I sighed

“ just doing what I’m supposed to greeting my guests and stopping them from going through my stuff” Lando closed the fridge door and turned to the kitchen counter pouring liquid from a clear jug into a red solo cup.Before he walked over and handed it out to me 

“ what’s that?”

“ trust me, its lemonade” I take the cup and sniff it. It’s actually lemonade.

“ I didn’t forget about people like you” he smiled before walking away and going back to his friends

The night continued after my encounter with Lando Norris. My friends gossiped on the couches outside, we ate lots of food, danced, of course took the famous mirror selfies that would be posted on instagram later and the main event the cake.

The party was winding down and not many people were left anymore, I had to wait for Mad’s to finish her partying before leaving and she was having way too much fun with a particular person to be leaving anytime soon. So her I was sat on the couch in Lando’s living room.

“ your still here , abit pat your bed time I thought” and he was back , this time sitting next to me.

“ I have to wait for my friends otherwise yes I would be in bed” I kept my eyes straight ahead

“ well want to pass the time then” I looked at him confused

“ with what?” I asked

He simply just picked up the Nintendo controller and handed it to me 

“Mario?” He suggested 

“ what is it with you and your karting don’t you ever do anything else?” Still I did take the controller, I didn’t have anything better to do.

“ no I don’t “ he turned the TV on and started up the game. I was not nearly as professional as him, he took Mario kart very seriously but never the less it was still actually really fun, I didn’t know he could be so easy to be around.

I would say we had been playing for a good 30mins before I got bored of Mario Kart because Lando could never got bored of it.

“ what should we do now” he asked. He wasn’t tired? He wasn’t done spending time with me?

“ How about I go find my friend cause it’s getting really late” I laughed 

“ how about I kiss you” my eyebrows shot up, what. Say something , do something.

My ears must be deceiving me because there is no way he just said that to me.

“W-What?” I breathed out

“ you heard me”

“ did I? “ I asked softly

“ you did , I know you did and I also know you didn’t laugh and walk away”

Why didn’t I walk away, maybe I wanted to kiss him, maybe I wanted him to kiss me….

Ok I want him to kiss me!

I just lean in and somehow our lips are touching. They are also doing a lot more than touching, I’m actually kissing Lando Norris.

His left hand comes up to grab my jaw and pull me closer and my arms wrap around his shoulders. There’s no way this is actually happening someone better pinch me because it’s getting to good.

Then he stops. 

“ come to my room” no NO NO walk away this cannot be good. 

But I don’t want to walk away.

“ Or do you like everyone looking at us” he continues. It’s only then that I realise we are still in the living room and even if there is only a handful of guests left it still makes me feel awkward.

“ ok” is all I whisper out before he grabs my hand and takes my upstairs.

His room was surprisingly clean and neat, although it was still cluttered with karting posters , trophies and helmets. It was actually a nice room to be in.

Lando shut the door behind us before turning back around to me

“I’m gonna kiss you again “ he smiled

And I let him. Let’s just say I was about to let him do a lot of things. 

I ended up laying in the middle of his double bed in nothing but my bra and underwear as he hovered over me.

“ you sure this is what you want?” He tucked abit of hair behind my head.

“ I’ve never done this before” I replied

“ that’s why I want you to be sure” he didn’t want to push me and I respected that

“ I’m sure, positive , this is what I want”

He only smiled and then leant down catching my lips before trailing down my body.

This is what I wanted, who knows what would happen after this but I know that this is where I wanted to be and who I wanted to be with.

A/N- just so you know I won’t be going to hard with any sexual or smut scenes until both characters turn 18 which in the story isn’t that far away! But when I do put out more smut scenes please note you can feel free to skip past them as the story can still make sense if you skip them. Anyway hope your enjoying

taglist: comment below to be added

@barcelonaloverf1life@harrysdimple05@hc-dutch@formula1mount@itsbwokenln4 @phantomxoxo @dorothea47 @emmaweasley @joannamuns9n @alexisquinnlee-bc @g3org1al33 @ladyoflynx

[notlongtolove]

away from home

you tried to focus, really you did, as introductions were made but the the air, heavy with expectation, proved to be too distracting. instead, you stood quietly as the introductions were tossed around, nodding politely, offering a smile where you could, silently trying to piece together who was who and how you fit into all of this. this work is part of a series: series masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: flangst?

content: mentions of crime scenes and blood. lit student reader meets the team as she helps them understand poems leading to a startling discovery.

word count: 3.5k

note: thank you for all the love on part 1! i hope you enjoy part 2! please exercise a willing suspension of disbelief... #imjstagirl

a line: “Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, calm but with an unmistakable sharpness, “You brought her in without briefing her?” The disbelief in his tone was clear.

​​The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods Away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place Lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake My stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer Snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes - carol ann duffy

The glass facade of the FBI headquarters gleamed intimidatingly in the cold of the morning light—too polished, too perfect. You tugged awkwardly at your sleeves as you stepped through the doors following closely behind Spencer.

Inside was cooler than you thought it would be, though that made sense. Spencer had warned you without warning you, really—his rows of sweater vests and cardigans, each more sensible than the last, each dripping with practicality, had spoken for him. 

Your turtleneck—cream, plain, nothing remarkable—had seemed like the right choice this morning, though now you felt absurd for caring. It was a little something you’d like to call the ‘Yes, I study literature, and yes, this is my life’s work, but if I get a detail wrong and someone else dies, please don’t throw me in jail’ look. Somehow it felt like the best you could manage under the circumstances.

The elevator ride was a tense, quiet affair. For a moment, neither of you spoke, till his fingers brushed yours—timid, tentative. A flicker of the timid Spencer you’d met many months ago—a nervous presence in the corner of a book club, flipping through pages with a reverence you still found endearing. The same Spencer who’d spent weeks tiptoeing around conversations about book spines and hardcovers, so cautious and shy, that you’d eventually asked him out yourself. 

Today though, you’re the one on edge. 

“You’re nervous,” he observed softly. "Don't be."

“Wow, Sherlock, how’d you crack that one?"

His quiet laugh melted some of the tension, and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You tried for a small smile, but you were certain it came out as more of a grimace. Sensing your apprehension, he pressed on. 

“They’re only going to ask a few questions after you’re done,” he said, his thumb brushing light, soothing circles against the back of your hand. “I’ll be there the whole time.” Before you could reply, the elevator stopped, doors sliding open with a quiet hiss. 

One last squeeze, then his hand slipped from yours.

The bullpen—Spencer called it that once, you remembered—wasn’t what you’d imagined either. It was smaller, somehow, though not cramped. Papers stacked high on desks, smell of coffee lingering in the air. Maybe even a little quaint, albeit no less intimidating. A blonde woman by one of the desks looked up at the sound of your footsteps. She smiled, quick and warm.

“Hey, Spence.” 

Oh. You didn’t know they called him that too.

Before her gaze could settle on you, Spencer stepped forward, the two of them exchanging in hushed conversation. You hung back, trying not to look as lost as you felt, your eyes roaming over the room as fragments of their conversation drifted your way.

“They’re all in there,” the woman said, jerking her head toward a nearby door.

“And the photos? I don’t want her seeing—”

“Took them down this morning. They’re only in the briefs.”

“Right, okay. Thanks, JJ.”

Spencer glanced over his shoulder at you then, a hint of something soft in his eyes before his expression shut down again, unreadable. “Let’s go.”

You managed a shaky exhale, pressing your lips into a tight line. Now or never, you thought. 

The meeting room was dim, suffocating in its stillness. Blinds drawn, a table littered with files and mugs of what you assumed to be coffee—some half-empty, their rims stained. Names were exchanged, though too quick to catch. You tried to focus, really you did, as introductions were made but the the air, heavy with expectation, proved to be too distracting. Instead, you stood quietly as the introductions were tossed around, nodding politely, offering a smile where you could, silently trying to piece together who was who and how you fit into all of this.

It wasn’t until the blonde lady, who you now knew as JJ, spoke up again that your focus snapped back into place.

“...and she’ll be joining us for this case,” she said, gesturing toward you.

A man—Derek, you thought—grinned, leaning back in his chair. “As Pretty Boy’s plus one, or...?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Pretty boy? That’s a new one. 

“Morgan,” the man at the head of the table cut in—sharp, commanding. That would be Hotch, you assumed.

Spencer’s answer came swiftly, without hesitation, “As a consultant.”

“And how exactly did you come across this... consultant, Reid?” A dark-haired woman purred. Her tone was light but edged with teasing curiosity. It was evident in the way her smile glinted, playful, though the man—Hotch, you were certain now—shot her a look that suggested restraint. 

“At a bookclub,” you smiled, the words coming out steadier than you’d expected. It was a feeble attempt to navigate the tension or rather, to just get through it. Say something, say anything. It reminded you of school, moments when you’d latch onto the simplest question with the most straightforward answer just to feel like you were part of the conversation.

“Book club,” the woman echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Of course.”

“Reid,” Hotch said, drawing all attention back to the task at hand. “If you’d both like to start.”

“Yes, please,” Spencer said, the words slipping out a little quicker than he probably intended. “Garcia is the—”

“Pulling it up right now!” the redhead interrupted brightly. “All three Duffy poems annotated and transcribed as you requested—coming on the big screen in…” 

You watched as she typed furiously for a moment before pushing a button. “Now!”, she finished. 

Just like that, the familiar words flashed across the screen, casting the room in a soft, muted glow. “Printed yours on classic paper just for you, boy genius,” Garcia chirped, nodding toward the neatly arranged file in front of Spencer. He shot her a small, grateful smile. And while you made a mental note to ask him about the nicknames later, you couldn’t help but think how easy she—Garcia, you heard Spencer say—was to like. 

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The entire team seemed to sit straighter, their attention sharpening as the poems appeared on the screen. You forced yourself to meet their collective gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement.

“Well—” you began, standing slowly, but the word caught in your throat.

Taking a step forward, you willed yourself to focus, but the moment quickly faltered when your foot caught on a loose wire. The stumble was embarrassing as it was fast—awkward and ungraceful. Before you could even think about catching yourself, Spencer’s hands were there, steadying you with a firm grip around your waist. If you hadn’t been blushing already, you definitely were now.

It was—compromising, to say the least.

it was also impossible to ignore the subtle ripple of awareness that swept through the room. When you finally settled back into your chair—deciding that yes, sitting was definitely the better option—the awkward tangle of fingers and gestures only made it worse. 

“Maybe I need to join a book club,” an older man teased, mock seriousness hiding his amusement. The flush on both your cheeks and Spencer’s was hard to miss.

Your cough broke the tension. “Right, um, well,” you said again, this time striving for steadiness. “I guess—Uh, I’ll start with the overall themes of the poems.” You winced internally as the words came out more like a question than a statement. Spencer met your eyes with a small, encouraging smile. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself. 

Turning toward the screen, you were more than thankful for the familiar cadence the poems provided, a welcome anchor amidst your nerves. “Each of these poems,” you managed, your voice gradually finding its strength, “They explore different facets of longing, connection, and disconnection. They’re unified by Duffy’s ability to convey intimacy in a way that feels both personal and universal.” You shifted slightly, gesturing toward a specific line. “Her use of metaphors—like here in the second stanza of Warming Her Pearls—is subtle but evocative.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t leave you. You clung to his silent reassurance as you pressed on. “Note here, the words: ‘Slack on my neck, her rope.’ All three poems carry this underlying theme of violence—sometimes concealed, sometimes blatant.”

“Except in the last note.” Spencer added. You nodded fervently in agreement. 

“All alone. Little Red Cap. There’s nothing subtle about it anymore. The violence in there is raw and deliberate,” You continued, glancing back at the screen. “As he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw. The glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones.” You quoted the lines onscreen. “She’s angry. Vengeful, even.”

“It’s a significant escalation.” The older gentleman noted. Rossi, you ventured to guess. 

“Right. The shift from subtle tension to overt aggression isn’t just thematic anymore.” Spencer added. “It mirrors the unsub’s own behavior in the crimescenes.”

Derek’s chair creaked as he leaned back, his arms folding thoughtfully across his chest. “And we’re thinking these poems are, what, a roadmap? A way to track how she’s falling apart?”

You hesitated, considering the question. “I wouldn’t necessarily say they’re a map, they’re not a reflection of her so much as an extension of her unraveling,” you said slowly. “We use this term often—It’s almost like a manifestation of how the violence is spilling out, consuming her.”

You glanced up at them, searching their faces for understanding. Hotch gave a subtle nod of approval, eyes fixed on the screen.

“And what’s most compelling,” you continued with growing confidence, easing the conversation back into analysis, “is how Duffy’s structure mirrors this emotional push-and-pull. For example, the enjambment here mirrors a lack of closure, a yearning that doesn’t quite resolve.” You point to another stanza, drawing attention to the jagged rhythm of the lines. “The abrupt stops and starts in her verse mirror a loss of control—”

“Sorry, enjamb—what?” Derek tilted his head, the unfamiliar term halting his question halfway.

“Enjambment,” Spencer interjected smoothly. “It’s when a line of poetry flows into the next without a pause or punctuation.”

The woman with dark hair—Emily, you learned—leaned forward, her brow furrowed as she studied the stanza on the screen, absentmindedly toying with a pencil in her hands. “So you’re saying the way the lines break—how they don’t resolve—it’s deliberate. It’s supposed to feel... incomplete?”

Spencer nodded again, eager to explain. “Yes, exactly. It’s a structural choice to keep the reader moving forward without any pauses.”

“Actually…” You paused, then glanced at him with a sheepish smile. “Yes and no. It’s not just about the movement. It’s also about the unresolved feeling it creates. The lines break without closure on purpose. It sheds light on the emotional chaos the speaker is experiencing.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone turning toward Spencer, who seemed momentarily taken aback.

“Well,” Rossi broke the pause with a dry laugh, “This is a first.”

Spencer blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. “I guess I stand corrected.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t worry, Spence. We all have our moments.”

“Correcting Reid and cracking jokes?” Derek said, his tone teasing, “Oh, I like her already.” At that, even Hotch let out the faintest hints of a smile. 

Once you found your footing, it was surprisingly easy to keep the momentum going, almost as if you were back in one of the classes you’d TA-ed for—a familiar, comfortable flow. It came with a blur of of questions, some serious, others lighter. That line, she meant it literally? No, Derek, we don’t know if Carol Ann Duffy actually gave her lover a real onion for Valentine’s Day. And yes, Garcia, I wouldn’t be too pleased either if that was my gift. Spencer’s gaze met yours time and time again. His smile was a little fuller, more open, and—dare you think it—proud. 

As the meeting wound down, Spencer’s focus remained on you. You were speaking with Hotch by his office, nodding intently at whatever he it was he was saying. Spencer leaned slightly back against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, eyes following your movements. Even when Hotch’s phone buzzed, cutting the discussion short and pulling him away, Spencer’s gaze lingered on you.

“She really knows her stuff, huh?” JJ said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

Garcia leaned forward, eyes sparkling with approval. “Oh, I adore her,” she declared with trademark enthusiasm. “Smart, funny—Spencer Reid, how on earth have you been keeping her under wraps?”

Emily quirked a brow, her smirk teasing. “Hey Reid, remind me again which book club this was? Might have to drop by myself.” 

Spencer barely shifted, barely acknowledged their teasing. They’d caught him mid-thought, and his response was subtle but telling—a smile he didn’t bother to suppress. 

“Pretty too,” JJ mouthed quietly, eyebrows raised, giving Spencer a playful thumbs-up as Hotch called her over with a sharp nod. She offered you a small smile as she passed you. 

When you finally crossed the room to where they were standing, Spencer straightened, taking a step closer to meet you halfway. The fondness in his eyes was a quiet but telling softness that gave him away entirely. He couldn’t hide it even if he tried to—The way his expression softened as he watched you was answer enough.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice softer now, his hands sliding into his pockets as you stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” you replied, your smile mirroring his. 

“You did great in there,” he said, his eyes holding yours.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile playful. “You think so?” 

“I know so.” Spencer’s lips twitched into a small, lopsided grin, his tone carrying just the faintest touch of humor. Before you could roll your eyes at his cheesiness, he added, “No, seriously. Hotch had that smile—you don’t want to know what happened to the last consultant who didn’t impress him.”

You leaned in conspiratorially, lowering your voice. “He called me by my last name and all. That’s good, right?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “That’s basically your official BAU initiation,” he said, earning a laugh from you in response. 

Nearby, Garcia and Emily exchanged knowing glances, their collective amusement barely concealed. There was an ease between the two of you everyone could see—comfortable in all the right ways.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked, leaning a little closer, your voice dropping into something almost private. “We can order in.” Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but Hotch’s sharp tone cut through the air. 

“Reid. Meeting room. Now.”

Spencer’s head snapped toward Hotch instinctively, but not before he casted a glance toward you, worry etched faintly in the crease of his brow. Hotch’s gaze was intense, brows furrowed in a way that signaled urgency. JJ was close behind him, her own face taut with concern. Before Spencer could speak, Hotch’s eyes flicked toward you. 

“Both of you.”

Spencer’s expression shifted instantly, his lips parting as though to say something else in protest, but the force in Hotch’s tone left no room for delay. Without a word, you followed them into the meeting room, Spencer falling into step beside you. He brushed his shoulder lightly against yours, just for a second—a brief moment of reassurance—before stepping ahead to hold the door open.

JJ wasted no time. She set the tone with her first words. 

“The last note we received wasn’t the last crime,” she began, her tone marked by an undercurrent of urgency, “It was the first.”

The room fell into a stunned silence for a moment, then erupted into a flurry of questions.

“How the hell did that happen?” Emily asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was sharp, impatient.

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he replied grimly. “Pathology assumed the timeline was linear because the crime scenes were discovered only a day apart. But the toxicology report just came back—trace amounts of formaldehyde were found in the last one. Enough that it went unnoticed at first.”

“Preservation,” Spencer murmured, his brow furrowing. “The unsub kept the body.”

“So everything we’ve been assuming about the escalation—it’s off?” Derek asked frustratingly as he ran a hand down his face. “If the last note was actually the first crime, then we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

You watched as Spencer leaned forward slightly, nodding in agreement. “The progression isn’t linear.”

“That changes everything,” Rossi said, “If this is just the beginning, then the escalation’s going to happen a hell of a lot faster.”

“That puts Warner first, doesn’t it?” Emily asked,  “She was found along the trail off Route 74. So, that would mean her note is ‘All alone.’ Which poem was that from again?” she added, turning to you for clarification.

“Little Red Cap,” Spencer answered, finishing the thought for you.

“Who’s Warner?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong move. The room went unnervingly still, every pair of eyes shifting toward you.

For a moment, no one spoke. Hotch stopped mid-motion, his hand hovering over his face as if he had been expecting this but still couldn’t quite believe it. He let out a long, measured sigh, the tension in the room discernable.

“Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, calm but with an unmistakable sharpness, “You brought her in without briefing her?” The disbelief in his tone was clear. 

Spencer froze, his posture stiffening, a mix of surprise and guilt flashing across his face. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then tried again. “I—uh,” he stammered, clearly flustered. “I thought— I thought it wasn’t necessary because—”

Hotch raised a hand, effectively silencing him with just a glance. “JJ,” Hotch added, his tone expectant. Without another word, she slid a case file across the table toward you. It was a clear, unspoken message. There was no turning back now. You were in this—whether Spencer liked it or not.

Hotch’s gaze softened ever so slightly when he turned to you, the reprimand fading from his tone. “Take your time. I understand it’s a lot to process.” You swallowed nervously and managed a small nod. 

Hotch’s eyes flicked back to Spencer, narrowing slightly. “You know better,” he said, the reproach lingering in his gaze. Your heart tightened as Spencer winced visibly, his lips pressing together in an almost imperceptible sign of distress. His usually composed demeanor seemed completely undone, now clearly as rattled as you by the situation.

The team continued their discussion, voices overlapping in a controlled urgency as you turned your focus to the case file. The photos stared back at you, streaked with deep crimson, each image more brutal than the last. You flipped through the pages with bated breath as you fought to process the sheer violence of it. 

Three crime scenes. Three murders. Three bodies.

Joni Munroe.

Nicole Jayson.

Eleanor Warner.

All women in their twenties. Young. Living alone. All stabbed. 

A waitress. A dog walker. A student. 

"Was there a connection between the—the victims?" you asked, the words awkwardly halting as they left your lips. It was a struggle to piece together the overwhelming flood of information let alone find the effort to form a coherent question. God, how does Spencer do this everyday?

JJ answered you, as if she’d been expecting the question. “They all attended Virginia West University,” she said, her tone steady. “But none of them had any ties to each other. Warner was the only current student. The rest had graduated, different years, different classes.”

You nodded slowly, trying to offer her a small, understanding smile. The room buzzed continued to buzz around you as Derek broke through the haze, his voice charged. “Babygirl, check reports for any bodies found in the past 48 hours.”

Babygirl? Okay, you definitely had to ask Spencer about the nicknames later. For now, it was a welcome distraction though, momentarily diverting your attention away from the unsettling splotches of maroon staining the photos in front of you.

“Bodies? No, the unsub wouldn’t have acted that fast,” Spencer corrected, his tone almost automatic. “Check for missing persons instead.”

Rossi didn’t miss a beat, nodding sharply. “Garcia, cross-reference recent missing persons reports. Check for females.” 

“On it,” Garcia said, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. The clacking of keys filled the momentary silence. “Okay,” she said after a pause, her voice tight with focus. “I’ve got two reports from the last 48 hours. Marsha Williams, 63, homemaker, retired professor. And Jeanine Wayland, 26, worked at a gas station.”

“Wayland—She fits the profile,” Emily said, leaning in toward the glowing screen. “Young, low-income job. Garcia, do we know if she was from Virgina West too?”

“Give me a second.” Garcia’s voice was tight with focus as her fingers flew across the keyboard. 

A shift stirred within you. If the last note was really the first, the team was right. It redefined everything. Little red cap.  Your mind raced back to your conversation with Spencer last night. The wolf symbolized someone older, predatory. They were students, weren’t they? Yes—all three of them. 

You swallowed. “Um, Garcia?” you asked hesitantly, your voice wavering slightly as the weight of the room’s focus pressed in on you. “Marsha Williams—what university did she teach at?”

There was a brief pause, the rapid tap of Garcia’s fingers on the keyboard filling the silence. “Hold on, let me check… okay, it says here she received the Action Teaching Award, Long service awards, 10 years, 20 years—Wanna bet she makes it to 30?"

"Garcia," Hotch said warningly.

"Sorry, sorry, and 25 years—all at—” Garcia's voice faltered, a sharp intake of breath following.

“Words, babygirl,” Derek prodded gently.

When she finally replied, her voice was taut with unease. 

“All at Virginia West University.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[wchswift]

Jealous Logan ༉‧₊˚

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader Summary: Logan has a jealous episode during the holiday party at the X-Mansion, finally confessing his love for you. Warnings: none, but minors do not interact, please!! Word count: 1757 a/n: I was in the shower and I had this thought about Logan and Reader at a Christmas party at the X-mansion and Logan just going crazy with jealousy seeing Reader interact with anyone but him. This idea didn't leave my mind so I had to write it... This was supposed to be a drabble, but it ended up being a bit long and I don't know if I liked it :/

mdni 𖤐 18+

The X-mansion was bustling with mutants celebrating the Christmas season. Logan stood off to the side, nursing a beer as he observed the festive scene. His eyes, however, frequently darted to you as you laughed and chatted with Scott and some other mutants. A pang of jealousy flickered in his eyes each time Scott made you laugh or touched your arm. Logan tried to play it cool, but the irritation was becoming harder to hide. Despite his efforts to appear nonchalant, his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes betrayed his feelings.

By the time the night wore on, Logan’s patience was wearing thin. Each time Scott leaned in too close, it felt like a personal provocation. He drained his beer, hoping to douse the fire in his chest, but the ache only grew. He couldn’t shake the thought: it should be him making you laugh, standing at your side.

“Careful,” came Storm’s voice from behind, pulling him from his brooding thoughts. “If you keep glaring like that, people might think you’ve got something to say.”

Logan didn’t even look at her, his gaze still locked on you across the room. “What are you talking about?”

Storm followed his gaze, amused. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been staring at her all night and look like you’re about to burst a vein. Got something on your mind?”

Logan scowled, still refusing to engage. His silence spoke volumes.

Storm’s tone softened, her playful edge giving way to sincerity. “You know, you could just tell her how you feel. She’s been glancing your way all night. But keep sulking, and you might regret it.”

Logan’s jaw clenched again at the thought, but he didn’t say anything. He muttered a curse under his breath and moved deeper into the party, his eyes scanning the crowd for you.

He pushed past a few groups of mutants, the noise and chatter growing louder as he tried to focus. The lively conversations, clinking glasses, and the upbeat Christmas music filled the air. He was aware of the conversations happening nearby, but none of them mattered. All he could think about was you. He had to find you.

Through the crowd, Logan finally caught sight of you. You were alone in a quiet corner of the room, standing before the large Christmas tree. The twinkling lights reflected in your eyes as you sipped your drink, lost in thought, your back turned to the noise of the party.

He slowly made his way through the crowd, his steps deliberate but uncertain. For a moment, he hesitated. There was something so peaceful about you standing there, almost as if you belonged in that quiet corner, untouched by the noise and chaos of the celebration. Logan took a step closer, and you sensed his presence behind you. You didn’t turn, but a smile spread across your face.

"Hi, Logan. “Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” you greet with a gentle voice, watching the lights on the Christmas tree twinkle.

Logan cleared his throat, the gruffness in his voice betraying his nerves. “Can we talk for a minute?”

You turned, curious about his tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He stepped closer, his hands slipping into his pockets as he gathers his thoughts. His voice was hesitant but firm. “I noticed you’ve been... getting pretty close to Scott tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, the sudden change in his tone catching you off guard. “Oh, well yeah... you know how Scott is,” you said, giggling. “He likes to crack jokes even when no one finds them funny. He’s lucky my laugh comes easy.”

Logan gave you a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded, trying to suppress the tightening feeling in his chest. “Right. You two seem to get along pretty well lately. Are you...?”

He stop, the question unfinished, but you could hear the uncertainty in his voice. His usual confidence wavered slightly, and it made you pause, confused by his sudden discomfort. You raise an eyebrow at his intense gaze, curious about his sudden upset. For a moment, your smile falters as you grasp the question Logan is hinting at. You tilted your head, sensing something deeper in his question. "Scott and I..." you trailed off, noticing his tense expression. “We’re friends, Logan. Why do you ask?”

"Just making sure.." He murmurs, his eyes fixed on your face, scanning your expression. He tries to hide it, but there's a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic demeanor. His voice was quieter now, and as he stood a bit closer, you could feel the tension radiating off him. The space between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging in the air. You could see through him—his rough exterior couldn’t hide the vulnerability beneath.

Realization flickered across your face, and you tilted your head, studying him. “Logan, are you jealous?” you asked, half-teasing, half-genuine.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might deny it. Instead, he let out a heavy breath. “Maybe. Hell, probably.”

Your smile softened, and you took a small step toward him. “Scott’s my friend. That’s all. You don’t need to worry about him.”

The tension in Logan’s shoulders eased, but his gaze stayed locked on you. He hesitated again as if weighing his next words. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost vulnerable. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Something I should’ve said a long time ago...” He falters, gathering his thoughts, but before he can continue, you can’t help but jump in.

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him, a smile dancing across your lips as realization dawns on you. "Oh my god, Logan! Are you trying to tell me you're in love with me, you big silly man?" You lean in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief, enjoying the sight of his awkward demeanor and surprised expression.

Logan's eyes widened at your words. He hadn't expected you to address his struggle to find the right words so bluntly. A mix of embarrassment and relief washed over his face as he looked at you. He sputtered, his usually confident demeanor faltering in the face of your teasing. "What?! I'm not—" His denial was half-hearted, his face betraying his true feelings.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion as a playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "You're not what? Not in love with me?" you asked innocently, tilting your head to one side in a teasing manner. The amusement in your voice danced through the air, and you relished the effect your words had on him. You could see the cracks beginning to form in his typically tough exterior, and it thrilled you. Biting your bottom lip, you felt a rush of excitement and nervousness, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you eagerly awaited his response.

He opens his mouth to protest further, but the denial dies on his tongue as he looks at you. The sight of your playful expression, coupled with the knowledge that you've seen through his attempt to hide his feelings leaves him uncharacteristically flustered.

His eyes search yours, his usual guarded expression broken down. He struggles for words, his gruff exterior giving way to a vulnerability he rarely shows.

Logan clenched his jaw, trying to regain some control over the situation. But your teasing words and the amusement in your eyes made it difficult to suppress his feelings.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. "All right, damnit. You got me. Yes, I…" He looked directly into your eyes, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I'm in love with you. Have been for a while, if I'm being honest. I just couldn't figure out how to tell you."

Your eyes soften at his admission, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You step closer to him, eliminating the small distance between you. "Damn, Logan. It took you long enough to admit it. I was starting to think you had a thing for Scott instead of me." you teased, your tone affectionate.

Logan rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but a small smirk tugged at his mouth. "Shut up," he mutters, his hands instinctively resting on your waist. "Don't even joke about that." His increasingly serious eyes roamed over your face, taking in every feature, as if committing them to memory.

You laughed, stepping closer, until there was barely any space between you. “For the record,” you said softly, “you’re the one I want. Not Scott, not anyone else.”

Relief washed over Logan’s face, softening his usual gruffness. “Yeah?” he murmured, his hands hesitating before resting on your waist.

“Yeah.” Your voice was steady, your gaze unwavering. “Just you.”

Logan's expression relaxed at your words, his forehead gently resting against yours. The proximity made your breathing hitch and your heart skip a beat. You leaned a little closer, your faces mere inches apart. The air was electric between you, filled with tension and desire. Logan's eyes flickered down to your lips, the craving for you visible in his gaze. He closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss. It was at the same time tender and intense, his passion for you finally spilling over.

The kiss deepened as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. The world around you faded away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting slightly, Logan’s eyes searched your face as if he were afraid this was all just a dream. He let out a shaky exhale, his breath warm against your skin.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice filled with both relief and awe.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, your touch tender and loving. “I think I’ve got an idea,” you replied, tilting your head to look up at him. Logan wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you a little closer. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and holding you tightly. The tension of the night finally melted away. The distant hum of the party faded into the background as the two of you stood together, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[elixirina]

WELCOME & GOODBYE — natasha romanoff x gn!avenger!reader

in which... you thought you and natasha had something special. did you do something wrong?

warnings... angst (are you even surprised?), regular avengers mission stuff, tony yelling at the reader :(, and natasha being lwk mean, hurt/no comfort, lwk unrequited love, lwk not proofread

note... "Hey! If your requests are still open: Reader, who has been an avenger and known Natasha for over a year. Who has stayed up late at night talking about random shit and comforting each other for a good portion of that. Who, then, during what seems like a normal late night conversation turns into Natasha saying, "We're not close" after reader expressed they'd feel devastated if something happened to her. Reader then shutting down and basically becoming an empty husk. Maybe becoming reckless during missions. Thanks for considering! I enjoy your stories!" - i really liked this request because yall know i love angst, so enjoy this!! maybe part two if you guys like it.

from where you stand, the avengers tower feels impossibly tall, it's gleaming facade of steel and glass catching the fading sunlight. the large 'A' at the top glows faintly, its light cutting through the hazy sky. it's meant to be a symbol of hope, but up close, it feels colder than you imagined. more fortress than home.

as you step inside, the hum of technology greets you, soft and unrelenting, like the tower itself is alive. the blue-tinted lights along the walls seem to strip the warmth from the space, casting everything in shades of gray.

the corridors stretch endlessly, polished floors reflecting your rather hesitant footsteps. there's a quiet here that always feels unnatural, like the kind of silence you expect from the aftermath of an argument or just before something breaks. when you pause to glance out of a window, the view is so breathtaking.

new york city sprawls beneath you, glittering and alive. but it feels distant today, like you're watching a movie on mute. the labs you pass are buzzing with soft whirs and beeps, glowing screens filed with data you can't even begin to understand.

it's impressive, but also intimidating, a constant reminder of just how much responsibility rests on the shoulders of the people who walk these halls.

you were on your way to your own quarters. why did you feel so lost? it felt like all the walls were closing in on you.

the halls are quiet, too quiet. every one of your footsteps echoes, too loud against the polished floors. the air feels heavy, as if it carries the weight of every mission, every mistake, every sacrifice, every one of your faults. you pass by the living quarters, sleek and sterile, designed for convenience rather than comfort.

the common areas are empty, filled with untouched furniture and the faint scent of coffee long gone cold.

it's as though the building itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter the silence.

and yet, it's not the tower that makes your lifestyle bearable. it isn't always the satisfaction of helping people. it's her.

natasha.

she has a way of grounding you, of cutting through the weight of it all with a single glance. it's not just her presence, though that alone feels like enough to keep the walls from closing in; it's the way she sees you. really sees you, even when you don't want to be seen. in a place that feels so impossibly vast and yet so claustrophobic, she's the one thing that feels solid, real.

it's in the way she moves, effortless but deliberate, as if she belongs here in a way no one else does. her voice, calm and steady, has a way of softening the sharp edges of the tower. when she's around, the cold steel walls feel a little less harsh, the silence a little less suffocating.

she doesn't need to say much--she never does--but somehow, she always knows what you need to hear.

the tower is still the same--tall, unyielding, and distant. but when she's near, it feels a little less like a cage. when she looks at you, it's like the weight of everything doesn't matter as much. it's not that the burden disappears; it's just that, with her, it feels a little lights. a little easier to carry.

it's been like that since day one. being a shield agent was all you thought your life was worth. you helped out, sure, but the credit wasn't always given to you. when you were offered a spot as an avenger, you found it impossible to believe.

they could've chosen anyone, yet you made the cut.

you accepted, of course, and the moment you started, everything was amazing. maybe it was the adrenaline rush. but after a couple months in, you were drained. suffocating. the whole experience felt alienating.

you and natasha hit it off immediately, just casually finding different times to talk. those conversations would go on for hours, the two of you never finding somewhere to stop. and if you did, it's due to the fact that you've fallen asleep together.

those moments with her were something you cherished ever so deeply. you couldn't see your day go on without them.

the conversations ranged from lighthearted banter about clint's terrible taste in music to heavier topics--the kind of raw truths that only surfaced when the world fell asleep, and your walls could come down.

natasha's walls had always been higher, sturdier, but even she had let a few cracks show over the months. she'd told you about her childhood, her regrets, and her fears, her voice steady even when her words were not. in turn, you'd shared your own burdens, feeling safe in the quiet connection you thought you had with her.

being able to come back to the tower after a rough mission and being comforted immediately after made your heart want to explode. after a while, you just couldn't be casual about it.

you'd been an avenger for almost two years now, and apart from the undeniable satisfaction of saving people, she was what you looked forward to at the end of the day.

after one particularly rough mission, you found yourself scanning the tower for your red-headed beauty best friend.

natasha's sprawled out on the rough couch in the living quarters and it doesn't take you long to find her. as you settled yourself on one of the plush chairs, you muttered out a "hey" and she lets out a soft hum.

she's obviously exhausted, and you know she didn't handle herself okay when this was the case. so you ask a rather stupid question, "you okay?" you almost planted yourself on the ground for pulling the stupidest question out of your ass.

the red-head propped herself up with her elbows--a thing she did that you always thought was rather attractive. she gave you a look that practically gave you the answer.

you sighed, hugging one of the fur pillows close to your chest. changing the subject would be the easiest thing to do.

"okay... weirdest thing you've eaten on a mission?" you asked, a soft smile on your face as you leaned back on the chair.

natasha sat up, biting back a smile. "what?"

you blinked, "you heard me."

the woman smirked, tilting her head in though. "a cricket."

your lips fell into a thin line. "a cricket?" you repeated.

she nodded, her expression nonchalant. "deep-fried. crunchy. it was actually quite decent."

"ugh," you groaned, wrinkling your nose. "you're braver than me."

"that's not exactly the word i'd use," natasha teased, her lips twitching into a small smile.

moments like this, where her guard came down even just a little, made you feel like you were glimpsing a side of her that no one else got to see. a side she didn't let many people near.

"well, you win," you said, raising your hands in surrender. "the weirdest thing i've eaten is a half-melted protein bar that i found at the bottom of my bag. that probably doesn't even qualify."

"not even close," natasha quipped, the corner of her mouth lifting in amusement.

a comfortable silence settled between you, the kind of quiet you'd only recently realize you appreciated. with most people, silence felt awkward, like you had to fill it with noise. with natasha, it felt... safe

you glanced over at her, the words on the tip of your tongue before you even realized you were going to say them. "you know, i don't think i've ever had anyone in my life who gets me the way you do."

natasha's gaze flicked to you, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but you pressed on, feeling like this was a rare moment to be honest with her.

"i mean it," you said, your voice softer now. "these nights, just talking like this... they've kept me sane. you've kept me sane." you hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. "and i know i don't say it enough, but... you mean a lot to me, natasha. i mean, if something ever happened to you, i don't think i'd recover."

you hadn't planned to say that last part. the vulnerability of it felt too raw, too much, but it was the truth.

natasha's expression shifted slightly, her mouth opening as if she was about to respond, but then she stopped.

you waited, your heart thudding in the silence. "nat?" you prompted, your voice tentative.

when she finally looked at you, her eyes were distant, her expression carefully neutral. "we're not close," she said, her voice eerily calm but firm.

it felt like the ground had crumbled beneath you. "what?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"we're not close," she repeated, her tone colder this time. "you think you know me, but you don't. you don't know what i've done, or who i really am. these conversations... they don't mean what you think they do."

you stared at her, stunned into silence. "but... i thought--"

"you thought wrong," she interrupted, her words cutting through you like a blade. her expression didn't waver, and that was the worst part--how composed she seemed, like she hadn't just shattered something inside you.

"i see you as a teammate," natasha continued, her voice emotionless. "nothing more."

for a moment, you couldn't breathe. you wanted to say something, to argue, to demand an explanation, but all the words died in your throat.

"i think i'm going to call it a night," natasha said, standing. she didn't look as she spoke. "goodnight."

and just like that, she was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

you sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly at the space where she'd been. her words echoed in your mind, over and over again, until they were all you could hear.

"we're not close."

the truth of it stung more than you thought it would.

the mission in paris was supposed to be straightforward. in and out, minimal casualties, quick extraction. but it all went sideways when you made the decision to split up--ignoring steve's orders, ignoring tony's voice crackling through your earpiece telling you to stick to the plan.

there was no reason for it, no logic behind your decision. you just couldn't stand the thought of standing still, of waiting for the inevitable--whatever that may be. natasha’s words had shattered something inside you, and now you were just reacting.

the battle raged on. you fought like a machine, but you were anything but. your moves were reckless, too fast, too eager to prove you could still keep up. you dodged fire and threw yourself into the fray, not caring if you got hit.

when tony’s voice came through your comms, it was sharp, demanding. “y/n, fall back. now. you’re outnumbered.”

but you didn’t listen. you couldn’t.

“y/n, damn it, i’m serious. what the hell is going on with you?” tony’s frustration cut through the static.

“i’m fine,” you muttered, voice hoarse, even though you weren’t.

the mission ended in chaos. by the time you made it to the extraction point, bruised and battered, you couldn’t look anyone in the eye. you had made stupid decisions, and the team had suffered for it. but the worst part? you didn’t care as much as you should have.

back at the compound, you knew the lecture was coming. tony, steve, and clint had all gathered in the debriefing room, waiting for you. you could hear their murmurs as you made your way toward them, but you didn’t feel any relief at being home.

you stepped into the room, your eyes focused on the floor.

“sit down,” tony ordered, his voice clipped.

you took a seat, the weight of his gaze heavy on you.

“we’ve got to talk about what happened,” steve began, but tony cut him off, his tone rising.

“i don’t want to hear any more excuses. y/n, you almost got yourself killed today. you were out there acting like you didn’t give a damn about the mission or anyone else’s safety. what the hell is going on?”

you swallowed hard, fighting the lump in your throat. the words natasha had said to you that night, when you’d bared your soul, suddenly seemed to suffocate you. you had tried to pretend they didn’t hurt, but now, in front of tony’s fiery gaze and steve’s concerned eyes, they were the only thing you could think about.

“i’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too quiet. too weak.

“no, you’re not,” tony retorted, voice low and dangerous now. “stop lying. you’re falling apart, and you’re dragging everyone down with you.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have an explanation. how could you? you were lost in the aftershock of Natasha’s rejection, and no matter how hard you tried to push it down, it always resurfaced. god, it was so stupid.

“you know what? fine. If you’re too stubborn to get your shit together, maybe we’ll have to bench you for a while,” tony snapped.

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.

“tony, that’s too far,” steve interjected, but tony’s expression was cold, his anger boiling over.

“no, it’s not. you’re not invincible, y/n,” tony shot back, his eyes narrowed. “if you can’t focus on the mission, then you’re not helping anyone. and I’m not risking the team because of some personal... whatever this is.”

you sat there in silence, the sting of his words sinking deep, and all you could think about was how everything had been so much simpler before. before natasha made you feel like an afterthought, before you felt like you were just another expendable member of the team.

“i’m fine,” you repeated, though it didn’t feel like the truth anymore.

but the truth didn’t matter, did it? no one cared about your pain.

and you should've known a black widow would never hold back her venom for anyone.

ha no happy ending love ya

[thesecondhandwoman]

Hii, I’d like to request ambessa comforting reader with body issues please!!

YOUR INSECURITIES

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: You have always felt insecure about your body, never feeling like it was quite right. But Ambessa thought different, and she wanted to prove just how beautiful you truly were.

Request: Anon 🤍

The air in Noxus was thick with the weight of iron and glory. It was a world where strength was currency, and weakness was a debt no one wanted to owe. But within the lavish chambers of Ambessa Medarda’s estate, there was no war, no clashing steel, only comfort.

You sat at the edge of the grand bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic. The silk was smooth, delicate, and far too fine for someone who felt as out of place as you did right now. Your eyes darted to the mirror across the room, catching sight of your reflection. It wasn’t kind. It never was.

The voice in your head was crueler than any general’s barked orders. Every curve, every mark, every perceived flaw—it all shouted at you, louder than the world outside ever could. Your eyes flitted away from the mirror as if it had scorched you.

You hated this. You hated that it had power over you.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hall, slow and deliberate. Each thud was a testament to the sheer weight of the person behind them. Ambessa.

Your heart twisted in your chest. You loved her. Goddesses above, you loved her. And that love came with doubt. How could someone so monumental—so revered, strong, and indomitable—choose you? Your insecurities latched onto that question like a parasite, feeding on every glance, every whispered comment from the nobles who thought you weren’t worthy to stand by her side.

The door opened with a low creak, and there she stood.

Ambessa Medarda.

Her presence filled the room like a storm front, raw power barely leashed. Clad in loose-fitting pants and a sleeveless tunic that bared her muscular arms, she was a figure carved from marble and war. Her golden eyes landed on you with the precision of a general assessing the battlefield. But there was no hardness in her gaze. Only warmth.

“Why do you look like you’ve lost a fight you haven’t even fought, little one?” Her voice was a rich, steady rumble, every syllable carrying the weight of authority. She crossed the room in a few strides, the muscles in her legs flexing with effortless grace.

You felt your throat tighten. You didn’t want her to see you like this. Not when she always seemed so unshakable.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes fixed on your lap. Your fingers twisted the fabric harder, nails pressing crescents into your palms. “Just thinking too much.”

Ambessa crouched before you, a low grunt accompanying her descent. Even as she knelt, she seemed colossal. Her hands, calloused from decades of wielding swords and shields, rested on your knees, grounding you like an anchor.

“You’re terrible at lying,” she said, tilting her head to meet your downcast eyes. “Talk to me.”

Her tone was a command, but not a harsh one. A gentle order from someone who knew exactly how strong you had to be just to admit you were hurting.

You swallowed hard. Your eyes darted toward the mirror again before quickly looking away. Her gaze followed yours, and her brow furrowed in understanding.

“Ah,” she hummed, her voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard. Her hands squeezed your knees firmly, not rough, not soft, but solid. Steady. “That’s the enemy, is it?”

“I hate it,” you admitted quietly, voice brittle as cracked glass. “I hate looking at myself sometimes.”

Her eyes stayed on you, unwavering. Ambessa didn’t flinch, didn’t brush it aside like so many others had. She didn’t offer hollow reassurances or empty platitudes. She listened.

You glanced at her, expecting judgment, maybe even pity. But her eyes only held patience. Love. That unyielding, immovable love she reserved for so few.

“I see,” she said, voice low like the roll of distant thunder. Her fingers slid upward from your knees to your thighs, broad palms smoothing over the fabric as if wiping away the weight you carried. She squeezed again, slow and deliberate. “You fight battles with yourself every day, don’t you, little one?”

Your breath hitched at the accuracy of it. You nodded, a single, small motion.

“Then let me remind you of something.” Her gaze sharpened, golden eyes fierce but not unkind. She shifted, rising just enough to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against her side. Her warmth was immediate, her body heat like a forgefire. Safe. Her other hand tilted your chin to face her.

“You are not weak for having doubts. Weakness is letting them win.” Her thumb brushed over your cheek in slow, soothing strokes. “I have fought wars, conquered nations, and stood before men who claimed to be unbreakable. Do you know what every one of them feared most?”

You shook your head, eyes wide.

“Being seen,” she said, her gaze soft but unyielding. “To be seen for all that they are; their flaws, their fears, their regrets. It terrifies them.” She leaned forward, her forehead resting lightly against yours. “But you? You let me see you every day.” Her breath was warm on your skin, her voice low and earnest. “That, little one, is courage.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. Your breath shuddered as tears pricked your eyes. The weight on your chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. It wasn’t so suffocating now.

“You don’t have to love every part of yourself today,” she murmured, voice gentle but steady as stone. “But I will love every part of you every day. Without question. Without condition.” Her golden eyes pierced you with a look so certain, so absolute, that your doubts dared not stand before it.

You let out a breathy, broken laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

Ambessa huffed, her lips twitching into a rare smile. “Nothing about love is easy, little one. If it were, everyone would be strong enough to hold it.” She pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there just long enough for you to feel the weight of it. “But I was never one to be drawn to ‘easy’ things.”

Her arm stayed around you, unyielding like a shield wall. Slowly, slowly, you let yourself lean into it. Her scent—smoke, steel, and faint cedar—filled your senses, grounding you like the steady thrum of a war drum.

Her fingers combed through your hair, her nails scraping lightly against your scalp. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t transactional. It was care. Pure, unshaken care. You let your head fall to her shoulder, and she shifted to make it more comfortable. Always adapting, always aware of you.

Silence hung between you, but it wasn’t hollow. It was full. Full of her presence. Full of the quiet promise she’d made to you every day without words.

After a while, her hand tilted your chin again, and you met her eyes. “Come,” she said, nodding toward the mirror. “Look with me.”

Panic clawed at your ribs. “Ambessa, I—”

“Trust me,” she said simply, her voice as steady as the mountain she stood upon. Her gaze was so sure, so absolute, that you nodded before you even realized it.

She rose, pulling you with her, her hand never leaving yours. Slowly, you stood before the mirror. She stood behind you, her body a fortress at your back. Her arms looped around your waist, her head lowered to rest on your shoulder.

“Do you see?” she asked, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “The woman I see every day.”

You swallowed hard, eyes darting away. But Ambessa’s hands tightened on your waist, not forceful but firm. “Look.”

So you did.

At first, all you saw were the things you hated. Your eyes locked onto every ‘imperfection’ you’d cataloged over the years. But then you felt her breath at your ear, her body warm behind you, her hands steady on you like the safest armor you’d ever worn.

Your gaze shifted.

You saw the curve of her arms wrapped around you. The contrast of her bronze skin against yours. The weight of her love pressing into you, undeniable and real. Your breath slowed. Her eyes met yours in the reflection, steady as a heartbeat.

“Look at her,” Ambessa whispered like a prayer. “She’s still standing.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they didn’t feel so heavy. You leaned back into her, letting yourself be held.

“I see her,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm.

“Good,” Ambessa rumbled, arms tightening around you like an unbreakable vow. “Because I see her too.”

A/N: I just wrote this real quickly (at 12 am) because it is a fabric that I felt the urge to draw, so I’m sorry if there are any typos or confusion.

A/N: Also, to anyone who felt like this touched them more than the usual, I just wanted to say you are beautiful, no matter how your body looks.

[nemisuki]

A Special Day

Dating AU | You never felt the need to celebrate this 'special' day every year. But time it's different, the first year with your explosive boyfriend. And seems like he thinks differently.

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, oneshot, bkg is a softie, gift giving, 1.3k word count

"So do you have any plans tomorrow?"

The sound of his voice breaks the silence between you two. The only other noise being the scribbles of her pencil and flipping of paper.

Her eyes don't break away from the math problem in her notebook, the source of her misery for the past 10 minutes.

In response to his question, the girl exhales a short hum while erasing her failed attempt of multiplication, "Not really."

A small pout begins to form on her face as she concentrates on the equation.

What sane person puts letters in math?

Listening to her reply, his eyebrows furrow with slight confusion, his hand pausing from completing the assignment in front of him.

He takes this opportunity to pause his studies, leaning back in his chair to stretch his limbs.

A small sigh exiting his mouth as he stands up to lift his arms over his head to give relief to his aching muscles.

"It's your birthday, don't ya want a party or go out to eat?"

At his movement, she takes a peek in his direction.

Her gaze roaming his backside - noticing the outline of his back muscles from that tank top he's wearing.

The combination of his shirt and the grey sweatpants loosely hanging on his waist was deadly.

It's even worse that he is completely unaware of the effect it has on her.

Seeing him take a break gave her an excuse to do the same.

She props herself off his bed with her elbows, now sitting up on the edge of his mattress with a small yawn, "Not really. I don't usually celebrate it."

"Like at all?" he turns back to look at her, noting the aloof expression on her face.

"I mean maybe when I was younger but not anymore.”

He examines her body language intensely, only to find no signs of discomfort.

So she really doesn’t want to celebrate huh.

I mean he understands, he wasn’t one to care about his own birthday either.

He steps closer to plop down beside her, looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, “we should call it a night.”

“Yeah I should head back to my dorm now” she smiles, looking at how the moonlight accentuates his features, only enhancing the vision beside her.

“Just sleep over” he mumbles, already moving to lay down on his bed. Making room for her as he scoots towards the wall.

“And your roommate?”

“Shitty hair said he’s crashing at Raccoon eyes dorm. So turn off the lamp and come over here yeah?”

She couldn’t help but to laugh at his blunt demands, reaching over to shut off the lamp then resting beside him in an instant.

There's no way she'll let an opportunity like this go to waste.

With that, the blonde drapes the blanket over the two, looking almost offended that she didn't wrap her hands around him like she always does.

He isn't one for physical touch but he's gotten used to hers.

She seems to feel his stare and immediately scoots closer to curl up beside him, leaning her face into his chest.

Thankfully dismissing all his dramatic thoughts in an instant.

He wraps his arms around her torso to hold her close, "Real tired. Gonna sleep now, night."

"Mhm good night 'suki. I love you" she whispers back, closing her eyes to relish in his warmth.

A feeling she loves all too well.

"....love you too" he replies after a few seconds. Before his eyes fall close, allowing himself to drown in the feeling of her presence.

Already knowing what he must do tomorrow.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

Her eyes squint in response to the distant sound of raining pattering outside the window.

The once dark room is now filled with morning light peeking through cracks in the curtain.

A groan escaping her as she rubs her eyes awake, attempting to fight the invisible force that's trying to pull her back to eternal sleep.

Though under the covers, she shivers at the chilly room she's woken up too. Expecting to be tangled under the covers with her favorite blonde, yet is only faced with an imposter - a pillow taking his place.

It takes her a few minutes of mindlessly staring at the ceiling for her to sit up, but only due to the sound of the door slowly creaking open.

His figure comes into view as he closes the door behind him, placing a mysterious bag on his desk as he takes off his coat and tucks his umbrella away, "You just woke up?"

"Yeah just now. Where'd you go?" she tilts her head, ruling out the option that he had class since he doesn't have his bag.

She stands up and begins approaching him but he holds his hand up, making her pause in her tracks.

"Close your eyes for a minute" he mumbles quietly, all of a sudden avoiding her questioning gaze.

Despite her confusion, she doesn't ask to investigate further as her eyes flutter shut.

"Don't peek or I'll kill ya."

An amused smile appears on her face at his snarky comment, "I won't but if you don't hurry up I might fall back asleep."

The sound of rustling was heard in the room, as well as a small clicking sound shortly after.

"Can I look now?"

"No."

"What about now?"

"I told you already, not yet!"

Laughter escapes her as she impatiently waits, fidgeting her fingers as she hears him step closer.

"...Alright you can open them now."

She hums and her eyes slowly open, slightly squinting to adjust to the light of the room once again.

Once done, she looks ahead of her and is met with an overwhelming sight. Complete shock taking over her face.

Bakugo is standing there, holding up a small birthday cake with lit candles on top.

Her heart thumps louder in her chest, so much so that it almost drowns out the noise of rain happening outside the room.

And she wonders if he can hear it too.

"I uh... know what you said yesterday but it just-" he holds the cake closer to her face, "didn't feel right to me."

Her gaze roams across the cake, pretty cursive letters in frosting spelling out 'Happy Birthday Y/N' on the surface. Along with her favorite pieces of fruit scattered around the edges.

"You didn't have to" she mumbles, a thankful smile taking over her face the more she stares at the cake.

"Well I wanted to. Now blow out the candles, nerd."

Holding back a laugh, she takes a moment to look at him, "Not gonna sing for me?"

"Hah! In your dreams maybe. Hurry up would ya? My arms getting tired here" he rolls his eyes at her teasing, the tip of his ears turning a soft pink from embarrassment.

She holds back a wide smile and blows out the candles before he grows more shy.

"What flavor is it?"

"You're favorite one, obviously" he huffs, stepping away to set the cake down on his desk.

As her gaze lingered on him, a sudden feeling took over her whole body.

She notices the small puddle forming under his wet shoes, a mini bouquet of her favorite flowers resting in a vase he must've bought earlier and a gift bag carefully placed on the sidelines.

Katsuki Bakugo hates the rain. Avoids it at all costs.

Yet he willingly went out in this downpour to buy her these things.

Ah....

"Oi do you want a one slice or-"

His words falter when her hands suddenly wrap around his waist from behind. Her face resting against his back, not wanting him to see as silent tears trickle down her cheeks.

"Thank you Katsuki."

He stays silent, feeling the back of his shirt grow damp from her quiet cries.

A sigh exits his mouth as he prys her hands away, spinning around to hold her close to his chest. Rubbing her back in gentle circles and whispering rare words of reassurance.

"Yeah yeah let it all out. I got ya" he mumbles, knowing exactly how to calm her down.

She just needs him there to hold her as he always does.

And he'll stick around - for her.

"Happy Birthday Y/N."

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| hey hey everyone! It's actually my birthday today so I quickly wrote this up hehe. Sorry if it's a bit choppy, this was rushed. Anywaysss I finally made a taglist - so if you want to get tagged in my bakugo fics then click on this link!

[hisfavegirl]

Closure - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

summary : Aemond was consumed by his anger and hatred, leaving you alone and lonely once again. You made a risky decision and put your life in danger.

It had been days since you locked yourself away in your chambers. The weight of grief, guilt, and exhaustion pressed down on you like a crushing wave. The once lively space around you now felt suffocatingly silent, broken only by the occasional knock from Alicent or the maids bringing in food you barely touched.

Aemond had yet to return. Each day you glanced at the door, hoping he would walk in, his presence a balm to your frayed nerves. But he never did. You tried not to think about it too much, but the ache of his absence settled deep in your chest.

Then came the news. Whispers of it echoed through the halls, carried on the hurried voices of servants and the low murmurs of guards.

One of the men responsible for Jaehaerys’s death had been captured.

He called himself “Blood.” The name alone made your heart clench with dread. Rumors spread like wildfire — Blood had confessed under interrogation. He claimed he and his partner, “Cheese,” had been hired by none other than Daemon Targaryen. Their orders were clear and cruel: Kill a child of the Greens as payment for the death of Lucerys Velaryon.

The words struck you like a physical blow. Your breath hitched, and your hand flew to your stomach, the phantom ache of your lost child flaring to life. Blood for blood. Son for son. It was justice in the eyes of Daemon, but for you, it was nothing more than horror and senseless cruelty.

Your mind spiraled. Did my mother know? Did she agree to this? The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest. Memories of your childhood with Rhaenyra flashed in your mind, of how she used to hold you close, call you her little flower. But that image clashed with the Rhaenyra who had sent assassins after children.

It didn’t matter that it was Daemon who ordered it. Daemon and Rhaenyra were one.

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of anger, sorrow, and betrayal. You pressed a hand against your mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape. You thought of Helaena, of how she cradled her children every night, whispering soft lullabies to them. You thought of Jaehaera’s hollow, haunted eyes after witnessing her brother’s murder. You thought of Maelor, too small to understand but forever scarred.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. This time, it was not a servant. It was Alicent. Her voice was gentle but firm.

“Please, my dear. Let me in,” she said softly, but there was urgency beneath her calm tone. “We need to speak.”

You hesitated for a moment before slowly walking to the door. You unlocked it and stepped back. Alicent entered, her eyes filled with concern, her face weary from sleepless nights. She approached you carefully, like one might approach a wounded animal.

“They caught him,” you said before she could speak, your voice hollow. “He confessed. He said it was Daemon.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Yes. He did.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. The weight of loss, of betrayal, of helplessness hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“Do you hate me?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. “For being her daughter?”

Alicent’s eyes shot up, wide with shock. She stepped forward and cupped your face in her hands, her touch gentle but unyielding. “No,” she said firmly, her eyes searching yours with fierce determination. “You are not her. You are not her. Do you hear me?” Her thumbs brushed away your tears. “I see you for who you are. A kind, loving girl who has suffered far too much. None of this is your fault.”

Her words broke something in you. You crumpled into her arms, and she held you tight, like she had done so many times before. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like she wasn’t just holding you up — she was anchoring you to the world.

You remained for a moment, lost in the embrace of Alicent’s comforting presence, the weight of her words settling in your chest. She was a lifeline, a thread of reassurance in the storm that was your life. But before long, she gently pulled away, her face now etched with determination.

“I must go to the council,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “There are decisions to be made, and I cannot delay any longer.”

You nodded in silence as she made her way to the door, her footsteps heavy with purpose. As the door closed softly behind her, you remained seated, your thoughts racing. The raw pain of everything you had lost, the children, the life you thought you would have — it all felt like too much. But you couldn’t stay in this room forever.

Rising from your bed, you walked toward your wardrobe, your feet feeling heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. Reaching into the cabinet, you pulled out the dark, soft hooded cloak that you had set aside earlier. The familiar weight of it comforted you, grounding you in a way that the endless grief could not.

You paused for a moment, staring at the cloak in your hands. The fabric was rich, a deep shade of black, embroidered with small patterns of silver threads that glimmered faintly in the dim light of the room.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. A moment of clarity broke through the fog of sorrow. You needed to find a way to move forward. To find your place in this world of treachery and shifting allegiances.

Tying the cloak securely around your shoulders, you made your way toward the door, your mind still heavy with questions. What would this council meeting bring? What would the repercussions be for your mother’s involvement in the death of your nephew?

With each step, your resolve solidified. You would not allow yourself to be a passive observer in this game of power. Whatever was to come, you would face it — head held high.

You moved cautiously through the halls, your footsteps light and calculated. The heavy weight of your heart still lingered, but you focused on your goal, trying to push aside the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you. Your hands gripped the edges of your cloak, tightening the fabric around your face, concealing yourself as best as you could.

You hoped the deep hood would mask your identity, that the shadows would keep you hidden. The last thing you needed right now was to be noticed. The corridors were mostly empty, the soft echoes of your footsteps the only sound that filled the space as you moved with swift determination.

Every corner you turned felt like a risk, but there was no turning back now. You had to get to the gates, to find a way to leave the Red Keep without anyone knowing. The weight of your own emotions mixed with the dangerous path you were now walking.

Soon, you reached the grand doors of the Red Keep’s outer walls, and you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had followed you. The quietness of the moment made your heart race as you stepped toward the gates. You hoped the night would cover your tracks, that no one would question your sudden disappearance.

As you approached the gate, your nerves were at their peak, but you kept your head down and continued forward, trusting the shadows to protect you for just a little longer.

You moved through the dimly lit streets of King’s Landing, each step taking you further from the safety of the Red Keep and deeper into the unknown. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your chest, but your resolve to reach Dragonstone and find your mother. The cold night air bit at your skin, but you ignored it, focusing on the path ahead.

The sounds of the bustling city faded as you neared the harbor, the scent of saltwater and the creak of ships in the distance filling the air. Your heart beat faster, the familiar feeling of uncertainty creeping in, but you pushed it aside. This was something you had to do, for yourself and for the future.

You approached one of the docked ships, a small vessel with a weathered crew. The captain, an older man with a hardened face, eyed you warily as you walked up. You didn’t hesitate, offering him the coins in your hand. “Take me to Dragonstone,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

He regarded you for a moment before nodding, accepting the payment. “Aye, that can be arranged,” he muttered. “But it’s not a short journey, and there’ll be no turning back once we’re out on the water.”

You nodded in agreement, your resolve unwavering. This was your only chance. As you boarded the ship and the crew prepared to set sail, you glanced one last time at the distant lights of King’s Landing, unsure of what awaited you, but certain that this was the right choice.

The ship began to pull away from the docks, and you could feel the weight of the journey ahead, but also a strange sense of freedom, as if, for the first time in a long while, you were in control of your own fate.

You stood at the edge of the ship, gazing out at the vast, endless sea before you. The gentle crash of the waves and the salty breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it a sense of bittersweet calm. For a moment, you closed your eyes and let the wind surround you, as if it could blow away the ache that still lingered in your heart.

Your hand slowly drifted to your abdomen, fingers lightly tracing the place where life had once grown within you. The pain of that loss was still fresh, sharp as the sting of cold sea air, and for a moment, it felt unbearable. You bit your lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Was this punishment? Was this fate? The questions swirled in your mind, unanswered and unrelenting.

Your thoughts shifted to Aemond and Alicent. You could still see Aemond’s face the night he found you bleeding, the way his eyes had filled with something beyond grief—regret, guilt, and something deeper. You could hear Alicent’s voice as she cradled you, whispering words of comfort like a mother soothing her child. They had stayed by your side, and now you had left them with no warning, no explanation. Guilt gnawed at your heart like a slow, unyielding burn.

But your resolve was firm. You had made your choice. You had to see your mother. Why did she send them? you thought, gripping the edge of the ship tighter. Why did she send Blood and Cheese to slaughter children in revenge? You needed to hear it from her own lips. You needed to understand why this bloodshed had been necessary, why your brother’s death had to be repaid with such horror.

The wind howled softly as the ship rocked gently beneath your feet. Your eyes remained locked on the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a line as sharp and endless as fate itself. You didn’t know what you would find at Dragonstone. You didn’t know if you would be welcomed or cast aside. But you knew you couldn’t turn back now.

For better or worse, you were no longer just a pawn in this war. You had made a choice, and soon, you would face whatever waited for you on that distant, stormy shore.

Aemond’s boots thudded heavily against the stone floors as he marched through the corridors of the Red Keep, his breathing sharp and uneven. His hair was still tousled from the ride, his face lined with exhaustion, but his pace never slowed. The only thing on his mind was you.

He reached your shared chambers, pushing the door open with more force than necessary. His eye scanned the room quickly, searching for the familiar sight of you — sitting by the fire, resting on the bed, or perhaps simply standing by the window. But none of that greeted him. The room was empty.

His brows drew together, and he stepped inside, his gaze darting to every corner. “Love?” he called, his voice firm but laced with unease. Silence answered him. No warmth of your presence, no reply from your voice.

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He strode to the side chamber, then to the dressing room. Nothing. You weren’t there. His breathing grew heavier, his movements faster. He checked behind the bed curtains, even glanced toward the window as if expecting to see you outside, but still, there was no sign of you.

“My love!” he called louder, his voice carrying a sharp edge of frustration. He stepped back into the hallway, his gaze darting left and right. His mind churned with possibilities. Did she go to see Alicent? Did she go to visit Helaena? But doubt crept in. You would have told him if you planned to leave. You always told him.

Aemond’s heart pounded faster as he moved with renewed urgency, his steps now echoing with force. His frustration turned to unease, and unease began to fester into dread. Servants flinched out of his way as he stormed down the corridor.

“You,” he barked at a passing maid. The girl froze, eyes wide with fear. “Have you seen her? Have you seen my wife?”

The girl shook her head frantically. “N-No, my prince. I… I saw her last night, but not since then.”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His gaze flickered with cold calculation. He didn’t waste another word on her and spun on his heel, continuing his search. He checked Helaena’s chambers, the sept, the library — each room more frustrating than the last. She was nowhere to be found.

His patience snapped when he returned to the Great Hall. His hand slammed against the table with a loud bang, making the maids jump in fear. His eye was wild now, his mind spiraling with dark thoughts. Did someone take her? Did she run away? No. No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t leave.

Just then, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed from behind him. Alicent entered, her eyes weary from the hours spent in council meetings. She tilted her head in confusion at the sight of her son, disheveled and tense like a lion ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice was steady but curious. “What’s the matter? Why are you in such a state?”

Aemond’s head snapped toward her, his face a mask of barely controlled panic and fury. “She’s gone,” he muttered, his voice low but dangerous. “She’s not in our chambers. She’s not anywhere.”

The words hit Alicent like a slap. Her eyes widened, her calm demeanor fracturing. “What do you mean she’s gone?” she asked sharply, stepping forward. “Did you check the gardens? The library? Perhaps she’s with Helaena and the children—”

“She’s not there,” Aemond cut her off, his voice louder now. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. “I searched everywhere. She’s gone, Mother.”

Alicent’s eyes darted around, her mind racing as she processed his words. Her breathing quickened, panic seeping into her voice. “Did anyone see her leave? Did anyone see her go to the harbor or the gates?”

“I don’t know,” Aemond hissed, his frustration boiling over. He raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as he paced. “If she left, someone would have seen her. Someone had to have seen her.” His words were more for himself than for his mother. He turned to one of the guards stationed nearby. “Find the captain of the gates. Find every guard who was posted today. Now.”

The guards exchanged nervous glances before bowing and running off to follow his orders.

Alicent moved closer to Aemond, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Her eyes were filled with concern, not just for you but for him. “We will find her, Aemond. She could not have gone far.”

But her reassurance did nothing to calm him. His breathing was still harsh, his eye darting back and forth like a trapped animal searching for an escape. His fingers flexed at his sides, hands itching for something to grip — a sword, a throat, anything to release the pressure building in his chest.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now, his eye fixed on the floor. “She wouldn’t.”

Alicent frowned. “Of course not, my son. She loves you.”

But Aemond wasn’t listening anymore. His mind was already moving ahead, calculating every possible reason for your absence. If someone took her, they would pay. If she left, she would be found. If she ran from me… His nails bit into his palms as his fists curled tightly.

“Mother,” he said slowly, lifting his head to look Alicent in the eyes. The weight of his gaze was heavy, filled with something more dangerous than panic — certainty. “If she left… I will bring her back myself.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity in his voice. She knew that look. It was the same look she’d seen in him the night of the incident at Storm’s End. It was the look of a man who had already decided what he would do, no matter the cost.

After a long and exhausting journey, the ship finally reached the rocky shores of Dragonstone. The salty sea air filled your lungs as you stepped off the ship, your boots crunching against the rough stones of the beach. The crash of waves echoed behind you, but it was the sight ahead that captured your attention.

The guards were everywhere. Their sharp gazes followed your every movement as you pulled down your hood, revealing your face. Their eyes widened slightly in recognition, but none of them moved to stop you.

“I wish to see my mother,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.

One of the guards nodded, gesturing for you to follow. The path leading up to the fortress was steep, each step heavier than the last. Your heart thudded in your chest, a storm of emotions brewing within you — grief, anger, and something colder, something sharper.

As you reached the main courtyard, you saw them.

Her.

Him.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood at the top of the stone steps, her silver hair glinting like molten silver in the dim light. Her eyes locked onto you, wide with surprise and then something softer, something closer to relief. But she was not alone.

Daemon.

He stood beside her, his presence as commanding as ever. His gaze was piercing, his face unreadable as he watched you approach. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, and his stance was one of ease — as if he had not a single regret in the world.

But you were no longer a child seeking safety. Not anymore.

Your steps quickened, your breath coming faster as anger surged in your chest. Your heart felt as if it would burst from the weight of it all. Your eyes fixed on Daemon, and before either of them could speak, you let your voice ring out like thunder.

“How could you?!” Your words echoed across the courtyard, and the guards turned to look. Your voice was raw, sharp with fury and pain. “How could you be so cruel, Daemon?! To kill Helaena’s children? To kill my child?”

Silence.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her face frozen in shock. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Her gaze shifted slowly to Daemon.

Daemon’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He stood there, unmoving, his violet eyes fixed on you like a predator watching prey.

“What nonsense is this?” Daemon’s voice was calm, too calm, like the eerie stillness before a storm. He tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “You come here throwing accusations, but you’ve yet to say anything that makes sense.”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Daemon!” you snapped, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Blood and Cheese. Does that sound familiar? Because it should. They said they were sent by you!” Your chest heaved with every breath as tears welled in your eyes. “They said it was revenge for Luke. But it wasn’t just Jaehaerys they took. They took my child too.” Your voice broke on the last word, raw and filled with pain.

Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to you, her face contorted with shock and confusion. “What child?” she asked, stepping toward you, her voice rising with urgency. “What are you talking about?”

But you didn’t look at her. Your eyes stayed locked on Daemon. “I was pregnant,” you hissed, your nails digging into your palms. “I was going to tell Grandsire that night before he died. But I never got the chance. I lost the baby because of them. Because of you.” Your eyes narrowed into slits, your voice filled with venom. “I hope you’re proud.”

For the first time, something flickered in Daemon’s eyes. It was not guilt. Not sorrow. But something sharper. Realization.

“That child was mine to protect,” you continued, stepping forward until you were mere feet away from him. “It was mine and Aemond’s. And you took it from us.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched. Her gaze darted back to Daemon, her eyes narrowing, her mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. “Daemon,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and growing suspicion. “Is this true? Did you—”

“Enough.” Daemon’s voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. His eyes snapped to Rhaenyra, his jaw set in a hard line. “Don’t look at me like that, Rhaenyra.” His gaze returned to you, colder now, sharp as broken glass. “I did what had to be done. Blood for blood.” He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, like a shadow growing larger. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing. “I see a girl blinded by love. Do you know what Aemond sees? A pawn. A piece on the board to be moved at his whim. He doesn’t love you. He loves control.”

His words struck like daggers, but you didn’t falter. Your feet stayed firmly planted, and your eyes met his with unwavering resolve.

“You think this was justice?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. “You think slaughtering an innocent child is justice?”

“Luke was innocent,” Daemon snapped back, stepping closer until you could see the cold fury in his eyes. “Was he not? When Aemond took his life, did you cry for him too? Did you weep for your brother the way you weep for Helaena’s son? No.” His lips curled into a sneer. “You weep now because it suits you.”

Tears streamed down your face, but your eyes stayed sharp as steel. “Luke’s death was an accident, Daemon,” you hissed, your voice low and filled with venom. “Even Aemond didn’t want it to happen. But what you did—” Your voice broke. “You planned it. You watched it happen. You sent monsters to kill a boy and my unborn child. You had no mercy.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Daemon said quietly, his face deadly calm. “I had all the mercy in the world. If it were me in that room, I would have killed them all. Jaehaerys. Jaehaera. Maelor. All of them.” He stepped back, his gaze turning colder still. “Because that is how you win a war.”

“This isn’t war, Daemon!” Rhaenyra’s voice thundered across the courtyard, her eyes filled with fury as she stepped between the two of you. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “This is slaughter! You took my daughter’s unborn child. You butchered my sister children. This is not how we win. This is how we lose.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. He stared at Rhaenyra as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Everything I do, I do for us,” he said softly, his eyes locked with hers. “For you.”

“You did it for yourself,” Rhaenyra spat, her eyes filled with disgust. “Don’t hide behind me, Daemon. If you wanted blood, you could have spilt it yourself. But you didn’t. You hid in the shadows. You sent monsters to do the deed.” She stepped closer to him, her face inches from his. “You will answer for this.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with danger. “You’d condemn me? Me? After all I’ve done for you?” His smile was slow, sharp, and dangerous. “No, my love. You will not.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, she looked every bit the dragon she was born to be. “Watch me.”

Daemon’s gaze shifted to you once more. His eyes were filled with something cold and ancient, like something far older than men. “Be careful, girl,” he said softly, his voice like a shadow brushing against your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game. And in games like these, the innocent die first.”

He walked away, his footsteps echoing across the stone.

Your heart pounded as you watched him leave. Your breathing was shallow, your hands trembling at your sides. You felt Rhaenyra’s hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but gentle.

“I will not let him harm you again,” she said quietly, her voice firm with quiet resolve. “He will pay for what he has done.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed fixed on Daemon’s retreating form, watching him disappear into the darkness.

But one thing was certain.

You would never forget.

And you would never forgive.

You stared at your mother, her figure strong yet filled with a quiet sadness as she stood at the top of the stone steps. Her eyes pleaded with you, her voice soft but firm.

“Stay,” she said, her tone heavy with both authority and love. “Stay here with me. I will protect you. No harm will come to you under this roof.”

Her words hung in the cold air like a gentle lullaby, but they did not bring you peace. Your gaze dropped to the ground, your eyes filled with unshed tears. You shook your head slowly, each movement more certain than the last.

“No,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet her gaze. “No, Mother.” You took a step back, your breath shaky but your resolve unshaken.

Her brows knitted together in confusion, her hands reaching out slightly as if to pull you back. “Please,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t have to go back there. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Your heart ached, the pain of loss and betrayal still fresh in your chest. The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. You glanced away from her, your eyes distant as you stared at the endless sea.

“Maybe the debt of blood was never truly even,” you murmured, your voice hollow, each word sharper than any blade. Your gaze lifted back to hers, your eyes filled with something far colder than before. “You only lost Luke.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her breath hitching as if you had struck her.

“But I…” your voice trembled as you placed a hand on your stomach, feeling the phantom ache where life had once stirred. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you did not let them fall. Your voice hardened like steel. “I lost Jaehaerys. I lost the child I carried in my womb.”

Her lips parted in shock, her face stricken with pain. She stepped forward, but you took another step back, your eyes sharp like broken glass.

“Two lives for one,” you continued, bitterness lacing every word. “How is that justice, Mother? How is that fair?”

Her hand dropped, and for the first time, you saw something break inside her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Guilt, regret, and sorrow warred on her face, but none of it could change the past. None of it could bring them back.

You turned away from her, your feet crunching against the stone as you walked away. Each step echoed louder than the last. The cold wind from the sea whipped at your cloak, your hood falling back to reveal your tear-streaked face. Your steps were heavy, but you did not stop.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra’s voice wavered, thick with desperation. “Please. Don’t leave like this.”

But you didn’t turn around. You didn’t look back.

Not this time.

“Don’t let this hate consume you,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper but loud enough to reach your ears.

Your steps slowed, just for a moment.

“Hate?” you repeated, your voice bitter with a hollow laugh. “You taught me hate, Mother.” Your eyes glanced at the stormy sea ahead. “You taught me that blood must pay for blood.”

Your hands curled into fists, your nails digging into your palms until they ached. “Now I know what that truly means.”

You took another step forward, ready to leave Dragonstone behind.

But then—

“Wait!”

The voice that called you wasn’t Rhaenyra’s. It wasn’t Daemon’s.

It was Jacaerys.

You froze in place, your body going rigid at the sound of his voice. The sound of his footsteps echoed behind you as he hurried down the steps. He was close now, too close.

“Please,” he said, his breath ragged from running. “Please, don’t go.”

You clenched your jaw, your heart twisting with emotions you could barely control. Slowly, you turned to face him.

There he was. Jace.

His face was filled with desperation, his brows furrowed deeply, his eyes fixed on you as if looking away would shatter you like glass. His breath came in sharp puffs, his chest heaving as he tried to catch it.

“Don’t do this,” Jace said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Don’t leave like this. Stay. Please, just stay.”

Your eyes met his, filled with so many emotions that you could barely breathe — grief, rage, love, and the bitter ache of betrayal.

“You want me to stay?” you said, your voice eerily calm. “Did you stay when they killed my child? Did you stay when they killed Helaena’s son? Tell me, Jace. Where were you?”

His lips parted, but no answer came. He looked away, his eyes filled with shame.

“You didn’t come for me then,” you said, your voice cracking. “Don’t ask me to stay now.”

His eyes snapped back to you, his face contorting in frustration. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice shaking with raw emotion. “I didn’t know what Daemon had done. If I had known—”

“—You would have stopped it?” you finished, eyes narrowing. “You would have saved them? No, Jace. You wouldn’t have. You follow Daemon like a loyal hound, and you know it.” You stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you’re innocent.”

He didn’t move, didn’t push you away. He took it all, his face falling into something close to defeat.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re right.” His voice was low, filled with pain. “I didn’t stop it. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t know.” He took a breath, his gaze searching yours. “But I know now.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. The crashing waves below filled the stillness like thunder.

Jace lowered his head, his eyes closed for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. When he opened them, they were filled with something new. Resolve.

“I can’t undo what’s been done,” he said, stepping closer to you. His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unwavering. “But I can stop it from happening again. I swear it. I will make Daemon answer for what he did. I’ll stand with you. If you’ll let me.”

His words hung in the air like a fragile thread. You stared at him, searching his face for lies, but all you saw was raw honesty. Guilt. Regret. Shame.

But also something more.

“Why should I trust you?” you asked, your voice hollow but sharp.

Jace’s eyes burned with defiance. “I am your brother.” His voice was hard, fierce, unyielding. He stepped closer until he was only a breath away. “I can’t change the past, but I can fight for you now. I swear it on my life.”

For a moment, you said nothing.

The cold wind tugged at your cloak, carrying the salt of the sea with it. Your heart was heavy with doubt, grief, and anger, but as you stared at Jace, you saw something else.

A part of you still wanted to believe him.

But belief was dangerous. Trust was dangerous.

“Words are cheap, Jace,” you said softly, your eyes hard as steel. “Show me.”

His gaze didn’t falter. “I will.”

You stood there for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words settle into your heart. The ache of loss still throbbed in your chest, and your hand briefly hovered over your stomach, remembering what had been taken from you.

Finally, you turned your back on him once more, your heart colder than it had ever been.

“Then show me from afar,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I’m done standing in the shadow of dragons.”

You didn’t stop this time.

Not when you heard Rhaenyra call your name. Not when Jace called after you.

Not when you felt the tears burning in your eyes. You kept walking, your heart as cold as the sea wind.

Because blood had been paid with blood And the debt would never be even.

You walked along the shores of Dragonstone, your steps slow and unsteady as the sand shifted beneath your feet. The waves crashed softly against the beach, the cool sea breeze brushing against your face. Your eyes stayed fixed on the endless horizon, thoughts swirling like a storm within you.

The weight of grief still sat heavy in your chest, but the gentle sound of the sea brought you a fleeting moment of calm. Each step left behind a mark in the sand, only to be washed away by the tide moments later. Just like everything else, you thought bitterly.

But then—

A sound.

A deep, resonating roar that echoed through the skies.

Your heart froze for a moment, your eyes snapping upward. It was loud, sharp, and familiar — a sound you knew better than any song. It rumbled through the air like thunder, causing the guards stationed at the cliffs to turn their heads in alarm.

Your gaze followed the source of the sound, and there, circling the skies, was your dragon.

Its silver-gray scales glinted against the dim light of the cloudy sky, and its large wings stretched wide like the sails of a great ship. The sight of it was enough to draw the breath from your lungs. Your dragon let out another deafening roar before diving downward in a spiral, heading straight toward you.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your chest filling with something warm. It wasn’t much — just a spark of joy in the midst of all the pain — but it was enough to make you feel alive again. You were not alone.

The force of the wind swept around you as your dragon landed with a loud thud, its claws digging into the sand. The gust blew back your cloak, and you shielded your face from the stinging grains of sand in the air. Your dragon’s great head turned to you, its sharp eyes meeting yours with an intelligence far beyond that of any beast. It lowered its head, pressing its snout gently against your side.

You exhaled shakily, placing both hands on its warm, scaly snout, feeling the low rumble of its breath beneath your palms. It was like feeling the pulse of the earth itself.

“You found me,” you whispered softly, your voice trembling as you ran your hands over its snout. Your fingers traced the familiar grooves of its scales, the ridges you had touched so many times before. “You always find me, don’t you?”

Your dragon let out a low, soft growl in response, nudging you gently with its head. It was a silent promise, one it had made to you from the moment it bonded with you.

You stepped back, lifting your eyes to meet its gaze.

“Take me home,” you said, your voice steadier this time. There was no doubt, no hesitation. “Take me back to King’s Landing.”

The dragon lowered its body, its wings folding inward to give you an easy path to climb. You didn’t think twice. You grabbed hold of the leather reins and pulled yourself up, settling into the saddle with practiced ease. The warmth of the dragon’s body seeped into you, chasing away the cold that had lingered in your bones.

You took one last glance behind you. From the cliffs of Dragonstone, you could see the shadowy figures of your mother, Daemon, and Jace watching from above. Rhaenyra raised a hand, calling out your name, but you did not answer. You did not look back.

Not anymore.

You tapped the side of your dragon’s neck, and it let out a powerful roar that shook the air. Its wings spread wide, blocking out the gray sky above. With a powerful leap, your dragon launched into the air, the wind rushing past your ears as the ground fell away beneath you. The sea below became a blur of blue and white, the island of Dragonstone growing smaller and smaller behind you.

The cold air bit at your cheeks, the salt of the sea sharp on your tongue, but none of it mattered. The weight on your heart began to ease, replaced by the fierce certainty of purpose.

You would return to King’s Landing.

And this time, you would not be silent.

Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind consumed by a storm of fear and rage. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as he marched through the corridors of the Red Keep, his single eye scanning every shadow, every figure, every face. Servants cowered as he passed, too afraid to meet his gaze.

“Where is she?!” he barked at the guards stationed by the main gates. “Have you seen her?! Speak, or lose your tongues!”

The guards shook their heads, stammering apologies, but none could give him the answer he so desperately sought. His jaw clenched in frustration, his fists curling so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Where could you have gone? Why would you leave without a word? The thought alone was enough to drive him mad.

But then —

A roar.

His body went still, every muscle in him freezing at the familiar, thunderous sound that echoed through the skies. His heart skipped a beat as his head snapped upward. The roar cut through the air like the call of a war horn, commanding attention from all below. He knew that sound better than any other. It was your dragon.

His eye widened with realization, and he spun on his heel, running toward the nearest courtyard with the clearest view of the sky. His gaze locked on the figure above. High in the sky, your dragon soared, its powerful wings cutting through the clouds with ease. The silver-gray scales shimmered under the pale light, a flash of brilliance against the dull gray sky.

But it wasn’t the dragon that seized his attention. It was you.

There, atop your dragon, he saw you. Cloaked and hooded, your figure was unmistakable. His heart squeezed in his chest, equal parts relief and fury. He saw the direction your dragon was heading — not toward the sea, not toward the city — but toward the Dragonpit.

His mind raced. She’s coming back.

Without wasting another moment, he turned and sprinted toward the stables, his boots thudding hard against the stone. His breathing was sharp, uneven, but he didn’t stop. He had to reach you. He had to see you.

When he reached his horse, he barely gave the stable boy a glance, yanking the reins from the boy’s hands and mounting it in one smooth motion.

“Out of my way!” he snarled, spurring the horse forward with a sharp kick. The animal whinnied, rearing for a moment before galloping at full speed. The streets of King’s Landing blurred around him as he rode, his eye fixed on the path ahead. He didn’t care about the crowds he scattered or the shouts of merchants cursing him as they leapt from his path.

His mind was focused on one thing only: you.

The closer he got to the Dragonpit, the louder the sounds became — the roars of other dragons, the thundering of wings, and the growing buzz of people gathering to witness the arrival of a dragon. When he finally reached the base of the hill leading up to the Dragonpit, he dismounted with a reckless leap. He didn’t care that the horse hadn’t stopped moving. He didn’t care that his boots slid on the loose gravel.

He sprinted up the hill, his breathing sharp and harsh, his gaze locked on the entrance to the Dragonpit. His heart was a riot of emotions — anger, relief, confusion, desperation — all colliding at once. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to see you. He had to know why.

When he reached the top, he stopped just short of the entrance, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He looked around wildly, his eye scanning the pit. The great shadow of your dragon loomed ahead, its massive wings folding in as it settled on the ground. Dust and loose gravel still floated in the air from its landing. The other dragons within the pit roared in recognition, their calls echoing off the stone walls.

And then he saw you.

You slid down from the saddle, your movements slow but deliberate. Your hood was still up, but as you turned, the fabric slipped from your head, revealing your face. His breath caught in his throat.

You stood there, gazing at him with an unreadable expression. There was no anger, no sorrow, no relief. Just a cold, quiet stillness in your eyes.

He took a step forward, his breathing still uneven. His mouth opened, but for a moment, no words came out. His mind was a mess of confusion, worry, and disbelief. Finally, he found his voice.

“Where were you?” His voice was hoarse, his tone hard but not loud. “Where in the Seven Hells were you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze shifted toward the dragon behind you, your eyes softening for just a moment as you reached up to touch its snout. Slowly, you turned your eyes back to him.

“Dragonstone,” you said simply.

Aemond’s face twisted with disbelief, his eye narrowing. “You left?” he hissed, his voice sharper now. “You left without a word — without a guard — after everything that’s happened?” His tone rose with each word, his anger bleeding into every syllable. His eye darted down to your stomach for the briefest of moments, his gaze flickering with something raw and unspoken.

“You could have been killed,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. He took another step forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? To my mother? I scoured the Keep for you, I—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw so hard it ached.

But you didn’t flinch. You stood your ground, your eyes meeting his head-on. The air between you was tense, thick with words that neither of you had spoken.

“I went to see my mother,” you said, your tone even, but there was a cold edge to it. “I wanted to hear it from her lips. I wanted to know if she was the one who ordered it. Aemond’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him.

“I had to know,” you said through gritted teeth. “I had to know if my mother had a hand in murdering Helaena’s son—” Your voice broke for a moment, but you steadied yourself, lifting your chin. “—and our child.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to the ground for a second too long. Guilt hung heavy on his shoulders.

“What did she say?” he asked quietly, barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward your dragon, as if drawing strength from its presence. When you looked back at him, your eyes were cold, harder than he’d ever seen them before.

“She didn’t deny it,” you said, and those words were like a blade through his chest. “Daemon gave the order, but she did nothing to stop it. Nothing.”

Silence fell between you like a chasm, too wide to cross.

Aemond took another step forward, his face filled with something raw, something close to desperation. “You should have come to me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not them. Not her.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I would have gone with you. I would have done anything for you.”

Your eyes softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I know,” you whispered, “but I needed to face her myself.”

He let out a harsh breath, his anger still simmering beneath his skin, but he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, stepping forward until there was barely a breath of space between you. His gaze bore into yours, hard as steel. “Don’t leave me like that again. I will not lose you too.”

You searched his face, your eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something that hadn’t been there before.

“Then don’t give me a reason to leave,” you replied softly, placing a hand on his chest, just over his heart. You could feel it beating beneath your palm, wild and uneven.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not harsh. His single eye locked on yours, his jaw set with determination.

“Never,” he promised, his voice rough but certain. “Never again.”

You and Aemond returned to the Red Keep, the familiar sight of its towering walls and sharp spires looming ahead. The weight of everything that had happened pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you stood tall, your gaze steady.

Word of your return had already spread. As you approached the entrance, there she was — Alicent. She stood by the grand doors, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes scanning the distance until they found you. Her face shifted instantly. The sharp worry that had etched lines into her features melted away, replaced by pure, unrestrained relief.

Her breath hitched as she stepped forward, her pace quickening with each step. Her eyes, filled with both love and quiet reproach, never left you. Before you could say a word, she was upon you.

“My sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a firm embrace. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, as if she feared you would disappear again if she let go. Her cheek pressed against your hair, and you could feel her breath tremble as she exhaled.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, her voice strained with a mix of relief and frustration. Her hands moved to cup your face, tilting it up so she could look directly into your eyes. “Leaving without a word, without a guard, after all that’s happened? Do you have any idea what you put us through?”

Her eyes searched yours, flickering between anger, worry, and something deeper — something like fear. She brushed a hand over your cheek, her thumb tracing the faint lines of exhaustion on your face. Her gaze softened even more. “We thought we’d lost you too.”

Behind you, Aemond stood silently, his eye fixed on you both. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back, but his gaze betrayed him. He was watching you intently, every shift of your face, every word his mother spoke.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, glancing away for a moment. “I just… I needed to know.”

Alicent blinked, confused. “Know what?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing.

You glanced at Aemond before returning your gaze to Alicent. “I went to Dragonstone,” you admitted, voice steadier now. “I had to see my mother. I had to know if she had any part in… in this madness.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last words, but you stood firm, not allowing yourself to falter.

Alicent’s lips parted in shock. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours as if to confirm she had heard you correctly. Her eyes darted to Aemond, who merely lowered his gaze, his face unreadable.

“Did she…?” Alicent’s voice was strained, her breath barely above a whisper, as though she feared the answer.

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to speak. “Daemon gave the order, like that man said” you said, each word cutting like a blade. “But she did nothing to stop it.”

Alicent’s face crumpled with something close to devastation. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered them from your face. She turned away for a moment, blinking rapidly, her lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to steady herself.

“I see,” she murmured, her voice distant. She exhaled slowly, her gaze distant as she stared ahead at nothing. Then, she turned back to you, her eyes filled with fierce resolve. “You will not go back there. Not alone. Not ever.”

Her voice was firm, like an order, but it was laced with worry and love. Her hands found yours and gripped them tightly. “You belong here. With us. Do you understand me? You belong here.”

Her words echoed with such certainty that, for the first time in days, you felt the weight on your heart lift ever so slightly. You squeezed her hands back, nodding slowly.

“I understand,” you whispered, glancing briefly at Aemond. He was still watching you, his eye unwavering, his expression softer now.

“Good,” Alicent said, her voice more stable now. She pulled you close for another embrace, resting her chin on top of your head. “You’re home now. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

But deep down, you both knew it wasn’t over. Not yet.

You walked slowly toward your chamber, your steps quiet but purposeful. The soft patter of your feet echoed in the stone hallway, but behind you, there was another sound — heavier, more deliberate. Each step thudded with weight, sharp and tense, like thunder rolling in the distance.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Aemond.

His presence was unmistakable. You could feel the heat of his gaze boring into your back, and the intensity of it sent a shiver down your spine. He followed close, his breaths steady but heavy, as though every step he took required restraint. There was an energy around him, an unspoken storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Anger. Grief. Guilt.

When you finally reached your chamber, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand still resting on the doorframe. You could hear him stop just behind you, lingering for a heartbeat longer. Then, with a slow creak, he followed you in and shut the door behind him.

The silence in the room was thick, heavier than before. The air felt stifling. You turned slowly to face him.

Aemond stood there, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His eye locked onto yours, sharp as a blade but flickering with something deeper. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

But his eye told you everything. Anger. Not at you — never at you — but at the world, at himself, at fate. And sadness, deeper than any wound.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything that might ease his pain, but before you could, his face crumpled. His breath hitched, and before you knew it, he sank to his knees before you.

It wasn’t a graceful descent. It was a collapse. A man stripped of every wall he’d built around himself. His hands fell to his sides, and his head bowed as if the weight of it had finally become too much. His silver hair fell forward, hiding his face from you.

Your heart ached at the sight.

You stepped forward, slowly, watching him with wide eyes. You had seen Aemond in battle, in fury, in cold calculation — but never like this. Never so broken.

His shoulders shook. Barely at first, then more violently. The sound of his breaths grew louder, more ragged, and then you heard it — a sob. It tore from his chest like a wound finally bursting open.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. His head tilted forward, and he pressed his hands flat against the cold stone floor, his fingers curling into fists. His whole body trembled, and his breath came in shallow gasps. “I’m sorry… I almost lost you.”

His words struck you harder than any blade ever could.

You knelt down slowly, your movements careful, as if afraid to startle him. Your eyes never left him. Reaching out, you placed your hands on his face, gently cupping his cheeks. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His eye, still wet with unshed tears, met yours, and you saw it all laid bare — fear, love, desperation.

“You didn’t lose me,” you whispered firmly, your voice soft but steady. “I’m here. I’m right here, Aemond.”

He squeezed his eye shut, another tear rolling down his cheek and soaking into your palm. His hand lifted slowly, wrapping around your wrist, holding it there as if you were his only tether to reality.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and broken. “When I came back and you were gone… I thought you’d left me. I thought—” His breath caught, and he gritted his teeth, his face twisting in pain. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t.”

Hearing him like this shattered something in you. The man who always seemed so untouchable, so unyielding, was now falling apart right in front of you. And he had fallen for you.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you breathed him in — his warmth, his pain, his love.

“You won’t lose me,” you promised, your voice unwavering this time. “I’ll always come back to you.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stayed like that — two broken souls holding each other together in a world that seemed so bent on tearing you apart. His breathing eventually slowed, his trembling eased. He stayed on his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer.

No words were needed. This was enough. For now, it was enough.

There, in the stillness of your shared grief and relief, Aemond lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eye, red from tears, gazed at you with a raw, unguarded tenderness you had never seen before. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but for a moment, he hesitated. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his breath shaky.

Then, finally, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, he said it.

“I love you.”

The words hung in the air like the soft glow of dawn after a long, endless night. Your breath caught in your chest. Time seemed to stop.

You stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. You had known he cared for you, perhaps even loved you in his own way, but he had never said it before. Never like this. Never so openly, so vulnerably.

His eye searched your face, watching for any hint of your reaction, fear flickering in his gaze as if he’d just bared the most fragile part of himself. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you cupped his face with both hands, your thumbs gently brushing away the lingering tears on his cheeks. Slowly, carefully, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. Your eyes closed, and you breathed in the warmth of him, steadying your own heart.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice soft as a prayer, but every word was filled with certainty.

You felt him exhale, his breath warm against your skin, the weight of his fears slowly lifting. His arms around you grew firmer, pulling you closer, grounding himself in you. For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t exist. No war. No blood. No grief. Just the two of you, holding on to each other as if the very gods themselves had tried to tear you apart.

No words were spoken after that. None were needed. The truth had finally been spoken.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[merxcywritesthings]

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑇𝑖𝑒𝑠

A/N: Here is Part 2 of ‘I Love You, I’m Sorry’ for all my lovelies that requested it! I tried to write it to where it has even more angst, and I hope you all enjoy! :)

Word Count: 2.3k

TW: Mentions of Suicide (If you or a loved one is suffering, I urge you to reach out for help, you are loved even if you cannot see it), Aruging, Toxic ex-relationship.

The city of Piltover always hummed with life, its streets alive with industry and ambition. Tonight, however, it felt subdued, as though the city itself shared your unease. You walked aimlessly, boots scuffing against cobblestones worn smooth by countless steps. The festival lanterns glowed faintly in the distance, their light flickering like dying embers.

Your mind refused to quiet. It circled back again and again to Vi—to her laughter, her fire, the way she’d make even the darkest corners of Zaun feel like home. But those memories now carried an edge, cutting deep whenever they surfaced. You’d spent so many nights hoping she’d return, only to realize that hope could be a double-edged sword. Sometimes, it kept you alive. Other times, it made the fall so much worse.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You thought about the first time you’d met her. It had been at a Zaunite rally, a chaotic clash of voices demanding justice. You had been there to observe, to report back to your Piltover contacts about the growing unrest below. But then she’d stepped onto a crate in the center of the crowd, her pink hair catching the faint light as she spoke with raw, unyielding passion. Her words had seared into your soul, leaving you questioning everything you thought you believed.

“If we’re going to survive,” she’d said, her voice ringing clear above the noise, “we have to stop begging for scraps. We’re not the broken pieces of Piltover’s machine. We’re the ones who’ll tear it down and build something better.”

Even now, you could feel the electricity of that moment, the way her conviction had drawn you in like a moth to a flame. You hadn’t known it then, but that was the night your life had begun to split in two. There was the you that belonged to Piltover, its orderly streets and gilded towers. And then there was the you that longed for something more—for her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sound of footsteps pulled you back to the present. You looked up and saw someone walking toward you. For a brief, gut-wrenching moment, you thought it might be Vi. But as the figure drew closer, you saw that it was a man, hunched and shrouded in a heavy coat. He gave you a passing glance before disappearing into the shadows, leaving you alone once more.

You sighed and turned down a narrow alley, the noise of the festival fading behind you. This part of the city was quieter, almost eerily so. The buildings here were older, their facades cracked and weathered by time. It reminded you of Zaun in a way, though the air was cleaner and the streets more stable underfoot.

Your thoughts drifted to Caitlyn Kiramman, Piltover’s golden enforcer. She’d always been an enigma to you, with her poised demeanor and piercing gaze. Vi had spoken of her often, always with a mixture of admiration and frustration. “She’s too good for this city,” Vi had once said. “Too good for me, too. But she’s got this… way of seeing things, you know? Like she’s already ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

You hadn’t known what to say to that. The jealousy that prickled at the edges of your thoughts was ugly, but undeniable. You had wondered, even then, if Caitlyn was the reason Vi’s heart always felt just out of reach. And now, after what you’d seen tonight, you couldn’t help but feel you’d been right.

The kiss between them had been so… certain. So unguarded. It had felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything you and Vi had built together. You tried to remind yourself that she deserved happiness, that Caitlyn’s steady presence might be what Vi needed. But the thought only twisted the knife deeper.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You stopped walking and leaned against a lamppost, the cool metal grounding you. The city stretched out below, a labyrinth of light and shadow. Somewhere out there, Vi was laughing, living, moving on. And you? You were stuck here, caught in the liminal space between what was and what could never be.

“What am I even doing?” you muttered to no one in particular. The words dissipated into the night, unanswered.

Your gaze drifted upward, toward the towering skyline of Piltover. You’d spent years climbing its social ladder, trying to carve out a space where you could make a difference. You’d believed in its promise of progress, in the idea that change could come from within. But now, all you could see were the cracks—the lies and corruption that seeped through the city’s polished exterior. Vi had seen them too, but she’d never shared your faith that they could be repaired.

“Piltover doesn’t change,” she’d told you once, her voice heavy with resignation. “It just finds new ways to keep people in their place.”

At the time, you’d argued with her, insisting that things could be different. But now, in the aftermath of her absence, you weren’t so sure. Maybe she’d been right all along. Maybe your efforts were nothing more than a fool’s errand.

The sound of distant laughter reached your ears, and you turned instinctively toward it. A group of festival-goers passed by, their faces bright with joy. You watched them for a moment, feeling like an outsider looking in. Once, you might have been among them, caught up in the revelry. But tonight, it felt impossible. The weight of your grief was too heavy to set aside, even for a moment.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You pushed off the lamppost and kept walking, the streets growing quieter as you moved further from the festival. Your feet carried you toward the border between Piltover and Zaun, a place you’d avoided for months. It was a strange sort of no-man’s-land, a place where the two cities bled into each other without ever truly meeting. Here, the air was thicker, the lights dimmer. It felt like a fitting backdrop for your mood.

You stopped at the edge of a rusted bridge, the same one Vi had once described in her dreams of a wedding. She’d envisioned it covered in lights, filled with people from both cities coming together to celebrate something real. But now, it stood empty and decayed, a monument to everything that had gone wrong.

The thought crept in quietly, unbidden but persistent. What if you just… let go? The bridge loomed over the murky depths of the water below, its surface reflecting the faint glow of distant lanterns. You stepped closer to the edge, the wind tugging at your coat. For a moment, you imagined the release—the quiet, the stillness. No more pain. No more longing.

But as you gripped the railing, a voice cut through the fog of your thoughts. “Hey!”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You froze, your heart lurching as you turned to see Vi standing at the other end of the bridge. Her pink hair caught the faint glow of the city lights, her broad shoulders framed against the night sky. She looked different—tired, older somehow—but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Vi,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

She stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Funny,” you replied bitterly, stepping away from the edge. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight either. Especially not with her.”

Vi’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “So that’s what this is about? You spying on me now?”

“I wasn’t spying,” you snapped. “I was just… there. And I saw enough.”

She crossed her arms, her posture defensive. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t know what it’s been like these past few months.”

“Don’t I?” you shot back, the anger you’d been holding back finally boiling over. “You think you’re the only one who’s been hurting? I’ve been trying to hold everything together, Vi. For you. For us. And all this time, you were—” Your voice broke, the words catching in your throat. “You were moving on.”

“Moving on?” she echoed, her voice sharp. “You think that’s what this is? You think I wanted any of this? You don’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, to grab onto anything just to keep your head above water.”

Your chest ached, her words cutting deeper than you thought possible. “I was there for you, Vi. I would’ve done anything for you. But you left. You left, and now you’re standing here acting like I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”

Her gaze softened for a moment, but then she shook her head, her expression hardening again. “I didn’t leave. I fought for what I believed in. And if you couldn’t handle that—if you couldn’t handle me—then maybe this was doomed from the start.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. You stared at her, tears blurring your vision, but you refused to let them fall. “Maybe it was,” you said quietly, the weight of your grief settling over you like a shroud. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Vi looked away, her jaw clenching as though she was holding back words she couldn’t bring herself to say. Her fists tightened at her sides, the leather of her gloves creaking under the pressure. For a moment, it seemed as if she might walk away again, leaving you with nothing but silence and the weight of her absence. But instead, she let out a ragged breath and turned back to you, her eyes shadowed with a pain that mirrored your own.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice cracking. “But what do you want me to say? That I didn’t screw up? That I didn’t let you down? I did. And I hate myself for it.”

Her admission hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d dreamed of hearing her say those words, of having her acknowledge the chasm that had opened between you. But now that she had, it didn’t feel like the closure you’d hoped for. It felt like another wound, raw and bleeding.

“You don’t get to hate yourself,” you said bitterly. “You don’t get to take the easy way out. You don’t get to kiss someone else and then come here acting like you’re the victim.”

Vi flinched, her eyes narrowing. “You think it’s easy? Being with Caitlyn, pretending I’m okay when every part of me feels like it’s falling apart? She’s safe. She doesn’t make me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.”

The words stung, and you took an involuntary step back. “So that’s what I was to you? A risk? Something dangerous you needed to escape from?”

“No,” Vi said quickly, her voice desperate. “You were everything. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I couldn’t handle it. You saw me as something more than I could be—as someone better than I am.”

“I saw you as someone worth fighting for,” you countered, your voice rising. “But you couldn’t do the same for me. You couldn’t even stay.”

Vi ran a hand through her hair, her frustration palpable. “It wasn’t about not wanting to stay. It was about surviving. Every time I looked at you, I saw everything I couldn’t have—everything I wanted but couldn’t hold onto. And it killed me.”

“Then why are you here now?” you demanded, your voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “Why did you stop me if you’ve already moved on? What do you want from me, Vi?”

She stared at you, her lips parted as though she had an answer but couldn’t bring herself to say it. The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “That’s just like you, isn’t it? Always running, always unsure. You’re so afraid of being vulnerable that you’d rather destroy everything than risk getting hurt.”

Vi’s eyes flashed with anger, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she took a step closer, her voice low and trembling. “And what about you? Huh? You think standing on the edge of that bridge is brave? You think giving up is some kind of statement?”

“It’s not about bravery,” you shot back. “It’s about not knowing how to keep going when everything feels so goddamn empty.”

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then she straightened, her shoulders squared. “You keep going because you’re stronger than this. Because you’re better than this.”

“Am I?” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel better. I feel broken, Vi. And you’re part of the reason why.”

The words hung between you like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting. Vi reached out as if to touch you, but her hand faltered, hovering in the air before falling back to her side. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. “For everything.”

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. You took a step back, shaking your head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. It doesn’t bring us back. It doesn’t make me whole again.”

Vi nodded, her expression hollow. “I know.”

And with that, the distance between you felt insurmountable. She stood there, framed by the faint glow of Piltover’s lights, and you realized that this was the end. There would be no mending, no reconciliation. The chasm between you had grown too wide, and neither of you had the strength to bridge it.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness. Vi didn’t call after you, and you didn’t look back. The weight of everything you’d lost pressed down on you, but for the first time, you knew it was a burden you’d have to carry alone.

Above you, the stars shone cold and distant, offering no comfort.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! ❤️

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟.

[fear-less]

anyone of your choice x a reader who is like luna lovegood.... hear me out

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 butterfly wings

paring: sirius black x f!reader

➥ In which Sirius Black, seeking solitude on a quiet Friday night, unexpectedly meets a quirky girl who hums Muggle songs, has silly looking hair and clothes, and sees the world through a completely different lens, making him question everything he thought he knew about life and himself.

warnings: written in 2nd pov, she/her pronouns used, flufffff, sirius experiences love at first sight lowkey, ditzy reader, hair described as wavy, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: enjoy this short & sweet fic 😋 feel free to request more pics like this.. lowkey had a blast writing this fic ngl, also how are we loving this alive era !!?? finals are gonna end me tho, hoping to post more when im on break <3

1.1k words

The sun was just starting to dip behind the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Hogwarts grounds. Sirius Black was leaning lazily against a tree near the edge of the black lake, watching the evening sky. His thoughts were far from the upcoming Potions exam, or even from the constant tension with his family. No, tonight he was simply enjoying the stillness of the moment—until the sound of a soft humming reached his ears.

He turned to see a girl wearing clothes nowhere near their dress robes, skipping through the tall grass, a pair of oversized, mismatched socks peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. In one hand, you clutched a jar that looked suspiciously like it was filled with glitter, and in the other, a half-eaten pumpkin pastie. The evening breeze tugged at your hair, but it only seemed to make you twirl in delight, as though you were dancing with the wind itself.

​​Sirius couldn’t help but smile despite himself. There was something about the way she seemed entirely out of sync with reality, like you were living in a world all your own. It was... fascinating. Most people would’ve been inside on a Friday night, but not you. No, you were humming a song Sirius couldn’t quite place, looking up at the sky as if you expected to find something wonderful there.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as you continued humming, a soft, dreamy melody he now realized was some Muggle song. He considered whether or not to interrupt your song with a conversation. He had come down to the lake to escape the raucous laughter of his friends—he hadn’t planned on talking to anyone, least of all you. But there was something about your carefree presence that pulled him in, something he couldn’t quite explain.

As he watched you, he suddenly felt a strange urge to approach. What am I doing? he thought, before shrugging off the hesitation. Usually, he had no trouble talking to girls. But you were different. There was no rush to impress you or prove something, no game to be played. You were in your own world, so completely other that he felt like he had to break through that bubble of yours, even if it meant making a fool of himself.

He decided, somewhat impulsively, to walk toward you as if he was leaving, hoping you'd say something to stop him—maybe comment on the sunset, or ask if he had seen any magical creatures lately. Something to start a conversation.

As he got closer, a familiar thought crossed his mind. Wait a second… He remembered you now. You were the girl with the wild ideas and strange ways of looking at the world. The one who always seemed to have her mind in the clouds, lost in thoughts others couldn’t seem to follow. You wore mismatched socks, and your shoes were always a little too unconventional for anyone else’s taste. Your hair—today it was streaked with a few colorful hints of pink and blue, strands loosely braided here and there on your wavy hair—was the subject of endless teasing. But you never seemed to care. Whenever the others made fun of you, you'd just smile and continue on as if you hadn’t heard a word. The kind of carefree confidence Sirius had always envied, yet never fully understood.

As Sirius approached, lost in this memory, you suddenly broke the silence, your voice light and dreamy. "If you walk any closer and choose not to move, you might just bump into me," you said, still gazing up at the sky as though you were watching constellations rearrange themselves.

Sirius froze, taken aback, his steps stuttering to a stop. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips, part embarrassed, part amused. "Oh, sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I wasn't really paying attention."

He had been so distracted by the way your hair caught the fading light that he hadn't even realized how close he’d gotten. It was wild, yet soft, a tangled mess of waves and braids, with hints of color streaking through like a sunset painted in your locks. It was almost… magical.

You gave a simple nod in response, finally pulling your gaze away from the sky to look at him. The moment your eyes locked, Sirius felt an unexpected jolt of warmth spread across his chest. You weren't fazed, but there was something in the way you looked at him—as if he were just another curious face in the crowd. It was strange. Everyone knew who Sirius Black was. But to you? He might as well have been a stranger.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just studied each other.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, feeling the familiar prickle of self-consciousness creeping up his neck. Why was it so easy to talk to people who were busy trying to impress him, but with you? It was like he’d been dropped into a world where none of his usual tricks or charm worked.

You squinted at him, your gaze flickering as if you were trying to place him, but the recognition didn’t come. You looked at him like he was someone new, someone you had never seen before.

And, strangely, that made him feel more vulnerable than anything else.

When you finally looked away, returning your attention to the horizon, Sirius took a breath, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being seen in a way he wasn’t used to. He was about to say something when you broke the silence once more.

"Did you know," you said, your voice soft and faraway, "that sometimes the stars make shapes in the sky that are only visible to certain people? Some call it a ‘soul alignment,’ but I think it’s more about... perspective." You looked back at him, your eyes sparkling with a quiet certainty. "Maybe we’ll see something special tonight. Something we weren’t supposed to."

Sirius blinked, his confusion evident. "Soul alignment? What do you mean?"

You smiled gently, not offering an explanation, but instead turning back to the sky. "You wouldn’t understand it yet. But it’s something that will make sense eventually."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason, his usual quick-wit failed him. The bizarre serenity in your voice, the way you looked at the sky like it held secrets only you knew, left him momentarily speechless.

He watched as you turned the jar of stardust in your hands, staring at the sparkles inside. It wasn’t real, was it? But somehow, in your hands, it felt like it might be.

"So," he began, slowly, unsure of where this conversation was headed but unable to resist it, "how do you see the world, then? Different from everyone else?"

You paused, considering the question. Then, with a soft laugh, you turned to him. "Not different. Just... more patient."

And for the first time in his life, Sirius Black felt the weight of the stars overhead. Maybe it was the stardust in the jar, or maybe it was the quiet, patient way you saw the world—but whatever it was, he realized that he wanted to see it, too.

[yjngwon04]

( 성훈 ) ⎯⎯ "𝙞'𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮. 𝙞 𝙙𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪." . . . oh my sweet vampire

⊹ ࣪ ˖ synopsis: it's the height of the vampire hour, risky for an ambush, but it's your job as a vampire hunter to take risks. suddenly, you're frozen by magic. you see a familiar face, only to hear, "i'm sorry. i do love you." the world goes black.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ pairing: vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ genre: vampire x vampire hunter

⊹ ࣪ ˖ warnings: teasing, suggestive, swearing, nicknames, suggestive descriptions. (lmk if i missed anything)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ words: 1052 words

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

not proofread!

there was a chill in the air as the clock tower tolled midnight. the streets of daegu lay shrouded in shadow, a haunting stillness enveloping the town that felt almost otherworldly. it was, after all, the height of the vampire hour—a time when the cursed and the damned prowled the earth, seeking to quench their unending thirst. for y/n, an experienced vampire hunter, this hour was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating; to face the supernatural risks meant she was honoring his calling.

the moon, a spectral guardian in the night sky, cast pale light through the mist that clung to the cobblestones. she gripped her silver gun tightly, its polished surface glinting like a beacon of hope. It was a tool of protection and vengeance, one that had saved her from the clutches of darkness more times than she could count. y/n took a deep breath to steady herself. she was hunting a specific vampire, sunghoon, a vampire whose reputation for ruthlessness made even the bravest hunters tremble. sunghoon was said to be an ancient creature, his allure both deadly and seductive, capable of enthralling and ensnaring even the strongest will.

the hunt felt different tonight; there was an urgency in the air that weighed heavily upon her. as she rounded the corner of what had once been a bustling square, now eerily deserted, a sense of unease crept into her gut. the stories of sunghoon whispered through the wind, tales of his enchanting presence and merciless grip, but y/n was resolute. she had come too far, lost too much to fear a single vampire—no matter how powerful.

with each footstep echoing against the cold stone, she felt a sense of destiny, maybe I’ll finally bring balance back to this town, she thought, pushing those thoughts of doubt into the shadows of her mind.

then everything changed in an instant.

before she realized what was happening, an invisible force slammed into her, freezing her in place like a deer caught in the headlights. panic rippled through her; she couldn’t move. it was magic—no ordinary vampire struggled with sorcery as sunghoon had. suddenly, a swirling mist enveloped her, and she felt herself being pulled into another dimension. for an endless moment, she was suspended in darkness, trapped, powerless.

gradually, shapes began to coalesce out of the void. familiar yet haunting, the silhouette sharpened into a figure that had haunted y/n’s dreams and memories: it was sunghoon. the vampire stood before her, cloaked in an ethereal glow, his long hair cascading like shadows around his face, eyes glimmering with both danger and beauty. y/n had seen sunghoon hunt, had witnessed the magnetic pull he could exert over others, and she had felt the unwelcome flutter in her chest when sunghoon had first crossed his path.

but it was his words that struck her the hardest: "i'm sorry. i do love you."

those words crashed into her like tidal waves, washing away the resolve she had clung to so desperately. the chilling void around her seemed to thicken, smothering her under the weight of her own emotions. how could this be? the darkness that encircled her drained all rational thought, leaving only raw feelings free to flourish. why now? why here?

the world faded to black, but the echoes of sunghoon's confession hung in the air like a lingering ghost.

when y/n regained consciousness, she was lying on the cold, damp ground within the forest, the scent of earth and moss filling her lungs. blinking rapidly, she pushed herself up to sit and scanned her surroundings. something was different; she felt lighter, almost ethereal. sunghoon's magic had transformed her, and though her heart raced with confusion, she couldn’t shake the pull that urged her deeper into the woods.

“sunghoon!” she called, though her voice wavered, revealing the fear and longing clashing within her. “where are you?”

silence roared in response, enveloping her in a suffocating embrace. She rose to his feet and began pushing herself through the trees. each footfall was heavy with uncertainty, but there was also a resolve forming within her. perhaps sunghoon's words had power beyond mere sentiment—a truth woven into fate.

finally, she stumbled into a clearing, moonlight spilling down like liquid silver, illuminating a small stone altar, worn by time, etched with symbols she barely recognized. her heart thundered in her chest as she crossed the clearing, sensing a life thread connecting her to sunghoon.

the vampire emerged from the shadows, his countenance shifting between regret and desire. there was something eternal in the way he looked at y/n, a longing that transcended the realms of the living and the dead.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” sunghoon said, his voice a mix of anguish and beauty, “but love, y/n—it’s complicated when you’re cursed with immortality. you’ve hunted my kin, and yet, i’ve watched you fight the darkness within yourself.”

“is this your manipulation? magic to keep me here? to make me vulnerable? because if it is fuck you.” y/n accused, stepping closer, determined to claim her power back, even as her heart clamored for the vampire before her.

sunghoon shook his head, sorrow swirling in the depths of his eyes. “i wanted to save you from the danger, y/n. what if you never came back from this? what if one day you were turned into one of us?”

“but this isn’t what I wanted!” y/n shouted, desperation and confusion ripping through her. "your love—your magic cannot erase what I have dedicated my life to! you cannot take me away from my mission!"

“your mission,” sunghoon growled softly, “is to kill me, yet you still hold onto remnants of feelings I felt for you. I thought the same love I felt for you was strong enough to protect you.”

“love is a shit illusion,” y/n spat, fighting against the latent adoration clawing at her insides. “you’re a monster, a predator. if I give in to this—to you—i’m as good as dead. you can’t ask me to fucking forget that.”

“yet here you are,” sunghoon whispered, closing the distance between them, “a hunter who is willing to risk everything merely to see me. go on, hate me. but know that love doesn’t care for titles or roles, nor does it recognize the harm we inflict upon one another.”

y/n closed her thighs, feeling as if she unclasped them the liquid would all threaten to spill out.

as they locked eyes, y/n could sense sunghoon's hunger – not for blood, but for something far deeper. the air grew thick with unspoken words, and before she knew it, his hands were on her, fingers brushing lightly against her skin. the contact sent shockwaves through her body, igniting her senses and awakening desires she hadn’t known existed. it was a simple touch, yet it felt like a promise of something more.

sunghoon leaned in closer, his breath cool against her ear as he whispered the words she had longed to hear. “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice a rich timbre that wrapped around her like a silken thread. a shiver ran down her spine, sending waves of arousal pulsing through her. she could feel the heat radiating between them, a connection that was impossible to deny.

with each gentle caress of his fingers, y/n felt herself surrendering to the moment. sunghoon’s touch was both tender and electric, sending a rush of warmth cascading through her. his fingers traced delicate patterns along her lower back, igniting her skin with each brush. she closed her eyes, arching her back, losing herself in the sensation, feeling every nerve ending awaken under his touch. the world around them faded, leaving just the two of them suspended in a bubble of desire.

y/n leaned into him, craving more of his touch, more of the connection that bound them. sunghoon responded, his fingers dancing lower, teasing her with a mix of urgency and restraint. she could feel the tension building between them, a sweet ache that craved release. it was intoxicating, this dance they were performing – one filled with longing and the heavy weight of a forbidden love.

as his fingers explored her, y/n could hardly believe this was happening. the vampire who had haunted her dreams was here, his touch igniting a fire within her that she never wanted to extinguish. each brush of his fingers was a reminder that she was alive, that passion could bloom in the unlikeliest of places, even in the arms of a vampire.

but with every passing moment, reality crept back in. the risks, the danger, the impossibility of their worlds colliding threatened to pull her back from the edge of bliss. and yet, in that moment, as sunghoon's fingers lingered on her skin, y/n chose to embrace the thrill. she would allow herself to feel, to be alive in the presence of this creature who had captivated her heart and stolen her breath.

with a swift motion, sunghoon closed the gap between them, his lips hovering just inches from hers. the world around them faded, leaving only the intoxicating chemistry that crackled like a live wire. y/n felt herself lean in, pulled by an unseen force, her body alight with longing.

"it's not just secrets I hide," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety caress. "there's a side of me that craves what you offer."

in that moment, the air thickened between them, charged with an unspoken promise. sunghoon's lips brushed against hers, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through her. the kiss started gentle, exploratory, but quickly escalated into something far more fervent. y/n melted into him, their connection igniting like a flame that consumed everything in its path.

his hands found her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies molding together as if they were made for one another. y/n tasted the cool sweetness of his lips, a tantalizing mix of longing and temptation. As their mouths danced together in a rhythm dictated by an insatiable hunger, sunghoon's hands roamed, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, the chaos of the world melting away to reveal a sanctuary forged in desire and passion. the kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more fervent, as if they were afraid to break the spell that held them captive.

"sunghoon please." she said with a breathy pronunciation. sunghoon smirked as he moved her panties to the side, "ready princess?"

TAGS ---

[swearimnevergivingup]

BLOOMING - suguru x reader

synopsis: had your eyes always shone that bright when you smiled? that tingling feeling in his chest; the urge to envelop you and keep you safe like an overzealous guard dog - had it always been there? or had it crept in gradually - born from too many sleepovers tangled in the same blankets, of sticky fingers and bruised knees at the playground, of countless evenings spent at your family’s house, feeling like he belonged there as much as you did? (700 words, sfw)

a/n: both of them are around 14-16 here. let’s not think too hard about the age rn afshsjahd it’s just a lighthearted fluffy bit about childhood friends to lovers <3 tbh i have a lot more of where this came from in my drafts but i’m quite undecided if i should continue with this

suguru could still vividly recall the first time he felt that uncharted emotion creeping in, something that took him by surprise and unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully understand. it was a warm summer day, and you had shown up at the gojo residence for one of satoru’s needlessly extravagant parties. you were wearing a light floral dress, the kind that swayed playfully just above your knees when you walked, and your hair was neatly braided into twin french braids. the oppressive heat had flushed your cheeks a soft pink, matching the subtle tint on your lips. 

he hadn’t thought much of it at first—until satoru leaned over, casually draping an arm around his shoulder, and whispered with a smirk, “dude, she’s hot.”

suguru stiffened. he almost choked on the pizza he had half-stuffed in his mouth. hot? he’d heard satoru throw that word around a million times - most recently when he showed off his lock screen wallpaper of that gravure model, waka inoue - but never had it applied to you. not you.

not the girl he’d grown up with, who used to shove bugs in his face for fun, who got her first period on his bed and stained his freshly washed sheets in the process, who always snorted like a little pig when laughing too hard. he still vividly remembers your mortified face as you clutched his sheets and refused to stand up - your face burning a deep red. 

hot?? it seemed that not that long ago, that thought alone would have been absolutely laughable. tell that to 8 year old suguru and he would have keeled over, clutching his stomach in a fit of giggles.

but now, 6 years later, that word seemed to make his stomach twist and his throat tighten. he realises it wasn’t the word itself that stirred discomfort - no, it was hearing it come out of someone else’s mouth. it felt like a rude intrusion. almost like… disrespect? it rang in his ears like an unspoken boundary crossed, its presence foreign and uneasy.

so suguru bristled, his jaw tightening involuntarily. “her? c’mon, dude. no way,” he snapped, his voice way sharper than he intended. 

he took a quick glance over at you, unconsciously scowling at the thought of you trying to impress someone here.

a certain sense of sharp, selfish possessiveness seized him. no one should be looking at you like that. he hated the very thought. 

except… maybe him. 

a dark thought invaded him, one that made his stomach twist. he had never viewed his best friend as competition, but when it came down to it… satoru was definitely more of your type, wasn’t he? bright, energetic, and effortlessly charming in ways suguru was probably not, and a big fat flirt, too. satoru was the heir to the gojo conglomerate, and suguru had two divorced parents who couldn’t even agree on what to eat for lunch.

(he wasn’t exactly sure how that last one mattered, but he was sure it did).

“i'm just saying!” satoru had continued, oblivious as per usual. “she used to be all ugly duckling and stuff, but i guess she’s really—”

he loved Satoru, really, he did. but he was going to have to kill him now. death by way of punting him into the burning sun, which the weather happened to be perfect for that day. 

“shut up,” he groaned loudly, smacking him in the chest, perhaps a tiny bit too hard. whatever, he deserved it. “she’s like a sister to me. off limits, dude.”

suguru didn’t even fully believe the words as they left his mouth. what the hell was wrong with him? a sister?? suguru, you’re a sick fuck. that word almost felt dirty to say. he didn’t know what exactly he felt for you, but it certainly wasn’t that.

suguru sneaked another brief look at you. you catch him, giving him a quick wave of your hands, and a small, gentle upturn of your lips. 

he swallows hard. 

had your eyes always shone that bright when you smiled? that tingling feeling in his chest; the urge to envelop you and keep you safe like an overzealous guard dog - had it always been there? or had it crept in gradually - born from too many sleepovers tangled in the same blankets, of sticky fingers and bruised knees at the playground, of countless evenings spent at your family’s house, feeling like he belonged there as much as you did?

he wanted you all to himself, he decided.

you were his bestfriend, after all.

[deliciousangelfestival]

We're Not Okay - 2

Character: Bucky x veterinarian!Female Reader

Summary: Two people, each carrying their own trauma, find themselves in a place where they can begin to heal their wounds and mend their hearts together.

Words Count: 3,400

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

After witnessing the strangest thing last night, you struggled to sleep once you returned to your room. The morning light crept in, and despite the restless night, you felt oddly well-rested. You made your way to the dining room, where you spotted Dr. Jane Foster, the other veterinarian at the conservation.

Jane, who also owned the place, had been a scientist before falling in love with animals—thanks to the influence of her husband, Thor Odinson. Thor, the tallest man you’d ever met and full of boundless energy, traveled across the country to rescue and care for animals.

Jane smiled and waved for you to sit beside her. You joined her at the table, and she leaned in with curiosity.

“So, I heard we got a new guest,” she said, referring to your latest arrival.

“Yup,” you replied, nodding. A flicker of realization crossed your face as you remembered Bucky hadn’t shown up for breakfast.

At that moment, Mandy, the cook, appeared with your usual breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, and potato wedges with mayonnaise on the side. She set the plate down without a word.

“Thanks, Mandy,” you said warmly.

She gave you a brief nod, her face as impassive as ever. Mandy wasn’t one for talking, but her actions spoke volumes. The fact that she brought you food without waiting for you to ask made you feel appreciated. She added in her thick Russian accent, “The new kid already grabbed his food and went outside.”

You paused mid-motion, the forkful of scrambled eggs hovering just before your mouth. “Really?” Turning in your seat, you glanced toward the window. Sure enough, Bucky was sitting in front of the wolf’s cage—the same as last night.

Quickly finishing your breakfast and draining your glass of water, you stood. “Sorry, Jane, I need to talk to him.”

“Go ahead,” Jane said with an understanding smile before taking another sip of her coffee.

Grabbing your winter jacket from the coat rack, you slipped it on as you headed for the door. The chill in the air hit you instantly, and you frowned when you noticed Bucky wasn’t wearing a jacket. Didn’t he feel the cold?

The thought worried you. If anything happened to him, the conservation could lose its much-needed sponsor. As you got closer, you saw Bucky sitting cross-legged on the ground, his gaze locked with the white wolf’s. You hesitated, watching the scene unfold. The wolf, normally skittish and aggressive, seemed at peace—almost transfixed by him.

How was he doing that?

You’d been treating the wolf ever since she arrived, but no matter what you did, she remained guarded and wary. Yet here she was, calm in Bucky’s presence.

Quietly, you approached them, your boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. Without saying a word, you draped your jacket over Bucky’s shoulders. He flinched slightly at the sudden weight but didn’t turn to look at you.

“She trusts you,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s head dipped slightly, and his jaw tensed as though he hadn’t realized anyone was there. His first instinct seemed to be leaving—his posture stiffened, and he made a slight movement to rise.

“Wait,” you said quickly, holding up your hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t know why you’re afraid of me. Please… stay.”

He froze, his expression guarded, but his body relaxed ever so slightly. Though he didn’t move, it was clear he was still undecided. You noticed his shoulders shift as if weighing your words, but something made him stay rooted in place.

You took a cautious step closer, keeping your tone soft. “I’ve worked with her for months, and she’s never let her guard down like this. Not for anyone… except you.”

His eyes flicked toward you briefly before returning to the wolf. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give you hope.

“It’s nice to see her looking more lively,” you said, gesturing to the wolf. “Do you want to help me feed her?”

Bucky’s expression softened, and for the first time, his eyes lit up. He nodded.

You grabbed a small bucket of food and motioned for him to follow. Together, you entered the enclosure, your boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. The wolf’s ears perked up slightly, but she stayed calm, her trust in Bucky unwavering.

As you worked, the sound of laughter carried over from a group of volunteers by the sea lion pen. Their cheerful voices and playful banter created a sharp contrast to the quiet atmosphere surrounding you and Bucky.

He glanced toward the volunteers, his steps slowing. You noticed the way his gaze lingered on them—on their laughter, their freedom. His longing was almost tangible, though he said nothing.

Pausing by the wolf, you broke the silence. “Everyone here seems so carefree,” you began, crouching down to check the wolf’s injured leg. “But we all have something in common.” You glanced at him. “Just like you.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted toward you, quiet but attentive.

You straightened and nodded toward Steve, a blonde volunteer who was currently lobbing a snowball at one of the others. “See him? He ran away from home because his father abused him.”

Then you gestured toward Natasha, the red-haired girl dodging the snowball with a grin. “And her—don’t be fooled by her friendliness. She’s trained in martial arts. She came here after breaking her ankle in a fight, which ruined her career and crushed her spirit.”

“And me,” you added quietly.

The air grew still. You hesitated, then met Bucky’s gaze.

“I’m what you’d call a bargain kid,” you said, a bitter edge in your voice. “My mom was a prostitute at the club my father owned. When I got older, I went looking for her, thinking I’d find some kind of connection. But reality doesn’t work that way. She didn’t even acknowledge me—just saw me as a way to get a green card.”

You paused, the weight of your words hanging between you. “This is why I prefer animals. Did you know a duck will adopt orphaned ducklings without a second thought?” You glanced at him with a faint smile.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing together. He didn’t respond, but his silence didn’t feel empty. You knew he was listening.

“How can a mother not want to meet her own daughter?” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

He remained quiet, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of understanding and something you couldn’t quite name.

You straightened and continued, your tone softening. “What I’m trying to say is… it’s not just you who’s been hurt here. All of us look okay on the outside, but we’re carrying deep wounds too.” You held his gaze. “I hope you don’t feel like an outcast. Just try—a little.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The white wolf nudged her nose against Bucky’s hand, drawing your attention back to her. Her gentle persistence seemed to be asking for more food. Bucky obliged, reaching into the bucket and handing her another piece.

You crossed your arms and smirked. “I’m so jealous,” you said, watching the wolf’s trust in him.

Bucky glanced at you, a faint flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips before it disappeared again.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

As time passed, the sky grew darker, and everyone gathered in the dining room. The warm glow of the lights reflected a sense of comfort as you entered and spotted Thor seated beside his wife, Jane. His large presence was hard to miss, his booming laugh echoing through the space.

You approached their table, a friendly smile on your face. “Thor, Jane,” you greeted. “Did you guys bring your son with you?”

Thor grinned broadly. “Yup, we did,” he replied, then paused, glancing around. “Wait… where is he?”

Before anyone could answer, the sound of a child crying filled the room. Mandy appeared at the doorway, holding the hand of a tearful Tom. The seven-year-old’s cheeks were red, and his cries were loud enough to draw attention.

“Huwaaah!” Tom sobbed as Mandy guided him forward.

Thor’s expression softened immediately, and he stood, scooping his son up effortlessly and placing him on his broad shoulder. “What made my big man cry, huh?” he asked, gently bouncing Tom to cheer him up.

Tom sniffled, his small hands gripping Thor’s shoulder. He pouted dramatically, his lip jutting out as he glanced between you and Jane. “I got ignored,” he said, his voice wobbling.

“Who ignored you?” Jane asked, her brows furrowing slightly as she reached out to smooth Tom’s hair.

Tom pointed with a small finger in the direction of the door. “Him. When I asked if I could touch the wolf.”

Thor’s booming laugh filled the room. “Buddy, I told you the wolf was off-limits,” he said, ruffling Tom’s hair affectionately.

Before Tom could argue, the dining room door swung open, and a gust of cold air swept inside, making everyone shiver. Standing in the doorway was Bucky, his figure silhouetted against the dim light outside.

Tom’s eyes widened in recognition. “That’s him! He ignored me!” he declared, pointing at Bucky with a glare.

The three adults exchanged glances, unsure how to approach the situation. None of them dared to criticize Bucky outright, given that he was the primary sponsor of the conservation.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to Tom. He hesitated, then slowly pulled out his phone. After a moment of typing, he turned the screen toward the boy. The message read: “I’m sorry.”

You stepped in to ease the tension, crouching slightly to Tom’s level. “Tom, his name is Bucky. And he can’t speak,” you explained gently.

Tom’s face fell in realization. He blinked, unsure how to process the information. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know.”

Bucky shook his head and began typing again. When he finished, he held the phone up for Tom to see. “It’s okay. Do you want to play with the wolf tomorrow?”

Tom’s expression lit up. “I can?” he asked, his earlier tears forgotten.

Bucky nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You blinked in surprise. Bucky inviting Tom to interact with the wolf was unexpected. Then, he turned toward Thor and Jane, typing another message. He held the phone out to them: “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. But you can call me Bucky. I’m sorry for the late introduction. Nice to meet you.”

Thor’s grin widened, and he extended a hand. “Same here, Bucky. Nice to meet you!” he said, his voice booming with warmth.

Jane gave Bucky a kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said softly.

With the formalities done, Bucky nodded politely before moving toward another table. His steps were hesitant at first, but as the volunteers murmured their quiet greetings and understanding glances, he seemed to relax.

You watched him from a distance, your heart feeling lighter. The change in Bucky’s demeanor was subtle but meaningful. It was as though the morning conversation between you had nudged him toward opening up, even if only a little.

You smiled faintly, reassured. It wasn’t just about keeping your promise to the Barnes family. Deep down, you also hoped that Bucky could heal from his pain.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

The next morning, Bucky kept his promise and brought Tom to see the white wolf. To everyone’s amazement, the wolf, usually wary and reserved, behaved almost like a domesticated dog. Her tail wagged gently, and she let Tom stroke her fur without flinching.

You stood nearby, watching in disbelief. “That’s… pretty impossible,” you muttered under your breath. “She’s a wild animal.” Yet, here she was, acting as though she’d known Bucky and Tom forever.

Tom giggled, his small hands brushing over the wolf’s soft coat. “She’s so nice! Can I name her?” he asked excitedly.

Bucky gave him a slight nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Before you could respond, the static buzz of your walkie-talkie interrupted the moment. A voice crackled through, tense and urgent: “We’ve got a situation. The red panda is missing.”

You let out a frustrated sigh and pressed the button. “Understood. I’m on it.”

Bucky turned his gaze to you, his eyes sharp with curiosity and concern. The subtle lift of his brow asked the question his voice couldn’t: What’s going on?

You glanced at him. “It happens more than you’d think. People try to steal exotic animals all the time,” you explained, your tone heavy with resignation.

As if on cue, Thor appeared, striding purposefully out of the building with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. His jaw was set, and his expression radiated determination. He climbed into the driver’s seat of a rugged SUV, clearly ready for action.

You turned to Bucky. “Could you take Tom back to Mandy?”

Bucky nodded without hesitation. His gaze shifted to Tom, and with a small gesture, he guided the boy toward the dining hall.

You crouched to Tom’s eye level before they left, your voice softening. “Your dad’s going to catch the bad guys so fast, you won’t even have time to miss me,” you said with a wink.

Tom nodded, wide-eyed but reassured, gripping Bucky’s hand as they walked away.

With a deep breath, you straightened and sprinted toward Thor’s vehicle. The cold morning air stung your lungs, but you didn’t slow down. Jumping into the passenger seat, you barely had time to buckle in before Thor hit the gas, the SUV roaring to life.

A sense of urgency filled the air as the vehicle sped down the dirt road. You were fully focused on the mission, driven by your love for the animals and your determination to protect them.

Meanwhile, back near the enclosure, Bucky paused. His steps slowed as he watched you disappear into the distance, your figure growing smaller as you ran toward danger without hesitation. Something about your selflessness struck him deeply.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky felt an unfamiliar spark. A desire to act—not out of obligation, but out of a need to help, to protect.

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

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[thebunnednun]

Toast 3.

Pairing: Pro Hero! Katsuki Bakugou x Prohero!Ex! Reader

Years after you walked out of his life, Katsuki can't stand how his mind won't let you go after all this time.

And after your most recent phone call,

He doesn't think he ever will.

You baddies with fatties know what time it is.

Part one right here.

Part 2 over yander

Inspired by the song: Darling, I

Additional song: Hurt

Warning: Heavy angst, post break ups, crying Katsuki, meeting ex's (you).

"You."

His voice was sharp, sharper than intended, but there was also a tremor in it that he couldn’t quite control. A piece of him wanted to move, to step back, to escape this strange pull.

Katsuki's feet were rooted to the spot.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you stared up at him, her eyes scanning his face with an intensity that made him feel exposed, like you could see through the layers he kept carefully guarded.

It was you—holding Eri in your arms, the world seemingly standing still as the rest of Class 1-A filled the ramen shop with their usual energy. They were scattered around the tables, carefree laughter and banter echoing off the walls. 

The mood was light, filled with the comfort of being surrounded by friends who didn’t have to speak about the weight of the world to be understood. For a moment, everything felt like it could just go on forever, uncomplicated and easy.

Standing silently at the entrance behind you, was a presence that commanded attention without a word. 

Aizawa.

His figure was cloaked in black, just as sharp and disinterested as ever, though his appearance had changed—his hair was longer now, tied back in a low bun, the familiar stubble on his jaw now neatly groomed into something more respectable. His arms were crossed, leaning against the doorframe, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

You were right in front of him now, Eri in your arms—her dark maroon dress contrasting with the brightness of the ramen shop. She laughed, sweet and innocent, her joy radiating outward. And then, before anyone could blink, she threw herself into Katsuki’s arms with a burst of energy, the weight of her small form barely affecting him. He grunted as he caught her, a gruff smile breaking through his usual scowl as she snuggled into him.

It was then that everything seemed to shift. The room grew quieter, and every pair of eyes in the ramen shop turned toward you and Katsuki. He could feel the shift, the sudden focus of the room falling on him, but his eyes—his only focus—were on you. You.

You looked better than the last time he'd seen you on the news.

Better than the picture he'd imagined in his head. There were signs, faint but there—small remnants of the fight you’d endured. The smallest pink tint to your eyes, as if they carried the weight of things you couldn’t say. Bandages wrapped around your arms, the faintest hint of surgical tape holding part of your eyebrow in place, but even those marks didn’t matter to him. Not when he saw you.

It was you—the you, the one from before.

The one who had been a part of him once, so effortlessly entwined in his world that it felt like a distant memory now, a ghost of something beautiful he couldn’t quite let go. And even with the signs of the struggle you’d been through, you were still lovely—so lovely—like the day he met you and the day you walked away, and every single moment in between.

You were forever.

Katsuki’s chest tightened, his heart beating faster as you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. His breath hitched, and his mind—his thoughts—tangled in chaos. ‘Oh, fuck.’ He didn’t know if he could do this. 

Didn’t know if he could face this moment, standing in front of you after all this time. 

His stomach churned, his throat suddenly dry.

There were no words to fill the gap. Just the lingering gaze. The weight of the silence was almost too much. His heart was racing, the uncertainty of it all sinking in deeper with every passing second.

You were still the one he thought of when the world went quiet. But now… now, you were here, and everything he thought he knew was slowly shattering.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. For you.

And yet… he couldn’t pull away.

Aizawa stepped forward silently, his sharp eyes softening just the slightest as Eri giggled in Katsuki’s arms. She hugged him tightly, her small arms wrapped around his neck as if she never wanted to let go. Katsuki, overwhelmed, held her close for a beat longer before Aizawa gently rested a hand on her back.

“Come on, Eri,” Aizawa murmured, his voice low and steady as always. “Let Bakugou breathe.”

Eri pulled back, her bright eyes shimmering with happiness. “Thank you, Kacchan,” she whispered before reaching out for Aizawa. Katsuki handed her over, his hands lingering in the air for a second longer than necessary as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. Aizawa gave a brief nod to Katsuki, then to you, before turning toward the others, Eri nestled against him.

You turned your attention to Izuku and Todoroki, a small nod of acknowledgment exchanged between you and the two behind Katsuki. Izuku looked as if he wanted to say something, his hands twitching at his sides, but he held back, his green eyes wide with surprise and maybe a bit of relief. Todoroki, ever composed, gave a small nod in return, though his gaze lingered, curious but respectful.

Then you shifted your focus back to Katsuki. Without a word, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand before intertwining with his.

It would have been better if you shot him. 

His entire body jolted at the contact. It was as if a firework had gone off inside him—a sharp, electric heat that started at the very tips of his fingers and shot up his arm, exploding into his chest and spreading through every inch of him. He felt like he was burning alive, and yet, it wasn’t painful. It was overwhelming, consuming, like the first crackle of an ignition that he couldn’t control.

You gave his hand a gentle tug, and he followed without thinking, his feet moving on instinct as you led him outside. 

The cold air hit him again, sharp and bracing, but it did nothing to quell the inferno raging inside him. His thoughts blurred into a mess of heat and longing, the contact of your hand against his sending his heart into overdrive.

He could barely think, barely breathe. All he knew was the warmth of your touch and the fact that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let go.

Not this time.

You led him just past the shop's entrance, the cold air still biting but not nearly as harsh as the electric charge pulsing between you both. It was quieter here, the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes from inside a muffled hum behind you. As you came to a stop, you glanced toward the shop window. Denki caught your eye from his seat, flashing a wide, toothy grin and waggling his fingers at you.

Your lips curved into a soft, genuine smile as you wiggled your fingers back at him. It was a small, playful gesture, but the warmth in it hit Katsuki like a punch to the gut. When Denki noticed who stood beside you, his grin faltered, and his face disappeared beneath the edge of the windowsill in a dramatic slump. You chuckled softly, turning back to Katsuki with that same light still dancing in your expression.

And then, it was just you two.

Katsuki became all too aware of the bag hanging awkwardly from his wrist and the bouquet clutched in his hand. He tightened his grip instinctively as if he could somehow shield the delicate flowers from your gaze. But you noticed them anyway, your eyes flicking to the bouquet for just a second before landing on him again.

“Hot date tonight?” you teased, your voice lilting with a playful edge, but there was something genuine in the smile that accompanied it. The way your eyes twinkled when you looked at him made his chest ache, and his stomach churn weakly.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat felt too tight, his voice lodged somewhere between his lungs and the storm brewing in his mind. He could only stand there, staring at you like some starstruck fool, taking you in as if seeing you for the first time all over again.

You were breathtaking. You always had been.

The funeral attire somehow only added to the ethereal quality about you, as though you’d stepped out of another world entirely. The tailored black coat hugged you snugly, cinched at the waist, and fell just past your knees, its hem swaying softly in the cold breeze. Underneath, a sleek black dress peeked out, its neckline modest but flattering, the fabric glimmering faintly with each subtle shift of your body.

And then there was you.

Your skin had a healthy, warm glow despite the faintest hints of exhaustion etched at the corners of your eyes, their pinkish hue betraying emotions you kept tightly tucked away. The surgical tape that stitched together a part of your eyebrow and the bandages peeking from the sleeves of your coat told their own stories, but they didn’t dull your beauty. If anything, they added to it—like cracks in a porcelain vase that somehow made it even more striking.

The curve of your lips, still soft and inviting, was framed by the sweet corners of your mouth. Your word could speak life or death into him, even 16 years later. Your braids that cascaded over your shoulders seemed heavy now. The wind teased them, strands of hair catching the light like threads of onyx. 

Your eyes—those bright, captivating eyes that could light up a room or pierce through steel—were locked on him, brimming with curiosity, warmth, and something that made his knees feel like jelly.

For a moment, Katsuki forgot how to breathe.

And then, like a cruel bolt of lightning, his mind betrayed him.

The weight in Katsuki’s chest finally broke loose as fresh tears welled in his eyes, unbidden and unstoppable. He lowered himself slightly, enough to meet you at eye level. The intensity in his gaze softened, and his voice, rough and strained, cracked just slightly as he spoke.

"I'm sorry about Rita," he said, his words deliberate but heavy, as though each one carried a piece of the sorrow he couldn’t contain. "I wish I could’ve helped."

Your eyes widened, the surprise stark in your expression. For a moment, you stood frozen, the bouquet trembling in your hands. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped. You swallowed, hard, once, and then again, your throat working against the sudden flood of emotion.

“Thank you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling like the faintest echo of a storm. “She…she would tell you not to beat yourself up about it.”

Katsuki blinked, his mouth twitching as he tried to process your words. And then, to your visible shock, a single tear escaped the corner of his eye. You followed its trail, transfixed, as it carved a path down his cheek, catching briefly on the sharp line of his jaw before vanishing into the night.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The world seemed to fade into the background—the muffled hum of the ramen shop, the distant sound of passing cars, the neon lights casting fractured colors onto the pavement.

Finally, you cleared your throat, the sound delicate but grounding. "You…you okay?"

“Yeah,” Katsuki muttered, his voice rough. “Are you?”

You tilted your head slightly, as if considering the question, and offered a weak but genuine smile. 

“Getting there,” you said, your tone faintly wry.

The conversation drifted after that, not about Rita but about small things—the kind of easy, gentle back-and-forth that came from a place of familiarity. Katsuki found himself listening more than talking, his sharp edges dulled by the warmth in your voice. He couldn’t help but notice, though, how your shoulders tensed every so often, the faintest shiver rippling through you.

Without a word, Katsuki motioned for you to follow him, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he led you toward a familiar pickup truck parked a short distance away. You hesitated but followed, your brows furrowing in curiosity.

“This…is Kirishima’s truck,” you said, half-questioning as you stopped beside him.

Katsuki nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You think he’d let me hear the end of it if I didn’t take care of you? You’d break his damn heart if you didn’t feel comfortable using his stuff.”

His tone was mockingly sweet, exaggerated in a way that brought the faintest flicker of a smile to your lips. He leaned through the cracked window, reaching into the cab with practiced ease, and retrieved a familiar jacket—the black one with the orange lining he always wore on colder days.

Straightening, he held it out to you. For a moment, you hesitated, your eyes searching his face in the neon glow. Something in his expression—a quiet sincerity, almost tender in its simplicity—made the decision for you. 

Gently, you took the jacket, your fingers brushing his in the exchange.

“Thanks,” you said softly, slipping your arms through the sleeves. The warmth enveloped you almost immediately, carrying with it the faint, comforting scent of smoke and caramel that was so distinctly Katsuki.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the side of the shop where you’d been before.

You fell into step beside him, the two of you walking back in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt like a moment suspended in time, fragile but somehow right. Katsuki couldn’t help but glance at you as you walked, the way the neon lights danced across your face, highlighting the curves and planes he’d memorized long ago. 

You looked so different from the last time he’d seen you, yet so achingly familiar, and for a second, it was almost too much.

But he kept walking, matching his pace with yours, the weight of his earlier thoughts lightened just a little by your presence.

"Why the flowers and the card?"

The question escaped your lips softly, curious but tinged with something else.

Katsuki’s gaze darted to the ground for a split second, and then he looked at you again, his eyes uncharacteristically earnest. 

"Because I saw them and thought of you," he said, his tone quieter than usual but unwavering.

Your eyebrows raised in a sharp arc, and the corners of your mouth tugged up faintly, though the expression didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Ouch," you muttered, letting your face relax as you absentmindedly reached up to rub at the spot where surgical tape stretched across your eyebrow.

Katsuki’s entire body tensed. Instinct roared through him, bypassing thought, and his hand shot up halfway to yours before he froze. The hesitation was uncharacteristic, almost foreign, and it hung in the air like an unresolved chord.

You caught the motion, your gaze snapping to his. For a brief moment, you both stared, an unreadable mix of emotions flickering across your face. Then, as if the tension was too much to bear, you let out a breathy laugh and muttered under it, 

"I’m not the one who bites."

It was the breaking point. 

Katsuki’s knees gave out in the most spectacularly graceless way possible. His legs simply folded, and his body jolted downward like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Shit!" he hissed as his back collided with a parking meter, the hollow clang echoing in the otherwise quiet street.

Your surprised yelp followed almost immediately, and before you could think, you lunged forward to steady him. The momentum carried you straight into his chest, and he instinctively grabbed your waist to keep you both from collapsing entirely.

The collision was messy and awkward, but what followed was neither. 

For a moment, you were pressed so close that the world around you faded. 

Your heartbeats synced, thrumming against each other like an unspoken melody, the warmth of his body seeping through the layers of fabric between you. His scent—smoke, burnt caramel, and something indefinably Katsuki—engulfed you, and your own familiar fragrance, that lotion he used to tease you about, rose faintly to meet him.

Katsuki couldn’t breathe. His ears went beet red, the flush spreading up his neck like wildfire. You, for your part, were entirely still, your face mere inches from his as your wide eyes blinked up at him in stunned silence.

The flowers, nearly squished between your bodies, crumpled slightly against his chest. You made a small noise of protest, your first attempt to pull back thwarted by the press of his hands still firm on your waist.

"Katsuki…," you started, but your voice faltered as you glanced down at the proximity.

Something in him snapped. 

He was done, absolutely done with this entire embarrassing spiral of events. With a huff of determination, he bent his knees slightly, shifted his grip, and scooped you up in one clean motion.

"What the hell—" you exclaimed, but the rest of your sentence got lost somewhere between shock and disbelief as Katsuki turned on his heel and strode across the street like a man on a mission.

You blinked down at him, torn between indignation and incredulous laughter. "Put me down, Katsuki!"

"Not a chance," he grumbled, his voice laced with something both exasperated and resolute.

He crossed the street to a small, shared sitting area just outside a convenience store and another restaurant. The space was warm and inviting, illuminated by the soft glow of several open fireplaces scattered among the tables. The smell of charred wood and faint spices lingered in the crisp night air.

A waiter lingering by the outdoor seating area blinked in confusion as Katsuki approached. Without so much as a word, Katsuki shoved a crumpled wad of yen into the waiter’s hand—far more than the situation warranted—and jerked his chin toward the farthest corner of the space.

"Beat it," he ordered, his voice sharp but not unkind.

The waiter, visibly rattled, hesitated for a moment before turning his gaze to you, clearly wondering if he needed to intervene.

You poked your head out from where it had been resting against Katsuki’s chest and offered the waiter a sheepish but reassuring smile. "It’s fine," you said, your voice steady despite your awkward position. "I’m a consenting party in this whole…thing."

The poor man nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced but not willing to argue. "I’ll, uh, bring you menus in a bit," he murmured before hurrying off toward the restaurant.

Katsuki didn’t stop until he reached a quiet corner, where the heat from one of the nearby fireplaces cast a gentle glow over the stone-tiled ground. He set you down on one of the cushioned benches, shrugging off the weight of the entire situation with a small huff.

The warmth from the fire flickered across both of your faces, chasing away the lingering chill of the night. 

You glanced around the now-vacant area, noting the unexpected privacy, and raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Subtle," you teased, though the faint curl of a smile on your lips softened the jab.

Katsuki shrugged, leaning back slightly with his hands stuffed into his pockets. His eyes found yours, steady and burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Subtle’s overrated," he said simply.

You huffed a laugh and shook your head, leaning into the heat of the fire. The silence that fell between you was far from uncomfortable. Instead, it felt almost sacred, like a fragile bubble that neither of you wanted to pop.

And for the first time in years, Katsuki felt the weight on his chest ease, just a little.

You nudge the seat in front of you but Katsuki doesn’t budge. 

He hesitated, glancing between the bench and you, but something in your expression left no room for argument. He grumbled under his breath, lowering himself onto the cushioned seat with a sharp exhale. Quickly, you shoved the flowers into his hands and used your nails to slice open the envelope. 

The flames from the nearby fire pit cast a golden hue over his face, softening the hard lines of his features.

You straightened the edges of the card in your hands, fingers brushing over the raised lettering on the front. It was plain but tasteful, and as you opened it, Katsuki’s scrawled handwriting sprawled unevenly across the inside. The strokes were rushed, almost frantic, like he’d barely had time to think before putting pen to paper.

He watched you as you read, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths. But beneath the practiced control, you could sense the tension radiating off him. 

He looked like a high schooler waiting for his crush to read his love letter, except you knew—you knew—that wasn’t what he had written about. 

And yet, as you scanned the words, the crease between your brows deepened.

Your eyes flicked over the lines again. Then again. Katsuki’s leg started bouncing, and his hand gripped the armrest tightly enough to make his knuckles whiten.

“Well?” he finally snapped, his voice rough, though you caught the faintest edge of nervousness underneath.

“I don’t get it,” you said bluntly, lowering the card slightly but keeping your gaze fixed on the uneven handwriting. 

“This isn’t like you, Katsuki.”

His jaw tightened. 

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You didn’t answer immediately, rereading a particular passage. “…Maybe letting go is a beautiful thing. Perfect for the time being…” you murmured, your voice soft and filled with confusion. 

“What is this?”

“What does it sound like?” he said gruffly, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. The firelight glinted off his sharp crimson eyes, making them look even more intense. “It’s…fuck, it’s about life.”

“About life?” You met his gaze fully now, your lips parted slightly. “Katsuki, this…” You held up the card. 

“This sounds like you’re talking about how we moved on. How we’ve…achieved everything we dreamed of.”

“Yeah, and?” His voice cracked slightly, and he covered it with a cough. 

“Ain’t that true?”

You pause, your fingers tightening on the edges of the card. 

“Is it?”

His leg stopped bouncing. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant hum of the city filled the silence, broken only by the occasional pop of the firewood.

“I drive my Bimmer in the summer,” you began slowly, rereading another line, “Forever is too long. Katsuki, what are you…what are you trying to say here?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, letting out a frustrated groan. “It’s not…fuck, it’s not about that shit literally, alright?” He leaned back, running both hands through his hair and making it stick up even more than usual. 

“It’s about…about how nothing’s ever enough.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice softened, and your gaze searched his face for answers. “What isn’t enough?”

His laugh was bitter, short, and humorless. “Everything. The cars, the rank, the money, the…the goddamn awards” He waved a hand vaguely, his frustration tangible. 

“None of it fucking matters if I…if I can’t…”

“If you can't, what?” you pressed gently, leaning forward.

His lips parted, but no words came out. 

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a moment, he seemed like he was about to say something monumental. 

But then his gaze flicked to the hem of your dress, and he saw another, singed and blackened in places, and his expression shifted to something else entirely.

“Were you okay?” he asked abruptly, his voice low and gruff.

You blinked, startled by the sudden change. “What?”

“Your dress,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the edges. “It got burned.”

“Oh.” You glanced down at the ruined fabric, brushing it lightly with your fingers. “Yeah, I was fine. It’s nothing.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, something that sounded suspiciously like doubt. 

“’s not nothing,” he muttered.

You sighed, tilting your head slightly. “Were you okay? You know…after I threw you off the balcony?”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a brief, wry smile. “’Course I’m okay. Didn’t even scratch me.” He paused, his gaze dropping. 

“But…I should’ve called.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. You stared at him, your fingers tightening on the card again. Finally, you let out a shaky laugh. “Forget about it. I did. Mostly.” You bit the inside of your cheek and glanced down, your voice dropping. 

“Though there are a few pictures I wish I’d taken with me.”

He straightened slightly, his brows furrowing. “I could bring ‘em to you.”

You almost dropped the card. Your fingers fumbled, and the paper fluttered dangerously before you caught it. 

“What?”

Katsuki frowned, his head tilting slightly. “What?”

“You kept them?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes searched his face for any sign of dishonesty. “I thought you…I thought you would’ve burned them all.”

The shock on his face was immediate, his eyes widening as if you’d just accused him of treason. “What?” he repeated, his voice louder now. “Hell no! I…I couldn’t have done that.” He hesitated, his hands clenching into fists before relaxing. 

“Okay, maybe I could’ve…but not…not of you.” His voice dropped, rough and raw. 

“Not of you.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, trembling but unbroken. The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across your faces as you stared at each other in silence. His confession lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, and you found yourself unable to look away from him.

For once, Katsuki didn’t look like the indomitable hero or the brash, fiery man you had known for so long. 

He looked vulnerable, human, and heartbreakingly sincere. 

And as the flames reflected in his crimson eyes, you felt a pang deep in your chest—an ache that you weren’t sure you could ignore any longer.

But neither of you spoke.

The silence was too precious, too fragile to break. 

So you sat there, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, each of you quietly trying to piece together the fragments of what had once been.

Katsuki placed the bouquet gently on the table, the vibrant colors of the flowers catching the flickering glow of the firelight. His hands rose shakily to his head, fingers threading through his blond hair as he gripped at the roots, tugging slightly as if he could wring the words out of his mind. His elbows rested on the table, and for a moment, he stayed like that—shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut, and his breath uneven.

You sat across from him, your hands folded in your lap, trying to steel yourself for whatever storm of words was about to come. You could see the faint tremor in his fingers and the deep lines of stress carved into his face. 

Then, finally, he exhaled deeply and lifted his head, his crimson eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

“I... I heard this song,” he began, his voice hoarse. “It’s been trending lately, y’know? And maybe that’s why I wrote all that shit in the card. It just... it hit something in me. Something I’ve been too much of a coward to face for years.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head as if mocking himself. “I know I’m being selfish right now. I know you’re dealing with your grief, and you don’t need me dragging up all this crap from the past, but—” 

He stopped, swallowing hard as his Adam’s apple bobbed. 

“But I can’t live with myself if I don’t get this off my chest.”

Katsuki leaned forward suddenly, reaching out to take both of your hands in his. His grip was firm yet trembling, his palms warm against yours. His eyes, now glossy with tears, locked onto yours, and the weight of his emotions slammed into you like a tidal wave. Your own tears began to blur your vision, and you cursed yourself for being unable to hold them back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. The silence that followed felt deafening, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

Your face was unreadable, frozen in a mixture of shock and vulnerability. He pressed forward, his thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands as he continued. 

“I’m sorry for everything. For acting like a fucking idiot back then. For how things ended. For the media shitstorm. For the way I left things hanging in the air... for never reaching out.” 

His voice grew quieter with each apology, the regret in his tone cutting deeper each time.

“I’m sorry for the way it affected everyone—our friends, our lives. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed someone. And I’m so goddamn sorry I let all this time pass.” He let out a shaky breath, his voice breaking as he forced himself to go on. 

“Your grandma... she passed away, and I wasn’t there. I couldn’t... I couldn’t shield you from that pain or comfort you when you needed it most. And maybe you didn’t want me there. Maybe you didn’t need me. But...” He looked down at your joined hands, his tears slipping free and landing silently on your knuckles. 

“I wanted to be there. I wanted to offer it anyway.”

His head hung for a moment as if the weight of his emotions had become too much to bear. When he looked back up, his face was raw and unguarded, the barriers he’d so carefully built over the years crumbling to dust.

“I know the saying,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “‘A day late and a dollar short.’ Well, I’m sixteen years too fucking late. But... from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul,” 

“I’m sorry.”

Your lip trembled as his words sank in, every syllable hitting you like a blow. He squeezed your hands gently, the desperation in his touch almost unbearable.

“And I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he added, his voice firmer now, though still laced with anguish. 

“I know it’s selfish of me to even bring this up, but... I wish I’d handled things better. I wish there wasn’t this giant wall between us, this mountain of distance that just keeps growing. I don’t even know what else to say or do...”

Katsuki’s voice trailed off, and he stared into your eyes, unflinching despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

His vulnerability, his raw honesty, was overwhelming, and you could feel your own tears spilling over, streaming silently down your face.

Neither of you moved, and neither of you broke the gaze. 

In the glow of the firelight, your shared silence spoke louder than words. The years of pain, regret, and longing that had built up between you seemed to swirl in the air, heavy yet strangely cathartic. You could feel his pulse through your hands, steady yet erratic, matching the rhythm of your own racing heart.

And in that moment, as the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, you realized how profoundly you had both been carrying the weight of the past.

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words pressing against you like a tangible force. It wasn’t just the apology—though the power of it was undeniable—but the sheer enormity of emotions it dragged up from inside you, emotions you thought you’d buried long ago. They rose like a tide, unbidden and relentless, threatening to pull you under.

Your eyes darted down to your joined hands, his fingers warm and trembling against yours. 

It felt surreal. 

This moment felt surreal. The space between you was thick with an odd mix of tension and... something else. Maybe it was the weight of the situation. Maybe it was the tragedy of it all, the reminder of what had been lost—not just Rita, but the years, the connection, the bond you once shared.

In another life, in a world untouched by this grief, maybe you could have blown him off. You could have let him sit there with his bag of feelings, with the apology that came far too late. 

You’d have every right to. 

After all, you hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for the years of silence, the emotional chaos, or the devastation of a friendship that was supposed to be built on something pure and simple—your heart, freely offered, no strings attached.

But here you were, and despite the storm of anger, pain, and regret churning inside you, there was something else. Something lighter.

Strange, unfamiliar.

Maybe it was happiness. Not the kind that bursts forth in bright, fleeting bursts, but the quiet, steady sort that comes from acknowledgment.

Katsuki Bakugou—proud, brash, unrelenting Katsuki Bakugou—was sitting before you, raw and broken, admitting out loud that he had messed up. That he was sorry. And he wasn’t asking for anything. 

Not forgiveness. 

Not a second chance. 

Nothing. 

Just... acknowledgment in return.

And maybe that’s what made this moment so heavy.

Because last night, when you’d torn apart your house in a frantic, grief-stricken search for Rita’s will, you’d reached the end of your rope. The thought of calling him, of hearing his voice, had nearly shattered you. You’d stood there, clutching your phone, staring at the blank screen with trembling hands.

But then you dialed. 

Without thinking, without hesitating, your fingers moved on instinct.

You knew that number by heart, even after all these years. The call had gone through, and his voice on the other end—rough, surprised, and slightly panicked—had hit you like a freight train.

Now, here he was, sitting across from you, holding your hands like they were a lifeline. And you couldn’t shake the feeling of dissonance. 

Because this man before you? 

He wasn’t your Katsuki.

Your Katsuki was somewhere in the past, frozen in the amber of your memories. 

He was the brash boy from high school, the fiery upstart at the beginning of his career. He was the one who used to shield your name like it was sacred, who would all but attack anyone who dared utter it in his presence. You used to watch him on the news, almost marveling at how far he would go to avoid even the shadow of you.

This man, though—this Katsuki—was different. 

He was older, quieter, and somehow softer, even in his roughness. He was still selfish—he’d admitted as much—but there was a depth to it, a maturity, that hadn’t been there before.

And maybe, just maybe, you needed to hear this. Not for him, but for yourself. To let go of the past you’d avoided so much, to release the grip of the “what could have been” that had quietly haunted you since things fell apart.

The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the tears that glistened on his cheeks. His grip on your hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you in the present. And though your mind was racing, spiraling into memories and emotions, you realized something with startling clarity. 

This moment, this apology, was as much for you as it was for him. 

A chance to unburden yourself of the pain, to finally put it to rest.

You exhaled shakily, your voice a whisper as you finally spoke.

“Katsuki…”

"She asked about you," you said, your voice trembling as you squeezed his hands. Your eyes dropped to your lap, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Katsuki stiffened slightly, a flicker of something unnamable crossing his face. He knew who you meant.

“Rita,” he whispered, barely audible.

You nodded. "She asked if I’d spoken to you. If you’d finally broken and reached out to me."

Your voice cracked, and Katsuki saw it all then—everything you had kept buried for years. The hurt. The pain of loving the woman who had raised you. The unbearable weight of loss that now hung between you, heavy and suffocating. It was all there, laid bare in your expression.

And then, the dam broke.

You cried. Openly and freely, the tears spilling down your cheeks in hot, stinging streams. Your shoulders trembled with the force of it, and your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

Katsuki’s soul tightened. 

The sight of you like this—it was too much. 

He couldn’t just sit there, couldn’t let you drown in the grief that he’d avoided for so long. Without a word, he moved. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he slid closer, his hands releasing yours only so he could wrap his arms around you.

Before you even registered it, you were pulled into the warmth of his chest.

Katsuki's arms encircled you tightly, holding you like you might shatter into pieces if he let go. One hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading smoothing down your hair, while the other arm wrapped around your wait and pressed firmly against your back, keeping you anchored to him.

He began rocking you, slowly and gently, back and forth. The motion was soothing, rhythmic. 

Familiar. 

It took you back to the times he’d done the same—after you’d failed a test in school and were convinced you’d never make it, or in the sterile, suffocating room of a hospital after the Hero War when everything felt impossibly bleak.

Katsuki’s voice broke through your sobs, hoarse and choked with emotion. “You’re safe,” he repeated, over and over, like a mantra.

And then, you heard it—his own crying. 

Quiet at first, just shaky breaths and the occasional sniff, but it grew louder as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. His shoulders shook as his tears spilled freely, dampening your hair and his cheeks alike. His grip on you tightened, like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

“It shouldn’t have taken this,” he managed through the tears. His voice was raw, every word thick with regret. “It shouldn’t have taken her... for us to talk again. For me to—” He broke off, his chest heaving with another sob.

You buried your face into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. You felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, strong and erratic all at once. It was grounding in a way nothing else could be.

“I miss her,” you choked out, the words barely audible through the sobs.

“I know,” Katsuki whispered, his voice breaking. “I know. She—” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. “She was amazing. She’s at peace now.”

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, crying openly and freely for what felt like an eternity. In that moment, it didn’t matter how much time had passed, or how much pain had been inflicted, or how selfish it might seem.

What mattered was that, for the first time in years, you weren’t alone in your grief. 

And neither was he.

You stayed like that, holding onto each other as if letting go would mean losing everything all over again. You didn’t know how much time passed. The world outside seemed to fade into irrelevance, the soft murmur of distant traffic and the bite of winter’s cold only faint reminders that life still moved on beyond your bubble of shared grief.

The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a golden glow over the sidewalk where you sat, but you didn’t want to move.

You didn’t want to leave the warmth of Katsuki’s embrace—the man you had loved so deeply, so fiercely, that even now, after everything, the embers of that love still burned quietly in the darkest part of your soul. 

And so, you cried again. 

Not for your grandmother this time, but for the friendship you had lost. For the relationship that had crumbled under the weight of pride and immaturity. 

For the future you had once dreamed of together but had been shattered into irreparable pieces.

Katsuki cried too, the sound raw and unfiltered, like an ocean tide crashing against jagged rocks. 

The weight of his emotions poured out in waves, and you felt like you could drown in the sorrow that filled the space between you. The salty taste of tears clung to your lips, and the cold air stung your damp cheeks.

As you sniffled, you realized with a groan that you’d left your purse back at the ramen shop—the very one that held your tissues. Before you could even voice your dilemma, the door to the restaurant creaked open, and the waiter appeared with not one but two boxes of kleenex.

Katsuki took them with a slight bow of his head, muttering a gruff, “Thanks.” The waiter nodded in silent understanding before slipping back inside, leaving you both with a bit more humanity to cling to.

You grabbed a handful of tissues, blowing your nose loudly and shamelessly. Katsuki wrinkled his nose and pulled back slightly.

“Ew,” he teased, his voice raspy from crying but still laced with playful sarcasm.

You shot him a watery glare. “I’ll wipe it on you,” you threatened, waving the crumpled tissue in his direction.

His lips twitched upward, and he leaned forward. “I’d like to see you try.”

Before you could retaliate, Katsuki snatched a fresh wad of tissues and reached out. His movements were unexpectedly gentle as he dabbed at your tear-streaked face, his fingertips brushing against your skin with surprising care. You stayed still, letting him clean you up, and in that small act of tenderness, something inside you softened.

“You’ve got snot,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words, only a quiet affection that made your heart ache.

“Don’t push your luck,” you shot back, though the corners of your lips twitched upward for the first time that night.

As the tissues piled up in the small trash can by your side, you found yourself talking. 

Tentative at first, but then with more ease. Katsuki mentioned how he’d been dragged to more gatherings with friends lately, awkward at first but tolerable now. 

You told him about your grandmother’s favorite songs, how the old records still played flawlessly despite their age. He mentioned the get togethers, and you nodded, suggesting he should join in more often—not just as a favor to the others, but because it seemed like he was starting to open up again.

The conversation shifted to the pictures. “I could come by to pick them up,” you offered, though the idea of stepping into his world again made your chest tighten. 

“Or… I could have them delivered if it’s easier.” Katsuki shook his head. “I want you to choose what’s comfortable. No pressure, alright?”

You hesitated, chewing your lip as you weighed your words.

“Honestly? I need some time to… get myself together. This is a lot for both of us.” You glanced down at the tissue box, your fingers toying with the cardboard edge.

“But maybe we could start slow. Like meeting at a park or something? Neutral ground.”

He nodded, his crimson eyes steady on yours. “Yeah. That sounds fair.”

There was a beat of silence, and then his gaze shifted, his hands tightening slightly where they rested on his knees. “It might take a bit, not all the pictures are at my place.”

You frowned, tilting your head. 

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed. The streetlamp above cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the strain in his features.

“Most of the stuff... it’s still at the old apartment.”

Your breath caught. The tissues you had been about to use slipped from your fingers and fell to the ground, forgotten.

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs as memories of that place rushed to the surface—the laughter, the arguments, the quiet moments that had once felt like forever.

You looked up at him, and your vision blurred with fresh tears. Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his eyes shimmering as he watched you, waiting for the inevitable.

And then, like a breaking wave, the tears came again.

You sobbed, raw and unrestrained, as the reality of everything hit you all over again. Katsuki reached for you instinctively, pulling you close, and you buried your face in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, and this time, neither of you tried to stop the flood.

The world around you faded once more, leaving only the two of you—two broken people trying to find pieces of themselves in the other. 

Eventually, the Kleenex dwindled to nothing, leaving both of you with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked faces. You tilted back the water bottle, gulping down what remained, and washed down an aspirin with the last drops. Katsuki pushed himself up and offered his hand. 

“C’mon,” he said, voice low but steady. “Let’s hit the store. We’ll grab more for you... and me, too.”

You let him help you to your feet, your hand lingering in his a moment longer than necessary. The chill of winter nipped at your exposed skin as you walked side by side to the convenience store. The silence between you wasn’t awkward or heavy anymore—it was soft and comfortable, filled with the quiet sounds of the city around you. Distant traffic hummed, the occasional bark of a dog, and the rustling of leaves in the wind accompanied your steps.

Inside the store, the bright fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. The cashier from earlier—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—gave you a warm smile. “Back so soon?” she teased gently as you approached the counter with Katsuki trailing behind you.

You returned her smile, feeling a little lighter. “Yeah. Ran out of tissues already,” you said with a sheepish laugh.

‘Oh, so you bought tissue’s here earlier,’ he thought to himself.

The two of you exchanged pleasant small talk while Katsuki moved with purpose, gathering tissues, a fresh bottle of water, and whatever else he thought you might need. By the time he joined you at the counter, you’d already struck up an easy rhythm with the cashier, your conversation flowing naturally.

Katsuki set the items on the counter and pulled out his wallet without hesitation. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, shooting you a sidelong glance when you opened your mouth to protest.

You sighed, knowing better than to argue. This was just who he was. Whether it was an old habit or a remnant of something deeper, Katsuki never let you pay for anything when he was around.

The cashier rang everything up, and as she handed over the bag, the jingle of the entrance bell drew all your attention. You turned to see Izuku, Todoroki, and Kirishima stepping inside, their familiar faces a mix of concern and quiet resolve.

Katsuki stiffened beside you, his focus shifting instantly. But instead of looking at the guys, his eyes stayed on you.

He studied your face—your tired eyes, the faint lines of grief etched into your expression—and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought, his lips parting slightly as if caught in a memory.

'You’re so beautiful.'

Izuku was the first to speak, his voice soft and tentative. “We heard… we just wanted to check on you.”

You offered them a small smile, though it trembled at the edges. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Kirishima, ever the empathetic one, didn’t hesitate to close the distance. His arms wrapped around you in a crushing hug that left you breathless but oddly comforted. Izuku quickly joined, his slightly shorter frame squeezing in from the side, and you felt the warmth of their presence like a balm to your aching soul.

Todoroki hung back slightly, his expression carefully composed. When the others released you, he stepped forward and placed a tentative hand on your shoulder, the gesture understated but no less sincere.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can we do anything?” Izuku asked, his green eyes wide with concern.

You hesitated, glancing at Katsuki out of instinct. He was silent, his gaze unreadable, but the weight of his presence steadied you. “I think… I think I’d like a few more get-togethers with everyone,” you said finally, your words measured.

Kirishima grinned, his usual enthusiasm shining through. “We can make that happen! Right, man?”

Izuku nodded eagerly, already starting to brainstorm ideas with Kirishima. Their voices grew more animated as they bounced ideas back and forth, each suggestion more extravagant than the last.

While the two of them planned, Katsuki and Todoroki stood silently to the side. The tension between them wasn’t hostile, it was more like an unspoken understanding, a quiet conversation held without words. Katsuki’s arms were crossed, his eyes narrowing slightly as Todoroki gave him a faint nod, his hand still resting at his side.

You glanced between them, wondering what silent truths they were exchanging, but before you could question it, Kirishima’s booming voice brought your attention back.

“How about a dinner at the plaza? We can rent it out!”

Izuku clapped his hands together. “That’s perfect! We can make it cozy and informal.”

You nodded, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “That sounds nice.”

Katsuki finally broke his silence with a sharp scoff, though the edge of it softened, lacking his usual bite. 

“Idiots,” he muttered, shaking his head as if to distance himself from the animated planning happening behind him.

But there was no venom in his tone—just the faintest trace of amusement buried beneath his gruff exterior. He grabbed the bag from the counter, thrusting it toward you with a slightly awkward motion. 

“Let’s get going,” he said, voice quiet but firm, as if to end the moment before it could grow into something too tender.

You took the bag, your fingers brushing his briefly. “Thanks,” you murmured, offering him a small, tired smile. It wasn’t much, but it was genuine. As you stepped out into the cold night, the air sharp with the crispness of winter, your breath formed tiny clouds in front of you. Katsuki fell into step beside you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his movements stiff but unhurried.

Katsuki felt a faint flicker of warmth in his chest. Maybe things weren’t completely broken after all.

You’re not friends nor enemies. 

Just strangers with old memories

The sidewalk glowed under the mixture of neon lights from the ramen shop across the street and the warmer, golden hues of the convenience store sign and street lamps. The faint hum of electricity overhead filled the quiet spaces between your steps. You glanced upward, your gaze caught by the clear night sky. 

The stars, scattered and faint, seemed brighter in the winter air.

“They so look different here,” you murmured, almost to yourself. Your head tilted upward, and the soft curve of your profile caught the light, making you look both fragile and unyielding all at once.

Katsuki followed your gaze, his eyes tracing the dark expanse above. The memory hit him like a freight train—the time he took you hiking, how you’d screamed and scared the shit outta him when he unveiled the telescope he’d carried for miles just to surprise you.

He hadn’t forgotten a single detail: The awe in your voice when you saw Saturn’s rings, The way your breath caught when you pointed out constellations he could never remember.

But Katsuki would for you. 

He stole a glance at you out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. You were looking at him, too—quick, fleeting looks that you thought he wouldn’t notice. But he did, and he could tell by the subtle shifts in your expression that you were lost in memories of your own.

You remembered that hike, how he’d guided you up rocky trails with steady hands. You remembered falling asleep on the couch at his parents’ house after coming back worn out, their home so warm and welcoming. 

That Christmas where your Grandma and his Parents decided to blend traditions, just for the two of you. You’d fallen asleep on the floor in front of the tree together that night, and waking up next to him had felt as natural as breathing. And, of course, you couldn’t forget sneaking a kiss under the mistletoe in the UA dorms, his cheeks turning scarlet as he tried to hide his grin.

The weight of those memories pressed down on you both, heavy and bittersweet. You glanced at Katsuki again, and for a fleeting moment, his guarded expression seemed to crack, revealing the exhaustion beneath. 

What had all of this been for? 

Why had you let pain and misunderstandings tear apart something so bright? 

You thought you had an idea, but the truth was too tangled, too layered to fully unravel in a single moment.

“MOM!”

The quiet shattered like glass, the single word slicing through the cold night air.

Every head turned in a different direction, a ripple of alarm spreading through the small group. You were the first to react, your body snapping forward, hunching as if bracing yourself for impact. Katsuki’s sharp eyes locked dead ahead, narrowing with the kind of intensity that made everything else fade to static.

“MOM!”

There it was again. The voice, high-pitched and frantic, pierced the night with urgency. Before anyone else could react, you surged ahead a step, your voice raw and unrestrained as you yelled, 

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

Katsuki froze, his chest tight and unmoving, as if his lungs had forgotten how to draw in air. The world felt too quiet for a second—just long enough to make his skin crawl.

And then he saw her.

Standing right in front of the ramen shop, where the doors had spilled open and your shared friends and classmates were trickling out, was a girl. She couldn’t have been older than 15 or 16. The crisp lines of a UA uniform clung to her small frame, its navy and white colors almost blending into the night. 

In one hand, she clutched a bag of snacks; in the other, a bouquet of flowers that swayed slightly with her every movement.

She was waving, her free hand moving wildly in your direction. Katsuki could barely make her out through the blur of passing cars, headlights painting streaks of yellow and white across the road. 

You were on your tiptoes, hopping slightly to get a better look, a desperation in your movements that tugged at something deep and primal in his chest.

The brat from earlier. 

Todoroki opened his mouth to ask a question, but before the words could leave his lips, the girl moved.

She darted into the street.

The bag and bouquet swung in wild arcs as she sprinted forward, weaving through the maze of cars and trucks. Horns blared, tires screeched, and the headlights seemed to blur into chaos around her.

Your scream tore through the night, so raw and visceral that it carved a jagged wound into the silence. It wasn’t just fear—it was pure, unadulterated terror, and it clawed its way into the hearts of everyone who heard it.

Katsuki flinched, his instincts roaring to life as your scream rattled his very bones. The name you screamed was swallowed by the cacophony of honking horns and screeching tires, but it didn’t matter—he couldn’t let himself freeze. 

Not now.

You were already running.

Without hesitation, you bolted forward, surging into the chaos of headlights and metal.

Katsuki didn’t think—he moved.

His body acted on reflex, launching after you with a speed and force that left the others behind. He barely registered the shouts of protest from Izuku, Kirishima, and Todoroki—

All he could focus on was you.

You, sprinting into the heart of danger, arms outstretched.

The girl was closer now, her face pale and wide-eyed as she froze in the middle of the street, caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. The horn blared, a deafening roar of impending disaster.

Katsuki’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you reach her just in time. The impact was jarring—your body collided with hers, your arms wrapping around her to shield her from the inevitable. 

The truck swerved, tires screeching, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Katsuki reached you both in a split second, his hands grabbing at your arm and the girl’s jacket in one fluid motion.

The force of his grip yanked you back, your combined momentum dragging you all toward the relative safety of the crosswalk. He didn’t stop until you were firmly on the sidewalk, his chest heaving, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the world.

This was it.

Katsuki was finally going to have a heart attack.

The girl clung to you, her smaller frame shaking like a leaf in a storm. Your arms stayed locked around her, your face buried in her hair as you whispered something Katsuki couldn’t hear. His sharp gaze scanned you both, his hands still gripping you tightly as if letting go might send you hurtling back into danger.

The others caught up seconds later, their voices a blur of questions and concern, but Katsuki didn’t look at them. His eyes stayed on you, on the way your body trembled, the way your shoulders heaved with ragged breaths.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked, his voice rough and trembling with the weight of too many emotions. But there was no anger—only fear, only relief, and something he couldn’t quite name.

You didn’t respond immediately, your focus entirely on the girl in your arms. Slowly, you pulled back, brushing her hair from her face. “Are you okay?” you asked her, your voice soft and cracking.

The girl nodded, her face buried against your shoulder.

Katsuki looked away briefly, his jaw clenching as he tried to steady himself. He could still hear the echo of your scream in his head, could still feel the phantom pull of your arm as he’d dragged you out of the street.

You turned your gaze to him, and for a moment, everything else faded—the noise, the lights, the others. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice full of something he didn’t have the words to name.

Katsuki didn’t reply. 

He didn’t need to. 

The look he gave you said everything.

The girl was giggling, her whole frame trembling with barely-contained mirth. The sound was light and melodic, like a wind chime caught in a playful breeze, but Katsuki’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure what he expected—fear, maybe? Tears? Sure. 

Not this bubbling, carefree laughter.

Her face, bright and fresh, carried the same mischievous glint you had when you were busted by your Grandma or Aizawa. Katsuki knew that expression all too well—the barely contained smugness of someone who knew they were in trouble but didn’t care enough to stop. 

Katsuki couldn’t stop staring. 

You glanced down at the girl as her giggles finally started to subside, and her mischievous grin turned into something softer as she looked up at you. You ruffled her braids gently, your fingers lingering on the dip-dyed tips. 

The two of you looked almost like twins under the glow of the streetlights—same face, same posture, even the same teasing glint in your expressions. 

But then there were the eyes. 

Yours held warmth and wisdom, tempered by years of struggles and triumphs. Hers burned like twin embers under the golden street lights, sharp and unrelenting, filled with the boundless energy of youth.

The resemblance between you two was uncanny. It wasn’t just the shared features; it was the way you both carried yourselves, that same blend of confidence and playfulness. The way her grin mirrored yours, the slight tilt of her head, even the way she gestured with her hands—it was like watching a younger version of you.

It wasn’t just Katsuki who noticed. 

Kirishima, normally composed, was now openly gawking. 

His gaze darted between the girl and you, his eyes wide with disbelief. Slowly, he leaned in closer, shamelessly studying her face, then yours, before stumbling backward with all the grace of a falling tree.

“Whoa, wait—uh, hold up—!” Kirishima stammered, tripping over his own feet and landing with a loud thud on the pavement.

“Careful!” Izuku hurried to help him up, his hands fluttering around like he wasn’t sure where to grab.

You didn’t look fazed. If anything, you looked exasperated, your brow furrowing as you squished the girl’s cheeks together with both hands. 

“I told you to stop doing that,” you said, your voice dripping with mock scolding.

The girl’s laughter only grew louder, muffled by your hands pressing into her cheeks. Her red eyes sparkled with amusement as she struggled to hold up the bouquet of flowers she carried. 

“But it’s funny!” she managed to mumble through puffed lips.

Katsuki stood frozen, his brain short-circuiting as he stared. 

His eyes flicked between you and the girl, searching for the logical explanation he knew wouldn’t come. The sight of her presenting the flowers with a beaming grin while you calmly handed him his flowers back like it was nothing—it was too much. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, threatening to boil over.

Todoroki, for his part, was eerily silent, his eyes wide and fixed on the girl. His hand moved up slightly, as if to point, before it fell back to his side. Izuku, on the other hand, looked like he was trying to process several layers of information all at once.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Flowers, huh?” you murmured, turning your attention back to the bouquet. Katsuki watched as your fingers ran along the petals, inspecting them with the same care he’d seen you use a hundred times before. Only now, there was an almost maternal softness to it, like you were reading the story written in every delicate fold.

The girl stood taller under your scrutiny, her grin unwavering despite your gentle rebuke. “I picked them out  myself!” she said proudly, her voice lilting with excitement.

You glanced over her head to toe, your hands moving with practiced ease. Your fingers trailed over the ends of her dip-dyed braids, and Katsuki’s breath hitched. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was impossible to miss—

The matching dip-dyed ends of your braids.

“Wash day is gonna be fun,” you said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

The girl whined, tilting her head back dramatically. “It’s sooo booooorinnnng,” she groaned, drawing out the words like a petulant child. Katsuki watched as you gave the girl a light pinch and she squealed before standing up straight.

You chuckled, shaking your head before pulling her into a warm hug. “You’re not off the hook,” you murmured against her hair, your voice affectionate but firm.

The girl pouted but clung to you anyway, wrapping her arms tightly around your neck. Katsuki couldn’t look away. There, in the bright glow of the streetlights and neon signs, he burned the image into his memory.

The way you smiled, the girl’s arms around you, the quiet joy in your expression.

As you helped her stand up fully from the pavement, brushing dirt off her skirt, you looked down at her with a mock sternness. “We’re talking about this later.”

The girl just giggled again, sticking her tongue out playfully. “Fine, fine,” she said before glancing around at the group of stunned heroes. 

“Hi, everyone!”

Kirishima, finally back on his feet thanks to Izuku, blinked owlishly before managing a weak wave. “Uh… hey?”

Todoroki tilted his head slightly. “Is she…?”

“Yeah,” 

Katsuki cut in, his voice strained. 

“She is.”

“What’s your name?” Izuku asked softly, his wide green eyes flickering between you and the girl. You looked at the girl, who gave you a big grin and nodded.

“This is Asuna Hikari,” you said simply, your voice carrying a quiet weight. 

“My daughter.”

And just like that, Katsuki felt the ground shift beneath him.

I swear I can't just write a simple one shot.

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