#and then something happens and he’s forced back to being nothing but a hero

[emeraldsfanfics]

You Make My Heart Race

○A Rise!Donnie x speedster!fem!reader oneshot Romantic○

Reader based on CW Barry Allen/Flash

S/n= superhero name

Warnings: ●Flustered Donnie● ●reader is flirty●

Donnie had never been one for emotions, ESPIACALLY ones to do with positive...egh...feelings. Always being isolated, most times, days at a time in his lab. Just him and his inventions, how he was satisfied with.

During patrol or battles he can be his chaotic and mischievous self. That's where he also felt like himself.

"DONNIE!" Raph barged into Donnie's lab.

"SWEET BANANA WAFFLES!" Donnie jumped like a cat in surprise. Gripping onto his chair, "What the heck Raph, annoyed sigh, I was working on very important upgrades to the bo."

"Sorry Don, but we have to go ASAP, Mikey saw some trucks loading the goo, it's a big mama operation." Raph explained, now both on their way to the crime with Leo and Mikey with them.

Donatello did not verbally respond, only rolling his eyes on response. He did guess he could go lethal on the henchmen. Eventually meeting Leo , Mikey and April on top of a rooftop.

"So we should go in, kick their butt's and give the goo thing to Donnie." Leo told everyone.

"And have a movie marathon later." Mikey smiled.

"Oh! Maybe we should-" April started but was interrupted by Raph.

"But we need a actual PLAN." Raph said.

"Boy you did not just interrupt me." April narrowed her eyes.

"Sorry April." Raph scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"We have to catch them in surprise, y'know, actually be-" April was cut off yet again. (Poor girlie 😭)

"Amazing got that!" Leo jumped off the roof.

"Kalbanga!" Mikey followed.

"Raphs got this!" Raph said next.

"Yay for violence!" Donnie exclaimed unenthusiasticlly, flying down.

Landing, Donnie seen April, Raph, Leo and Mickey were standing in awe, "Oh my gosh it's s/n! Oh I gotta get a picture." All of them pulling out their phone, "no a video!"

Donnie raised his eyebrow, "And who is this, s/n?"

"Don, have you seriously been in that lab for too long?" April chuckled, holding the phone.

"Another annoyed sigh, this person can't be that important-" He took one look at this s/n. Faster than the speed of light, seeing lightning as they were being beaten and tied up.

All tied up in a pretty bow, with your signature color. The goo gathered in a safe group. You turn to see them, a goo canister on your hand, wink at Donnie, who didn't even know he was staring. Leaving in a blink of an eye.

"THAT WAS SO COOL!" The brothers all cheered. Also shaking Donnie, who was still blushing, eyes blanked.

Back at the lair, everyone was still talking about what had just happened.

"SHE IS ALMOST AS COOL AS ME!" Leo almost fanboyed.

"Did you see how quick she was!" Raph said excitedly.

"Like it was nothing to her! Mikey added, "imagine how cool it would be to have her fight alongside us. Don, what do you think about s/n?"

"Yes, she would be quite productive." Donnie muttered. Your e/c eyes, staring right back at him, shining. Your smile made it's way in the turtles mind.

"Productive? That's it?" April said, figuring he would say something at least criticizing the hero.

"Oh look at the time, see you later dumb dumbs!" Donnie ran to his lab. Everyone raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Well...that was weird?" Leo broke the silence. As always.

"Yeah." April said, getting up to leave the lair.

"Wanna see who can balance the most things on their shell?" Mikey asked.

"YEAH!" They all exclaim, running off.

Meanwhile, with Donnie, he was researching everything he could about this so called, s/n. You. For scientific research, of course. Seems you are pretty mysterious, only flashes of you were caught on camera.

However, there were picures of you with citizens, seemed like you were most concerned about them. Reports were always more about trying to figure out your secret identity. News articles, blogs, influencers, the police force. Everyone wanted to know who is behind the mask.

Next thing you know he was staying up for hours trying to find out what exactly are you. A human? Mutant? Alien? Definitely not HUMAN, but you did look human.

A pretty one-

You can say he was looking foward to seeing you again. Blushing at the thought.

Happening sooner than he thought. The turtles were out on patrol, April not being able to make it, apparently her friend Y/n had something to show her. Who she had never mentioned before.

There she was. The beautiful speedster, right there, fighting a giant lizard mutant. Fascinating, he thought to himself.

"DON STOP WITH THE GOOGLY EYES AND HELP US!" Raph instructed, everyone going into action.

"I'M NOT MAKING GOOGLY EYES!" Donnie angrily replied.

You already hid April somewhere safe, before telling your best friend that you're s/n. Not before they figured out your location and attacked you. Quickly getting into your suit with a ring you invented.

The lizard wacked you towards a wall, that would've happened if not for a turtle in purple? He stood there frozen with dilated eyes and his face red. Making eye contact.

"Uhh thanks Mr...?" You ask, getting down.

He cleared his throat, "R-right-" He was so confused, he NEVER stuttered before, "I'm Donnie."

"S/n." You smirked, "see you over there Pretty Boy." leaving extremely fast. Leaving Donnie with a racing heart. 'Wow.' He thought.

Seeing turtles fighting and talking wasn't the weirdest thing you've seen after all. Besides, he was cute.

You feel the electricity course through your veins, picking up the speed. Raph had started doing hand to hand punches with the lizard, while Leo had been doing portals to confused it. Mikey had just been wacking it with his nunchucks.

After the lizard had threw all three of them off of him. But the turtles wouldn't give up. This is when Donnie gotten his bo out, "Time to go lethal." He laughed like a manic. "Now I can play." Bro just went full on attacking the lizard with a chainsaw on fire. If only he had uranium.

Raph and Mikey had to stop him from going fully lethal on it. Which only took 20 minutes, you just sat there and watched. Waiting for your turn, just because your fast doesn't mean you aren't patient.

Growing tired with a yawn, this is when you felt that electrical feeling again, rushing towards the lizard as it was going towards Leo, kicking it squard in the jaw with electricity.

"Nailed it!" Leo exclaimed, turning to you, "Leo, By the way."

"Names-"

"I'M MIKEY PLEASE SIGN MY.SHELL!" Mikey said excitedly.

"Um sure just-" You said, leaving and coming back with a pen on two seconds. Signing his shell.

"Sorry for my brother's, thanks for the help s/n." Raph apologized.

April came back running, "I see you met my friend." She said smugly.

"Oh! These are the brothers you were talking about." You said in realization.

'Wait she knows about me?!' Donnie slightly panicked mentally.

"Yes! This is Raph, Leo, Mikey and Donnie." She pointed at Donnie, "We should all meet sometime." April added.

"Yall were cool out there." You smiled, "but atlas, I must depart, yknow, life as a superhero..."

They all frown but say their goodbyes nonetheless.

You look over at Donnie, "Bye Pretty Boy." You winked again before running off.

What you didn't see is Donnie's confidence melting, freezing and burnt face. Pupils dilated again, stopping his little tail from wagging.

All of the brothers, including April were beyond shocked. Their Donnie would have cringed or say something sassy as a comeback. But no, he stood there in a lovesick mess.

"DONNIE HAS A CRUSHHH!" Mikey poked his arm.

"MY BABY BROTHER HAS THE HOTS FOR THE SUPERHERO!" Raph said excitedly.

"MY BROTHER IS GROWN!" Leo wiped a fake tear.

"I SHIP IT!" April exclaimed. Now she is definitely going to set you two up.

Donnie had finallysnapled out of his trance, "Angred grunt, I don't do "crushes" not for me. Now will you excuse me, I shall be on my way." He said, going on his phone only for everyone to see the videos on you on his screen.

"No crushes he said." Leo snickered.

[mx-legend-of-faye]

Guys do you ever stop to think about how hard Wild must’ve struggled to find his sense of self?

His Hyrule was full of people telling him he’s a hero and he needs to save them, or alternatively that he doesn’t exist at all anymore since he was told he was the hero but then everyone knows the hero is gone?

So Wild, with no memories of who he was before, but all his kindness and readiness to help still in tact, goes on to become the hero of his Hyrule once again. At that point, a hero is all he really knows he is, and it’s all he’s told he’s allowed to be. Hyrule needs a hero, so that’s what Wild is.

Sure, he learned some things he really enjoys, and makes the best of them …but remind me how he came to learn them? Because even on his way to save Zelda and Hyrule, he stops to help others with smaller tasks? And those people teach him things in return? Because he helped them? Because with no memories, Wild woke up, and was told he needed to be helpful?

And when Zelda was safe and Hyrule was no longer under threat from the Calamity, where does that leave Wild, a hero with nothing to save his people from?

When your job that made you who you are is completed, and you can no longer remember the feel of your mother’s hugs or the sound of your father’s voice, where does that leave you? Who are you after that?

Wild had to relearn a lot more than you first might think. Wild had to relearn how to be a person. He had to relearn who he was as a person.

And he will never again be the same person as who Zelda remembers him being. He will never again be the child his parents raised.

He’s someone new, and it’s great and it’s exciting and he gets to exist now without expectations, but there was a period of time where he was a shell of person with no sense of self until he was told by all around him that his purpose was to help and to save.

So he didn’t get to start from a blank slate and become who he wanted. He had to have his purpose become an almost null point once he beat the Calamity. He had to start discovering who he is, not from the ground up, but from the ruins of who he thought he was, who everyone needed him to be.

My train of thought has left its tracks and so I’ll bring this to an end here. I hope what I was saying was coherent, I am very tired right now so—

[cameatslemons]

mouthwashing post. jimmy is a raging narcissist and im tired of people trying to give him benefit of the doubt. his inability to see two feet beyond what immediately concerns him dooms everyone on the tulpar, and even in the end, he only really cares about himself.

big list of all his narcisstic bullshit below bc im here to motherfucking prove it (mouthwashing spoilers of course)

most obviously: everything is a personal attack on him. EVERYTHING. you can see it most clearly at the birthday party; while everyone else is understandably freaking out about being laid off, jimmy starts telling curly off and insulting both him and everyone else at the table, as if being laid off is a personal attack on jimmy specifically. it doesn’t matter that anya has nothing to go back to, that swansea’s life is thrown away- jimmy is the ONLY victim here, apparently. curly is personally responsible for getting laid off, in his eyes.

i don’t actually know the words for this but the way he’s constantly going “i have to do EVERYTHING around here”- again, feeling like its a personal attack to be asked anything at all. anya asks him to take care of curly because her entire fucking life is falling apart, its her end of days, but somehow shes the villain for struggling.

also the general antagonization of anya. she’s extremely competent for the hand she was dealt! shes too poor to attend med school yet shes very knoqledgable in medication and wound care! and yeah no shit shes struggling now, someone she cared deeply about is suffering immensely and now the ship is being “run” by a man who assaulted her. no fucking shit shes breaking down. but jimmy makes it clear time and time again that this is somehow her fault, all this shit of “shouldn’t nurses EARN their titles?” while she’s having a mental breakdown.

similarly, swansea being villainized for holding the cryopod for daisuke and killing him. like, i get it, but jimmy’s whole thing of saying he can fix daisuke is… c’mon man. he’s a hero to himself, he “always” fixes things the same way he “fixed” the ship, and he will fix daisuke and claim heroism even though it’s very clear nothing else can be done for him.

“someday you’ll thank me” while forcing curly to eat his own leg. the incredible confidence that he is in the right even when literally torturing someone.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: the final scene with curly burning. jimmy doesn’t earnestly believe he has anything to be sorry for. even when apologizing to curly he says “we can BOTH be heroes!” despite everything, he still thinks he’s in the right. he STILL thinks he’s a hero, because he’s right, he’s ALWAYS right, surely. he can apologize and grovel all he wants but in the end he still thinks he’s the hero of this story; he doesn’t genuinely think he has anything to right, he’s only doing this to be freed of consequence. and/or believes a simple “sorry” is enough, that it can fix completely ruining the lives of four people with his own inferiority complex.

i do think the choice to put curly in the pod instead of himself is the only time he recognizes his own guilt, if any. maybe it’s realizing that he DOES need something more than a simple “sorry” to even begin to try to fix things, maybe it’s that he thinks this will cement him even further as a hero. even then, does this fix anything? all it’s doing is making curly suffer more. is this actually a good thing?

to him, he’s the hero here. he always is. crashing the ship is a heroic thing, putting all his crewmates through hell is a heroic thing. all because something nobody can control is somehow a personal attack on jimmy.

not to mention all the “hallucinations” he has- it’s what he thinks should happen, it’s what he wants to hear. curly still calling him a friend, the dead corpses of his crewmates praising him, even in the final cutscene with curly burning where he says “no, YOU take the pod”. none of it’s real. it’s just what jimmy thinks is “right”. despite everything, he thinks everyone should thank and praise him, because he can do no wrong.

conclusion: jimmy is a narcisstic piece of shit.

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [16]

Danny has been with the Wayne’s for a while now and his status as a halfa is starting to affect some things he comes in contact with a little bit.

At first he thought this only happened back in his old home in Amity Park because the ectoplasm samples were kept in the fridge, and though that does speed up the process, it turns out Danny causes the same things to happen just fine on his own. It just takes a lot longer.

This means he now occasionally has to replace or decontaminate some of his things every once in a while. and with the electronics the same applies but usually the protections that Tucker has made do the trick too.

Danny has been very careful, he never borrows anything that’s highly susceptible to ecto-contamination from the others and whenever he needs something from the kitchen he just goes to Alfred (he really doesn’t want to see how the old man might react to the coffee machine starting to act weird because of Danny). Just, the last thing Danny wants to do is inconvenience the Wayne’s by ecto-contaminating something of theirs.

It’s really only when Danny slips back into vigilante-ism that things go sideways.

And Danny really tried. His obsession is space, not heroism, so he figured he’d be fine just focussing on his education. But he kinda forgot about the fact that he just really really loves being a hero.

He loves the thrill, the danger. He loves giving a smackdown and just in general having a good fight, he loves helping people, he loves being a force of good. And yeah, he kinda also likes the praise, but nothing weird and overbearing (some people go way too far in their hero worship, but that’s a story for another day)

So after some back and forth and arguments with Bruce who, contrary to popular belief, was absolutely not thrilled that his latest traumatized kid who was being kept safe in the mansion so far now decided that no, he wants to be part of the family business too please.

Danny eventually threatens to just go out anyway without any of his help and that just gives Bruce flashbacks to the time when he had just taken Dick as his ward. Not to mention some of his other kids and… dammit.

Well then… Danny can go explain things to Jason himself once he finds out and is probably going to be mad about it, Bruce is not taking the blame this time.

So Danny (name pending, he could just go with Phantom again, but he also wouldn’t mind using something bird or bat related) gets back into the game once again! And that’s fine that’s cool. But back to the original point.

Danny figured that he would just do what he’s been doing so far with any bat gadgets as well, and maybe it would be even less of a problem cause he’s pretty sure that these things break a lot more often because of all the fights and stuff.

What Danny had not really thought about though is potential intense high emotion situations. Like for very specific example; Scarecrow taking an obsessive interest in him because of Danny’s ghostly ability to feed on fear (somewhat) and the situation getting out of hand, him getting very hurt, Batman having to carry him out of there while Danny was kinda bleeding a bit (a lot). Bruce being worried and Danny wanting to be anywhere but there anymore and-

Well, you get the point.

So, take all that and add high tech bat armor and what you get is suddenly sentient batsuit.

It actually took a bit for anyone to catch on that something was going on, but it was eventually figured out. and once that was the case Danny couldn’t really help his seemingly endless stream of apologies.

But how can anyone ever blame him for bleeding out on Bruce and the weird reanimative properties of said blood making it so Bruce’s suit can now “talk”

Bruce described it more as like a martian mind link, which would explain why only he could hear things. it’s probably only for the wearer.

It can’t move on it’s own, it needs someone to wear it. But it can sense things and react for the wearer and honestly all that alone is more than enough reason to find a way to exorcise it… if not for the whole,

“but if it’s a sentient ecto entity now we can’t just ‘kill’ it, we literally abolished the anti ecto acts just so that can’t be done anymore”

it’s probably a good thing the suit has grabbed all the ‘Batman’ and made that what it is. All the core values are there, so there isn’t going to be any risk of it killing someone at least.

Still though… what to do now?

[tonixe]

hii i love ur writing and the k you for the noir fic!! there’s not enough content for the boys and i appreciate it so much!! can i request jealous homelander x reader? tyia!

♱ — rapacious — ♱

A/N: I was itching, with no craving to make a homelander fic, and ideas just ran through me, but thank you anon for requesting this, and letting my devious idea run free. P.S. Im not sure bout that black noir fic, this was asked in July, but yk thank you for still requesting <3. Btw H/N is hero name.

WARNING: oral sex, p in the v, no condom we fuck raw, creampies, non-con, tw: homelander, gagging, cursing, non-con, threats, forced breeding and nudity.

PAIRING: jealous! homelander x reader

WORD COUNTER: 2.1k

Life with Homelander was great, something so great that it makes you go insane, crazy...good crazy may be bad for some, but you could take it, right?

Vought, was another thing, watching over your shoulder and making sure everything went well, I mean with you there were a lot fewer casualties than usual. Soon things got less complicated with Edgar and Madelyn being gone from Vought, basically Homelander leading the company with Ashley as a puppet.

It was chaotic per se, where Homelander's watching eye was everywhere in the building. His leadership didn't make anything better but worse. With the seven keeping on being replaced and disappearing mysteriously, surprisingly you were still there with the same everything, no new rebrand, no nothing just staying in place.

You didn't mind it at all, I mean you still had a job and were still getting paid. Even with the weird shift of Black noir, instead of his quiet demeanor, he was talkative which was a change. It was evident it wasn't noir and everyone in the seven knew it, but nobody questioned it. You didn't mind but preferred the change, and even started talking to him.

He was a little better than old noir, not in combat but in being amusing, even spending time with outside meetings and regular superhero activities.

"So how the fuck did you manage to even fly like that?" You asked while you walked with him down the hallway,

"I have no idea, it just happened?" Black Noir II shrugged, you nodded at his words as you took a sip of the peanut butter frappuccino from Vought's cafe, it was a plus that he wasn't allergic to peanuts like the old noir. It wasn't a glow-up from the old noir but a plus. You two chatted as you got into the elevator, it was abruptly stopped by a red, white, and blue cape fluttering into wedging between you both, making you step back, it was Homelander.

The atmosphere immediately got tense than it was once a carefree mood, it was quiet.

"Good morning Homelander," you said, it was met with a nod from him, "Morning Sir," Black Noir said to him, only for him to glare at him, "Don't fucking talk" Homelander ordered, clearly annoyed that he was talking.

It was suffocating being in the elevator, you just took a sip of your frappuccino, praying for the elevator to open up quickly.

Guess your answers were answered rather quickly, as the doors of the huge elevator opened to the meeting room, the giant seven table in front of you.

The Deep, Sage, Firecracker, and A-train were already in their seats. "Good morning sir" The deep stood up, saluting him which made you laugh a little. You immediately took your seat next to Firecracker, and the meeting started. It was a blur to you, something like finding the leak in Vought, which you had many questions about.

The whole meeting was led by a different Sage, your eyes flicked towards Homelander, he was staring at Black Noir. You averted your eyes away,

God, you have to pay attention more often.

You couldn't help but take a sip of peanut butter frappuccino, "Would you fucking stop" Homelander's voice interrupted Sage's presentation, all attention was at him and he was staring directly at you.

"Um...Sorry" You hesitating looked back at him, and you felt eyes on you. You couldn't help but your heart to beat faster,

You watched Homelander rubbed his head in annoyance, closing his eyes before staring to you, "Could you slurp any louder?" He said, his voice dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.

"Sorry" You muttered, putting it back where it was,

"No..nope" Homelander repeated, he pointed at you again, "Be a good girl and put it in the garbage" He snapped. You looked around, with everyone staring at you, "Okay" you responded, slowly getting up from your chair, taking the cup in your hand, and throwing it in the garbage before sitting down.

"Good"

With that statement, the meeting continued on, with your face heating up in embarrassment, as you sank further into the chair.

Sage's voice engulfing your thoughts,

You got interrupted by a note being thrown at you, it was obvious it was from Noir that somehow got to you without Homelander looking, you grinned a little bit, secretly opening up the crumbled piece of paper.

[I'll buy you a new drink after the meeting] - Noir

You read the note, before turning your attention to him and smiling, quickly putting the note in the pocket of your suit before Homelander can see it. Combing your hair back and leaning back into your chair.

Soon the meeting ended, getting up from your seat, and everyone else was doing the same, yours scanned and the room soon landing on Firecracker still in her seat. But you didn't care much to ask why, but more excited to hang out with Noir after this awkward meeting.

"Everyone can go expect H/N" You heard Homelander's voice mentioning your name made you freeze. You stopped where you were, "You can go Firecracker" Homelander turned to her,

"But..um Homelander sir—"

"You can go," Homelander said again but in a more threatening tone, "Now" After he said she scrambled out of the meeting room.

Soon it was only you two left in the room, you watched hesitantly as Homelander turned to you. "Y/N, we need to talk," Homelander states, you could hear his voice straining, with concealed anger.

You looked up at him confused, "About..what?" You asked.

You watched as he walked around you, his pace was slow, you listened to his footsteps echoing around the empty meeting room, before he stopped suddenly, " Do you think I'm just stupid?" Homelander said, his tone catching you off guard.

It wasn't confusing that Homelander was speaking to you in anger, you rarely got him angry knowing you both were together and your relationship wasn't publicized due to his status.

"No, definitely not John," You replied, using his name instead of his hero alias, made him freeze before he stared at you.

Jealously was gnawing inside of him when he looked at you, "Tell me...are you fucking him" Homelander snapped at you, your brows knitted together in confusion at his words. "No, we're just hanging out—why would you ever think that?" You stuttered over your words, as Homelander walked closer to you.

He reached out for your face, harshly grabbing your chin with his hand, tilting your face to meet his eyes. You felt his glove hand digging into your face, his eyes closely turning red, you just felt fear, you were terrified. You knew he could smell your fear, and hear your rising heartbeat. "John...I would never cheat on you, I'm yours" You entreated, trembling under his grip.

Finally, his grip got looser and then he dropped your face, making you stumble a bit.

"Then show me," Homelander said,

You were confused about his words, "What?"

"If you love me..show me" Homelander sat down in the seat in front of you. It took you some time to process his words, confused at what he was saying, "Come on, strip for me" signaling towards your chest.

Your brows furrowing, "Come on, if you don't do it" Homelander leaned in his seat, "You won't like it if I do it" He finished,

"Now strip" He repeated, his tone more irritated.

You took a breath in and started undressing. Unzipping your suit, feeling the cool air on your bare skin. Your suit falling on the marble floor echoed through the room, leaving you in your bra and panties.

"Bra and panties too" Homelander eyed your chest.

You comply, putting your hand behind you and clipping your bra off, discarding it on the floor, and stepping out of your panties, leaving you fully naked in front of him.

"Come here" He patted his lap, "Crawl" he pointed at you. You sank down to your knees and crawled towards him and stopped in front of him. "Come on, you know what to do" You felt his hand on your cheek, stroking it.

You looked down at his growing member in his pants. Hesitatingly looking up at him through your lashes, as you started to undo the bottom of his suit revealing his cock, you looked up at him, "Use your mouth" You leaned in and inched his cock into your mouth, before taking him whole. Homelander moans out feeling your warm mouth enveloping his cock, feeling his hand gripping your hair making you wince.

You slowly bob your head down on his length, his grip on you getting tighter. Your ears perched up at his straining voice barely containing his whimpers as he watched you intently, taking him whole. "Fuck, your good at this" Homelander groaned, jerking you away, taking his cock out from your mouth. Staring at your disheveling appearance, spit dribbling on your chin.

His hand still fisting your hair, "Your pretty when your like this" Homelander chuckled, before forcing you down his cock, making you gagged. Tears prick on your waterline, saliva staining your chin, his grip never loosening as he abused your throat,  thrusting into your mouth, the sound of slick, the sounds of wet suction filling up the room.

His pace turning frantic, fucking your mouth.

Homelander threw his head back as waves of ecstasy washed over him. His hips buckled uncontrollably as he lets out a guttural groan, filling your mouth with his cum. "Fuck, ..." He pants, chest heaving, before he gripped your face, "Be a good girl and swallow it" He threatens, feeling the hot liquid going down your throat, swallowing it.

His grip loosening and releasing you. You panted for air, feeling his gloved-hand stroking your cheek. "Now, stand and lean over at table" Homelander ordered, as you got up from the floor and obeyed his order, propping yourself on the table, and bending yourself over the glass. You couldn't help but to feel excited for the pain, the slick dripping down your legs. You waited in anticipation,

Before feeling his cock stretching you out, biting down at your lip at the simmering pain, arching your back. His hands on back of your waist, "Fuck" you mumbled, gripping the end of the glass. Before he thrusting into you, "You think Noir would please you like I do" Homelander growled into your ear, his breath warm on your skin "N...no" you mumbled, feeling his cock tearing you open, feeling himself stretching your cervix.

His ministration was more painful next than the next, feeling his cock stabbing you over and over again. The sounds of flesh slapping filled the room, letting out a gasp, your voice wavering in pain. His thrust driving deeper into you, clenching down on his cock, feeling his grip digging into your skin.

You hated how you were slowly enjoying this, feeling yourself coming close to your climax. Your body tensing up as you feel your skin warming up,

His hips stuttering against yours, "Fuck, I'm close" You felt his hands stroking your hips, "What if I just cummed inside you, breed you myself, have my kids, and have a family...then ill have you to myself" He whispered,

You felt your heart in your throat, "Pull out" You tried to get away from stone grip, "Homelander, please" You begged, only for your face to be shove down on the glass table. Scrambling underneath his grip, just to get him off you. "please" you cried.

His pace getting frantic until he thrust into you for the last time, feeling on cue your body shuddering as he came into you. Feeling himself spilling inside you, making you freeze on the spot.

Feeling him finally pulling out of you, leaving you there stunned. He kissed your shoulder, the kiss feeling lingering on you.

You heard the sound of him putting his pants back on. He stared at you before walking towards you, before sighing, you turned your head to him, "I forgive you, you know" He said, his hand behind his back watching your pitiful form,

"Just don't do it again" he pats your head,

"Now get dressed, we have a date" He smiles, listening to his footsteps descending from you.

[not-my-final-account]

I’VE FALLEN DOWN THE RABIT HOLE OF DANNY PHANTOM AND NOW I CAN’T ESCAPE

Once the Justice League was losing. It was the end of the world. No seriously, the world was an hour away from being blown to bits.

-

Constantine sighed and rubbed his face, he had just ran out of cigarettes and it was making him more jumpy than was truely necessary in any given situation. Him and most of the bigger heros in the Justice League sat in a cave and were forced to wait out the apocalypse, well, the hour left of it anyways.

Constantine sighed and looked up to what you could see of the sky from inside their cave, he was almost… afraid. Afraid of what was going to happen, afraid that it had come to this, afraid that the rumours were true or even worse than they seemed, Pariah Dark was not known for caring nor his mercy.

Honestly Constantine was going to consider it lucky if he died and got to rest in peace, even more lucky if the world actually got saved! This was a last ditch effort.

Constantine grabbed a piece of chalk from his pocket, it was worn from years of carrying it around. He settled it on the flattest piece of stone he could find and started drawing the circle he had memorised. “John what are you doing?” Wonder Woman asked, he ignored her and took a deep breathe

“Oh dark king of the ghosts.” he prayed, there were truely only a few necessary words but Constantine felt like he needed to add a message, so he kept speaking as he drew the intricate patterns of the circle “My world may be of no importance to you, but I am willing to make a deal to save it. Please accept my summon, please be merciful, please save earth, please K I N G O F T H E G H O S T S.” Constantine begged, Wonder Woman and most of the others sat up or got more defensive, it truely said something that Batman didn’t bother.

-

Danny Phantom sat playing DOOM with Sam and Tucker, cheering when we got to a higher level. Suddenly something tugged at his core and a voice whispered through his ears

…oh dark king of the ghosts. My world may be of no importance to you, but I am willing to make a deal to save it. Please accept my summon, please be merciful, please save earth, please…

“-anny? Danny?” Sam asked “Hello?” she said in a sing song voice

“Still with us Danny?” Tucker asked, Danny swallowed,

“I- I’ve got to go.” he said

-

Constantine sat on his knees in front of the circle and… nothing happened, Superman glanced at him and started to sit back down when suddenly the stone inside the circle fell away into a green spiral.

Superman gasped and jumped back up

“Don’t attack him, bow.” Constantine instructed, reluctantly Superman and everyone else did, except for Batman of course, what’d you expect? Him to change? Just because the world was ending?

A pale hand reached up from the circle and grabbed the edge; whoever was in the circle pulled themself up slowly and as they came closer to the mortal realm Superman got a sense of dread, of death, of… something else, of authority, and everyone in the room seemed to find themselves bowing lower. Superman couldn’t help but think, had Constantine double-doomed the world?

-

Constantine looked up as the figure hovered above the circle, he was the first to move from his bow. This… wasn’t what Constantine expected Pariah Dark to look like, he was still imposing but didn’t fit the ghost kings reputation.

He had a cape as dark as the shadows with glowing constellations and stories sown into the fabric. He had a crown that burned with green fire and floated above his head, his eyes glowed the same green as the crown and his hand had a single ring. He wore royal looking clothes, white boots and gloves with a black shirt and pants.

This was the ghost king “Pariah Dark, King of Ghosts. I am Constantine-”

“Pariah Dark? I dethroned him years ago! I’m Danny Phantom.” the ghost king introduced.

“I meant no disrespect your highness.” Constantine quickly said

“I don’t- never mind. You asked for me to save earth?” King Phantom asked, Constantine gulped

“Y-yes, we can’t win, please, I- I’ll do anything.” he begged,

“A favour.” King Phantom said

“What?” Constantine asked

“A favour, I’ll save your world for a favour from you and your friends.” King Phantom said.

A favour to a ghost king who was probably very evil, that is so stupid and such a horrible idea, who in their right mind would-

“Deal.” Constantine agreed.

There was a flash of bright light and King Phantom disappeared, after a few seconds of him being gone the sounds of a battle echoed through the cave.

“Constantine what did you just rope us into?” Batman asked. Constantine really, really needed a cigarette.

-

Years ago, the world was ending. In a last ditch effort Constantine summoned… something. Superman didn’t know much about the ghost king that had appeared, just that he was powerful, and that the better half of the Justice League owed him a favour. It had been on everyone’s minds for a few months after that deal, waiting for the day they would be called for something horrific and hoping it wouldn’t ruin them or their morals. But truthfully, after a few years everyone sorta forgot about it; it was the type of thing no one remembered unless the subject at hand related to it, and even then you were uneasy for a day and forgot all over again.

So when a scroll appeared in a flash of green light during a meeting one day, Superman would like to say that the freaking out was justified.

Batman (who seemed to adopt everyone he met in one way or another) shushed the group of panicking superhero’s and picked up the scroll “I am calling in your favour, when you finish reading this you will all be teleported to my aid. Signed, Phantom.” Batman read. Oh no.

In another flash of green light they appeared in a park with a few heros who hadn’t even been in the room. Everyone immediately put up their defences and raised various weapons, then they realised the park was empty. Superman looked around using X-ray vision, he had no clue what was going on in the seemingly peaceful that could make a ghost king ask for help, then he looked through a hill and saw a giant green dog running with two kids gripping it’s lead.

As the dog jumped on top of then off the hill and ran in front of them Superman could make out the words in their screams

“Sit boy, sit!” the Batman looking one called

“I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE! NO OFFENCE DANNNYYYY!!!” the one with devices falling out of his bag and pockets yelled.

Everyone lowered their weapons and Flash relaxed and scoffed

“This is what that ghost guy called us in for? This is going to be a breeze!” Flash said happily

“Don’t judge a book by its cover Flash.” Constantine warned. Superman was about to agree with flash when the ghost king suddenly appeared in the air in front of us, dripping in something green which looked alarmingly like blood- oh god the ghost king was dying!? Re-dying?!

“Forget I said anything,” Flash raised his hands in the air and got ignored as we rushed over to the ghost king who had fallen out of the air and onto the ground.

Before anyone could do anything though another person appeared out of thin air and then floated down

“Join me Daniel! Together we could rule the world!” he asked, okay that was an evil guy if Superman had ever seen one, he even had the looks to go with it, you could mistake him as Dracula … was that Dracula?

Suddenly another guy who looked like the ghost king body slammed Dracula from the air

“I WILL RULE THE WORLD AND ME ALONE!” as he stood up Superman noticed he looked just like the ghost king only older and more evil looking. As if the mention of look-a-likes summoned her, a small girl who also looked just like the ghost king only younger and female body slammed evil twin number 1.

“Not on my watch you fruitloop!” she yelled. Suddenly a woman in a track suit with ridiculous looking googles and carrying an oversized gun jumped down

“Get away you evil ghosts!” she yelled and fired some energy weapon at the small group, they all scattered and the four of them fought when some girl on a hover board swooped in and pointed her hand at the ghost king

“Danny Phantom! You and all of ghost kind will pay!!” she yelled, something on her wrist started glowing when

“GET AWAY FROM DANNY!” a school girl yelled. Her orange hair swung around as she discus threw her books and bag right into the girls face. They also ran off into the distance to fight.

“What?” Flash asked,

“When he said.” Green Lantern agreed.

“The Dracula looking one is Vlad, he’s a bad guy, so is my evil self from an alternate timeline, we call him Dan, Dani is the small girl who looks like me, that’s because she’s my clone, she’s on the good side but she might steal your stuff just because she can so be careful,” he took a wheezy breath “My sister Jazz is the one who hurled her books into the air to protect me, she’s good. The girl in the red suit is Red Huntress, she’s good she just doesn’t understand -same with my parents, the couple in the jumpsuits, their ghost hunters.” the ghost king explained

“Wait, your parents are ghost hunters?” Flash asked

“Yeah?” the ghost king asked- oh I see.

“But you’re a ghost?” Flash said

“I’m technically a halfa actually, but trust me I know. It’s all ‘we’re going to tear apart the ghost boy molecule by molecule’ and never ‘is the ghost boy good or bad’.” the ghost king groaned, I reached out to help “I’ll be fine go fight or help!” he said

[gr1mstar]

I'm a huge Dark romance book girlie

So can you write LDS boys finding out what she was reading like they had no idea reader has a fascination with dark romance books with psychotic ml or villains

I'M BETTER `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

note. i'm also a huge fan of darl romance books so i had fun writing this. thank you for your request love. also, i'm sorry for the wait, i hope you like it.

contains. love and deepspace boys x reader, fluff, sfw.

ZAYNE

you both had this hobby of reading, so it wasn't strange when zayne found you on the sofa in the living room of your apartment, reading a new book.

the only difference between you was that zayne read books related to medicine and history, while you liked to read romance books. zayne knew that you weren't into history or medicine, so he didn't bother to explain in detail what he read, but he was more satisfied listening to you complain that the two protagonists are stupid that they don't see that they love each other others.

at least zayne liked listening to your stories until they disappeared. suddenly, you started not telling him anything.

so curiously, when you put the book down to go drink a glass of water from the kitchen, he took the book you were reading at the moment, wanting to see what makes you stop sharing the plot of the story.

after some time, making your way back to the living room and seeing zayne with the book in his hand, his face red and a shocked expression on his face, you started to laugh subtly.

"what is it? what's with that expression?"

speechless, zayne puts the book down, moving closer to you.

"to understand that this is how you want me to be too?" he said, placing his hands on either side of your waist.

"what?"

"to talk to you like this… to tie you to the bed with something and make you stop walking the next day? to be crazy about you? what do you say?"

XAVIER

seeing you blushing in front of the book you were reading, xavier couldn't help but ask you what you were reading.

"ah, just a romance book." was your answer, returning to reading, the blush on your cheeks not disappearing.

not satisfied with the answer, xavier sighs and sits back with his head in your lap. thinking that he had nothing to lose, in a second the book you were reading now was in xavier's hands, his eyes on the lines you had just read.

"what is this?" he asked, flipping through a few pages and then looking at the cover. a smile appeared on his face. "do you like this stuff?" he continued, handing you the book back.

you didn't answer now the blush in your cheeks being much more obvious than before, your gaze moving down, avoiding his.

"i understand that you like antagonists more than heroes, right? someone obsessed with you?" xavier said, approaching you with big steps, now being a few millimeters away from you. bending down, his face was directly in front of yours, and with the help of a hand he forced you to look at him, grabbing your chin and turning your head.

"you're lucky, princess. i can be mean sometimes, but you have to take responsibility for it."

RAFAYEL

rafayel never understood what you like so much about books. it is a fictional story, with a fictional person. why waste your time reading about them when you have him, alive and very sexy, in front of you.

this, out of curiosity, he tried to read one day, when he had no painting to complete.

getting into bed, with a cup of coffee 'for energy', he started reading the last book you recommended, not expecting what would happen next.

the hours passed quickly, and in the middle of the book Rafayel lay down, looking at the time in wonder. the whole day had passed, and all he had done was read.

"i lived to see this too." he heard, immediately seeing that it was you at the door. "are you reading?" you asked, laying down on the bed next to him.

"let's say. i was curious why you like it so much." Rafael answered, leaving the book on the bedside table and taking you in his arms.

"and did you like it?"

he didn't say anything, taking his face into the crack between your shoulder and neck, inhaling the aroma of your body. he didn't want to admit that he liked the book, being too ashamed to tell you that now he understood why you liked it.

"so you like it." you said, laughing lightly.

"no. I'm better."

© 2024 gr1mstar — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

[ironunderstands]

These Aventurine, Topaz and Jade comparisons are getting out of hand…

As much as I adore both of them, I think it’s very disingenuous to compare Aventurine and Topaz’s lore and be like “but they are the same!!!! If people like Aventurine and dislike Topaz that’s just misogyny!!! and like… no?

Topaz’s whole thing is that she doesn’t know the extent of the IPC’s evil, and believes that what she’s doing is genuinely the right thing to do. Even if she never had a choice in joining the IPC, she (incorrectly) believes what they did to her and her planet is justified, logical and moral, and for those reasons she stands with them. Part of this is likely IPC brainwashing, as she was probably very young when she became an indentured servant to them, and someone living on a planet on the brink of destruction would likely view anyone who stepped up to save them as heroes (imo the IPC likely waited for the point of no return to establish contact so her people had no other choice to except).

However Topaz got best end of the proverbial stick, her planet and its people were deemed useful by the IPC, and didn’t fight back, even if in the end they were still exploited.

Unfortunately, we have seen through Boothill, Belabog and Aventurine what happens when that isn’t the case.

Boothill’s planet got bombed and people genocided because they had a resource useful to the IPC, but were unwilling to cooperate with them or hand over their home, so the IPC decided to eradicate them.

Belabog had a debt owed to the IPC that was ridiculously high and very unfair to expect them to pay back, and had Topaz not convinced the higher ups to give them some time (which she got demoted for), the IPC would have taken Belabog by force

That leaves us with Aventurine, whose story is in no way on the same level of bad as Topaz’s. Unlike her, he has witnessed and experienced firsthand the truly awful shit the IPC can do.

They took custody of Sigonia and promised to offer the Avgin aid in their fight against the Katacans, at the very least protect them from harm. (Sidenote, since the IPC held control over Sigonia, they should have stopped the fighting in the first place). However, they simply stood by and did nothing, resulting in the deaths of around 6,000 Avgin, with around 3,000 went missing (or injured, I don’t remember, either way it’s bad).

But wait! It gets worse! Aventurine when he was still known as Kakavasha referred to the IPC as “the men in black/the men in black suits”, and his first master says he bought Aventurine from “the men in black/the men in black suits”, likely mocking the way he referred to them. Therefore THE IPC TOOK PART AND LIKELY EVEN CREATED A FUCKING SLAVE TRADE IN SIGONIA

Look being made into an indentured servant isn’t fun, but idk personally I’d take that any day of the week OVER BEING ENSLAVED

That’s not even to mention how horrible of a reputation Sigonian’s have in the galaxy, one likely spread by/resulting from the IPC themselves, as at least on Aventurines planet they do not have the mobility to make a name for themselves. (Honestly it’s a mini theory of mine that Aventurines scam is what partly contributed to this reputation, and his status as a slave is something the IPC conveniently left out in their broadcast about it-)

But, you might be saying, didn’t Aventurine have a choice to join the masked fools and leave the IPC, isn’t he free now? And to that I say, it’s complicated.

Considering the amount of suicidal shit Aventurine has done while being part of the IPC, he clearly hasn’t been having a fun time as a member of one, so why does he stick around, especially with the Fools invite? Even if he was a slave, does that absolve him of the crimes he’s committing now? What could justify his actions?

Revenge, plan and simple.

This is going to delve into some spoiler territory for the end of the Penacony 2.2 quest, something which I didn’t feel like mentioning earlier because I’m sorry but everyone and their mother already knows Boothill’s lore. Now, let’s get into it.

Aventurine accepts Jades offer to join the IPC, and when he becomes a Stoneheart, the first thing he asks about is the fate of the Avgin, to which he then learns that besides him, they are all dead. You see, from birth Kakavasha was pushed onto a pedestal as the savior of the Avgin, but now that there are no more Avgin to save, his primary motivator in becoming a Stoneheart (beyond not being enslaved anymore) is gone.

So what does he do now?

Simple, try to kill the motherfuckers behind it.

That’s why he takes on such risky gambles still, and why he wagers and wants Diamond to promote him to rank p46. The higher Aventurine gets the closer he gets to his goal of taking down the IPC for good.

Which is why his meeting with Boothill is so meaningful. I think Boothill is going to “kidnap” him and together they are gonna take down the wicked bitch that is Oswaldo Schneider for his literal crimes against humanity.

Mark my words, an IPC downfall is going to happen, and I think Topaz, Aventurine, Boothill and Ratio are going to be at the forefront of it.

However, Topaz and Ratio (and by extension the rest of the galaxy) have to learn/realize the true horrors of the IPC (although I can sense Ratio doesn’t really like them, and he’s learned a lot from Aventurine, I doubt he knows the full extent of the situation or is in any way happy about it). Therefore? Topaz mental breakdown arc? Ratio lore? PLEASE??!? The IP3 compliment one another so well and god I can’t wait for that to come to fruition.

I really want to see a Topaz and Ratio centered story leading up to an IPC smackdown, and I think we are gonna learn a lot more about how shitty they are in the later half of 2.2 and in 2.3 when the interlude and Jades release arrive.

As for the aforementioned Jade, she’s gonna need a Aventurine squared amount of trauma or reasoning behind her actions to seem in any way sympathetic, because right now she just seems like an evil bitch (in a semi good way, I will always respect the commitment to the bit) who loves her job and would make Machiavelli weep over how hard her ends are trying to justify her means.

[l0vergirlwrites]

how do i know it’s true? ; steve harrington

synopsis: to steve, nothing involving the upside down could surprise him after everything him & the gang have gone through. until you get taken by vecna—the worst thing steve has ever witnessed.

warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma, blood & injuries, anxiety, possibility of dying, possession, general angst & vecna (yes, that creepy dude needs his own warning). but don’t worry, there’s fluff scattered in between.

note: this fic is inspired by the blue nile’s “the downtown lights” (let’s pretend it came out before season 3 plz) & phoebe bridgers’ “garden song”!

for a moment, everything was fine.

well, your definition of fine was watching your friends climb up a makeshift rope of bed sheets from the upside down gate in eddie’s trailer. you couldn’t help but let out a few laugh sat their reactions when they landed on the mattress eddie had placed beneath the gate as a landing pad.

this was your normal now; casually going in & out of dimensions to solve supernatural puzzles & attempt to save the day all while wondering if you were ever going to finish your algebra homework (you secretly knew you wouldn’t ever find the time).

steve, being the helpful man he’s known to be, was kneeled on the ground with his hands cupped so he could hoist each person up towards safety despite his abdomen aching in pain from bat bites. he truly was your hero.

when it came to be your turn to climb, you couldn’t help but run a hand through his hair.

“chivalry sure isn’t dead, huh?” you ruffled his locks of brown & amber, feeling your heart beat a second faster when he smiled & scrunched his nose cutely at your action.

“definitely not when it comes to you” he winked smoothly, feeling pride in his chest when you grinned wider at him.

“okay, time to hop on up miss”

gripping onto the rope of sheets, you felt a pit in your stomach start to build, but steve tapping the back of your jean covered thigh snapped you out of it.

“i gotcha, don’t worry” he assured with a determined look in his eyes.

like hell he was ever gonna drop you.

so with a nod of your head, you lifted your left foot onto steve’s cupped hands & felt him push you up.

but then everything went black.

at first, you thought your nervous system may of just forced you to shut your eyes in fear of going head first & falling upside down through the gate (you still could not fathom the physics that explained how it worked), but to no avail, all you saw was black.

soon enough, you couldn’t feel the rope.

you couldn’t hear steve or your friends talking.

you couldn’t feel steve.

now, you were starting to panic.

just as you were about to scream, you felt something sharp on your neck. a long nail dragging across your skin too softly to break the skin. the hairs on your arms stood up, goosebumps littered your body, & all you could do was freeze.

“i think you know why you’re here,” a chilling voice whispered into your right ear, making you cringe as you felt the creatures warm breath fan against your skin.

vecna had you trapped. fuck.

“you know, living with the guilt you’ve harboured for so long must be quite exhausting—isn’t it?”

no, no, no, no. this can’t be happening.

“knowing that if you had kept your mouth shut, your anger controlled, that maybe—just maybe, your father would still be alive”

in a flash you were transported back to that haunted day, back to that road trip that your father forced you to go on. you never had a good relationship with him to begin with, so being stuck in a small space for seven hours wasn’t your ideal way to spend a weekend.

it was a few months after your parents finally divorced after years of fighting, screaming, family dinners that were unsuccessful. your father had wanted to bond, to atone whatever trauma he had inflicted upon you as a young child from refusing marriage counselling (or counselling in general) to work on his behaviour.

but as expected, he was too prideful to admit he was ever in the wrong.

which leads you to that moment in the car.

he blamed you for whatever wrong turn he had made a couple miles back, & since you were the one holding the map, it began a screaming match that festered into a tug of war. you tried to get him to let go of your wrists, to let you lead you both out of the barren forest covered dirt roads so you could ge to wherever the hell he wanted to take you to, but he wouldn’t budge.

however, one wrong move changed it all.

it was when you elbowed him the eye accidentally, causing him to yell in agony & involuntarily push his right foot harder on the gas. he wasn’t paying attention to his speed, nor the way the steering wheel was turning.

one minute you were on a dirt road.

the next you were upside down on a rocky ditch that was at least thirty feet from where the dirt road was.

your vision was blurry with blood from a cut on your forehead. your right ankle aching & smushed tight between your car seat & the concaved passenger door.

your father, who hadn’t worn his seatbelt, was partially through the car’s windshield, body covered in glass & blood & you couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

you stayed like that for hours, with the car alarm blaring in your ears until a first ranger showed up as your saving grace.

but your father didn’t survive. & you still believed it was all your fault.

“wouldn’t it be nice if you could let it go? atone for what you did? stop the guilt from eating away at you?” vecna’s voice boomed in your ears.

you were paralyzed in fear, praying this moment would be over.

*~*~*~***~*~~*~*~**~*~*~~*

“you got a good grip, y/n/n?” steve asked after you stilled for a moment, left foot still in the palms of his hands, waiting to be boosting upwards.

you stayed silent. frozen.

steve called out your name again as your grip loosened on the rope & your body began tipping backwards. he quickly reacted, catching your limp body in time before your head smacked the ground.

his heart stopped when he saw your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“no… no, no, no, no! fuck! please, please not you—not you” steve yelled, his hands cradling your face & occasionally slapping your cheeks gently with hopes you’d snap out of it—hoping vecna would let you out of his grasp so steve could make it better.

“steve? what’s going on down there?” robin yelled, her voice echoing into steve’s ears but his heart was constricting & his chest felt really heavy.

“he’s got her—he’s fucking got her & she’s not waking up!” steve yelled again, tears brimming his eyes in fear because he could lose you right now.

brushing your hair out of your face frantically, steve continued tapping your skin. “sweetheart, you gotta wake up. it’s steve—i’m right here. can you hear me? c’mon—come back to me, baby” he croaked as the minutes went on, drowning out the panicked voices in the gate above him.

“what do i do? what do i do—“

“steve! what’s her favourite song? we need her favourite song!” dustin yelled repeatedly, trying to wake steve up from his own panic mode.

it clicked—how could steve forget.

music.

“holy shit. that’s it. favourite song, favourite song…” steve began to feel hopeful, scouring his mind through a rolodex of memories until he found the one he was looking for.

“the downtown lights by the blue nile! the cassette’s in my glovebox! hurry!” he yelled with a heartbroken plea, his eyes not leaving your face. “c’mon, baby. wake up”.

steve didn’t care that he was crying now, but he wasn’t gonna give up on you. while the others were searching through the glove compartment of steve’s b&w & eddie’s stash of cassette tapes in case, steve just started to sing the song in hopes you’d hear him.

“sometimes i walk away, when all i really wanna do is love & hold you right…”

his voice was cracking with nerves, failing to stay completely steady as his chest hurt & his hands were trembling against your skin.

“there is just one thing i can say. nobody loves you this way,” he held back a sob, his heart clenching at how your eyes continued to roll back. “it’s all right. can’t you see, the downtown lights…”

~*~***~~~**~***~*~~***~**~*~

steve learned your favourite song early on when you started dating, around mid october after starcourt fell, where you invited steve over for a sleep over since your mom went out of town for a weekend.

he knew you hated sleeping in your house alone after the events of the summer, so he didn’t mind keeping you company. you both had sprawled out on your living room couch, coffee table filled with pizza, pop, & your favourite treat (which steve picked up on his way over as a surprise). the movie on the tv had become background noise by the time you both had finished eating, bodies turned to one another underneath the blanket you two shared.

“so, when am i gonna get a room tour, hmm?” steve asked as he brushed some hair away from your forehead, fingers tucking some starnes behind your left ear as you looked at him as if he had hung the moon.

“i’ll show you under one condition, harrington”

“i’m all ears” he said eagerly, scooting closer to you on the couch.

nervously, you raised your left index finger to your lips & tapped them, eyes flickering between steve’s brown ones & his pink lips. he watched you closely, getting an idea of what you wanted (which made his stomach roll with butterflies).

“ahhhh” he dragged with realization, “want me to kiss you? is that it?” he teased, making you feel smaller than you really were under his gaze.

but before you could turn away or back out, steve was cradling your cheek & bringing you closer to him. his breath fanned your skin, noses lightly brushing against the other.

“i really wanna kiss you too” he mumbled with a smile before leaning further to close the gap.

you hummed in delight when your lips pressed to his, fingers fisting the material of his sweatshirt because it felt so good. steve could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears as he continued to kiss you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek to make you melt under his touch. the longer his lips meshed with yours, the more your body had moved to practically sit on top of his, chests just touching as your arms trailed up to wrap around his shoulders.

“steve” you breathed, pulling away with a pant but still staying close.

“was that too much?” he asked concerned, chest rising up & down as he looked at you with care.

it was you who kissed him next, one that lasted a few seconds before resting your forehead against his. “n-no—it was really nice” you exhaled with a smile, arms tightening around him when you felt his left hand resting on your lower back, rubbing up & down soothingly.

you both hasn’t realized that the movie was over & the channel had switched over to music videos. playing softly in the background was a song you had a deep spot in your heart for. turning towards the tv with a tiny gasp, you smiled harder when you saw that it was the blue nile.

“that’s my favourite song!” you whispered excitedly, turning back to steve when he tapped your cheek.

“what song is it?” he asked, not having too much knowledge about them.

“the downtown lights” you replied sheepishly.

“there is just one thing i can say. nobody loves you this way,” you hummed along to the lyrics with a small smile.

steve watched you, admiring how your face looked with the tv glow casting on your features. he thought you were just the best thing ever.

turning up the volume with the remote in his hand, steve listened intently to the lyrics, right foot tapping against the carpeted floor to the beat. “it’s really pretty—just like you” he said, smiling brightly when you chuckled at him.

“that’s so cliche, but thank you”

“cliche but true. & you’re welcome”

~**~*~~*~***~**~~**~**~

after he let the memory replay in his mind, the cassette tap for the band’s album “hats” landed by steve’s feet with a walkman & a headset.

“finally!” steve yelled more so to himself, brushing away a stray tear on his cheek to grab the items

first he put the headphones over your ears. then he attached the tape to the player & forwarded the tape to the song’s track number. turning the volume up, steve’s hands resumed their spot on your face to hold you, to coax out of whatever horrific trance you were in.

“hey, can you hear me? it’s steve, your steve. you gotta wake up, okay? you gotta come back to me” he begged, his hope growing thin as the seconds went on.

“everyone’s here—dustin, lucas, max, robin, nancy, eddie—we’re here. we want you back. we need you. i promise i won’t do anymore stupid impressions or be an idiot—i’ll be whatever you want me to be” steve continued to ramble, praying that you were listening, that you were coming home to him.

“i-i love you. & i can’t do this without you” he cried to you, not caring if any of his friends heard his love confession in the moment because you were still limp in his arms.

he could vaguely hear the yells of his friends trying to talk to you too, trying to lead you back to reality. but all steve could focus on were how your eyes continued rolling into the back of your head.

it wasn’t until the song was about to restart on a loop where steve felt your arms twitching, your chest raising up & down rapidly. before he could even blink your eyes returned back to normal, lips letting out panicked breaths as you scanned your surroundings, hands about to push steve’s away until you saw him.

“s-steve?” you asked wearily, voice feeling small & fragile after the return to hell you had just experienced. “w-what… i-i don’t understand…” you were at a loss for words, confused & scared.

“it’s me, honey—i’m right here. it’s okay now,” before he could finish, you were hiding in his chest, hands gripping the jean jacket he wore so tightly in fear that this was another trick. that maybe you weren’t safe & vecna still had you.

you sobbed hard, breaths becoming strained with each cry that tore through you. every time you closed your eyes, you were back there again—back in that god forsaken car with bloody vision & your father dead. back where vecna told you your worst fears.

“you’re safe. i’m here now. god, i was so worried—ohmygod” steve rambled assurances, cradling your head close like he was in disbelief too, making sure that you were really back in his arms.

surprisingly, the headset was still secured to your head, downtown lights continuing to play from the foamy speakers into your ears. the song calmed you down a bit, made you feel grounded. but it was steve’s touches, the smell of his cologne, & his soft whispers that called you home—back to reality.

“is this real?” your broken voice asked, needing to make sure it was really him.

so steve pulled your head back to hold your face in his hands. he smoothed the sweat, the baby hairs, the tears, & splotches of dirt off your skin, giving you the kindest look you’ve ever been given. “ yeah, i’m real. i’m not gonna hurt you. i gotcha, yeah? won’t let anything hurt you again, promise” he swore with honour, his own lip trembling when your eyes continued to well up with tears.

“god, i love you” he pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling a shaky breath when one of your hands pressed against his chest to feel his heartbeat.

that was the most intimate thing he’s ever felt.

“i love you too” you mumbled back to him, pulling him in for another bone crushing hug to say all the words you wanted to in the moment. steve got the message loud & clear.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Yandere!Lee Minho x F!Reader TW : yandere themes ; basically a forced pregnancy ; late term pregnancy complications ; Minho is like, the worlds worst narcissist in this ; let me know if there's more ; Word Count : 6.9k A/N : The amount of research that I did for this one is crazy, but I also learned a lot so... building knowledge while writing fanfic is a plus! This request has been in my ask box for probably over a year and a half now, so... I hope that whoever requested it... I hope you enjoy! (Also, this was supposed to end WAY worse... But you all weren't ready to be sucker punched with sadness, so...) Request : Anonny : Pregnant with yandere leeknow/ yandere leeknow as dad Aaaangst

In The Beginning…

“Minho…” You called timidly from the bedroom, the way you called for him was about the same volume as when someone would talk regularly to a friend. When you spoke it was nothing more than a mouse-like whisper, always scared of what would happen if you raised your voice a little too much. Your doting boyfriend came into the bedroom, his hair tousled and wet from his shower, his eyes always seeming to carry a seductive look, dark and hungry for you at all times. “M-Minho…” You spoke his name again, this time more nervous now that he was standing in front of you. 

A chuckle built in his chest as he sauntered over to you, water wrinkled fingers that were warmer from the hot water he had been standing under, trailed across your cheek, one finger slipping under your chin to tilt your head up as he towered over you. “Mm? What do you need, darling? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I know that last night was quite… exerting for you…” He teased, and you felt your body heat up at the mention of the sinful activities you had taken part in the night before. 

“Uhm… n-no…” You stammered, blinking a few times as you seemed to lose your train of thought constantly when he was standing so close to you, looking at you as if you were a delicious meal that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “We… We didn’t use protection and… Usually you’d get me a… a plan B pill and… I just was wondering if you had gone and… and gotten it by now?” You were always so nervous around him, still not quite sure what made him tick. One second he was happy, or at least he seemed happy, and then the next he was going through an outburst that had you locking yourself in the bathroom until he came to the door apologizing and giving you the same spiel that he would never do it again. You hated when things got like that, you tried to avoid getting him to that point at all costs. 

“I decided you don’t need it anymore.” Minho spoke nonchalantly, as if he was the one who could make that decision for you. Your mouth opened to protest, and he stared at you, waiting for you to say something, anything that would give him a reason to lash out. It’s like he wanted a reason, he wanted to go off on you, like he enjoyed seeing you scared, enjoyed being the hypocritical hero when he comforted you after making you cry. “Think about how wonderful it would be, to have a part of me growing inside of you… you’d be mine, all mine. You’ll never leave me…” His hands moved down to your stomach, as if there was already something in there. “I’ll pick up tests in about 2 weeks, I want to be right here when you take them and read the results.”

The First Signs…

Sitting at the dining room table, the chicken still in your mouth after you had taken a bite, an awful sensation washed over you. A sort of sickness that you couldn’t fight back, and an urge to throw up that you couldn’t breathe your way through as you usually would. “Mm’scuse me…” You mumbled through the palm of your hand that was clasped over your mouth as you ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, not even bothering to lock it as your body practically folded over the toilet. 

“Darling…” Minhos soft cooing from the other side of the door had goosebumps forming on your skin. When he cracked the door open, you could see a rather excited smile beginning to spread across his face. “Are you alright?” The juxtaposition of his expression and his words made your head reel. He looked too happy for someone who had just watched their girlfriend throw up all of their dinner. You nodded your head in response, making sure the contents of your stomach were cleared out before taking a few steps to the sink and washing your face and then rinsing your mouth out with water. “I thought you loved that chicken… Hmm, I wonder why it would make you sick all of a sudden…” 

He stepped into the bathroom fully now that you were done being ill, the nausea seeming to be completely gone now, as if it hadn’t been there at all. You knew exactly what he was insinuating, and while it might seem that way, you weren’t ready to accept that it could be what he was thinking, you didn’t want to accept it. “I think they just changed the frying oil or something…” You excused, dabbing at your lips with a bit of toilet paper before exiting the bathroom, Minho right in tow. You couldn’t be pregnant, that would make him all the possessive, all the more obsessive and overbearing. You wouldn’t be able to ever leave, not that you were able to do that now anyway, but it would be so much worse. You probably wouldn’t even be able to look at the windows without him lecturing you. No… pregnancy wasn’t an option for you. 

As you stood at the sink, getting a glass of water from the tap to wash out the taste, Minho stood behind you, his hands placed gently on your stomach. It was the softest he had ever touched you, but you knew that it wasn’t exactly for you, it was for the little demon spawn that he assumed was inside of you. “Does my baby not like the fried chicken? Hmm? Whatever you want, daddy will get it for you… As long as your mommy tells me.” How could he sound so sweet? It was gag inducing, how he pretended to be so caring when he was practically trying to hold you hostage using a potential child. 

The next days were the same, the sudden nausea not even having the common courtesy to creep up on you, instead, hitting you full force, barely allotting you enough time to run to the bathroom or the trash bin to vomit. It didn’t matter what you ate, each day at the same exact time, it was always the same. You could see the light in Minhos eyes growing brighter each time it happened, but you were in denial, and you quite liked being in that state. You didn’t want to accept that there was a very real, very high possibility that you were now carrying his spawn. “I must be coming down with something…” You mumbled, resting your head in the palm of your hand, suddenly feeling exhausted, as if you hadn’t slept in days. It was another sign, another symptom, you knew that, but you hoped that Minho would overlook it. 

“Well it has been 2 weeks, more than that actually, my darling.” The smile that he was was nothing short of sinister as he ran to the bathroom and returned with two boxes in his hands. You knew this time was coming, you had been dreading it, hoping that you would get your period at any moment now. It never came though, and you were terrified of what the tests would undoubtedly reveal once you took them. “I’m sure taking them would answer a lot of your questions… Here…” He slid the boxes across the table, but you refused to even look at them, instead staring out the window, trying your best to block out everything that he was saying. You didn’t want to be pregnant, not by him at least. How could you even be happy bringing a child into this type of lifestyle? “Darling…” He murmured the pet name softly, but rough hands suddenly gripped your chin, turning your attention to him fully. “Take the tests. Now.” 

You huffed loudly, pushing yourself away from the table and snatching the boxes up before rushing to the bathroom. You knew well enough that if you didn’t get there in time and lock the door, he’d probably try to come in and watch you take them just to make sure you weren’t fabricating the results. It would have been a good idea, but you knew he’d notice. There was no way you could just run the test under the sink water and pretend they were negative. It’s not like he’d let you go if they were anyway, he’d just keep trying and trying… and once you started showing… He’d probably be more pissed off that you lied to him. 

“You’re taking quite a while in there… Do you need help?” The question was genuine, but you glared at the door, knowing that he wouldn’t see it. It was the only time you could make those kinds of faces at him without being reprimanded for it. The tests laid on the back of the toilet seat, and much to your dismay, the second line showed up faster and darker than you ever expected it to. “Fuck!” You thought to yourself as you unlocked the bathroom door and flung it open, slipping past him as he rushed in. He was too preoccupied with being excited over the tests to focus on you, at least for right now. All you wanted to do was sleep and hopefully wake up from the nightmare that you had been living in for the last 3 years. 

The First Trimester… 

There was no bond forming. For the most part, you tried to forget that you were pregnant at all. It was easier during this stage. Other than the nausea and the exhaustion and the slight pulling and pinching sensations you’d feel in your lower back and upper thighs, all things that you could write off as any other reason, you didn’t feel pregnant. You were still in denial, you didn’t want this. Minho wanted this, and he was the only one happy about it. This was the happiest you had seen him though, he was absolutely elated, but he was also overly protective, which was becoming a real pain in the ass. 

“I can get dressed on my own.” You muttered as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to help you pull down your shirt after you had just put it on. “I really don’t like the hovering, it’s making me uncomfortable.” Were you allowed to be honest with him now? Would he excuse it as your hormones going crazy because of the baby? He wouldn’t yell at you, right? Not when you were in such a fragile state. He reached out further, grabbing your wrists, rather tightly, and pulled you towards him. Of course, he wouldn’t dare try to be so rough anywhere around your stomach, but everywhere else was still fair game. 

“You’re carrying my child, and as long as you are, I can hover as much as I like.” He hissed, and even though you didn’t like his tone, you were grateful that he wasn’t yelling. “I know you don’t want it. You’d probably be overjoyed if you miscarried. I won’t allow that to happen though, so just be good for me, let me help.” His expression immediately shifted, his head tilting to the side as the most innocent looking smile had his teeth flashing up at you. It was like whiplash, it made your head hurt. “So what would my babies like to eat today, hmm? Are you craving anything in particular?” He cooed, although his attention was still primarily focused on your stomach. 

Any other woman would want a man like him, a man that treated them this way and got this excited to find out they were pregnant. Any other woman could have him and all of his psychopathic tendencies. “I’m craving a nap.” You snapped, and you watched his nostrils flare out at your disobedient tone, but he didn’t say anything, instead getting off the bed and yanking the covers back for you, waiting for you to climb onto the mattress before carelessly throwing them back over your body. “Thank you.” You mumbled, rolling over onto your side so that your back was to him, tucking the covers around your chin and squeezing your eyes shut. It wasn’t just the raging hormones that tired you out, it was Minho too, him more than anything honestly. Living with him, well, no, not living, being stuck with him, was the most exhausting thing ever. 

“I’ll wake you up for your vitamins and for lunch.” He said sternly, more like a strict caregiver than the father of your unborn child. You hated him. You hated that he did this to you, that he chose you to be the object of all of his desires. Why did he choose you? He still hadn’t told you why, he just insisted that you were the one that he wanted. Now you were carrying his child, and you feared that you’d truly be stuck with him forever. What did you do to deserve that? 

The Second Trimester…

Most women would get an ultrasound at around 9 weeks. However, you had yours at 20 weeks. You didn’t go to a doctors office, instead, Minho had the doctors come to you. Even still, he didn’t want you leaving the house. Before the doctor was even allowed to see you, he had to sign an NDA, with Minhos reasoning being that he was an idol, and he didn’t want the public to know about his fiancées current condition. You still didn’t know when you had gotten engaged, but apparently it had happened at some point before the doctor's arrival. 

Seeing your baby on the screen made it impossible to deny that you truly were pregnant. It also made it hard for you to hate it as you during your entire first trimester. Was it truly the baby’s fault that their father was crazy? Did it’s fathers behavior make the baby inherently evil? No… of course it didn’t. The baby was still a part of you, and you were a good person. You wouldn’t allow your child to grow up to be like Minho. “It’s a girl.” The doctor said, pointing to the screen as if you’d understand what you were being shown, but Minho was mesmerized by what he was seeing, his jaw slacked in awe. 

“That’s my daughter… Our daughter? Really? Is she healthy?” It was Minho asking all the questions that most women in your position would be asking. You were too caught up in your own thoughts though. A baby girl, you were carrying his daughter. She’d be more like you, right? Maybe having a daughter would change the way he is, he’d become normal, a man that you could actually love and welcome having a family with. He wouldn’t want his own daughter to be with a man like himself, right? 

The doctor turned up the volume on the little tv, a rapid pulsing sound filled the room, both you and Minho were silent as you listened. “She’s healthy, very healthy.” The doctor said, smiling to both you and Minho. You were… happy. A single tear rolled down your cheek as you stared at the screen, watching the baby squirm around, and you couldn’t wait to be able to feel her moving beneath your skin. “I’ll print out the pictures and then be on my way. I’d like to make another appointment for next month though, make sure she continues growing the way she should. I also want some bloodwork from you…” He motioned towards you, and you swallowed thickly, looking at Minho who looked slightly annoyed at the doctor's pushiness. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong, we just like to make sure that there’s no underlying problems. Better to be safe, right?” 

His words had you tensing up, your hands moving down to your stomach, rubbing over the small swell that had begun to form as your daughter grew bigger. “Why… Why would there be underlying problems? What could be wrong?” You squeaked out, not wanting to look up at the doctor, worried that his expression would give you a silent answer, one that you were scared to know. Minho was still, like a statue, only his eyes moving between you and the doctor, but there was no answer, just a soft sigh and a gentle tapping against your hand to try to calm you. The gesture was supposed to make you feel better, but you heard Minhos teeth gritting together. 

“It’s just precautionary. This is your first appointment since you’ve gotten pregnant. It’s to make sure both you and the baby are healthy and that there are no problems now or in the future. From what I see though, you and your daughter are perfectly fine. You have nothing to worry about.” Your hand was held lightly by the doctor who offered you a reassuring smile, but before you could thank him, Minho was, quite rudely, ushering him out of the room and shutting the door. On the other side of the door, in the hallway, you could hear Minhos aggrivated voice, low enough that you couldn’t make out what he was saying, but you could feel it, reverberating through the walls and the floorboards. He was talking so fast that the doctor didn’t have a chance to speak, and before you knew it, the front door was slammed shut and then Minho was storming back into the bedroom. 

“Touching you… Holding your hand… Who the fuck is that guy?!” Minho growled as he shut the door behind himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the door. “You don’t need any more fucking doctors. You were doing just fine without them. There’s nothing else we need to know anyway. Our daughter is healthy and that’s what matters. There’s no need to have some touchy ass fuckwad coming in here, looking at you… Ugh!” You could see the heat radiating off of him, he was beyond angry, he was absolutely irate, and while you didn’t want to push him any further, what the doctor had said prompted you to speak up. 

“Min… Honey…” It was an attempt to soften him up, you never called him that, not unless you were trying to get him to agree to something. Most of the time it never worked, but it at least would keep him from going off as rashly as he would without the pet name. “What if there is a… a problem… I think we both should know. We don’t need to keep him as our doctor… We can find someone else… But I think the bloodwork is important.” You sat up on the bed, trying to get a better look at him, trying to read his expression, but he was completely blank. “Minho…” You tried to get his attention, unaware that you already had it fully and he was just deep in thought. 

“No…” His hand was held out, one finger up to silence you as a chuckle was huffed out of his parted lips, his breaths coming faster and faster as he pushed himself away from the door. “I know what you’re doing. I know what this is…” The pet name didn’t work, nothing would work, he was already angry as it was and you were simply making things worse. “You want him to come back… You want him to take you away from me. That’s what you want. I know you! You’ve wanted nothing but to leave since you’ve been with me! He can’t have my fucking daughter! And he sure as hell can’t have you!” He climbed onto the bed, straddling you and holding your face between his hands. It wasn’t exactly painful, maybe you were numb to the pain it might have caused at first, but now you just found it annoying. “What do I need to do to make you stay!?” He shouted, his breath fanning across your face with every word. It’s like he was using all of the air in his lungs to enunciate every syllable. 

“Minho, stop it.” You whispered, knowing that the wrong word, a wrong look, saying it in a way that he didn’t like, it would only have him spiraling deeper and he’d drag you right along with him. “Please… h-honey look at me… I’m not trying to leave you… I just want to know that me and the baby are healthy, that there’s nothing wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to either of us… I want her… Honey, I want a family with you…” Sure, you were really sugarcoating it to try to get him to calm down, but you also really needed to know that everything would be okay. The last thing you wanted was for something to happen to you and him blame your daughter for the rest of his life or vice versa. 

His hands dropped down to your shoulders, his body now shuddering, although you didn’t know if it was because he was about to cry or if he was just shaking with anger. It was always hard to gauge his reactions or how he was truly feeling. It had you on edge all the time, and you felt like a tiny rodent, cornered by a feral cat. “Nothing is going to happen to either of you…” He mumbled, his head hung low, his hair curtaining his face. “Stupid fucking doctor, putting that shit in your head, scaring my darling…” This wasn’t what you wanted, his anger once again shifted towards the doctor who was just trying to do his job. “Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you and our baby?” You shook your head, of course he wouldn’t let something happen to either of you, not because he cared, but because he couldn’t fathom the thought of not owning you anymore. “You’ll be just fine, darling. You’re overthinking what that jackass said.” And with that, it’s like all of the anger washed away, a sudden wave of calmness rinsing him clean of the negativity. “Let’s get something to eat. My girls are hungry, aren’t they?” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before shifting off of you and off of the bed, grabbing your hand and carefully helping you up to your feet. The sudden shift had you feeling dizzy, but it was welcome, at least he wasn’t yelling at you. 

The Third Trimester… 

Something was wrong, although you weren’t sure what it was. The ongoing nausea, the headaches, the blurred vision, you knew there was a problem. All you could think of was the argument that you had almost 15 weeks ago, wanting to at least have bloodwork done to make sure you were okay, but of course Minho had denied you of the simple procedure. If anything happened to you, it would be his fault, but he wouldn’t look at it that way, no, it would be someone else’s fault, it always was whenever he fucked up. 

“Someone’s tired…” He whispered when he walked into the bedroom where you were still laying. It’s not that you were actually that tired, you just couldn’t move without feeling sick. When he pulled open the curtains, you squeezed your eyes shut, groaning loudly as the bright sun only amplified the raging headache you were already suffering through. “Sorry, darling. Can’t lay in bed all day. Gotta get you up and moving. Come on.” He yanked the covers back and his eyes landed on your feet which had become so swollen you could barely even fit them in your slippers anymore. “What happened?” He whispered, although there was a slight panic in his voice as he gently grabbed your ankle and lifted it, looking over the extremity for any signs of injury. 

“I think… I think…” You kept starting the sentence only to be left practically winded after only saying two words. “Problem…” You settled for one word, hoping that it would get your point across and that he’d take some kind of action. He blinked a few times, backing away from the bed, his hands running through his hair as he seemed to be fighting an internal battle with himself. “Please…” You pleaded, your hands cradling your swollen stomach. If not to help you, at least to help your baby who he seemed to want more than anything. 

“Shut… Shut up! I’m thinking!” He screeched, suddenly pacing back and forth as his breaths came out sharply, sounding more like whistles as they came through pursed lips. “Why would you let this happen! What even… God dammit!” He shouted, his fist colliding with the wall in an act of frustration, and even though he was fully across the room, you jumped at the sudden act of violence. He would never hit you, no matter how mad he got he had never actually hit you, but when things got this bad, you always feared just how far he would go or how far gone he was. “What am I supposed to do?! Take you to the hospital?!” 

Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what he was supposed to do to keep both you and your daughter from potentially dying. “If I could just… have her… get her out… we could be… okay…” You said breathlessly, and he whipped around in your direction, his eyes wild and crazed. It truly seemed like he was losing his mind. “Min… I don’t want t-… to die… please…” You begged, the sudden onslaught of tears only making it harder to breathe. 

“Fuck! You think I want you to die!? You think I want that!?” He questioned, and soon his hands were back in his hair, tugging at the ends as he let out a loud scream. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it! It’s what you wanted to happen! You wanted to leave me so bad! You’d rather die than be with me!” He was once again blaming you, yelling at you for something that you didn’t even understand at the moment. You didn’t know what was happening, so why the hell was he attacking you for it? “Such a fucking bitch! God! Fuck! Get up!” You were being… belittled… insulted… cursed at for… dying? At least if you did die, you wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. You wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. But did you really want to leave your poor baby with someone like him? 

Getting up was a daunting task, it took you longer than it usually would just to swing your legs over the side of the bed. Every small movement made you feel like you had run a marathon, your breaths becoming more labored, your vision becoming spotty, and the urge to vomit became more of an oncoming threat as the bile from your otherwise empty stomach rose to your throat. There was no time to get to the bathroom, you weren’t even on your feet yet, and before you had any time to even warn Minho, you were doubled over, heaving up the acid that burned your throat on its way out. He watched, not coming close or helping you, but he watched, his lips parted and his eyes blinking rapidly as if what he was seeing wasn’t true. “Sorry…” The word was spoken in a single raspy breath, your head hung low with both shame, embarrassment, and pain. Your throat was scratchy now, and it felt like fire was being held against the back of it. Tears pricked your eyes and snot ran down your nose, stopping at your upper lip, and you didn’t even have the energy to wipe that away. 

“What happened…?” He asked, his voice once again soft, laced with the false tone of worry. It used to make you think he cared, but now you knew it was an act. It was all an act. “Let’s… Let’s go…” He said, his voice wavering. He truly didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he didn’t want to do this. It’s not like he had a choice though. You looked awful, like you were already standing at death's door, and that terrified him. He had seen you sick before, but he had never seen you like this. “C-Can you walk? Do you need… Uhm… Shit…” He was tripping over his words, but when he saw you try to get up on your own, he rushed over, his arm wrapping around you. 

Looking at you this close, he could see that your face was swollen too, and beads of sweat lingered on your forehead. “She hasn’t moved… Min… I’m- I’m scared…” You whimpered, and he pulled you closer to him, letting your body fall against his side, trying to take all of your weight as he walked you towards the front door. “Min…” You breathed out his name, your head falling against his shoulder. He hummed to let you know he heard you, grabbing everything he needed with one hand as he walked through your shared apartment. “If you have… to save any of us… save her… save the baby…” You wheezed, all of your weight falling against him, everything that he had been carrying was dropped immediately to catch you. 

“No… no no no! Stop talking like that! Stop it!” Minho shouted, his voice trembling from the sobs he tried to hold back. “I’m not losing either of you, dammit! I-…” He sniffled softly, and while your eyes had been closed the entire time, trying to block out the light that shone through the window in the living room, you could feel his eyes on you. “I love you… You know that, don’t you? I’m not… If anything happens…” The thought was stopped before he could get the words out, but you were stuck on the three words he had said prior. Love was such a strong emotion, you hadn’t felt loved the entire time you had been with him, and he had never said it before now either. Did the thought of you being gone forever make him change? If you did make it through, would he go back to the way he was before? Maybe death was the only escape… 

I’ll Make You Stay… 

There was no way the doctors would make him choose… It couldn’t be that serious. You were absolutely fine, right? He hadn’t noticed anything wrong until today… or were you just that good at hiding things from him? Why would you hide something like this from him? Were you afraid of him? Why were you scared of his love? He just loves you so much! What’s wrong with that? He wanted you to be with him forever, he wanted you to be his darling, why did you make it seem like that was so awful? He’d show you that you could be happy, that he could make you happy, you just had to stay with him, you had to stay. 

“Why can’t I go in?” Minho asked once again to the nurse who slipped out of the room. Each time he said it he was more irritated than the last. He just didn’t understand. What could be so wrong that he couldn’t be there for the birth of his daughter? Every time, the nurse would just sigh, getting more agitated with him. “I’ll just go in then. You can’t keep me from seeing her. That’s my wife, that’s my daughter! If you won’t tell me what’s going on then I’ll just-“ 

The nurse cleared her throat, although it sounded more like she was groaning. He tried not to let it bother him the way it usually would. He had far better, far more important things to worry about than the bitchy attitude of the nurse. “She didn’t want me to tell you. I’m trying to respect her wishes. She wanted to be alone.” The nurse explained, but it only stirred up more questions in Minhos now overactive mind. What was the reason behind you wanting to go through this alone? Did he not have a say in being able to watch his daughter be born? It was unfair, and once everything was over with, he’d be having a talk with you about how rude and humiliating it was for him to sit out in the hallway while you were delivering his child. He opened his mouth, not even to speak, just to breathe, and the nurse started talking, as if she assumed he was just going to continue complaining. “Both of them are not well. The last thing I wanted to do was go against what could possibly be her last wish. Are you understanding now, sir?” 

Your… last wish? It sounded like you were dying… It couldn’t possibly be that bad… Is it? Why would you want to be alone during a time like this? How could you leave him this way? Do you not even care about his feelings? It’s like you want to make him miserable! All he wanted was to have a family with you, to make you stay with him forever, and now you’re trying to get away by dying!? You were so selfish! Why couldn’t you just be healthy?! He had done everything right. He made sure you ate and had your vitamins and did daily exercises and that you always got enough sleep. If anything happens to you and the baby… It would be your fault! It would all be your fault! 

“An early blood test would have shown that this was a possibility. It would have potentially kept this from happening. If she was getting proper appointments, this would have been caught before it got this bad. Who was her OB?” The nurse asked, her clipboard resting against her forearm, her pen held in her other hand, as if she was waiting for the information to jot down. The mention of your doctor had his mind pausing for a split second… This is why you needed the bloodwork done? Why had no one told him that back then? Why was he not informed of the risks that would come along if the bloodwork wasn’t done? This still wasn’t his fault though… No, the doctor should have talked to you and him more about the benefits of getting early bloodwork done. 

It was the doctors fault… If he hadn’t been so touchy with you, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal for him to come back and do the bloodwork. It was all the doctors fault, and if something were to happen to you or the baby… Minho would make sure that the doctor paid for it. He told the nurse the doctor's name, trying not to let his smile break through the mask of sadness that he was wearing, but it was hard. The thought of getting that guy to potentially lose his job, it was nice, and he couldn’t help but feel a little… overjoyed, knowing that if anything were to happen to you and the baby, it wouldn’t be in vain, at least the doctor will suffer as well. “I guess I’ll… wait out here…” He said, the frown once again returning to his face as he dropped down into the chair beside your door. It was still hard not being in there with you, knowing that so many people were looking at you, touching you… He felt like he was going to lose his mind, and the only way that he was keeping himself slightly sane was by constantly telling himself that he could potentially lose you and his daughter if those doctors didn’t help you. 

He was in and out of sleep the whole time, his head falling against the wall and his eyes drooping shut, only for them to shoot back open whenever an alarm would go off, looking up at the light above your door to make sure it wasn’t for your room before drifting back to sleep once more when he realized it wasn’t. It had been hours, he finally stopped counting after the seventh, when the door finally opened and one of the nurses, different from the one before, walked out. There were dark circles under her eyes, she looked frazzled and exhausted, but there was no urgency, there was no sadness… Was everything okay? Would he be able to keep you and his daughter? “Sir…” She started, and Minho sat up straight, his eyes hopeful as he looked up at the nurse. “I don’t want to sugarcoat anything, I don’t want you to get excited just yet… Although your wife and the baby are… alive… That doesn’t mean that things are… okay.” It was like all of the hope was drained from his body immediately, even after hearing that you were alive… How could you still not be okay? 

“Well… what’s wrong? What happened? I mean… I need some information here!” He was trying not to get worked up, but the way the nurse seemed to be beating around the bush was highly aggravating. For Christ's sake, he’s your boyfriend, the father of the child, and she was talking to him like he was some nobody. He deserves… No, he needs to know what happened! “How is she not okay? Is the baby okay? Come on, tell me something, dammit!” He didn’t care if she was tired, or if she was emotionally worn out after helping you. That’s her damn job, and part of it is telling him what the hell is going on. 

She sighed loudly, clearly not happy with the way that Minho was talking to her, but he didn’t really care for that either. He wasn’t even allowed in the damn room, the least she could do was tell him what had gone on while he was locked out in the hallway. “The mother had preeclampsia which advanced to class one HELLP, which I will not go into full detail about, a simple google search will tell you what it is, but I will say that she had the most severe case of HELLP that I have ever seen in my years of working here. We were at a point where we worried that we would have to choose whether she lived or the baby lived. She had to have blood transfusions before we could even deliver the baby, she was in the early stages of kidney failure, and while we were in the process of trying to help the mother, the baby went into respiratory distress. We had to do an emergency c-section, which wasn’t easy because we were worried about hemorrhaging, which did in fact happen. The baby is currently in the NICU, she is underweight, we have to do tests to check her platelet count, she’ll most likely be in the NICU for a couple of weeks, and that’s minimum, especially if her platelets aren’t normal. The mother needs to stay because we have to make sure she doesn’t have any other underlying health issues, and we need to monitor her closely because the first couple days after delivering a baby with HELLP syndrome could be fatal. So yes, the mother and the baby are alive… But they are in no way, shape or form, okay or healthy enough to come home anytime soon. Does that answer your questions, sir?” 

Minho didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t understand anything that had been said to him, all he knew was that it was bad and that you wouldn’t be going home with him. How could you let things get this bad? Why didn’t you tell him? Surely you must have felt ill or something when this was all going on? And that damn doctor… Why did he have to touch you? Why did he have to make him so angry? If he had just been a normal doctor, he would have been allowed to come back and do your bloodwork. This all could have been avoided! It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t! How was he supposed to know that something like this could happen?! He had never read anything about this online! He didn’t know something like this could happen! It wasn’t his fault! 

“Anyway…” The nurse spoke once more, taking Minhos silence as an opening. “She’s resting, they both are. There’s going to be doctors in and out of the room constantly, so, if you’d like to go in there, you can, but I wouldn’t expect to get any rest. If I were you, I’d honestly just go home, get some sleep, and come back in the afternoon. They’re not going anywhere, it’s going to be a long road ahead of the both of them… And you need to get as much rest as possible to prepare for it.” And with that, she walked away. He was left alone in the hallway with his thoughts, the faint sound of a heart monitor beeping just beyond the closed door to your room was the only sound he could really focus on. 

You were alive… You had stayed… You weren’t leaving him. He would have his family, and he would have it with you, his perfect darling. Nothing like this would ever happen again, he had his baby girl, and he had you. The two of you were all he needed. Once he had you and his baby back home, he’d make sure he never had to let you out of his sight again. You were going to stay with him, he would make you stay. That’s why he wanted the baby in the first place, and in the end, he still got exactly what he wanted. 

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[callsign-fox]

You Can Have Me - Rafe

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader (Jj's twin sister)

** MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU ARE NOT UP TO DATE**

18+ ONLY!!

Written with the help of my darling BFF @fanficgirl429

This is my first dip into OBX and I am not disappointed in myself :P Leave some love if you like it xo

---------------------------------------

I jolted awake, the torment of my latest nightmare abruptly dissipating. The early morning sunlight caressed my skin as it filtered through the delicate white curtains. The movement beside me anchored me to the reality that I was home in North Carolina, secure, if only for the moment. 

“You good?” Kie asked beside me in a sleepy tone.

My body resisted as I cast aside the comforter and compelled myself to rise from the bed.

“I don’t think ‘good’ is the right word,” I muttered, grabbing my sports bra from the floor and moving toward the bathroom. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out before rolling away from me. 

Upon our return from Morocco, the stark reality of having lost both our home and business hit us with overwhelming force. Rafe Cameron, who seemed the most improbable of heroes, extended the hospitality of his beachfront home to us pogues. John B would say this was a gesture to Sarah and the fact Rafe would soon be an uncle. Conversely, Sarah claims it was because of me. I chose to ignore her. 

It may be difficult to comprehend, but experiencing homelessness was not the most distressing event of the past month. Upon our return home, we found ourselves one member short of our original group. My sole family member, my twin brother, is now lost to me permanently. My heart has been irreparably broken, as the only true family I ever knew was taken away by our estranged and unstable father.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. 

It has been more than three weeks since that happened. While I have not fully come to terms with the loss of a significant part of myself, I have become emotionally numb to it. I could not endure another expression of sympathy or inquiry about my well-being from anyone in the community. With that being said, for the past week, I have rarely stepped outside the small room that Kie and I shared.

I brushed my teeth and then swiftly threw my hair up in a loose ponytail. Once I was done, I grabbed some running shorts and paired it with a loose tee, desperate to release endorphins. 

“I’m going for a run, I’ll be back in an hour.” 

The door was already shut but I smiled at the muffled ‘be careful’ from Kie. 

My sneakers slid on effortlessly, and before anyone had the chance to engage me in conversation, I exited. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I halted suddenly, intrigued by the sound of music coming from one of the open garages. It was a quarter past seven, and we were not particularly a lively bunch this early in the day.

As I approached the open door, Rafe came into sight. He was standing there, humming to the music, dressed in a snug white t-shirt and boxers. A wave of butterflies stirred in my stomach at the mere sight of him, evoking a mix of confusion and excitement within me. He glanced up from the bike, removing the black grease from his fingers onto his shirt.

“Y/N, hey.” 

I smiled at him as I leaned against the frame to the garage. “Hey Rafe.” 

A week prior to our departure for Morocco, I had spent hours wrapped up in this man. His skin pressed against mine, his lips caressing every inch of my body. The mere recollection of those moments left me feeling lightheaded. However, since our return, our communication had dwindled to almost nothing. I stood at the door to his bedroom one night, desperate to feel him inside of me again, but terrified of being denied. I went to bed tense and alone. 

My body yearned for him once more as he gazed at me with his deep ocean blue eyes. It was evident that he was attempting to decipher my thoughts, his eyes narrowing while I remained silent.

“Are you ok?” he asked, leaning on his bike. 

I pulled myself from the trance and stepped further into the garage. “Please don’t ask me that, I’m sick of people asking me that.” 

He cocked his head to the side before dropping a tool in his toolbox. “Fine. Am I allowed to ask if you are having a good morning?” 

“I am so far, but maybe check back later as things can change at any given moment. I’m going to go for a run.” 

Rafe nodded and reached down for something I couldn’t see. “Cool, cool. I would have thought maybe you were going to the shooting range or something.” 

I decided it was best to play dumb. “Why would I be going to a shooting range?” 

His hand resurfaced holding a black gun. 

Shit. 

I looked at the gun then back at him. I was careless, and couldn’t remember where I’d left. It must have been in the back of his truck. “I can explain.” 

“I actually have a few questions. One, where the fuck did you get this? And two, are you insane?” 

This wasn’t at all how I was hoping this morning would go. “Look, I know how to use it. I’ve been practicing.” 

“Oh, you know how to use it? That makes me feel much better,” he laughed, removing the clip and putting it back into the bag he pulled it out of. “What are you doing, Y/N? Are you planning on going and killing Groff yourself?” 

“Why not?” 

Rafe’s eyes widened as he straddled the bike. “For fuck sake, Y/N.” 

I moved closer, standing right beside him and the bike. “Why not, Rafe? I don’t want anyone else hurt, and we know he isn’t above killing his own children let alone my friends. I can do this, I have to do this!”

“And what if he kills you first?” 

As if I didn’t think about that. “That’s definitely a possibility.” 

“A possibility…” He had that crazed look we all knew so well. “Do you even know where he is?” He asked, clearly irritated as he rubbed his eyes. 

His question surprised me. “No, I don’t.” 

Rafe nodded, then reached for a wrench in his toolbox. “Alright…” 

I leaned forward trying to catch his gaze, “Alright what?” 

“Once you know where he is, you let me know.”  

This time I laughed. “Why would I do that, you’d try and stop me.”

“I won’t. When you know where he is, I’ll go with you and we’ll kill the son of a bitch.” 

I stood there silent for a moment, confused at the sharp turn the conversation just took. He continued on his bike as if no words had just been exchanged. Like neither of us were just perfectly ok with committing murder three seconds ago. 

“Rafe…I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You didn’t ask, I volunteered.” 

He threw the wrench back into the box and reached out to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into him. “I’m supposed to be the crazy one, but right now you’re scaring me a little.” 

My hand instinctively reached for his abdomen, applying a gentle pressure against his muscles.

“You scare me too.” 

An unexpected rush of life filled my heart, which throbbed so vigorously that I worried it might burst from my chest. He moved in closer, our lips nearly aligned, brushing softly against one another without fully making contact.

His calloused hands traversed the bare skin of my waist, then stealthily slipped under the waistband, pulling me tightly against his thigh. He smiled at me, and I could feel the heat rising, a flush spreading between my legs.

“Y/N…” his lips brushed my cheek, before moving to my ear sending a shiver down my spine to where my body wanted him most. ”I need you, and if Groff takes you away before I even get to have you…let’s just say things won’t end well.” 

I moved my hand down to his boxers, slipping beneath the elastic. My fingers curled around his firm erection, gliding back and forth. “Rafe, you can have me whenever you want me.” 

Rafe moaned, biting softly on the nape of my neck. 

He gently pulled me closer, lifting my leg so I could straddle the bike to sit on his lap. Our lips finally reunited, but this time there was no hesitation, only an intense desire. My arm encircled his neck as I leaned back on the handlebars, arching my back into him while feeling the ignition pressing against my shoulder blades. It didn't matter though, as I was completely enthralled with this man. 

Rafe withdrew slightly, his fingers gliding up my leg until they encountered my shorts. With a delicate motion, he eased them down, removing them as if he had performed this action countless times before. As he leaned in once more, his lips met my thigh, placing rough kisses upon the exposed skin. I arched my back as his mouth connected with my pulsating center, his thumb teasing the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, god.” I let out a soft sound as he moved the loose fabric aside, teasing my sensitive area.

His tongue swirled over my core, and my body threatened to tip over the edge. I could feel him smiling as he devoured me, the sounds escaping me only egging him on further. He momentarily withdrew, prompting me to reach out in protest.

“I like you begging, but I’m just getting these out of the way so I can ruin you.” 

My underwear fell away effortlessly, and before I could utter another word, he returned to his position between my legs, guiding me nearer to my peak. The sensation coursing through me was the most intense I had ever experienced. His tongue glided over my center, while two fingers rhythmically entered and exited, propelling me toward the precipice of pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” 

The apparent struggle in my voice served only to urge him to quicken his movements, and I was unable to withstand it any further. A delightful tingling spread throughout my body as I reached my peak, my heart racing and my breath becoming erratic.

Rafe reclined slightly before rising to his feet, a smirk playing on his lips, fully aware of the effect his actions had on me. His blue eyes roamed over my figure as he extended his hand toward me. I placed my hand in his, and he swiftly drew me up and guided me toward the wall. His hands descended to my waist, and he pivoted me so that my back was firmly against the wall.

“Should we stop?” Rafe asked, his fingers playing with the hem of my t-shirt. 

His boxers were halfway down his thigh when I looked up at him, towering over me with a devilish grin. “You’re so fucking funny.” 

He suddenly placed his lips against my neck, leaving a series of kisses before ultimately returning to my mouth. In a swift motion, he elevated my leg and pressed his aroused tip against my core.

“You’re nice and wet, all for me.” He whispered, biting my already inflamed bottom lip.

His length entered me effortlessly, the sensation of his movements eliciting soft moans. One of his hands firmly grasped my thigh, elevating my leg, while the other hand held my backside, his fingernails creating delicate crescent impressions as they traced my skin.

Rafe's movements began with a deliberate yet pressing urgency, intensifying with each thrust. I felt myself tighten around him as the well-known pleasure surged within me. His lips met mine, our tongues intertwining amidst our shared moans.

“Damn, you feel so good.” 

My hand clung to his shirt, pulling him tighter to me.

A wave of bliss enveloped me, my head tilting back as I softly uttered his name repeatedly. Rafe was just behind me, a deep groan escaping his lips as he nestled his face into the curve of my neck.

The two of us stood there for a moment, catching our breath. Rafe reached down and pulled his boxers back up before gently placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth. 

“For that, with you,” he smiled and took a breath. “…I’d kill a hundred Groffs.” 

The expression in my face revealed my own satisfaction. He gently placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me one final time, this time with significantly more passion.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally withdrew, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he returned to the project he had been engaged in earlier. "Are you still planning to go for that run?" he inquired, casting a glance in my direction.

I shook my head, “No, I think I’m good.”  

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 1

summary: Cassie Jones thought she had it all figured out—a career built on exposing the truth, a reputation for digging where others wouldn’t, and a burning drive to make the world listen. But after a fallout with her station, the looming shadow of Crawford’s FM... She’s left with nothing but unanswered calls and a shrinking list of allies. Enter Declan O’Hara, a man she’s admired from a distance but never spoken to until now. As he steps into her life, his presence ignites more questions than answers.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Some political and media industry-related themes, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension

w.c: 16k

[prologue], [here], [chapter two], [chapter three]

o1. But we could be safer, just for one day

The morning was biting, the kind of cold that seeped through layers and clung stubbornly to the skin. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and the remnants of an early frost that had yet to burn away under the pale winter sun. Cassie stepped out of the station, her boots scraping against the worn stone steps, each movement deliberate, as though bracing herself for the gauntlet that awaited.

Cassie squinted against the glare of the weak sunlight reflecting off the windows of parked cars. The cold was biting, but the sharp light stung her eyes more than the chill ever could. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, the fabric worn but comforting, even as the weight of the morning pressed down on her shoulders.

Every exhale fogged in the cold air, each one a fleeting reminder of how little control she had over the situation.

The street outside looked deceptively calm at first glance—just another morning in Rutshire. Yet, the moment she stepped outside, everything shifted.

The sound of murmurs started low but quickly grew, swelling into a wave as if the whole town had been holding its breath and now it was released all at once. Cameras snapped into focus, their lenses swinging toward her with mechanical precision. She froze for half a second, her fingers tightening reflexively around the strap of her bag.

It wasn’t fear, exactly, but… Complicated , something complicated lodging itself deep in her gut.

The flash of cameras disoriented her, each click and whirr slicing through the air like a small, deliberate insult. The noise built up, crashing into her like an ocean, drowning out everything else. Her breath caught in her throat, her body instinctively wanting to shrink, to step back, but she couldn’t. She forced herself to keep moving, step by step, as though the very act of walking could outrun their focus, could break free from the suffocating weight of their gaze.

The worst of it wasn’t the flashes of light. It wasn’t the blinding intensity of the cameras, each burst of light cutting through the air like a sharp, unwelcome reminder of her visibility. No, the worst of it was how their eyes turned toward her, narrowing like daggers, gleaming with hunger, tracking her every movement.

She could feel them at her back, their stares pressing into her skin, each one sharper than the last, more invasive. It was as if they were waiting—waiting for her to make a mistake, to falter, to give them the moment they’d been thirsting for.

Cassie could almost feel the weight of their stares like knives against her body. She tried not to imagine what would happen if she turned and met one of their eyes, if she dared to look into the crowd. She feared the pain of the blade they would drive into her, the sensation of being pierced by their judgment, their expectations, their need for her to fall apart in front of them.

She didn’t look. She wouldn’t. Instead, her focus remained ahead, her breath shallow, pulse hammering in her ears. Her feet moved forward, one step at a time, as though the act of walking could carry her away from them, from their questions, from the crushing weight of their gaze.

“Miss Jones! Do you have a statement on Crawford’s allegations?”

The voice rang out sharp, pulling her back from the thickening fog in her mind. Another flash, bright and blinding, and she flinched, her grip on her bag tightening until her knuckles ached. She forced her gaze forward, locking it on a single point—just ahead, a cracked tile on the sidewalk.

The cracked edge of it grounded her, something to hold onto in the mess of the moment, something familiar enough to cling to as she willed herself not to crumble.

“Was locking yourself in the studio worth it?”

Another voice, another flash. It felt like the cameras were multiplying, the sounds of shutters clicking so close that she could barely hear herself think. Focus, she told herself. Focus.

Her father’s voice echoed faintly in her mind. Five things you can see.

She squinted, trying to block out the flashes, trying to center herself.

Five things you can see.

The cracked pavement beneath her feet, the chipped paint on the nearest lamppost, the red scarf fluttering against the side of a woman’s coat, the white tips of her breath fogging in the cold air, the green of Freddie’s car ahead, parked just beyond the throng of reporters.

“Do you think your career is over after this?”

Cassie’s chest tightened further at the question, the implication looming over her like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Her throat constricted, her jaw clenching with the effort to hold it all in. She couldn't stop walking, couldn’t let herself falter even as the questions piled on.

Four things you can touch.

Think. Think .

Her fingers gripped the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles burned. The rough fabric of her coat rubbed against her arms with each step, a small reminder of the layers between herself and the world pressing in on her. The cold bite of the winter air sliced through the fabric of her clothing, its sharpness grounding her even as it threatened to freeze her in place. The faint warmth rising from her own breath, visible in the air, was a fragile comfort—an acknowledgment that she was still here, still breathing.

The crowd pressed in tighter. The noise only grew louder, more insistent. The cameras closed the distance, their flashes blinding. Eyes trained on her with hungry precision, demanding something from her, something she didn’t know if she could give.

Three things you can hear.

The flash of cameras was constant, a sharp rhythm that pounded against her skull. The voices, though—those were the worst. The questions, the demands, the judgment—they cut through the air like daggers.

“Miss Jones, is this the end of your time at Crawford’s FM?”

“Do you regret your actions of yesterday?”

“Aren't you the daughter of Matthew Jones?”

The noise, overwhelming, disorienting, built to a wave that crashed into her with each step she took. Every flash felt like it was aimed directly at her, a blinding light that numbed the world and forced her to squint, to retreat further within herself. It wasn’t just the flashes, though. It was the voices, the questions, the insistent demand for something from her.

She could feel it— they wanted her. They wanted her to crumble, to break down, to make a spectacle of herself. But she had nothing left to give. Nothing more to offer.

She felt herself drowning in it, the pressure to answer, to be something for them, something they could consume, a story they could shape and sell. But there was no way out. No safe place. She wasn’t a person to them. She was just a story—a body, walking through their storm of flashing lights and sharp words, an object to dissect, to feed on.

The truth, her truth, was being drowned in the noise.

Two things you can smell.

She tried to focus on something, anything, that would pull her back from the whirlpool of anxiety that threatened to swallow her whole. Focus, Cassie. You can do this.

The cold, biting air around her was sharp and raw, its chill sinking through her coat, its edge cutting deeper than it should. It was a reminder of the world outside the press—of the tangible, of reality.

But even it felt foreign now, distorted by everything else around her. The faint scent of gasoline mingled with the exhaust from the parked cars, the smell of something mechanical, something that didn’t belong to her. But it wasn’t just the smell of the cars—it was the smell of the crowd, too.

Sweat, metal, cold breath—the scent of people packed too closely, their energy seeping into her, their anxiety feeding into her own. There was something else, though, something unfamiliar that made her feel like the air itself was pressing in too tightly around her. Something suffocating, almost as if the weight of their gaze had become a physical force in the air.

One thing you can taste.

Her body reacted, a reflex that she couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. The taste in her mouth was dry, metallic, like blood, like copper. It wasn’t from any injury—no physical wound—but from the panic, from the rush of fear and overwhelm that surged in her chest and settled like a lead weight in her stomach.

It was the taste of her body’s fight-or-flight response. Her mouth was dry, and the bitter, coppery sensation settled on her tongue, warning her, something’s wrong .

But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t falter now, not with Freddie’s car just ahead. One more step, she thought. Just one more step.

And then— there it was.

The green of Freddie’s car, parked at the curb just ahead, a solid anchor in the chaos. The outline of Freddie leaning against it, arms casually crossed, waiting. His posture was relaxed, but Cassie could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes followed her.

He didn’t move toward her just yet—he knew better than that. But she could feel the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet readiness to step in if she needed him.

Freddie had always been that way. Even in moments like this—when the whole world seemed to close in around her, when every click of a camera or harsh question from the press felt like it was driving her deeper into a corner—he knew how to stay calm. He wasn’t a man who panicked, not for himself and certainly not for her.

And Cassie? She could almost feel the pull of his calmness, the way it anchored her, made the world outside his car feel distant, less suffocating.

Everytime she found themselves in those situations, she wondered if he didn’t give her these first minutes so she could try to stand her ground herself.

Perhaps the time she had screamed at him as a child when he tried to help her walk through a park truly traumatized him.

She kept her eyes on him, letting the sight of him be the only constant in the storm. She could tell he was waiting for her to reach him, not pushing, not rushing, but keeping his distance just enough to give her space to breathe. He knew the look on her face—the exhaustion, the determination not to break. He’d seen it in her before.

She wasn’t sure if it was the heaviness of the day or the sheer relief of seeing him, but the tension in her chest eased just slightly. One more step. One more.

As she neared the car, Freddie moved toward her, stepping into her path to shield her from the press that was pressing in too closely. His hand lightly touched her elbow as if to guide her, but not to hurry her.

It was almost written in his face: See? You could do it, I didn’t want to risk and get punched again.

“You good?” he asked, not so much a question but more a reassurance. He’d seen her more stressed than this, but it didn’t make seeing her like this any easier.

Cassie looked at him for a moment, her breath shallow but steadying, and she nodded, though the tightness in her chest hadn’t entirely gone. She couldn’t quite manage a smile, but she appreciated the simplicity of his gesture.

He wasn’t making her talk. He wasn’t pushing her. He just... Knew.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he said quietly, as they navigated through the last of the reporters. His voice was calm, not dismissive, just steady—almost like a shield that kept the world from closing in.

When they reached the car, Freddie opened the door for her with a quiet gentleness that was far removed from the scene around them. Cassie didn’t hesitate. She slipped inside, letting the car’s quiet hum swallow the noise outside. Freddie followed her, shutting the door behind him with a definitive sound that felt like the end of something—of the chaos, of the pressure.

He turned the key in the ignition, and the familiar rumble of the engine was the first real sound that felt like it belonged to her world again.

Freddie kept his hands on the wheel, his grip firm but relaxed, as the quiet rumble of the car engine filled the space between them. The steady hum felt comforting, a far cry from the chaos they’d just left behind. Cassie stared out the window, watching the blur of streets pass by, the world outside still moving while hers had felt like it had frozen in place.

She was aware of the pressure building up again in her chest, that familiar uncertainty, the questions she hadn’t yet answered echoing in her mind.

The soft click of the blinker was the only interruption to the silence. Freddie glanced at her quickly, his gaze steady, his voice almost too calm.

“What was the one thing I asked you not to do?”

She didn’t look at him, just stared out the window, biting the inside of her cheek as she replayed the conversation he was referring to in her mind.

“To not blow this up?” she said, her voice reluctant.

Freddie nodded slowly, his eyes back on the road. He didn’t sound angry—just... Resigned. Like he had been expecting this.

“And what did you do?”

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the door. She didn’t have the energy to lie, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to face the truth, either.

She shifted uncomfortably, leaning her head back against the headrest.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” She asked back.

Freddie didn’t respond right away. Instead, he gave a little grunt, his focus unwavering as they passed the familiar landmarks of the town.

After a long moment, he finally spoke again, his tone gentle but with that firm edge she knew too well.

“You know,” he started, letting the words sit for a moment before continuing, “this could’ve been a lot easier if you'd just listened. You could've avoided this whole thing.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Easier?” she repeated quietly, “You know I couldn’t just sit there and let them sweep everything I had done under the rug, Uncle. Not after what happened.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze flicked to her, then back to the road.

The hum of the tires on the road became a steady rhythm, grounding Cassie even as her thoughts threatened to spiral.

She glanced out the window again, the passing scenery blurring into a canvas of muted colors. She recognized the landmarks of Rutshire, the same streets she’d walked as a kid, but they felt distant now, like they belonged to someone else’s story.

Freddie sighed, a low sound that seemed to carry his unspoken concerns. His hands on the wheel tightened briefly before relaxing again.

“I get it,” he said, his tone softer now, “I do . But it doesn’t make it any easier. And now you’ve got to deal with the fallout. The press is going to keep circling, and you’re not going to be able to outrun them.”

Cassie’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag, the worn leather grounding her in a way she desperately needed.

“I know," she said, her voice quieter but resolute, "But I won’t just lie down and take it. If they want to turn me into a headline, fine. I just want it to be the truth.”

Freddie glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable.

“So what happens now?” he asked after a beat, his tone quieter but still steady, “What’s your plan?”

Cassie shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the weight of the question.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hadn’t thought that far ahead, hadn’t allowed herself to. The last 24 hours had been a blur of adrenaline and consequence. She couldn’t see past the next few steps, and even those felt like quicksand.

She hesitated, her throat tightening, “I just… I don’t want Mom to know. Not yet. Please.”

Freddie let out another sigh, heavier this time.

“Cassie—she’s going to find out sooner or later. You can’t keep this from her.”

“I know,” Cassie snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling slowly before continuing, “But I need time to figure it out. I need some space.”

Freddie’s gaze softened slightly as he glanced at her again, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Please, Uncle Freddie,” she asked, “She’ll just… Freak out. I can’t deal with that right now.”

He didn’t respond immediately. The quiet in the car felt almost oppressive, the unspoken tension between them stretching thin.

“Fine,” he said, sighing one more time, “I won’t tell her. But this thing, it’s not going away. You’re going to have to face it sooner or later.”

“I know,” Cassie whispered, her words barely audible, “But not yet.”

The conversation lulled, the hum of the tires filling the space again. Cassie leaned back in her seat, her body heavy with exhaustion. The familiar sight of her father’s house came into view, and for a moment, a wave of nostalgia and grief washed over her.

It had been years since she’d been back—since it had been anything but a memory she tried to keep at arm’s length. But now, it was all she had left for a couple of months.

Freddie pulled into the driveway, the car slowing to a stop. Cassie glanced over at him, his jaw tight, his expression set in that familiar way that reminded her of how he’d always been: protective, steady, the kind of presence she could rely on even when everything else felt like it was crumbling.

“Thanks for bailing me out,” she said, her voice softer now.

Freddie’s lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were still focused ahead.

“You’re lucky I was already there and the one who got the call, kid. If it had been your mom, you’d be locked down tighter than Fort Knox for the next week.”

Cassie let out a dry chuckle, though the sound didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll take my chances with you.”

Freddie shut off the engine and leaned back in his seat, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, let’s just hope the next ‘incident’ doesn’t involve a higher bail, alright?” he lifted his brows, a funny smile adorning his face, “For now, let’s get you inside.”

The click of the car doors broke the stillness, and Cassie stepped out, her boots crunching against the gravel. The air was crisp and sharp, carrying the faint smell of damp earth from the recent rain. She tugged her coat closer, her breath visible in the chilly morning light as she took in the surroundings.

The house looked much the same as it had for the past few months since she’d moved in—though a little too neat now, suspiciously so .

The front porch, which had once been stacked with deliveries and odds and ends she hadn’t yet unpacked, was clear. The flowerbeds on either side of the walkway, previously overrun with weeds she hadn’t bothered to tackle, had been trimmed and tidied, the soil freshly turned. Even the small patch of grass in front of the house, which she had ignored in favor of her work, had been cut with a precision she could never have mustered.

Her little witch house , how Bas liked so much of calling it, was a witch house no more.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in.

“Wait a second,” she followed Freddie toward the door, “You’ve been here, haven’t you?”

“I might’ve stopped by,” he said nonchalantly, “Didn’t think you’d want to come home to a mess.”

Cassie’s gaze darted to the freshly swept porch and then back to him, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant gratitude. He wasn’t wrong—coming home to overgrown chaos would’ve made the day feel even worse. It was already getting her nervous: the chaos and her lack of time to take care of it.

Now that she was unemployed, time wouldn’t be lacking! Ha-ha!

“You’re right,” she admitted begrudgingly, crossing her arms, “But still…” She let the words trail off, “How thorough were you? Please tell me you didn’t drag her into this.”

Freddie turned to face her fully this time, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

“Her?” he asked, his tone deliberately teasing.

Cassie groaned, her arms tightening across her chest.

“You know who,” she replied, her voice dry, “If I walk in and find that wife of yours, I’m kicking you both out. No offense, but I really don’t like her. What’s the problem with eating—”

She stopped mid-sentence as she unlocked the front door and opened it, her words dying on her lips. Standing in the living room, a teacup balanced effortlessly in one hand, was Lizzie Vereker.

Lizzie’s presence filled the room effortlessly, as it always did.

She had a certain poise that was hard to define—an air of effortless elegance mixed with sharp wit. Her blonde hair was pulled back neatly, not a strand out of place, and her fitted jacket and boots suggested she had walked straight out of a glossy magazine but didn’t care enough to admit it.

“Cassie,” Lizzie raised her teacup in greeting, “Welcome home.”

Cassie blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before her expression softened into a wide smile. The tension in her shoulders eased for the first time in hours.

“Oh, Lizzie!” she exclaimed, her tone immediately warmer, “So good to see you!”

Lizzie stepped forward gracefully, her movements fluid, as if the chaos of the world outside the house couldn’t touch her. She stopped just short of Cassie, her eyes flickering with humor as she surveyed her.

“And you,” Lizzie replied, her voice carrying that natural lilt of amusement Cassie had always liked about her, “Though I imagine this isn’t the time, I must say, I loved everything you said yesterday. It takes some courage, that’s for sure.”

Cassie’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of the day creeping back into her mind. She opened her mouth to respond, but Freddie cut in from the doorway, where he leaned with arms crossed, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Oh, don’t encourage her, Lizzie,” Freddie said with a grin, “She’ll think storming a studio and locking herself in was part of some grand plan.”

Cassie turned, raising an eyebrow at him, grinning herself, “And wasn’t it?”

Freddie snorted, shaking his head.

“If by ‘plan,’ you mean dragging me out of bed at some ungodly hour to try to intercept you,” Freddie said, his voice tinged with dry humor, “Failing spectacularly , and then having to bail you out— sure , let’s call it that.”

Lizzie chuckled, her eyes darting between them as if she were watching a particularly entertaining play. She took a slow sip of her tea, her smirk growing.

“Well,” she said, her tone light but unmistakably sharp, “if it was a plan, I’d say it worked. You’ve certainly got people talking.”

Cassie groaned softly, raking a hand through her hair, the tension in her body apparent.

“Yeah, talking about whether I’ve completely lost my mind.”

Lizzie didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she turned gracefully and gestured toward the living room.

“Come on, then,” she said, moving toward the small table set with a teapot and two extra cups, “Let’s get off our feet. You both look like you could use this more than me.”

Freddie followed without hesitation, while Cassie lingered for a moment, watching Lizzie’s movements. She was always so effortless, so deliberate in everything she did, as though every small gesture had its own purpose.

By the time Cassie joined them, Lizzie had already poured tea into the two remaining cups. She handed Freddie his first, then turned to Cassie, pressing the warm porcelain into her hands with a small smile.

“Drink,” she said, raising her own teacup slightly, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful.

Cassie took a cautious sip, the warmth of the tea spreading through her palms and easing the edge of the cold still clinging to her. She watched as Lizzie raised her cup again, her movements almost ceremonial.

“A touch of madness is underrated, Cassie,” Lizzie said, her voice quieter now, but no less confident, “It’s the predictable ones no one remembers.”

Cassie paused, letting the words settle in her mind. There was something about the way Lizzie said them, the precision and ease in her delivery, that made them linger.

It wasn’t just what she said but how she said it—measured and deliberate, like a writer crafting her lines with the kind of care that made them stick.

Of course, Lizzie was a writer. That’s why she could sway people so effortlessly, why her words carried weight even when they came wrapped in a smirk. It wasn’t lost on Cassie how Lizzie’s confidence seemed to fill the room, not overwhelming it but grounding it, drawing others in without demanding their attention.

The thought brought Cassie a small, unexpected comfort, easing the tension in her chest just slightly. Lizzie’s presence had a way of making things feel less chaotic, less overwhelming, as though the storm outside the house couldn’t touch them here.

It was good to see her like this, Cassie realized, enjoying the side of Lizzie that was unburdened by her husband’s presence. If anyone asked her, Cassie would have no problem saying it: Lizzie and Freddie were undoubtedly bound by their shared taste in... Less-than-ideal partners.

For the first time that morning, Cassie allowed herself to let go of her guard. She looked directly at Lizzie, meeting her gaze fully. It wasn’t something she often did—eye contact always felt like a risk, like it would slice her in a half.

But now, the act felt steadying, reassuring in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She smiled, small but genuine, the warmth from the teacup in her hands spreading to her chest. Lizzie noticed, of course—she always noticed—but said nothing, simply tilting her head slightly in acknowledgment before taking another sip of tea.

“Then they say I’m the one talented with words,” Cassie said, her voice tinged with a trace of irony. She darted her gaze away, focusing on the warm tea in her hands, using the cup as a shield from the thoughts still swirling in her mind.

“And you are,” Lizzie said, the smile never leaving her lips, “You could write a book if you wanted. People would read it.”

Cassie let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head as she leaned back, letting the softness of the moment wrap around her like a warm blanket.

“Doubt it would sell,” she muttered.

In the corner of the room, the rotary phone began to ring, its sharp, persistent tone cutting through the warmth of their conversation. Cassie’s gaze flicked to it briefly before returning to the scattered papers on the table—notes from interviews that felt like relics of a past life.

The ringing persisted, the sound grating and insistent, like an accusation she couldn’t ignore.

“Crawford’s plan is working, though,” Cassie continued, her voice trailing off as the unease in her stomach twisted again, “He’s made sure anyone who could help me—anyone who might’ve given me a shot—they’re already turned away. Every single one of the people I had planned to interview…”

Her words faltered as her hand gestured vaguely toward the table.

Lizzie leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her expression softening. The room, warm with the aroma of tea and faint lavender, seemed to hold its breath as she spoke.

“You’re giving Crawford too much credit,” her tone measured, as though she were trying to pull Cassie back from her spiraling thoughts, “He’s powerful, sure. But he’s not omnipotent.”

Cassie’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more a bitter acknowledgment.

The phone’s ringing continued, cutting through the air like a blade.

“You think I’m being paranoid?” Cassie asked, her voice carrying a weary edge as her eyes darted between Lizzie and Freddie.

Freddie, who had been quietly nursing his own cup of tea, leaned forward. The leather of his chair creaked softly under the shift of his weight. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands clasped loosely as he regarded her with a steady, thoughtful gaze.

“No,” Freddie said plainly, his voice steady but not unkind, “I think you’re being too negative.”

The silence that followed seemed to settle heavily over the room, broken only by the soft hiss of the radiator. Cassie’s frown deepened as she thought more and more about what had happened, what she had done.

Freddie pushed himself up from his chair, his movements deliberate, and crossed the room. The floor creaked beneath his weight, a sound that seemed louder in the tense quiet. He stopped at the rotary phone, his gaze falling on the answering machine beside it.

“You want to talk about Crawford’s plan?” he said, resting his hand lightly on the edge of the machine, “Let’s hear it for ourselves.”

Cassie stiffened in her chair, her lips parting as though to protest, “Freddie, don’t—”

“Might as well,” Lizzie interrupted, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms, “If you’re convinced everyone’s turned their back on you, let’s see if that’s true.”

Cassie shook her head, her hands gripping the bloody teacup.

“I don’t need to hear it. I already know what they’ll say.”

“Do you?” Freddie asked, his calm tone challenging her resolve.

Cassie opened her mouth to protest, but Freddie was quicker. His fingers moved with purpose, pressing the button on the answering machine. The mechanical click echoed through the quiet room, a sound that, despite its ordinariness, seemed to sharpen the tension in the air.

Her fingers held firmly around the edges of her teacup, her knuckles pale against the porcelain as the words from the machine filled the room.

“Cassandra,” the first voice said, clipped and urgent, “This is Alan Withers. I’ve heard about the stunt you pulled, and while I understand you’re passionate, I cannot afford to be seen associated with... Good luck. ”

Cassie’s eyes dropped to her lap, the cold porcelain of the teacup doing nothing to help her. The air around her felt thinner, as if it were trying to suffocate the storm swirling inside her.

Alan . Now, a closed door.

His rejection felt personal, even though she knew it wasn’t. It was just the world she had chosen to be a part of.

But now, standing in the wake of that decision, it didn’t feel like a choice at all.

Lizzie shifted slightly, the soft clink of her teacup against the saucer as she adjusted her position. She spoke, but her words felt distant, as if they were just part of the atmosphere and not quite meant for Cassie.

“Well, that’s one way to say nothing,” she muttered under her breath, trying to lighten the moment, but the words fell flat, like a poorly thrown stone.

Cassie didn’t respond, her mind spinning with the implications of Alan’s words. She wanted to argue, to tell herself that this didn’t matter—that she was right, that she wasn’t the problem—but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

She shifted in her seat, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the teacup. The warm porcelain against her fingertips should have been comforting, but her thoughts were miles away, swirling in a mix of frustration and helplessness.

The machine beeped again, and Cassie’s stomach churned with the anticipation of what might come next.

“Cassie, it’s David from Insight Weekly . I’m sorry, but after everything that’s happened, we’ve decided to shelve the feature. It’s just... Too hot right now. I wish you the best.”

Her chest tightened further at the sound of his voice. She had relied on David—trusted him as one of the few allies who might have helped her navigate the politics of this world.

But now, even he has backed away. She knew it wasn’t personal, again , she knew that—she knew it was the nature of the beast they were all a part of— but it felt personal. No matter how she tried to convince herself it wasn’t.

Every time one of them backed away, it felt like another piece of herself was chipped away.

“See?” she said softly, almost to herself, “This is exactly what Crawford wanted. He’s cut me off from everything.”

Freddie stood silently, his gaze focused on the machine, but he didn’t speak immediately. Cassie wanted to say something—wanted to ask him to turn it off. But she couldn’t find the words.

Her throat was dry, a knot in her chest, and the room felt smaller than it had just moments before.

“Cassie,” a familiar, softer voice began, “It’s Nathan. I think I might’ve found more documents you’d want to see. I can meet this weekend. Let me know.”

Cassie’s focus snapped back to the speaker, and the suddenness of the words made her pause.

Nathan’s voice brought with it a reminder of everything she had worked for—the construction scandal, the faulty materials, the cover-up that had been buried beneath corporate lies. All in his own workplace.

She remembered the late nights, the piles of documents strewn across her desk, the adrenaline of uncovering something that could actually make a difference. But those days felt distant now, like something just out of reach.

Lizzie watched her closely, a quiet acknowledgment of Cassie’s internal shift. Always reading her mind.

“See, not everyone’s written you off,” she said gently.

Cassie didn’t respond right away, lost in the recollections of what Nathan had told her. She had started this, but now the world seemed too big to handle alone. Every part of her wanted to follow through, to pick up the pieces, but the reality of being on her own—the consequences of defying Crawford—had set in. She had nothing to rely on now.

Then, another voice came through.

“Cassie,” the machine crackled, “It’s Sarah Halverson. You talked to me about the water issues near the factory. I—I’m scared. They’ve been sending people to my house, and I don’t know what to do. Please, if you’re still working on this, call me.”

Cassie stood frozen for a moment.

She remembered Sarah clearly—her face, her quiet fear as they sat together and discussed the dangers surrounding the factory. Cassie had promised Sarah she’d do everything she could to get the truth out.

But now, with everything falling apart, it felt like Sarah’s voice was just one more reminder of how far she had fallen.

For a moment, the room felt unbearably quiet, the hum of the radiator and Lizzie’s tea cup returning to her hands. Everything felt so irrelevant.

Her mind pulled her back to the interview with Sarah, her trembling hands clutching a cheap plastic cup of tea. Cassie had promised her, “I’ll make sure they hear your story.” But now?

Now Sarah was being threatened, and Cassie had no platform left to fight for her. The silence stretched on until Freddie cleared his throat, his voice breaking through her haze.

“This woman believes in you, Cassie,” he said quietly, nodding toward the phone, “She’s terrified, and she still called you. That means something.”

But Freddie’s words didn’t reach her—not fully.

"Depending on me?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.

She crossed her arms tightly, her teacup long forgotten—pacing toward the window. The pale light filtering through the sheer curtains did little to soften the storm raging inside her.

"How am I supposed to help anyone?" The words burst out of her, "I don’t have a platform, Uncle. Crawford made sure of that. No one will hire me—not after what I’ve done. I’ve got nothing."

Her fingers tightened against the window frame, the cold biting at her skin. She tried to steady her breathing, but the thought of Sarah—alone, frightened—twisted in her chest like a knife.

"I promised her I’d help," she whispered, almost to herself, "But what can I even do anymore? There’s no one left to listen."

The next message began, not giving time for Freddie or Lizzie to try arguing. Instead, both of them exchanged a look.

Cassie steeled herself. She wasn’t sure if she could handle more disappointment.

“Cassie,” came the familiar voice of her mother, chirpy and unaware. Despite everything, Cassie tried to embrace herself, but more disappointment would come for sure , “Sweetie, I miss you! How are you there? How’s your job? You do know if anything goes south, you can always come back here and I’ll help you find a good husband. Just please, give me some updates about how you’re doing there!”

Cassie groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. Her mother’s words stabbed at her, each one a reminder of how far removed her family was from her world. To her mother, Cassie’s career was just a phase—a way to delay the inevitable: s ettling down, giving up .

The gulf between their worlds had never seemed so wide.

She was exhausted—exhausted in a way that went beyond sleepless nights and long days. It was a bone-deep weariness, the kind that came from constantly trying to explain herself to people who never seemed to understand. How could they?

She had left Chicago for a reason, though even now, it felt like no one really got why. It wasn’t just about escaping the predictable future her mother envisioned for her—a housewife with a perfect smile and a carefully curated life. It was more than that.

Cassie wanted to matter.

She wanted to take the tools she had—the sharp instincts, the knack for seeing what others missed—and do something with them. The world was covered in layers of polished lies, a pristine rug under which powerful men swept their sins. She wanted to rip that rug away, to expose what lay beneath: the stolen innocence, the squandered money, the lives destroyed by greed and neglect.

And yet, no one else seemed to understand.

To her mother, ambition was just a stepping stone to disappointment. To her peers, it was easier to keep their heads down, to avoid making waves…

The loneliness of it all dragged her down, but the spark inside her refused to die. If no one else saw it, if no one else believed in it, then she would . She had to. Because if she didn’t, who would?

“Can we be done already?”

The words slipped from her lips, soft and fractured, as if she’d spoken them into a void. Cassie wasn’t talking to Lizzie or Freddie; she was talking to the storm in her head, to the endless loop of thoughts that kept dragging her under.

Freddie didn’t respond right away. Instead, he moved with deliberate calm, stepping over to the phone and turning it off, silencing missed calls. The absence of sound was deafening, the stillness thick and unyielding.

Then, he finally dared to ask, “You’re still against the idea of joining, aren’t you?”

Cassie stopped mid-step, her pulse quickening as her shoulders stiffened. She didn’t need him to say it. The meaning hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but unmistakable . Her gaze dropped to the floor, as though meeting his eyes might shatter whatever fragile resolve she had left.

“ I can’t ,” she said, her voice trembling under the weight of her own admission. She straightened her posture, trying to steady herself, but the words felt like glass in her throat, “ I wasn’t made for that. I can’t have my face on a screen, Freddie. It’s not who I am. ”

The silence that followed felt sharper than any argument, heavier than any rebuke. She wished, desperately, that she was wrong. That she could be the person Freddie seemed to think she could be.

How much easier would everything be if she had been born with a stronger spine. If her voice didn’t falter when too many eyes turned her way…

The thought of stepping in front of a camera made her stomach churn, her pulse thrum erratically in her ears.

The idea of Venturer had been lingering for weeks now—a chance to join her uncle’s project, to have a platform big enough to amplify voices like Sarah’s and Nathan’s. It was everything she had ever wanted, yet it felt wrong , suffocating in ways she couldn’t put into words.

The thought of facing an audience, of staring into cold, unblinking cameras instead of speaking from the safety of her anonymity, made her chest tighten painfully. She shook her head as nausea crept up, sharp and relentless.

“ How would I even do it? ” she whispered, almost to herself.

Cassie looked away, fixing her gaze on the far wall as if it might anchor her.

I can barely look someone in the eyes without my nerves turning on me. How could I put myself on a screen for all of them to see? For all of them to judge?

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had stories to tell—a cause worth fighting for. But could she sacrifice herself, her sense of safety, to make it happen?

The unease settled in deeper as her thoughts spiraled further, pulling her into darker considerations. Freddie had spent weeks trying to bring her into Venturer, his work on the project tethered to his closest friends.

But in Rutshire, nothing came without opposition, and Venturer had its rival: Tony Baddingham’s empire…

Goddamnit , she had almost forgotten about that bastard.

“Do you think that maniac, Tony Baddingham, knows anything about this yet? My... Stunt? ” Cassie’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet the concern was clear in her tone.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her calm demeanor not faltering.

“Probably doesn’t even know you exist,” she tried to brush the tension aside.

But Freddie’s reaction was different. His brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth tightening as his thoughts drifted to darker possibilities.

“I’ve kept my word," he said after a pause, his voice steadier than his expression, “I haven’t mentioned you to anyone in the circles you wanted to avoid. That includes Tony.”

Cassie exhaled, relief washing over her in brief, fleeting waves. But the fear lingered, shadowy and persistent.

What if they were wrong?

Her connection to Freddie had always been something she kept at arm’s length, knowing full well the consequences if someone like Baddingham found out. Her uncle had warned her countless times about the man’s ruthlessness, his uncanny ability to weaponize even the smallest vulnerabilities.

Tony Baddingham would do anything to destroy Venturer, without hesitation, and if he found out she was part of it—Freddie’s niece—she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use her against them.

Freddie stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. His touch was grounding, a small gesture meant to steady her as her thoughts threatened to spiral out of control again.

“Hey,” he said softly, “It won’t happen. You’re too careful. There’s no way for him to make the connection—not unless you want him to.”

His confidence was reassuring, but Cassie couldn’t ignore the tightness in his jaw, the unspoken acknowledgment that even Freddie couldn’t control every variable.

“We’re resilient,” he added, his hand giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “If it comes to it, we’ll figure it out. But this?” He gestured faintly toward her, toward the doubt clouding her features, “You can’t let it paralyze you.”

Cassie nodded slowly, though the storm inside her was far from over. Still, Freddie’s presence gave her something to hold onto—a flicker of possibility in the chaos. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take the next step forward.

“I don’t know, Uncle,” she darted her aways between him and Lizzie, “I don’t know how to help these people anymore, I don’t have a platform to do that. No radio station will hire me, and I won’t go back to Chicago.”

Freddie’s gaze held steady, his voice unwavering.

“You don’t need a platform handed to you, Cassie. You’ve always found your own way. You didn’t start because someone gave you a microphone—you started because you couldn’t stay quiet.”

Cassie’s shoulders tensed at his words, how they pondered in her mind. She leaned forward, running a hand through her hair, frustrated by the constant loop of helpless thoughts swirling in her mind.

“But that was different,” she replied, her voice strained. She rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the headache that seemed to pulse with each word, “This isn’t some blog or local tip-off. Sarah needs real help. Nathan’s risking his neck with those documents… And there is for sure more people where they came from. They need more than someone shouting into the void.”

The room seemed to close in around her as the words left her mouth, the air heavy with the unsaid. She wasn’t just talking about Sarah and Nathan anymore. She was talking about herself, the fight she had started that now felt like it was slipping out of her control.

The frustration simmered beneath her skin, making her restless.

Lizzie, who had been sitting across the table, leaned back in her chair with a slight, knowing smile. Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a sharpness to it that Cassie couldn’t ignore.

"You make it sound like shouting into the void is nothing," Lizzie said, carrying an edge that cut through the fog in Cassie’s mind, "Maybe you forgot, but you’ve been shouting into the void for years—and people listened. That’s why you’re here."

Cassie shot Lizzie a look, but didn’t respond.

She knew Lizzie was right. Deep down, she knew it. But that didn’t make the doubt fade.

It didn’t make the uncertainty about whether she had anything left to give vanish.

She’d always believed that stories could change the world—that her voice could make the difference. But lately? Lately, it felt like all she was doing was chasing her own tail, stuck in a cycle of frustration and failure. There was too much at stake now. The fight wasn’t just hers anymore.

Her eyes wandered across the room, lingering on the mess of papers scattered on the table. Her unfinished work. Her unspoken promises. And through it all, that suffocating feeling—the one that told her she was running out of time to make any of it count.

Cassie swallowed hard, trying to push the tightness in her throat down, but it wouldn’t go.

“I don’t know if I can do it anymore,” she muttered, more to herself than to either of them.

Freddie sighed, but kept himself quiet. He could hear it in her voice—the uncertainty, the defeat she was too proud to admit. His jaw clenched briefly before he exhaled, shifting in his seat.

“Cassie, you’ve been through worse, and you’ve always come out the other side. This is no different.”

Freddie’s voice was steady, but there was something in the way he said it—something that held the weight of their shared history. She met his eyes despite the internal pain it caused, yet her gaze quickly faltered, unable to hold the connection.

His belief in her was palpable, but it only made the doubt gnaw at her harder.

“I’ve never been silenced like this before,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She turned away slightly, her back to him, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The room was suddenly too small, the air too thick with the pressure of his expectations.

Cassie knew what he was thinking.

He was thinking that if she accepted his offer, everything could change. She’d have a platform, a voice loud enough to make a difference. It was the opportunity she’d always dreamed of, a step up in her career. She had always prided herself on being someone who didn’t wait for opportunities to come to her—she made them.

But this? This felt different.

Her mind raced, but it wouldn’t let her consider it fully. She could see it, clear as day—the image of her face, her name, broadcasted across every screen in Rutshire, in every household. Everyone would know her. Everyone would see who she really was, the woman behind the words, the person who had always kept her distance from the limelight.

It wasn’t about the career boost. She knew this was the kind of exposure that would propel her forward, that could change everything for her. But it came with a price. The idea of being that exposed, of having every part of her life scrutinized by people who would never understand, made her stomach twist.

Would they care about the stories she told? Or would they focus on what she wore, how she stood, whether her words matched her image? She wasn’t sure she could bear the thought of being picked apart in that way, of everyone trying to dissect her every move.

She’d always been better off behind the scenes, in the shadows where she could move unnoticed, a voice without a face.

Cassie turned back to Freddie, her hands clenched at her sides.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she said, her voice small, “To be seen. To be exposed.”

Freddie didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t need to. He understood what she meant, even if he didn’t fully understand how deep was her turmoil.

He had his own demons, his own vulnerabilities. But Cassie wasn’t him. She wasn’t built for the spotlight in the way he might’ve been.

“I get it,” Freddie said quietly after a moment, “You don’t have to make the decision right now. But you’ve never backed down before. You’ve always had the courage to stand up and face it. This... This could be another one of those times. Just think about it, Cass.”

The words felt both comforting and suffocating. The encouragement was there, but so was the unspoken pressure, the weight of an opportunity that might slip through her fingers if she didn’t take it now. It wasn’t just about the decision anymore—it was about whether or not she had the courage to step into the unknown and face everything that would come with it.

She didn’t want to disappoint him, or herself. But this wasn’t just another story to chase. This was her life, her identity, everything she’d built and protected slipping away in an instant. And the scariest part? She didn’t know if she was ready to give that up. Not yet.

Lizzie and Freddie had been gone for about an hour, but it felt like the day had stretched into an eternity. The silence in the house was deafening, a stark contrast to the constant buzz of the phone calls and conversations that had been filling her life just days ago. Cassie leaned back in her chair, the worn wood creaking under her, as her eyes fixed on the rotary phone in the corner of the room.

The phone, once a lifeline, now seemed like an enemy. Its presence mocked her, a reminder of the calls she had ignored—the people reaching out for help, for answers. Every missed call, every voicemail, was a reminder of her failure to provide what they needed.

The truth. Justice. Their voices. Now, she was unable to even summon the will to pick up the receiver.

Her mind ran in circles.

They’re all waiting for me, and I can’t even give them the time of day, she thought bitterly.

How could she help them when she couldn’t help herself? How could she expose the corruption, the lies when she didn’t have a platform to stand on? Without the station, without any means to broadcast what she knew, the truth seemed so much more distant.

What good were all the documents, all the testimonials, if no one would listen to them? No one would care?

The fear twisted inside her, sharp and suffocating.

What am I going to do? she wondered, staring at the receiver.

She thought back to the last time she’d seen Bas, how worried he had looked when she left the bar with only one goal in mind. She hadn’t known then just how wrong things would go—how horribly everything would spiral.

All she had wanted was to make things right, to take down the people who’d been abusing their power for years. But now, what did she have left?

Nothing but the wreckage of a failed mission, the remnants of a career she’d spent years building, now in ruins.

How did it all go so wrong?

Her fingers hovered over the fabric of her sweater, fear gripping her. Every number in her contacts list felt like a mountain too high to climb. What would they think of me now?

Her father’s name, Jones—what a curse it felt like now. He had built his own reputation, a notorious one, but would it help her now if she attempted to use it in her favor now? Could it?

It was a thought that had crossed her mind more than once. If she could just use his legacy—his connections—maybe there would be a way to turn things around. Once, the mere thought of it would have hurt her dignity, but now ? She was desperate enough to consider it.

If anyone would take a chance on me now, they wouldn’t be doing it for me. They’d be doing it for my father’s name, she realized.

But was her father’s name enough to erase the stain she’d just inherited from her failed career at Crawford’s?

Her mind countered: What if it works? Then, what?

Cassie pulled a piece of paper from the pile beside her and began scribbling down names—contacts from her past stories, the ones she had been able to trust, all who had once worked with Charles Crawford. Some of them were still working at other stations. Others had long since been fired, discarded by Crawford and the network for not fitting the mold, no other stations willing to hire them.

Fired employees, they knew the dirt. Perhaps, more than her even. They could help her to tear down the last brick of Crawford’s empire.

If he wanted to tear her name apart, then, she would return the favor.

She stared at the list in front of her, wondering if any of them would be willing to talk to her now, knowing that she was, for all intents and purposes, unemployed. And so fucked up as most of them were.

It would be a long shot, and she knew it. How far using her father’s name would let her go?

But even as the thought flickered in her mind, the reality of it hit her like a wave: I don’t have anything left to work with. If no one will hire me, all of this is meaningless.

All of it.

She stared at the list again, the names swimming in her vision, and then her eyes shifted to the window. Outside, the world was moving, indifferent to her turmoil. The thought of picking up the phone and calling any of these people felt like a weight she couldn’t bear.

Would any of them be willing to talk to her? A girl with a reputation her father had left behind—a reputation I don’t even want to be a part of anymore. But, suddenly is ready to take upon what he had started?

Would they even take her seriously?

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to shake the doubt from her mind. If only she could find someone who would listen to her for who she was and not who her father was… But that wasn’t how the world worked, if she wanted someone to still see some spark in her, she would have to play dirty and use her father’s name.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Her heart jumped into her throat, her hands tightening around her sweater as her mind scrambled to make sense of it.

Who could that be?

She stood, her legs shaky, and made her way to the door, still holding into the edges of the damn sweater as if her life depended on it. If it was another reporter again, she didn’t know if she would be strong enough to shove them off.

For a moment, she just… Stood there, really . Her fingers moving only to hover over the knob, waiting for something—anything—to give her the clarity she needed.

"Who is it?" she called out, her voice sounding small and weak in the vast emptiness of the house.

There was a brief pause, and then the response came.

"Ahm, Declan O'Hara."

Declan O’Hara? The Declan Fucking O’Hara?

She had never spoken to him—not directly, not since she moved to Rutshire. But his name… She knew it well . It had come up in nearly every conversation with Bas, with her uncle, even Lizzie.

The man who had made a career of being sharp, ruthless, and always in control of the room.

She wasn’t sure why he would be here, at her door, now of all times .

What does he want with me? She thought, a flash of unease running through her.

Cassie’s mind raced through the stories she had heard about him—the interviews that made headlines, the scandals that had followed him like shadows, the way people either loved or hated him, but never ignored him. She had followed his career almost from the beginning, admiring the boldness in his approach, the way he could dissect a situation with just a few well-chosen words.

It was exactly what she had once wanted for herself, when she first dreamed of being a journalist. Back in Chicago.

Yet here he was, standing at her door, a reality she never could have predicted.

Why now?

Cassie stared at the door as though willing it to explain itself. Declan O’Hara—her thoughts were still tripping over the impossibility of his presence here. It didn’t make sense. Why would someone like him, a man whose name carried both weight and controversy, show up unannounced at her door?

Taking a steadying breath, she pulled the door open.

And there was he.

Declan O’Hara stood on her doorstep, casual yet undeniably present, the kind of man who didn’t knock on doors unless he already knew they’d be opened.

His features were sharper in person than in the photographs or on television—his jawline more defined, the stubble catching the dim light. His dark eyes, shadowed but piercing, seemed to size her up in an instant, taking in every detail without giving much away. The lines at the corners of his mouth hinted at a man who’d seen enough to be cynical but wore charm like a second skin instead, a disarming weapon as much as a choice.

And then, of course, there was the mustache, impeccably trimmed, adding an air of polish to someone who seemed never rushed, never flustered, and entirely too aware of the presence he carried with himself.

Cassie’s breath caught in her chest, and she wondered, not for the first time that morning, if she was still asleep and dreaming up the absurdity of it all.

“Miss Jones,” his voice even, the faint trace of a Dublin lilt giving his words an edge. He regarded her with quiet interest, his eyes scanning her face like a puzzle.

“Mr. O’Hara,” she managed, her tone steady despite the racing in her chest.

He tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Cassie frowned, unsure how to answer. Was he joking? Interrupting what—her ongoing existential crisis?

God , he could have interrupted it anytime he preferred, really. She wouldn’t complain.

“You’ve certainly caught me off guard,” she admitted instead, her fingers tightening on the knob.

“Good,” he said simply, as though that had been his goal all along.

Cassie blinked at him, her world spinning a bit too fast. She wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or intrigued by his audacity. The air felt heavier, charged with an energy that hadn’t been there moments before.

Declan O’Hara wasn’t just a man standing at her door; he was a presence . A gravitational force pulling her in despite every instinct screaming to guard herself.

That was how his guests felt? That's why they continued in their seats even when he crossed the line?

“I heard your broadcast,” he said, the trace of an Irish lilt softening his words, “It made an impression.”

“An impression,” Cassie repeated, frowning, “I assume you’re here to tell me it was a bad one.”

Declan’s mustache twitched, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he was suppressing a smile or a retort.

“Not quite,” he said, his voice hinting at something more than polite interest.

His dark eyes settled back on hers, unflinching and steady. There was something in his gaze, as though he were testing her, waiting to see how she’d react to his scrutiny.

It hurt her to look away, but the force of it was too much. She glanced toward the floor, the slight chill of the open doorway creeping up her spine.

Declan didn’t move, obviously

Seeing him on television was one thing—his charisma contained within the screen, his sharp words cutting through interviews like a scalpel. But here, standing in front of her, he was... Different. He wasn’t just a personality, a face attached to the stories she’d watched from a distance.

He was real . And his presence wasn’t something she’d prepared herself for.

There was a magnetic quality to him, the kind of charm that wasn’t loud or forced but instead lingered in the way he carried himself, in the deliberate cadence of his words. It unsettled her, this awareness of him.

She tried to lock the thought away before it could take root. The last thing she needed was to feel self-conscious about Declan O’Hara.

“Then what exactly are you here to tell me?” she asked, forcing her voice into a steadiness she didn’t entirely feel.

Declan’s lips curved ever so slightly, his expression one of quiet amusement.

“I’d say it’s less about telling and more about asking,” he said, his tone dropping, the lilt wrapping around each syllable with an ease that felt entirely unfair.

“Asking what ?” she pressed, her brows drawing together in suspicion.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze shifted past her, sweeping over the interior of her home with the same sharpness he had directed at her moments ago. The soft yellow glow from the hallway lamps cast long shadows against the worn wallpaper and the scattered mess of papers on the table just visible in the background.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the space behind her. The neutrality of his tone made the question feel less like a request and more like a formality.

Cassie hesitated. For a moment, she considered shutting the door in his face, but the calm, unhurried way he stood there made her pause. Declan O’Hara didn’t knock on doors without a reason, and whatever he wanted to say, she had a feeling it wasn’t something she could afford to ignore.

She stepped back reluctantly, gesturing for him to enter.

“You’ve come this far,” she said, her voice filled with dry humor, “I suppose it would be rude to leave you standing in the cold.”

Declan’s eyes flicked back to hers, lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. She could feel his gaze over her, the way it seemed to cut through her walls without effort, slashing her insides.

There was nothing overt in the way he looked at her—no smirk, no lingering stare—but the intensity of his gaze was unsettling all the same. It wasn’t something she could pin down, and that only made it harder to shake.

That was the Declan O’Hara effect, she guessed.

“Generous of you,” he murmured, stepping inside with an ease that suggested he was no stranger to navigating unfamiliar spaces. His coat shifted as he moved, the dark fabric catching the light as he turned to take in the room.

Cassie shut the door behind him, the sound of it closing grounding her slightly. She leaned against the frame for a moment, her eyes instinctively following his movements as he took in the room.

He didn’t linger on any one thing, yet it felt as though nothing escaped his notice—the scattered papers on the table, the crumpled throw on the couch, the worn edges of the armchair by the window…

Everything felt suddenly too intimate, too exposed under his quiet scrutiny, as though her home had unwittingly laid bare the corners of her mind.

And then, he moved. Just a slight shift as he turned, the muted light catching on the sharp line of his jaw, casting shadows along his cheekbones. His coat hung open, revealing the crisp lines of his shirt beneath, the gleam of a watch peeking out from under his sleeve. The shadows softened the severity of his features, but the intensity remained, resting in the sharp focus of his dark eyes.

For a brief moment, Cassie wondered what it would be like to see him somewhere else, as a stranger in some bar—a thought she quickly pushed aside. Declan O’Hara wasn’t someone you invited to drink, in this case, her specifically .

There was no world where she would be in a bar, sat by his side, drinking and laughing about drunk jokes.

“Not what I expected,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. He didn’t elaborate, but there was no judgment in his tone, only curiosity.

Cassie raised an eyebrow, masking her unease with a wry smile.

“What were you expecting? A newsroom?”

He glanced at her, and for the briefest moment, his mustache twitched with what might have been amusement, “Something a little more... Guarded.”

“Well, that was my father’s place,” she shrugged, “I didn’t change anything since I moved in, it still has his face and personality.”

Declan’s head inclined ever so slightly, his gaze not trembling as it traced the room’s quiet details. The soft lamplight cast long shadows over the cluttered surfaces, the books stacked unevenly on the table, the photograph frames turned just slightly askew.

If he found anything notable, he didn’t show it; his face remained unreadable, save for the slightest narrowing of his eyes, as though he were cataloging each element of her space.

“It feels lived in,” he said, his voice measured, a step back from casual but not quite formal.

Cassie stilled, her weight shifting onto one foot as though to anchor herself. The idea of this place—the remnants of someone else’s life—feeling lived in was strange, almost laughable. Especially by her. It wasn’t hers, for starters.

“Borrowed,” she corrected, “It’s borrowed.”

Declan’s mouth curved weakly—not quite a smile, more of a quiet acknowledgment. He said nothing at first, letting the moment breathe. The hum of the overhead light filled the silence, a sound she hadn’t noticed until now.

“What brings you here, Mr. O’Hara?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Her words came sharper now, an effort to push through the strange atmosphere he seemed to carry with him. The air felt electrical in his presence, as though the room itself had to adjust to accommodate him.

“I told you,” he replied, meeting her eyes with a calm intensity, “Your broadcast made an impression.”

The way he said it gave her pause.

Cassie felt his gaze settle on her as though waiting to see how she’d react. She took a slow breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater.

“And that’s enough to knock on someone’s door unannounced?”

“Sometimes,” he said, with a small shrug that somehow managed not to look dismissive, “Though I’ll admit, it wasn’t just the broadcast.”

Her posture stiffened, “Then what was it?”

Declan stepped closer—not enough to invade her space, but just enough that his presence felt more immediate. The creak of the floorboards under his weight seemed louder than it should have been. His gaze flicked briefly to the papers scattered across the table, her scrawled notes forming a haphazard pile that betrayed the frantic way she’d been grasping for control.

Cassie felt his focus shift back to her. It was deliberate, calculated, and entirely unsettling. She resisted the urge to shrink back. Instead, she stayed rooted where she stood, gripping her sweater tighter.

His hesitation was subtle—so brief she might have missed it if she weren’t watching him so closely.

Declan O’Hara wasn’t someone who hesitated often, she imagined. That thought, more than anything, unsettled her even more.

“You’ve put yourself in a position where people are either going to admire you or come for you,” he said, his voice measured but low enough to make her lean in slightly to hear him.

“Admire me?” she asked dryly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward in a humorless smile, “You think that’s likely?”

Declan’s expression didn’t shift much, but the glint in his eyes pierced as he regarded her. Standing there in the muted glow of her living room, he looked entirely at ease—his posture loose, hands slipping casually into his pockets. Yet, there was a coiled energy to him, like a predator content to observe but ready to strike when necessary.

“Admire you?” His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile but close, “They’d be foolish not to. Anyone paying attention would see you’ve got something most people don’t.”

Cassie blinked at that, thrown for a moment by the unexpected turn. The words weren’t overly complimentary. Still, there was something in how he said them—deliberate and matter-of-fact—that left her feeling exposed.

“Crawford isn’t most people,” she countered, her tone cautious, “And I’m not sure anyone else is paying attention.”

Declan tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes scanning her face as if weighing her words against something he already knew, “Crawford’s watching you. I’d bet more people are too.”

The amusement in his voice hinted at more than what he was saying, but he didn’t elaborate.

Cassie felt a flicker of something sharp and unsettling under his gaze—like he was dissecting her, piecing her together in real time. She crossed her arms over her chest, more for herself than for him, and forced out a brittle laugh to deflect.

“That’s a poetic way of telling me I’ve already lost.”

Declan’s gaze drifted briefly around the room again, his expression unreadable. The warmth of the space contrasted with the calculated intensity he carried with him, making her feel simultaneously guarded and cornered.

When his eyes found her figure again, his voice softened, though it didn’t lose its power.

“You haven’t lost,” he said simply, “but making Crawford an enemy wasn’t smart.”

“Don’t you say it,” Cassie chuckled, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“And yet,” he said, his tone as even as ever, “you don’t seem the type to let obvious risks stop you.”

Cassie exhaled sharply, darting her gaze toward the notes scattered across the table—a deliberate escape from the way his presence seemed to charge the air between them.

“Obvious risks don’t bother me,” she replied, “Obvious consequences do.”

His head tilted slightly, the movement small but deliberate, “Is that why you haven’t made the calls yet?”

Her head snapped up, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes.

“You’ve been here for all of five minutes, and you think you’ve got me figured out?”

Declan didn’t rise to the bait, his expression remaining frustratingly composed. He let the question linger for a beat before answering.

“I don’t need to figure you out,” he said plainly, “It’s written all over you. You’ve gone through every word you’d say, rehearsed every answer they might give, but the phone’s still on the table.”

Cassie stiffened, her arms crossing tighter over her chest.

“And if it is?” she shot back, her tone defensive but softer, hesitant. Doubt , maybe.

“Then it tells me you’re not ready to decide what matters most,” Declan said, his voice dangerously low, if she wasn’t looking at his feet, she would be sure he had whispered in her ear.

Cassie felt the words hit their mark before she could deflect. It wasn’t just what he said but the way he said it, like he wasn’t trying to convince her of anything, merely stating the obvious. The restraint in his tone grated at her more than a lecture ever could.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” she shot back, but the bite in her words was dulled by hesitation, “I didn’t ask you to come here and give me advice last time I checked.”

Declan didn’t step back. If anything, his presence seemed more focused, more intentional. He had a way of occupying space without crowding it, though it didn’t stop Cassie from feeling scrutinized under his gaze. His fingers brushed the edge of another page on the table, the smallest of gestures, yet it felt charged.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, the hint of a shrug in his shoulders, “But you’re the one who put your voice out there for the world to hear. That’s not the move of someone afraid to make a decision.”

Her chest tightened at the subtle jab, even though she knew it wasn’t meant to be cruel. Cassie uncrossed her arms, only to realize she had no idea what to do with her hands. They hovered awkwardly for a moment before she shoved them into the pockets of her sweater.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” she muttered, her gaze dropping to the scrawled notes on the table, “It was either speak up or keep quiet and let him win.”

“I noticed,” Declan said, his voice cutting through the air with deliberate clarity, “And for what it’s worth—you didn’t waste a single word. Your broadcast wasn’t just speaking up. It was precision. You wielded those words like a scalpel, cutting exactly where it needed to hurt.”

There was something in the way he said it—calm, matter-of-fact—that made her dizzy. The sincerity in his tone was disarming, but there was weight to it that felt impossible to carry. Her breath hitched involuntarily, her fingers curling deeper into the fabric of her sweater as though she could steady herself against it.

“You make it sound like I had thought about what I would say before I broke in Dan’s show. Maybe in my shows, yes, but not yesterday,” she muttered, her voice quiet, “ It wasn’t. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

Declan didn’t look away, his attention anchored to her with unnerving steadiness.

“Maybe not consciously,” he allowed, leaning back slightly but still holding her in his focus, “But it’s in how you speak—every pause, every shift in tone. It’s not accidental. It’s instinct, you have a gift.”

Cassie felt the words swirl in her chest, a strange mixture of unease and something she couldn’t quite name. Gratitude? Validation? She wasn’t sure, but it unsettled her all the same.

She huffed quietly, her eyes darting toward the window. The sheer curtains filtered the outside light, casting soft patterns on the walls. It was the kind of view that might have once soothed her, but right now, the delicate glow did nothing to ease the unease thrumming beneath her skin.

“You say that like it’s so simple,” she muttered, her voice tight, “Like gifts or instincts are enough to untangle all of this.”

Declan didn’t rush to respond, his silence deliberate. It wasn’t a silence that pressed or demanded—it allowed her words to sit. He moved, finally, his hand brushing against her notes scattered haphazardly, almost grasping at them.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” he said, “You didn’t just call out Crawford. You made people listen. That’s what scares him, or anyone really.”

Cassie’s fingers twitched at his words, biting her cheeks. She didn’t want to meet his eyes, but her gaze betrayed her, flicking up to find him watching her with that unrelenting steadiness.

Soon, she looked away again.

“I wasn’t trying to scare anyone,” she murmured, barely audible, “I just… Couldn’t let him get away with it.”

Declan’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Exactly,” he said, “And that’s the kind of drive we need on Venturer.”

Her breath caught, and the tension in her chest tightened like a coil.

That was what he had come to ask.

Cassie’s hands tightened into fists against her sides, her nails biting into her palms. The air in the room felt dense, not from the warmth of the radiator or the faint aroma of tea and ink, but from Declan’s words lingering in the air like a challenge she wasn’t ready to face.

“I can’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head, “I’m not made for that. I already told my uncle—”

“Freddie understands,” Declan interjected smoothly, “But I don’t think you do.”

Cassie stiffened, her shoulders rising defensively.

“I know exactly what I can and can’t do,” she snapped, “And I’m telling you: I can’t do that .”

Declan’s presence felt suffocating in its quiet intensity. The room seemed smaller with him in it, every detail sharper and more vivid under his gaze. The cold wind blowing, the soft tick of the clock on the wall—it all pressed against her, amplifying doubts swirling inside her.

How could she explain it to him, this bone-deep dread that came with the idea of being seen? Not just seen, but scrutinized, judged .

Being a voice on the airwaves had given her a layer of protection—a wall between herself and the people who listened. They could hear her passion, her anger, her conviction, but they couldn’t see the fear that sometimes gripped her chest like a vice.

They couldn’t look at her eyes and see what she truly was: a young woman afraid of every step she took.

The thought of standing in front of a camera, her face projected into thousands of homes, made her stomach churn. Every slip of the tongue, every stutter or hesitation, would be magnified a hundredfold. She wasn’t built for that kind of exposure.

“I can’t,” she said again, though her voice sounded weaker this time, frayed at the edges.

Declan didn’t move, didn’t blink. His stillness was maddening.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and that bloody sharpness again, something that cut straight to the heart of her defenses.

Cassie inhaled deeply, trying to quell the rising panic that threatened to choke her. Her gaze flickered across the room, seeking an escape, but there was none—not from him, not from the truth he was pushing her to confront.

“You don’t get it, Mr. O’Hara,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, “It’s not about not wanting recognition or having people listen to me. It’s about...” She trailed off, searching for the words that always seemed to slip through her fingers when she needed them most, “It’s about what happens when they don’t like what they see.”

Declan frowned, leaning forward, “What do you mean?”

Her chest ached as she struggled to articulate the knot of fear and self-doubt that had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember.

“You think it’s just about standing in front of a camera and telling the truth,” she said bitterly, her eyes hardening as she looked at the points of his shoes, “But it’s not . It’s about what happens afterward—when they pick apart every word you said, every expression you made, every tiny flaw you didn’t even realize you had. When they decide who you are based on nothing but a frozen image on a screen.”

Declan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing through them.

“Cassie,” he said, his voice quieter now, “You’ve already faced that. Every time you went on air, every time you published a story. The only difference is, you couldn’t see it happening.”

Cassie’s heart pounded in her chest as Declan’s words hung in the air, each one heavy with intent. He spoke with a calm certainty that made her defenses feel paper-thin.

“I read about your work,” he began, his tone carefully measured, “I’ve listened to the records of your broadcasts. I’ve read the pieces you wrote in Chicago. And I know one thing for certain: you’re not the kind of person who hides behind a mic because she’s afraid. You do it because it’s efficient. Effective .”

Cassie stared at him immediately, her breath catching as the implication of his statement hit her. Her lips parted to respond, but no words came. She felt a strange dizziness, as if the walls of the room had tilted slightly, throwing her off balance.

How?

How could he have done all that in the span of a day ?

He had to have sought out recordings, dug through archives, tracked down articles she hadn’t thought about in years. From yesterday to now, he had made it his mission to know her, to understand her work, her voice.

It was unsettling.

It was…

“Every single one of them had one thing in common,” Declan continued, his tone softening, though his intensity never wavered.

Cassie raised her head, her brow furrowing as she finally managed to find her voice, “What’s that?”

“ You ,” he said, leaning forward again, his eyes never leaving her figure, constantly searching for her eyes, “Your voice, your perspective. You didn’t just report the facts—you made people care about them. You made them feel it. That’s not something everyone can do.”

The sincerity in his tone cut through her like a knife, carving through the doubt she had clung to for so long. She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t.

She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t.

Her fingers, still restless, searched for shelter in the fabric of her sweater. The tension in her body refused to ease, the heat creeping up her neck to her cheeks as she processed his gaze—so unwavering, so certain.

“You think being in front of a camera changes that?” he asked, his gaze unwavering, “It doesn’t. If anything, it amplifies it. People don’t connect to perfection—they connect to authenticity. And you, Cassie, are as authentic as it gets.”

The heat crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. She could feel it—a flush that she couldn’t suppress, a reaction she couldn’t control. She wanted to blame the intensity of the conversation, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.

There was something in the way he looked at her—unwavering, searching. His eyes, dark and steady, seemed to hold a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place. Admiration? Curiosity?

The corners of his lips lifted, not into a full smile, but a subtle quirk that softened the sharpness of his features. He was close—closer than he needed to be—and she couldn’t decide if it was intentional or just a consequence of his presence.

Her hands fidgeted in the fabric of her sweater again, twisting it as she fought to regain her composure.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I don’t think I am,” Declan replied, “If anything, I’m not giving you enough.”

The words struck her like a blow, cutting through the haze of self-doubt that had wrapped itself around her once and for all. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.

The air between them felt charged, electric in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to her like this—not with flattery, but with belief.

Her gaze darted to the window again. The pale light filtering through the sheer curtains softened the room's edges but did nothing to dull the sharp edge of Declan’s words. Outside, the distant sound of birdsong felt muted against the tension humming in the room.

Her mind raced, spiraling as it tried to keep up with the emotions swirling inside her. The compliments, the conviction in his voice—it was too much, too fast. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to jump or cling to the safety of the ground beneath her feet.

“You don’t know me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Not really.”

“I know that you’re holding yourself back,” Declan countered.

She shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You make it sound so easy,” she muttered, “Like all I have to do is step in front of a camera and everything will fall into place.”

Declan’s expression shifted, softening in a way that made her chest tighten.

“It’s not about it being easy,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle, “It’s about it being worth it.”

Cassie blinked, thrown off balance by the simplicity of his response.

“I’ve been where you are,” Declan continued, “Afraid of what people might see, what they might say. But here’s the thing: it’s not about you. It’s about the story. It’s about what you’re trying to show them, the truth you’re trying to tell.”

His words landed heavily, resonating with something deep inside her. She faltered, her gaze dropping back to her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, and she clenched them back to her sweater to steady herself.

“You’re talented, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice gaining a firmer edge, “You’re good . You have a way of making people listen—not just to the facts, but to what they mean. We could give you a show, a platform where you can do exactly what you said yesterday: pull back the rug and show people what’s been swept under it.”

He paused, letting the words sink in before adding, “But if you’re not ready to take that jump, then tell me— what do you want to do next? ”

Cassie’s heart hammered in her chest. His words pressed against her like the weight of the world, a challenge, an invitation, all rolled into one. Beneath the pressure, there was a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a long time: possibility. It was a thought she couldn't shake—the idea of not just telling the truth, but having the power to shape the conversation, to expose the darkness hiding in plain sight.

What would she do next ?

For the first time, the idea didn’t feel impossible. It felt terrifying, yes , but there was a spark of curiosity beneath the fear—a small, stubborn part of her that wanted to know if she could.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at Declan, his gaze steady. Not leaving her sight, not for once.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she took the courage to say it out loud.

Declan’s lips curved into a smile, one that didn’t feel triumphant but rather understanding.

“I’ll wait,” he said, and she believed in him.

Cassie hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater as a new thought occurred to her. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Can I ask you something?”.

“Of course,” he replied immediately.

“Why me?” she asked, her words laced with genuine confusion, “There are dozens of people out there trying to make noise, trying to be heard. What was so special about what I did yesterday?”

Declan’s smile deepened, but there was something else in his expression—a flicker of something warm, almost unspoken.

“It wasn’t just what you did yesterday,” he said, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “It was the way you did it. The way you made people stop and listen. You didn’t just speak—you cut through . You made them care. That’s not something you see every day.”

His gaze lingered on hers, steady and searching, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, the space between them charged with something she couldn’t name.

But, despite it feeling small… That was one of the few times that looking into someone’s eyes didn’t make her feel like drowning. Not in a hurtful way.

“You’re different, Cassie,” Declan continued, “And that scares people like Crawford. It’s also what makes you impossible to ignore. I had heard today some people are already calling you ‘Bloody Harrier’, and I don’t disagree with them, you are a harrier.”

Cassie swallowed hard, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say. All she could do was nod, his words settling heavily in her chest as she tried to make sense of the possibilities now laid before her.

"That’s kind coming from someone like you,” Cassie muttered, her voice laced with skepticism, “But I don’t feel like a harrier .”

Declan’s eyes softened, a quiet understanding passing between them, “That’s because you don’t see yourself the way others do.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as his words lingered in the space between them.

Outside, the breeze rustled the leaves against the windowpane, its soft whisper contrasting with the quiet tension in the room. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though—it was waiting, expectant, as if the world was on pause, waiting for Cassie to choose whether to step forward or remain where she was.

Cassie’s gaze flickered back to him, and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world seemed to vanish. And in that moment, she became acutely aware of how close he was. His presence, which had always been intense since he had knocked at her door, now felt almost overwhelming.

She noticed the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his lips were slightly parted as he spoke, the faintest trace of stubble that caught the light. The dim afternoon glow from the window washed over his features, softening them in a way that made everything about him seem impossibly magnetic.

It was a fleeting moment, but she felt it, that subtle charge in the air. Something unspoken, something she couldn't put into words, hanging there between them.

For a moment, Declan didn’t speak. He stood still, his gaze steady, as if he too was aware of the proximity. The air seemed to crackle, the space between them shrinking, until finally, with a slight but noticeable shift in his posture, Declan took a step back, breaking the tension.

His eyes never left hers, though, and the understanding between them lingered in the silence.

"Do you really believe that?" Cassie asked, her voice smaller, almost a whisper.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?” Declan asked her back.

The room felt heavy after Declan’s words, his presence an anchor pulling at Cassie’s thoughts. She didn’t know what to say, and for once, she didn’t try to fill the silence. It stretched between them, thick and charged, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater in a futile attempt to ground herself.

Declan’s gaze stayed fixed on her. It wasn’t harsh or prying, but steady, as though he were trying to understand something about her that she hadn’t figured out herself. That quiet intensity unsettled her, a reminder of the kind of man he was—one who didn’t miss the small things, who didn’t let truths slip away unnoticed.

“I should go,” he said, breaking the silence himself. His voice low, almost hesitant, as if leaving wasn’t entirely what he wanted.

Cassie widened her eyes, startled by the shift in the moment. She stepped back slightly, creating a sliver of space between them, though it did nothing to untangle the knot tightening in her chest.

“Right,” she replied, the word coming out too quickly, sharper than she intended, “ Of course. ”

Declan moved toward the door, his steps well measured. He didn’t rush, as though each movement was a chance to reconsider something left unsaid. The air between them felt different now, lighter in some ways but heavy with the lingering weight of their exchange.

When he reached the door, he paused. He turned back, his posture relaxed but his expression still thoughtful.

The dim light coming through the window outlined the sharp edges of his features perfectly, it made him seem less imposing, more human .

“It was good meeting you,” he said, “I wish it had happened sooner.”

His words weren’t dramatic, but they hit somewhere deep, somewhere she didn’t know was vulnerable until now. For a moment, she didn’t respond, unsure of what to say or how to untangle the emotions his presence had stirred.

“Yeah,” she said, her words almost fragile, as if they could break in any second, “Me too.”

Declan’s lips curved into a smile—not the polished, performative kind she’d seen on screens, but something smaller, more genuine.

“Maybe it would’ve made things… Simpler,” he added, his tone light, though his words carried more meaning than they seemed to.

Cassie nodded, unsure how to respond to that . Her thoughts felt tangled, a mess of emotions she didn’t want to unravel just yet.

The least she could do was open the door for him, letting the cold evening air rush in. It swept past her, bracing and sharp, clearing the fog in her mind just enough to remind her where she was. She stepped closer to the doorway, watching as he descended the steps with the same calm confidence he carried everywhere.

At the edge of the porch, he turned back briefly. His dark coat blended with the gray evening, but his eyes caught hers one last time.

“Take care of yourself, Cassie,” he said, his voice warm and familiar, as though he had always known her.

“You too,” she replied, the words barely audible but sincere, “Mr. O’Hara.”

“Please,“ his smile widened, “Call me Declan.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came. Instead, she nodded, her fingers gripping the door for balance.

“Declan ,” she said, the name feeling foreign on her tongue, heavier than it should have been.

The moment lingered settled between them, neither of them seeming in a hurry to break it. Cassie could feel his gaze, the way it softened now, lacking the intensity he’d carried earlier. It made her chest feel tight, but not in the way she was used to.

This wasn’t the suffocating pressure of fear or failure—it was something else, something unfamiliar and unsettling.

Declan glanced past her, his eyes briefly scanning the quiet house behind her. The mess of papers on the table, the dim glow of the single lamp in the corner—it was all so distinctly her, chaotic yet purposeful.

His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as though he was about to say more, but then he stepped back, the moment slipping away.

“Goodbye,” he said one more time.

She stayed in the doorway as he walked to his car. The gravel crunched softly under his feet, the sound carrying in the quiet dusk. He opened the driver’s side door, pausing for just a moment before getting in. The headlights flared to life, cutting through the fading light as he started the engine.

Cassie watched as he pulled out of the driveway, the rumble of the car fading as he disappeared down the road. She stayed there long after he was gone, the cold creeping up her arms, her heart still beating a little faster than normal.

When she finally stepped back inside, the warmth of the house felt strange, as though she’d been away for longer than just a moment. She leaned against the door, letting out a slow breath, her thoughts still circling the man who had just left.

Her eyes drifted to the phone on the corner of the room. The list of names was still on her table, waiting for her to take the next step.

For a brief moment, she considered picking up the receiver, calling Sarah, or anyone on that list. But the weight of the decision held her back, the fear of failure keeping her frozen in place.

Declan’s words echoed in her mind: “You made people care.”

She didn’t know if she believed it. Not yet. But the thought lingered, and for now, that was enough.

Enough for her to go to the damn rotary phone and start making her calls.

Rutshire Gazette

Local Radio Dispute Sparks Drama at Crawford’s FM

By Edward Hill

In an unexpected twist during yesterday’s live broadcast, Cassandra Jones, a presenter at Crawford’s FM, took to the airwaves with allegations against station owner Charles Crawford.

Ms. Jones, who recently returned to Rutshire after spending much of her career in Chicago, accused Mr. Crawford of suppressing critical stories in favor of lighter, more commercially viable programming.

Eyewitnesses claim Ms. Jones refused to vacate the studio, reportedly locking herself in for nearly an hour before the police intervened. Sources close to the station describe the incident as “disruptive” and “unprofessional,” with one staff member alleging that Ms. Jones acted “erratically.”

Speaking to the Gazette, Mr. Crawford condemned the incident as a “stunt,” stating: “It’s unfortunate that Ms. Jones felt the need to air grievances in such an inflammatory manner, particularly when we’ve always encouraged an open-door policy for our team. Crawford’s FM prides itself on being a reliable source of entertainment and community news—values clearly lost in Ms. Jones’ actions.”

The details of Ms. Jones’ grievances remain unclear, though snippets from the broadcast suggest dissatisfaction with editorial decisions and claims of mismanagement. The station has confirmed they are pursuing legal action for trespassing and property damage.

Ms. Jones, who was arrested at the scene, declined to comment when approached outside the police station early this morning. However, her outburst has sparked debate among listeners, some of whom have voiced their support. One caller, who wished to remain anonymous, told the Gazette:

"She’s got guts. What she said about the council funds was true. But no one wants to touch it because it’s messy. I say good for her, we need more bloody harriers around here!"

Others, however, have expressed concern over Ms. Jones’ approach, questioning whether such public defiance undermines the credibility of her claims.

For now, the fate of Ms. Jones’ career remains uncertain, with many in the industry speculating whether this incident marks the end of her tenure at Crawford’s FM—or the beginning of something far more contentious.

[slayfics]

Idk if you’re still taking requests but i’m down bad for your writings so pls hear me out: imagine giving katsuki a lap dance but even then somehow he’s still the one who holds control over you 🤧

I’m such a lost cause i’m sorry

You give Katsuki a lap dance.

Warnings: aged up | NSFW themes

1000 words~

You puttered around the living room, putting things away and cleaning down the table as Katsuki sat on the couch reviewing some work reports on his laptop. Music played off the speaker in the corner of the living room, your playlist on shuffle.

You listened to a variety of music, so the mood changed in the living room drastically from song to song. Currently, an ambient lo-fi song played, as you walked to the kitchen to throw away the cleaning wipes you just used.

You made your way back to the living room and scanned it for any other tasks that needed to be done. Everything looked in order, but you scanned again for something to do. You wanted more excuses to be close to Katsuki's presence as he worked.

You usually weren't this clingy but lately, he had been extra busy with hero work, giving you both little alone time. Deciding the TV could use dusting you walked to the hall closet to grab the duster.

As you made your way to the TV that was across from the couch Katsuki worked on, the lo-fi song changed and another randomly shuffled song played from your playlist. This song had a much different vibe from the lo-fi song. It was a slow sultry song you often put on to hype yourself up before having sex with Katsuki.

Katsuki knew the song well, as he watched you many times come to life for him when it played. He loved how it would instantly boost your confidence, making you feel like the attractive bombshell you deserved to feel like.

Katsuki's eyes flashed to you, "Change that damn song," he demanded.

You shot him a pouty look, "You don't like it?" you asked.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, "That's not the problem. This song- and you dusting the TV like that... can't fucking focus on my work."

"So don't," you said back at him teasingly.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at you as if to challenge you. You stalked over to him and gently grabbed at his laptop. To your surprise Katsuki let you take it from him and place it on the table.

"Can I show you what I've been practicing?" You asked, climbing onto his lap. Being that you two had little alone time the past few weeks, you had been working up something special for him. After watching a sensual music video, you decided you wanted to give Katsuki a show, specifically a lap dance.

"Go ahead- you have my undivided attention now," he said, crimson eyes staring up at you as you positioned yourself.

Even though the song was perfect, and you practiced many times alone- you felt yourself freeze up under his intense crimson glare. His eyes eagerly watched you, curious to see what you had in mind. But all confidence ran out of your body as his hands grabbed your waist, his expression as intimidating as ever.

"Well? What were ya gonna do brat?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as you internally yelled at your body to move, but nothing happened, "I was gonna dance for you," you said shyly.

Katsuki's eyes widened, "No shit?" He exclaimed. "Go on I wanna see," he encouraged.

You took a deep breath trying to regain some of your confidence. Noticing this Katsuki encouraged you further, "Come on don't get shy on me now, I want to see what you've been practicing for me," he said playfully slapping your ass. "You look hot as fuck just mounting me so- gonna lose it when you move your hips," he said, hyping you up.

You gave a sheepish smile as you forced yourself to try. You flipped your hair back putting on the confident expression you had practiced many times in the mirror, as your grip on his shoulders tightened and you began to gyrate your hips grinding on him.

Katsuki's eyes hungrily swept over your body as it moved for him. Then you pressed off his lap sinking between his legs, hands now on his thighs as you eyed him seductively making your way all the way down to the floor.

"Oh shit," Katsuki exclaimed taken off guard by your sudden departure. Following the video you'd studied so much, you stood up and turned around, now facing the TV you caught Katsuki's reflection in the dark screen still hungrily eyeing your body. Hands on his knees for support, you swayed your hips from side to side slowly as you sunk again to the floor in between his legs.

Knees on the floor, you removed your hands from his knees and placed them in front of you. On all fours, you slowly leaned forward till your head laid seductively on the floor. Your ass now being on display, you shook it for him.

Katsuki let out a lustful groan at your movements. Feeling all your confidence rush back, you sat up, laying your head back in his lap resting in between his legs, you arched your back and ran your hands seductively down your body eliciting another groan from him.

You moved back up to his lap, still facing away from him you pressed your ass into his lap and started grinding into him, hips swirling. "Fuck," he exclaimed, the feel of you beginning to weaken his resolve.

You stood back up but squeaked out in surprise when Katsuki grabbed your waist and pulled your ass back down. "Nah- do that shit again," He demanded.

You grinded your ass into him once more, a confident smile on your face at his enjoyment.

You flipped your hair again as you turned around, mounting him with a leg on either side of him, you worked your way up his lap. Swiveling your hips into him pressing into the bulge now protruding from his pants. You brought your hands to your chest as you gave your tits a jiggle, your last move before the song ended.

Before you could ask for his opinion Katsuki picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, "Bedroom now," was all he said. Causing your laughter to fill the room.

Thank you for the request! This was a fun one to write 🤭! I hope I was able to explain the dance well enough!

Shout out to @pastelbakugou and @unofficialmuilover for letting me bug them and give me ideas while I typed this one out 😂!

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a

[imagine-you]

the darkest hour never comes in the night [Logan/Reader]

Summary: Part 4 of my Home 'verse. Logan gets back after a clean up job with the X-Men to discover that you're missing. He's ready to track down whoever dared to lay a finger on you, but first he's going to have to seek an old mentor for help if he wants to find you. // Once you realize you're trapped in a nightmare of Sinister's making, you have to find a way to free yourself of the illusion. Even if you do manage to escape, will you ever be free of Sinister or will the effects of his experiment linger? Word Count: 15.6k Author's Notes: This chapter may contain: Surprise cameos!, angst, rescue missions, protective Logan, an omega level mutant or two, a smidge of foreshadowing, found family dynamics, reader being a badass, and Logan's POV!

When I'm With You I'm Home 'verse

Read on AO3

Logan had never been the type to believe a good thing would last.

Even when he felt on top of the world, he knew that sooner or later he would stumble right off and fall back to where he belonged at the bottom.

After losing his wife and the X-Men, he knew that there was never going to be a different ending to his story. He lost himself in bottle after bottle, searching for every escape he could get if it meant he wouldn't have to think about everything that had gone spectacularly wrong since the moment he walked away from his family.

If he could take it all back, then he would. But he couldn't, so he was forced to move on.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Wade had saved him from himself. He had been quick to hate him, all the good things had long been burned out of him, but Wade had changed that by being a special brand of hopeful and moronic. He had pushed and pulled and persisted when Logan wanted nothing more than for him to shut the hell up. He had forced Logan to be a hero again even when he felt like his own worst enemy.

When he was convinced that his universe was a lost cause because of Wade's deception, he could feel himself start to slip again. He took out all of his anger and resentment on Wade, loving that Wade could give as good as he got, because he wanted to feel the pain he was doling out. Loss and rage had blinded him once again and he felt hope slip away from him with each time he stabbed and tore and ripped into Wade.

But then a miracle happened. He woke up in that shithole they called the Void and found his missing piece. Y/N wasn't his wife, and despite what he knew she feared, he never compared the two of them. They had different sighs, laughs, smiles, moans, and turn-ons. Any thought of them being the same person was swept away in the Void when he kissed Y/N. She didn’t feel like his wife and ultimately, that was what he needed to move on.

Y/N had never been a replacement for him. She was something entirely unique and while he had fallen hard and fast, the initial attraction based on familiarity soon strengthened into the absolute love they shared.

He was so terrified all the time that he would lose her too. When they were in Y/N's first universe, he had wanted nothing more than to rip the other Logan apart. The other Logan looked at her like he thought she was still wrapped around his finger, at his beck and call for whatever he wanted to take from her. But Logan had made sure he got the message that Y/N was no longer his to string along. She had moved on, and while Logan would never think he was in any way better, he knew that he would never treat her like that.

He would never leave her for anyone else. Not only because he knew it would absolutely destroy her to lose him twice, but because he would rather let Wade unload a whole clip of adamantium bullets into his brain before he lost her.

It was the thought of returning home to Y/N and Laura and whatever surprise dinner was awaiting him there that got him through the rest of the mission with Wade. They had agreed to help the X-Men clean up after someone had blown up a bank. No one died, but a lot of people had been injured. It was only one in a series of attacks that had plagued the city, and no one knew who was responsible.

If Logan's previous experience told him anything, it was that whoever it was would crawl out of the woodwork sooner or later. Bad guys loved two things. Taking credit for their shitty behavior and boasting about it to anyone who would listen. He just hoped when the person was caught, he was front and center, ready to put an end to them once and for all.

"So," Wade started as he kicked at a piece of rubble. "Who do you think this shit stain is?"

"No clue," Logan answered, shrugging his shoulders. "We done here or what?"

"Yeah," Wade sighed, waving at Colossus before he started walking away. "Let's get the hell out of here. I'm hungry enough to take a bite out of Piotr's big, juicy metal ass and last time I tried that I nearly lost a tooth," he lamented with a sigh. "What do you think Y/N's making us for dinner?"

"Us?" Logan wondered, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Well, yeah," Wade said, clapping a hand to Logan's back and ignoring his growl of annoyance. "You might be ready to kick me out like last night's one night stand, but Y/N happens to love me."

"Oh, really?" Logan huffed out an annoyed breath. "She tell you that?"

"As a matter of fact, she did. She told me we had to keep it on the down low, though, because she's just using you for your looks. I guess I can't give her everything."

Logan rolled his eyes, knowing it was useless to try to get Wade to stop being such an idiot. It was just who he was.

When Logan got back to the apartment, he expected to find Y/N and Laura waiting for them. Y/N had been eager about whatever dinner she had planned, and he was excited to share it with his favorite people and Wade.

Except, when he unlocked the front door, it was to Laura pacing the floor and smoke rising from the stove. He hurried to grab the pan and shove it under the faucet while Wade turned off the stove.

"What the hell happened?" He asked, turning to see that Laura was now standing at the window, intently watching the sidewalk down below.

"Y/N's going to be upset," Laura confessed, not bothering to tear her attention away from where it was directed out the window. "She said ten minutes, but it's been longer than that, and it burned anyway. Now her dinner is ruined, but she's not here. She was supposed to be here."

Logan had never heard Laura say so much all in one go and he knew it was only because she was genuinely worried. Concern was beginning to take hold of the confusion he was feeling, and he didn't know what to do with it without the answers he needed.

"Where did she go?" Logan asked as he started walking towards Laura. “Where’s Y/N?”

Laura finally turned to look at him. "The market on the corner. I--" Laura cut herself off with a scowl before she shook her head. Logan could hear sirens down below and he wondered if someone had reported the smell of smoke in the apartment. "I heard a noise. A boom," Laura clarified. "I was waiting for her to come home, but she hasn't, and now I'm worried that was her. I should have gone to find out what it was, but I just kept waiting for her to come back. I'm sorry."

"Fuck," Logan growled before he was out the door, not even bothering to wait for Wade or Laura to follow him. He could hear their footsteps behind him, but he wasn't willing to slow down. He was downstairs and rushing towards the corner store, a million different worries flooding his mind the closer he got.

He drew to a stop once he got to the store. The windows had been blown out and glass littered the sidewalk. Logan cautiously walked forward, peeking inside the store to see if Y/N was there, but she wasn't. He could smell her, though, which prompted him to walk inside, ignoring an officer yelling at him that it was a crime scene.

Logan allowed himself the time to take a close look at the damage. He could hear Wade distracting the officers outside and Laura was hovering in the broken doorway, unsure of her welcome.

Half the shelves had been destroyed and most of the store's stock was on the floor, knocked down by whatever had caused the explosion. The glass doors of the refrigerated cases had been cracked and the smell of smoke was threatening to drive him out of the store, it was so strong.

He couldn’t smell Y/N in here. Not with the smoke and all the other scents still lingering. He was trying to keep calm, but it was hard not to run off, chasing the smell of her.

What the hell happened to her?

Something on the floor caught his eye and he crouched down to look at it. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand. It was her keys. He had a brief, inane thought that if her keys were here, then how was she going to get back into the apartment? How would she come home? Would she come home?

The thought had him clenching the keys so tight in his fist that they cut into his skin.

"Logan," Laura called, gaining his attention. She sounded terrified and that had him immediately turning towards her.

She was crouched on the floor, studying something he couldn't make out at first. When he got closer, he realized that she was staring down at blood that had spilled on the ground. He joined Laura before he reached out, gently touching the blood and letting it stain his skin.

"Do you think it's hers?" Laura asked, her voice small and wary.

Logan hated hearing her like that, because even when she was facing Cassandra's goons and Alioth, Laura hadn't been scared. Hearing Laura like that only let Logan know that this was real. Y/N was hurt and she was missing and she might never return.

Logan stood, fury and horror making his heart pound so hard he could barely hear anything over the rush of blood.

He left Laura behind, needing to get out of the store. He was torn between panicking and fighting and he didn't know which way to turn to get Y/N back.

All he wanted was to get her back.

Wade was still being a distraction and Laura was still in the store and Logan had no one there at his side to tell him it was going to be okay.

He noticed a man sitting in the back of an ambulance. He was wrapped in a blanket and talking to one of the EMTs. Logan hurried over to them, shouldering the EMT out of the way to talk to the man.

"Do you work here? Did you see what happened?"

"Hey, he's suffered a--"

"Shut the hell up, bub," Logan snapped over his shoulder at the EMT. "Was there a lady here? Did she get hurt?" He directed at the guy in the ambulance.

The guy nodded his head, looking terrified as he stared up at Logan.

"Hey, tall, dark, and gloomy, give the guy some space," Wade prompted, finally joining him. "What's got you being an angry bear all of a sudden?"

"The lady," the guy started, still keeping eye contact with Logan, visibly frightened by him. Logan had no idea what he looked like at the moment, but he was about ready to snap Wade's neck if it meant getting some answers out of the guy. "She, uh, she came in looking for something. And then there was an explosion. And then--"

When the guy stopped talking, Wade stepped forward, reaching out a hand to fully push the EMT away. Logan noticed the guy roll his eyes before stomping away in the direction of the police officers investigating the scene.

"Alright, what happened after that? Now's not the time to be skimping on the details, friendo. Not unless you want me to give you some incentive to participate in share time here," Wade said, pulling one of his katanas free from where he still had it holstered to his back.

"Okay, okay," the guy scrambled to stand, looking like he wanted to put some distance between him and Wade, but he had nowhere to go. He held his hands out, silently pleading for mercy. "Then this guy came in and he was weird. He had glowing eyes and he was carrying a pack of cards with him and he had this accent I'd never heard before. He seemed to know the lady, because he picked her up and carried her right out of here."

"Was he about this tall?" Wade asked, demonstrating with his hand a height that was a little taller than him. "Roguishly good looks and like he could make love to you all night long with incredible physical stamina? Did he sound like an extra on True Blood they don't want to give many speaking parts to?"

"Will you shut up and let the guy talk," Logan snapped, half-tempted to stick his claws in Wade's face if it would give him just a moment to figure out what was going on.

"I guess," the guy answered, nodding his head at Wade. "I don't know how, but I think he caused the explosion. I think he was looking for that lady. I think she’s why he was there."

"Come on," Laura said, appearing at his side. "We're about to have company."

Logan glanced over to see three officers approaching. "Let's get the hell out of here," he muttered, not wanting to deal with whatever questions they might have.

"So," Wade started, keeping at Logan's side as he walked away. "Either an old friend took Y/N or there's another close-up magician running around with the same tricks."

"You're suggesting it was Gambit? They were friends in the Void. What would he want with her? Why would he hurt her?"

"It's not the same Gambit," Laura supplied, shaking her head. "Our Remy adored Y/N. He never would have done that to her. It must be the Gambit from this universe."

"Then we find this Gambit and we get him to tell us where she is," Logan suggested, barely keeping his anger in check. He wanted to find Gambit and rip his throat out, but that wouldn't help him find Y/N. Once everything was said and done, he would find a way to deal with Gambit.

"I have a better plan," Wade chimed in, finally holstering his katana again.

"You're a fucking idiot," Logan snapped, barely sparing Wade a glance. "There's no way in hell you're going to call the shots right now. Not when Y/N is missing and hurt." His voice strained on the last word, and he noticed Laura shoot him a concerned look.

"I might not have a great track record when it comes to teams. Got kicked off the X-Men, got most of X-Force killed, poor Johnny God rest his soul and his truly impressive vocabulary, but I've done alright for you so far, haven't I? You're still here," Wade pointed out, reaching out to grab Logan's arm and wave it around as if he needed proof. "And so's the little munchkin," Wade continued with a glance at Laura. "And I'm telling you that I have a plan to get Y/N back."

Wade still hadn't let go of him and Logan couldn't resist the urge to drive his claws into his ribcage. "An educated wish isn't going to cut it this time," he snarled before he ripped his claws out, not caring when Wade wheezed out a 'son of a bitch' before hunching over and clutching at his side. Logan was ready to let his anger carry him through the rough emotions he wasn't ready to process. Y/N wouldn't like him turning on Wade, but using the regenerative asshole as a punching bag was safer than taking it out on anyone else. It wasn't like she was there to stop him.

"This time?" Wade asked with an incredulous laugh, cursing under his breath when he managed to straighten up. "If I remember right, the last time I made one we spent the whole night stabbing each other. That's not going to get Y/N back, so let's not waste our time."

"This is real," Logan hissed, getting in Wade's space and pushing him back until he stumbled and fell to the ground. Logan only loomed over him, itching to put his claws somewhere that would only cause Wade more pain. "And if she dies because your fucking plan doesn't work, then I'm going to tear your spine out and bash your face in with it."

"Oh, hold on there, angry bear," Wade was quick to reply, bouncing to his feet and putting a few steps of distance between them when he noticed Logan bring his hand up. "Y/N is my friend. I care about her just as much as you do. Don't you fucking turn on me when I'm just as invested in finding her."

"No, you don't fucking care about her as much as I do. You don't know--," Logan abruptly cut himself off, the hitch of breath in his chest painful. He felt like he was struggling to grab onto anything that would keep him from falling and Y/N wasn’t going to be there to reach out and help him up. He wanted her with him so badly in that moment that he could hardly breathe past the longing and fear. Where was she? What the hell was happening to her? Why the fuck would Gambit take her? Why would he hurt her? What if he never saw her again because he was off playing hero while he should have been home with her? If he got her back, she was never leaving his side again. He would go where she went. He would kill anyone who even so much as tried to lay a hand on her.

"Logan," Laura interrupted his thoughts, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Just hear him out. If it's a stupid plan, we'll do something else. But for now, it’s all we’ve got."

Logan clenched his jaw, fighting the words he wanted to say. Instead, he gifted Wade with a reluctant nod of his head. "What's your plan, then?”

"Look," Wade started, moving to stand in front of Logan to halt his steps. "I may be an idiot, you're right, but if there's anything I know about the X-Men, it's that there's someone out there who can track down mutants using a super handy dandy mutant-finding machine," Wade pointed out, holding up two fingers to his temple, imitating Charles when he was using his abilities.

"Cerebro," Logan surmised with an incredulous laugh. "You want to ask Charles to find her." He knew it was the right plan. For once, Wade had a good idea. But the idea of going back to the X-Mansion and asking Charles for help felt wrong. He didn't know what it would do to him to go back to that place, even if it wasn't the same one he had left behind in his universe. He didn't know if he could ask Charles for a favor when he still felt like he had his Charles' blood on his hands.

He had done a good job of ignoring all the guilt and pain he felt being back at the mansion in Y/N's universe, because he was more focused on her than anything. But now she wasn't even here, and he might never see her again. He didn't want to dredge up old memories when he was still fighting down the panic that was making him sick to his stomach.

"You know old Chuck won't turn us away," Wade continued, ignoring the wariness in Logan's voice. "If anyone can find Y/N, it'll be him."

As much as Logan didn't want to revisit the place that featured heavily in his nightmares, he also didn't want to risk Y/N just because he couldn't get his head out of his ass. "Then let's go."

Seeing the X-Mansion under the current circumstances had Logan on the edge of a breakdown. In his old life, he had been a fuck-up and a drunk and it had cost him his wife. But this time, he had been better. He was present and had barely touched a drop of liquor and yet Y/N had still been taken from him. He felt cursed and he didn't know what was going to become of him if he never saw her again. It felt like it had been written somewhere that James Logan Howlett was meant to suffer every damn day of his miserable life and if this wasn’t proof of some cosmic punishment for being a complete fuck-up, then he didn’t know what was.

Colossus opened the door when Wade kept insistently knocking on it.

"Wade?" Piotr questioned, frowning at him. "What are you doing here?"

"We've come to see the Professor," Logan answered, already feeling the familiar swell of irritation rising with each moment that passed and he wasn't any closer to finding Y/N.

"I'm afraid--" Piotr started, but Logan cut him off.

"Professor!" Logan called, pushing past Piotr. "Charles!" He tried when he didn't get an answer.

"The Professor is busy," Piotr attempted to dissuade him, but Logan wasn't having any of that. He unsheathed his claws and turned towards Colossus.

"This is important," he spat, advancing on Piotr. "So, you find the Professor and tell him we need him now or I'm going to see what these will do to you," he warned, bringing his claws up so Piotr wouldn't need to question what he meant.

"Alright, angry bear, let's just take a moment to reassess," Wade cut in with a hand to Logan's chest. "Where's 'ol Chuck hiding? Hey, Chuck! Where you at?"

"Piotr? What on earth is going on?" A voice drifted in from the next hallway before Charles appeared in the doorway of the foyer.

"Charles," Logan started, advancing on him. "We need your help."

Charles studied him for a moment before tilting his head to the side. "You're not the Logan I know."

Logan never wanted another telepath in his head after what Cassandra did to him, but he knew Charles would never hurt him. It still didn't mean he had to like it. "I'm not from around here," Logan confirmed with a nod of his head. "But I need you to find someone for me."

Charles locked eyes with him and Logan knew he was skimming his thoughts, trying to figure out why Logan was really there. Logan did his best to give up all the information he could, knowing it would speed up the process a hell of a lot sooner than any conversation. The quicker they got down to Cerebro, the quicker they could find Y/N.

"Professor," Piotr called, but Charles shook his head.

"It looks like our new friends need my help," Charles told Piotr. "And I'm not going to let them leave here without doing what I can for them." Charles turned his wheelchair around before glancing over his shoulder. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

Wade clapped him on the shoulder before he skipped forward. Piotr muttered something in Russian before following, leaving Laura and Logan to trail behind the group.

Laura had been quiet for the rest of the trip to the mansion and Logan knew that she was feeling as guilty as he did right now.

"Hey," he whispered, waiting for her to look up at him. "This isn't your fault, you know?"

Laura scowled before she smoothed her expression out into something more neutral. "I know."

Logan reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, earning another scowl. "No, you don't. Because I know right now you're thinking that if you had been with her, then you might have been able to stop Gambit."

Laura nearly stumbled, but she was quick to right herself. "I didn't realize you were a telepath too," she snarked. "Don't tell me what I'm thinking."

If Logan didn't already know that Laura shared DNA with another Logan, he would have sworn they were actually related. As it was, he still couldn't help but care for the kid. She looked at him like she was seeing a ghost half the time, but he knew that she still had some things from her past she needed to resolve. If he could help, then he would, but he didn't want to push. He knew it wouldn't go well if he did.

"I don't blame you," he tried, knowing it was closer to what she was worried about along with Y/N's disappearance. "I don't want to lose you either," he also threw out when he realized it might also help.

Laura didn't respond, but he noticed the way her shoulders slumped, built-up tension easing with the reassurance.

Logan forgot what it was like to watch Charles while he used Cerebro. Knowing that Charles was touching every mind he could searching for Y/N had hope blooming in his chest. Charles was the most powerful telepath he knew, and he always came through for him.

He tried to hide his disappointment when he saw the concentrated frown on Charles' face.

"Y/N," Charles called out, searching for her. "Y/N," he tried again, staring off into the distance, seeing something Logan couldn't.

Charles shook his head, glancing up at Logan.

"There's something, but I can't tell if it's really her or not. It's faint, almost as if she's not really there or something's blocking me from finding her."

Logan suddenly recalled what Cable had told them. Y/N's forcefields would eventually be strong enough to keep out a telepath as strong as Charles. Charles must have read his mind, because he made a thoughtful noise.

"It seems as if whoever took her is trying to keep out a telepath." Charles didn't say anything for a moment before he added, "Or keep a telepath in. Possibly both."

"Why would they need to keep a telepath in?" Laura wondered, shooting Charles a nervous look.

"If they have unlimited access to her mind, then they can condition her to believe anything. If they can keep another telepath from intervening, then they can do whatever they want to her mind."

Logan's claws began to pierce through his skin, and he turned his back on the others so they wouldn't know how upset he was feeling. "Why," was all he got out with his jaw clenched and his shoulders so tense he felt like they would snap. "Why her? Why are they doing this?"

"I can keep trying," Charles offered, "but I'm not sure if I will be able to get through to her. Not right away, at least. Until then, I’m afraid I won’t be of much use to you. I won’t be able to give you the answers you seek."

"Remy," Laura blurted, stepping forward to stand at Charles' side. "Find Remy LeBeau. He's the one who took her and he might know where she's being held."

Charles went silent as he reached out, trying to track down Remy. Logan thought it would take a while, but it seemed like no time at all before Charles let out an amused chuckle.

"Well?" Wade prompted when Charles stayed silent. "Wanna share with the class, Professor?"

"The man you're looking for is standing at the gates," Charles finally spoke, breaking himself away from whatever mental conversation he had been having with Remy. "It seems he's waiting for you."

"Then let's not keep him waiting any longer," Logan growled, unleashing his claws. Logan didn't even wait for the others to keep up with him. He wanted to find Gambit and choke the life out of him for touching Y/N. He wanted to sink his claws into Remy's chest and let him drown in his own blood. Most of all, he just wanted to find out where the hell he had taken Y/N.

As he hurried towards the gates, he could see someone standing just outside them. There was a flash of pink and Logan realized that Remy was idly flipping one of his cards between his hands.

"Where the fuck is she?" Logan noticed Remy turn to watch him as he barreled down the driveway towards him.

"Who?" Remy played dumb with a slight smirk on his face.

"You fucking know who," Logan spat, pulling back one hand, poised to strike, once he was close enough to hurt Remy.

Remy flicked a card at him, letting it ignite and explode, knocking Logan back several feet.

Logan felt a low rumble in his chest that only got deeper as he threw himself at Remy again. Remy snapped another card at him and Logan felt fire dance along his skin as he was thrown to the ground from the blast. He knew he would only heal, but he was starting to get frustrated.

He rose again, intent on finally getting his claws into the smug, insufferable asshole before Wade stepped in. "Okay, big guy, the sun's getting real low."

"Shut the fuck up," Logan snapped before he took another swipe at Remy, only barely grazing his skin because Laura showed up and pushed Remy out of the way.

"He's the only one who can help us find Y/N," Laura told him when Logan shot her a betrayed look.

"Shit, I'm oh for two on that one," Wade groaned as he unsheathed a katana. "Guess it only works on the Hulk." He pointed one of his blades at Remy. "I suggest you start talking or I'm gonna make you talk. Where's Y/N?"

"I might know how to help you find her," Remy finally admitted, holding his hands up in surrender. "But I'll need a little reassurance that if I get you to her, you'll help me kill him."

"Him? Who the fuck is him?" Logan wondered, wanting to know who the fuck took Y/N so he could track the guy down and kill him.

Remy grinned at him, as if he knew what Logan was thinking and he approved. "He goes by Mister Sinister."

"Whoa, whoa, wait," Wade brought his hands up, putting one vertical and lying the other over the top of it to form a 'T.' "Let's just pause here. He calls himself Mister Sinister? Dear God, what is with all these self-important Marvel jackasses thinking they're so special? Mister Sinister, Mister Fantastic, Mister Negative," Wade listed, bringing up a finger for each one. "From now on, you're all calling me Mister Deadpool. No, never mind. Lord Deadpool," he settled on with a firm nod of his head. Gambit shot him a disbelieving look and Wade flipped him off. “Bitch, I said what I said.”

"Jesus," Logan grumbled, wishing that Wade would learn that sometimes saying nothing was preferred than whatever rambling nonsense was coming out of his mouth at any given moment.

"Yes?" Wade turned to look at him as if Logan had been addressing him.

Logan rolled his eyes, unimpressed, before turning his focus back on Remy. Wade was good at throwing himself into a situation and making himself the center of attention, but Logan wasn't about to let himself get distracted. Not when Y/N's life was at stake.

"Where the hell can we find this Mister Sinister?"

"Ah, I think your telepath friend should be a part of this conversation, seeing as he's the one who's gonna be finding your friend."

Logan drew in a deep breath, attempting to keep the refusal he so desperately wanted to give from breaking free. He wanted Remy nowhere near Charles or anyone else he might hurt. Charles was the only person who could find Y/N. If Remy took Charles out of commission, then they might never find her. But Logan, as much as he hated it, knew that he was backed into a corner. He was going to have to trust that if shit hit the fan, then Wade and Laura would help him keep Remy in line. He supposed if push came to shove, they could just get Piotr to sit on Remy and see how long he could stand it until he folded.

He looked over at Wade, meeting his gaze, and only felt marginally better when Wade gave a tiny nod of his head.

At least they were on the same page for whatever was about to happen.

"All right, Gambit, Le Diable le blah blah or whatever the fuck it is you're called, let's go, then," Wade said before gesturing for Remy to start walking up the path towards the mansion.

Gambit shot Wade a contemplative look before he let out a chuckle. "Your friend seemed to know far more about me than she was supposed to as well. I suppose we've met in another life," he mused with an expression Logan didn't like.

Logan felt a rush of anger at the idea that Y/N had looked up at Remy and thought it was the one she knew. He hated that Remy looked like he was nearly fond of her. As if he hadn't just kidnapped her and left her in the clutches of someone who would likely only hurt her.

He didn't realize he had raised his hand to sink his claws right into the smug bastard's back when Laura reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He was quick to snarl at her, but she wasn't phased.

"Once we know where Y/N is," Laura told him before flicking a glare at Remy. "Then you can do whatever the hell you want to him. But until then, try to make sure you don't do anything that will keep him from talking."

Logan hated to admit that the kid had a better head on her shoulders than he ever did, but he was also fiercely proud of her. She was smart and even though she had one hell of a temper, she was still levelheaded when all he wanted to do was kill whoever stood between him and Y/N. He knew, though, that once they had the information they needed, Laura would be just as ruthless.

Piotr was waiting for them at the entrance to Cerebro. He didn't look pleased to see Remy, but he still stepped to the side, gesturing for him to enter.

Charles was facing the doorway, his gaze staying on Remy as he entered the room.

"You're quite the fascinating one, aren't you?" Charles asked, studying Remy with a thoughtful expression.

"You could've at least bought me dinner first," Remy commented with a smirk. "Or at least got me liquored up before you went rummaging through my head."

"Extenuating circumstances," Charles replied and from the tone of his voice, Logan got the hint that Remy and Charles were having an entirely different mental conversation.

"You wanted to have Charles here and he's here," Logan pointed out with a gesture at the telepath. "So talk," he commanded, an itch just under his skin becoming more unbearable by the moment. He felt like every moment he wasn't running towards Y/N was a waste of time. He didn't want to play any more games with Gambit and he sure as hell didn't want to let him distract from why he was here.

Charles and Remy kept their eye contact for long enough that Logan was about to sink his claws into the any part of Remy he could reach if it would just get him to talk. Finally, he tore his gaze away from Charles, breaking whatever connection they had.

"The Professor here knows most of the story by now, but I'll tell you what I can," Remy finally said, turning to give Logan a curious look. "And then when I'm done, we'll go rescue your lovely bele and we'll kill Mister Sinister. It's a win for both of us, my friend."

"That's only if I let you walk away after this," Logan pointed out, pulling his hand into a fist, half-tempted to flash his claws at Remy.

"Oh, you're gonna need me, and I expect by the time we're through, you'll want to keep me around," Remy shot back with a wink.

"Holy shit, I think you've got a shot with Gambit," Wade hissed at him and Logan reached out to push him, nearly sending him toppling over the walkway.

"Tell us where Y/N is," Laura demanded, quirking an unimpressed eyebrow at Remy.

"I'll get to that," Remy promised, "but there's more to this than what you think. Mister Sinister has done horrible, terrible things and I did them all for him, because he asked it of me. But I don't want to be that person no more. Because he'll kill everyone he doesn't want knowing what he knows about mutants. That's where he lost me, you see, the killing. I knew that if I could pull this off, then I would be done with him for good."

"What does he know about mutants?" Logan couldn't help but ask, confused and worried about where Remy's story was going.

"He's a geneticist," Charles chimed in, his tone solemn. Logan didn't know what information he had gotten from Remy, but evidently it hadn't been anything good. "He craves power, be that for himself or those he deems worthy of his experiments."

"I knew that if I did this one last job and grabbed your Y/N for him, then I could count on the X-Men to help me take him down. I wanted to put him on your radar, because I can't take him down alone."

“Motherfucker, have you never heard of a cell phone? You pick it up and you call someone and tell them important shit. You don’t resort to kidnapping half the main pairing. Look what you’ve done to the story, you selfish bastard,” Wade admonished, pointing one of his katanas at Remy.

Remy went quiet for a moment before he continued, his expression somber. "I made a deal with Sinister long ago because I was scared of what I could do. It's not just these that I can charge and then make go boom," he explained, suddenly holding a playing card between two fingers. "It's anything. Even you," Gambit admitted, nodding at Logan. "I can do much more than that. But I got scared, you see, and I asked him for a favor. And then he asked me for one. That favor turned into a group of mutants who did a lot more harm than good. And I don't want anything to do with that ever again. So, no, a phone call wouldn’t have cut it," he explained to Wade. “I needed this to be personal. For all of us.”

"Just how dangerous is this Mister Sinister?" Logan wondered, fearing even more for Y/N's safety. Was he experimenting on her? Why did he even want her in the first place? He felt like Gambit was raising more questions than answering them and he hated that this just seemed to be wasting more time.

"Incredibly dangerous," Charles answered. "If Remy is right, then we will need to be careful. It's likely that Y/N is being manipulated into using her ability to keep me out. Whatever this Mister Sinister is doing to her, he doesn't want anyone interfering."

"I've been wanting this fight for a while," Gambit continued once Charles finished speaking. "But I've been careful, because I knew that if he learned about what I had planned, then he would kill me."

"I don't give a fuck about you," Logan snapped, knowing that Y/N wouldn't even be gone if it wasn't for Remy and his grand scheme for freedom from Mister Sinister.

"If it hadn't've been for me, then she would be dead," Remy shot back, his eyes glowing red for a moment. "I don't know how she snagged his interest, but she must've done something. He wanted her dead, you know, but I stole information for him. Information that saved her. Because like I told you, I'm done killing for him."

Logan didn't know what to say to that. What the hell had Y/N done that pissed off Mister Sinister so much he wanted her dead? The guy sounded like the worst kind of jackass and he didn't like that he had his hooks in Y/N now.

"And I knew that if I was going to pull this off, then I would have to get someone on the inside too. So, I'll show you where he likes to do his experiments. He has several labs, and I didn't drop Y/N off at any of them. But my partner, who also wants to see Sinister burn, is helping him." Remy turned to meet Charles' stare and they had another conversation Logan wished he could hear.

Charles turned back towards Cerebro and placed the helmet back on his head. Logan tried to be patient as he watched Charles search for Remy's friend, but it was hard to know if it was worth it when this might not even work. Remy might be lying or maybe his friend had double-crossed him. This whole plan was based on too many conditions and Logan was terrified that it would all fall apart.

But then Logan caught the faint edge of a smile on Charles' face. "It's been a long time," Charles mused, evidently talking to someone else. He didn't say anything for a moment. "Thank you," he finally uttered and removed the helmet.

"Who was that?" Wade questioned and Logan marveled at the fact that he had forced himself to remain silent for so long.

"An old friend," Charles answered before nodding at Remy. "I know where they are. I can get you to the facility from here. In the meanwhile, I'll continue to try to get in contact with Y/N. Our friend helped me get a little closer, but I couldn't get close enough. It's strange. She's there, I know she is, but it's like she’s been muted."

"And you trust this old friend?" Logan trusted Charles implicitly, and while he knew Wade and Laura would have his back, there were too many unknown variables being thrown in now.

"We might have had our problems in the past, but yes," Charles confirmed with a nod of his head.

Wade clapped his hands together before reaching out to slap a hand to Gambit's shoulder. Gambit shot him a bemused look, but Wade was already turning to address Charles. "Does this mean we'll finally warrant someone from the A-team of the X-Men? No offense," he threw in Piotr's direction.

Piotr merely frowned at Wade in confusion.

"Most of the X-Men are out on missions, but someone did just get back a few hours ago. I believe he'll be able to help you. I'll call him now," Charles offered before closing his eyes and bringing his right pointer and middle fingers up to his temple.

Wade shot him a glance before imitating Charles and Logan had to roll his eyes. He would never say it to him, but Wade had a good plan. Now, they were a step closer to finding you and they were even getting reinforcements.

"Oh my God, I'm so excited. Who do you think it'll be? I'm betting on Cyclops. Sure, he's a bit of a self-righteous little prick, but damn will he get the job done," Wade rambled, gesturing widely enough that he almost smacked Remy in the face. Logan was half-sure it had been done on purpose.

The door to Cerebro slid open and a man walked inside.

"Oh my God, it's--," Wade cut himself off as he considered the man. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Alex," the man answered with an annoyed glance at Wade. "Prof, what's going on?"

"This is Alex Summers," Charles introduced, gesturing towards the guy. "Or Havoc as the team is so fond of calling him.”

"Bitch, didn't you die?" Wade wondered, staring at Alex in confusion.

"What? No! I'm right here," Alex pointed out, gesturing at himself.

"Huh," Wade mused for a moment before he shook his head. "Wow, the retcon is real with this one. I guess people really don't give a fuck about the Fox movies anymore."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Alex asked, looking like he was just moments away from attacking Wade.

That definitely wasn't going to do a damn bit of good, so Logan decided to step in. "We need your help tracking down someone. She's…," he trailed off, not even sure there was a word to describe exactly what Y/N was to him. "Everything," he finally settled on and when a look of understanding flashed across Alex's face, Logan carried on. "And this Mister Sinister took her and now we need to get her back."

"Then let's go get her," Alex agreed with a simple nod of his head. "Where's she being held?" He asked as he addressed Charles, waiting for Charles to share the information with him.

Logan took a brief moment to size up the team. He looked from Wade to Laura, knowing that they both wanted Y/N back and would risk everything to save her. Alex and Piotr were X-Men who were trained to rescue anyone they could while also stopping the bad guy. And then there was Gambit, who was an unknown. He wasn't the one from the Void, but he claimed he was done with Sinister. Logan didn't want to, but he would have to trust him too.

Charles seemed to sense the turn in Logan's thoughts because he offered him a warm, reassuring smile. "I'll continue to attempt to contact Y/N and let her know you're on your way. You'll find her, Logan."

Logan didn't want to say that he feared the state he would find Y/N in. What if he was too late? What if she were gone and he would never get her back? He had suffered over and over his whole life, but she was the bright spot that pulled him up from the depths of rock bottom. If he plummeted that far again, he didn't think he would ever get up again.

"Have faith," Charles told him and it took Logan a beat too long to realize he hadn't voiced that out loud, instead choosing to speak to Logan in his mind. "Y/N is waiting for you."

Logan nodded his head before he looked at his makeshift team. "Let's fucking go."

You opened your eyes, staring at the bookshelves in front of you. You weren't sure whether you wanted to laugh or cry with relief, but you settled on making yourself stand up. You were ashamed, guilt threatening to weigh you down, at what you had become.

Charles told you that help was on the way, but what would Logan think of you once he found out what Nathaniel had nearly made you do? Even if it wasn't real, you had nearly killed someone out of spite. You had been so ready to destroy yourself just because you had been pushed too far. Years of training with the X-Men had gone right out the window and you had let the bad guy get to you.

"It wasn't real," you muttered to yourself, trying to convince yourself you weren't too far gone. All you had to do was think about Logan, the real Logan, coming to find you and it had you strengthening your resolve to get the hell out of whatever trap Nathaniel had constructed for you.

The help that was promised would be useless if you couldn't figure out how to escape the illusion. You tried to think of anything that might help you pull at the curtain, getting a peek at the wizard behind it. It took you a moment, but you finally realized besides Nathaniel and the voice in your head that had been Charles, there was one other fixture that had been steadily present in the fucked-up existence Nathaniel dreamed up for you.

You forced yourself to your feet, intent on seeking out the only other person who might be able to give you some answers.

She was still sitting at the table, idly flipping through a newspaper. Seeing her in her ever present all-white ensemble made you feel like you were about to trip right down the rabbit hole, chasing a white rabbit who would only bring you more trouble.

"Took you long enough, sugar," she drawled, arching a brow at you.

"Who the hell are you?" It wasn't really what you wanted to know, but it would give you a little bit of clarity.

"Emma," she supplied, finally turning in her chair to consider you fully. "Emma Frost. And you're Y/N. I know all about you," she claimed, briefly tapping a finger to her temple.

"You're a telepath," you surmised with a groan.

"Got that right," she agreed with a wicked smile that sent a shiver through you. "But I'm on your side, if there even are sides here. Nathaniel, as you know him, is someone who goes by an entirely different name. Mister Sinister," she added when you shot her a confused look. "He stole you away because he wanted to tweak your powers. He wanted you on his side, because he claimed you would be a wonderful agent of destruction. He's been using your forcefields to keep out Charles, but while Nathaniel's been distracted, I've been lowering your defenses and letting Charles in just enough to try to talk to you. I'm the one who told him where we are."

"Why," you bit out, not sure how to stomach all of the information. Why are you here? Why are you helping him? Why are you helping me? All those questions went unspoken, but from the way Emma nodded her head, you knew she still heard them.

"Nathaniel needed a second telepath to keep you contained in his reality, because he wanted to fully immerse you. He wanted a good telepath, someone who could keep his deception running. He contacted The Hellfire Club and thought he could hire me, but there's not enough money in the world to make me give a damn about his little schemes. But I was curious, and Remy approached me with a more tempting deal, so I'm here. Despite what Nathaniel might think, some people can't be bought. He was stupid enough to leave me in charge whenever he couldn't give his full attention to the lie and I’ve been doing what I can to let Charles in without Nathaniel noticing. "

"Remy," you muttered, thinking back to the explosion in the corner store that had started it all. "He was real?"

"Real as you or me, sugar. Nathaniel's got agents everywhere, but Remy wants out and I decided to help him. He wants Sinister gone once and for all and I thought that was a worthy enough cause to let myself get wrapped up in all this."

You didn't know how to keep up with everything she was saying. You felt so angry, fury burning through you faster than you could process, but you couldn't let it overwhelm you. You needed to keep your head, because if you slipped now, it might be the difference between life and death. If you weren't careful, you might never see Logan again.

"Wake me up," you snapped, advancing on her. "You're a telepath, right, so get me the fuck out of here."

"Are you sure you're ready for that? You might not be prepared for what's going to happen," Emma warned.

"I just want out," you hissed, feeling that creeping sense of anxiety pushing in at the edges. You felt restless and wired and all you wanted to do was bring the fight to Nathaniel. "Let me out," you pleaded, hating how your voice went weak and broken on the last word.

Emma studied you for a moment before she stood up. "Be careful what you wish for," she warned before reaching a hand out and placing it on your shoulder.

There was a moment when you felt like you were falling. Darkness enveloped you and there was a rush as Emma forced you out of Nathaniel's illusion. Your senses came back to you one by one, leaving you to try to piece together what was happening to you.

You heard a steady beeping noise and felt like something was weighing you down. You heard someone muttering to themselves and felt the chill of the room. You could smell something vaguely metallic, and a bitter taste coated your tongue. You could feel a freezing sensation sweeping through your veins as well as the stiff sheets that covered a cot you were lying on. None of it was comforting and you wanted nothing more than to see for yourself what was going on.

After what felt like minutes that had dragged into hours, you finally forced yourself to open your eyes. There was a light shining in your eyes and your vision when shockingly white for a second. Pain spiked through your head, but you forced yourself to focus, glancing away from the light to the side.

There was a man standing there. He was facing a machine, focused on a readout. You instinctively knew that it was Nathaniel, but he looked different. His skin held a greyish tint to it and from the reflection of the screen he was looking at, you could see his eyes were red.

"I should have known better than to trust someone who I pulled from the depths of The Hellfire Club," Nathaniel mused, meeting your eyes through the reflection. "Although, I supposed her diamond mutation is the only thing that will save her now. It's really quite intriguing."

You felt a shiver run through you and you attempted to sit up, but it was then you realized you were strapped down to a bed. There was an IV set up, the needle nestled in the crook of your arm. Panic flooded your mind, and you struggled uselessly against the restraints across your chest, stomach, and thighs.

Nathaniel turned to look at you, a pleased smirk on his face. "I'm not going to hurt you," he claimed, as he took a step towards the bed. It was then you caught sight of the red glowing diamond on his forehead and you didn't know why that set you off. Nathaniel had seemed normal, but seeing him as Mister Sinister finally convinced you that you were in the presence of someone truly evil. "Not when I invested so much in you." He grabbed the back of a chair that was close by and settled it near the head of the bed. He sat down in it, uncomfortably close to your face, and reached out to brush a hand over your forehead, wiping away the cold sweat that had broken out.

"Why," you managed to get out, even though you were shaking. "Why did you take me?"

Nathaniel sat back, giving you a moment to breathe without his intense focus bearing right down on you. "I was going to kill you," he admitted with a fond smile. "You took out my Marauder. My Riptide. No one had ever done that before. He's unique, you see, and I was upset. While I was blinded by rage, my Gambit saw something in you. He's quite the thief, you know. He found the TVA's records on you. I'm still not sure how he got in and out without them noticing, but he's a clever one."

"Remy," you whispered, thinking of the friend you once had in the Void. But this wasn't your Remy and you didn't know what to think about the fact that he had inadvertently saved you and signed you up for Nathaniel's mindfuck of a plan. Your Remy had been bold and chaotic, but he had never been cruel. He never would have worked for Sinister. "Why is he working for you?"

"He needed something from me," Nathaniel answered, reaching out to trace an 'x' with his finger over your forehead. "He was terrified of his own power and thought I could help him control it by removing a piece of his brain. In return, I made him work for me. He's been working with my other Marauders to draw you out for weeks with attacks around the city. I knew I needed you alone, so I bided my time."

You licked your lips, suddenly so aware of how dry your mouth was that you couldn't stand it. "What did he find at the TVA?" You knew you should be trying to get away, but you wanted answers. You also had the feeling that as long as Nathaniel was right there at your side, you wouldn't be going anywhere. You might as well take advantage of the situation while you could and hold on to the hope that Logan would show up soon.

"Did you know that your universe lost its anchor being? Scott Summers," he answered without you even having to ask. There was an affectionate, warm look that flashed across his face before it was gone. "He's another mutant I've always found quite fascinating. Have you heard of him? Of course you have. You were on the X-Men together," Nathaniel continued with a sly grin, confirming he knew more about you than you wanted him to.

Your mind was racing at the implications that Scott had been the one keeping your universe together. Losing Scott had surely set your life spinning off in a crazy direction, but the fact that your universe couldn't survive without him? You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry at the thought.

"Your universe maybe had several hundred years before it died out, but the TVA knew about your potential. They pruned you and dropped you into the Void to give you time to get over your heartache. You were so broken up over losing the Wolverine that you became a shell of yourself, and they couldn't have that. They needed you strong and ready for a fight." Nathaniel's fingers swept down from your forehead before brushing over your eyes and then nose. He continued down until he could press them just under your jaw, checking your pulse.

"Then what happened?" You asked just to keep him talking. You didn't like the way he was considering you now, measuring and fixed right on you.

"I'm sure you can guess," he prompted with a sharp grin, showing his teeth. "They planned on approaching you after a few years once you had the time to properly hone your abilities and ask you to work for them. But then Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett saved every universe from being ripped apart by Cassandra Nova and made you one of their little consolation prizes. They still wanted you, but Nathan Summers intervened on your behalf."

There was another brief fond look on his face at the mention of Cable and you wondered why he was so outright obsessed with the Summers family. It was as if he thought they were his playthings that had managed to impress him.

"So," he continued, finally pulling his hand away from your throat, "the TVA dropped their plans for you. I, however, plan on doing no such thing. What they were willing to wait years for, I achieved within a day. Because I knew all I had to do was get you all to myself and make you see things my way. Once I knew about you, I couldn't let you go. I theorized that your powers, if left to mature, would become incredibly destructive. You could level whole cities. You could trap people and make them suffer in such beautiful ways. And you could do it all without taking any damage to yourself. You're perfect," he turned a warm smile on you that felt entirely wrong. His hand drifted down towards the needle still stuck in your arm. He tapped it twice, smirking at your wince, before ripping it out. "And I wanted you all to myself. I could have wiped your mind and erased Logan from it, but I didn't want to do that."

A small part of you thought maybe this would all have been easier on you if he had done that. But then you thought about Logan, who hadn't actually abandoned you at all. None of your grief had been real, because it had been entirely fabricated by the man sitting at your bedside.

"It was like I told you, I had to break you to remake you. So, I broke you," he leaned down so his face was hovering just over yours. "And you made it so easy for me," he drawled with a wicked grin.

You felt a rush of anger and strained against the straps keeping you tethered. A disappointed expression flickered across his face and he shook his head.

"Your self-esteem issues are truly impressive, do you know that? Even now, after all the work I've done, you still doubt yourself," he hissed, reaching out to cup your cheek in his hand and forcing you to look fully at him. "I've crafted some truly wonderful mutants in my time. Scott Summers, Nathan Summers, the Maximoff twins. They have all yielded some of the best results, myself not included, but it's been quite some time since I've dealt with such raw, organic potential. I barely had to do anything. It was all locked up inside, hidden beneath layers of your own mental blocks. I just had to power through them and get you to see what you’re capable of doing."

You heard a low rumble before the lights flickered. It felt like the building shook for a brief moment and then stilled. It was then you could hear people shouting and screaming before it was followed by another explosion.

Nathaniel let out an amused chuckle, as if he wasn't concerned about what was happening just outside the lab.

"Enjoy my gifts," he added before he stood, backing away from you. “I expect to see you using them.” He turned to face the doors just as someone rushed inside.

"They're here for her," he growled, nodding towards you.

You were shocked to see Sabretooth and you wondered how it would affect Logan to see his brother again.

"Of course they are," Nathaniel sighed before following Victor. "Then let's go welcome our visitors."

You panicked at the thought that Nathaniel would be going anywhere near Logan. His goal had been to separate you from Logan so he could swoop in and fill the void in your life. What if he actually wanted to kill Logan? There was no doubt in your mind that he would find a way to kill him if it meant he could get you under his control. The illusion had shattered, leaving Nathaniel with no other choice but to rip Logan away from you for good.

You could feel fear and rage mesh within you and all you wanted to do was get rid of the damn restraints. You pushed and pulled and finally when you had enough, you brought up a forcefield. It was pressed in so close to you that you felt nearly crushed by it, but then you shoved it outwards, recalling the feeling of using it in the reality Sinister had constructed for you.

It worked, sloppy and off center, but you still got the result you wanted. The floor beneath the bed was cracked, but the straps had given way, and you were free.

You could hear the fight, but you couldn't see it. You decided to rectify that, attempting another repulsion field and aiming it towards the wall that separated you from the others. This one was better, although you figured if your target was a wall, then it wasn't that much of a struggle. You used the forcefield and pushed out, sending out a concussive blast that put a crack in the wall. You watched as the crack grew and split, branching off in multiple directions before the wall began to crumble, taking part of the roof with it.

The next room was total chaos.

The first person you noticed was Remy. He was flinging card after card, hitting targets and making them explode. He had his staff in one hand, using it to deflect and push, slamming it into people before making them ignite. After that it was Emma, drifting around the room in her diamond form, and using it best to her advantage. You noticed how she slipped in and out of it, before using her telepathic abilities to freeze people, paralyzing them. Then it was Piotr and a blonde man you didn't recognize. Piotr was knocking out people while the man used plasma blasts that traveled along the length of his arms before he directed them at Sinister's followers.

Laura was kneeling on someone, using her claws to slash and gouge a man's neck and chest. She was visibly enraged as she stood, flicking blood from her hands as the man beneath her succumbed to his injuries. She moved on to the next one, single-mindedly focused on making them suffer the same fate.

Wade was practically dancing around the room, spinning his katanas at a speed you could barely keep up with as he sliced through one person's midsection before sticking the other through someone's neck.

Finally, your gaze landed on Logan. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, his teeth bared as he fought through the room. He dug his claws into someone's back and ripped them out, blood spraying all over his front and face. Then he was on to the next person, cutting easily through their sides and picking them up on his claws, forcing them deeper. He seemed to realize Victor was part of the fight, because he only grew more frenzied as he threw himself at him, sinking his claws into Victor’s neck.

He was beautiful in his ferocity. Knowing that it was all for you left you breathless in a way you didn't know how to overcome. You had spent what you thought were weeks without Logan when it had only been a day. Logan had never left you. Logan was here, killing mercilessly all to save you.

They were all here to save you. You couldn't reconcile that thought with the thoughts that had clouded your mind once Nathaniel got his hands on you. But here they were, your family with a couple additions from the X-Men, rescuing you.

Sinister's henchmen were falling left and right, but you had lost sight of him. You knew the others could take care of his followers, but you wanted to find Nathaniel for yourself.

You wanted to be the one to kill him.

You let yourself go invisible, seeking him out. It wouldn't be over until he was well and truly dead. Someone knocked into you, and you instinctively turned, forming a forcefield around your fist and bringing it crashing right into the person's jaw. You felt the bone break beneath the force of your hit and the person clutched their jaw, howling in pain. Another hit and they were on the floor, their nose crushed and bleeding freely.

You turned and found Sinister near the blonde man, a taunting grin on his face as he spoke to the stranger. You made your way through the room towards them, forming spikes along the forcefield surrounding your fist and driving them up into someone's chest. You kept going, punching through bone and muscle until you could feel your forcefield break through to the other side. You wrenched your arm free, leaving the person to drop to the floor, lifeless.

You aimed a repulsion field at one person, watching as they got torn in half by it. You then formed a forcefield around another, inverting it so that the spikes were on the inside and the person was simultaneously punctured by hundreds of pinprick spikes.

You kept moving through the room, dodging and striking and shielding and pushing when needed. You only had eyes for Nathaniel, thinking that once he was gone, there would be no more threats to you or Logan or anyone else you loved.

There were only three more people between you and Sinister when you saw the blonde stranger let out a plasma blast from the middle of his chest. It was wild and less controlled than the ones that had come from his fists, but it seemed more personal. He advanced on Nathaniel, not letting up even for a moment, until Nathaniel was on the ground and still.

You were terrified for a moment that you had lost your chance, and you used a forcefield to shove the blonde back. He shot you a confused look, his arm coming up to aim a blast your way, but Wade swooped in, shielding you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Havoc, she's the baby bird we're trying to get back to the nest. Don't hurt her." Wade turned to look at you and even with the mask on, you could see the relief on his face. "It is so fucking good to see you," he said as he approached you. You let him pull you into a hug and you figured he was just about one of the only people you would let touch you at the moment. The other two were across the room, taking care of the last of Sinister's team.

After a moment, you stepped away from Wade's embrace and kept walking towards your target. He was still on the floor, plasma burns marring his skin. You could see where his regenerative ability must have been trying to kick in, tissue attempting to connect again, but it wasn't working.

He locked eyes with you and you knelt at his side. You weren't sure why, but you reached out to grab his hand. He was real, solid, and there was no way he was getting up off the floor. Not if you had anything to do with it.

He laughed, the sound choked for a moment, as he offered you a bloodied grin.

"You were always meant to be special," he croaked, briefly squeezing your hand. You had a brief moment, thinking back to the world he created for you. Nathaniel comforting you and manipulating you and leaving breadcrumbs down a dark path for you to follow. "It won't be the last time you see me, Y/N. I'll always be with you," he promised, tapping a finger against the back of your hand.

You were aware of the others coming towards you. The blonde stranger in the X-Men uniform was watching the pair of you, but he wasn't intervening. The others seemed to know that whatever you were doing was important, even though you could practically feel the weight of Logan's stare on you.

There was a red light that had been flashing through the room and a siren that was droning on in the background. You didn't feel like you were in danger, though. There was something brewing deep within you, and it felt powerful. You felt indestructible as you clutched Nathaniel's hand with the knowledge that you were about to end it all for him.

In the background, a robotic voice came over the speakers. "Warning, status critical. Omega level threat detected. Retreat is advised." The message repeated over and over and you finally tore your gaze away from Nathaniel to consider the others in the room. They were all still, watching you, waiting for whatever it was you were about to do.

Nathaniel laughed again and began to dig his nails into the back of your hand. "I made you more," he whispered, staring up at you in something akin to awe. It was proprietary and possessive and proud.

The realization hit you and you nearly let go of his hand. You were the omega level threat. Once you freed yourself from your restraints, you realized Nathaniel’s deceit had been good for something, because you had felt powerful, indomitable, but omega level? You had never dared to dream of reaching that peak with your powers. The fact that you only had Nathaniel to thank for that left a sour taste in your mouth that had you craving his destruction even more.

"I made you mine," Nathaniel breathed with a pleased smirk.

You could feel rage descend and sweep aside any rational thoughts you had.

"I was never yours and now you're nothing," you hissed as you formed a forcefield around your free hand. It fit like a glove and you let the arcs of the field molded around your fingertips stretch out into spikes. You pressed it gently against his forehead, gifting him with a devious grin. "But really, thank you for the gifts," you sneered before you pushed. A scream built in your chest and escaped through your throat as you pressed in with your forcefield, tearing right through Nathaniel's skull to his brain. You closed your fingers into a fist before letting the forcefield expand, traveling through Nathaniel's body. You let it fill him out, occupying the space just beneath his skin, before you let it shatter, taking Nathaniel's insides with it.

You were coated in blood and viscera, but you didn't care. After everything, spending weeks in a hell of Nathaniel's making, he was dead by the powers he had so carefully helped you hone.

"Shit, girl," you heard Wade saying. "You've been holding out on us?"

You turned to look up at Wade, blinking at him, dazed.

Nathaniel was dead, but the feeling inside you didn't abate. You felt grief, anger, pain, confusion, betrayal, and a host of other emotions that had red still streaked across your vision.

You needed to direct it at something else, anything else, and while most of Nathaniel's followers had fallen, there was still someone else in the room. You got to your feet, dodging Logan's outstretched hand, focused on your new target. Remy had fled, likely sensing you wouldn't be happy to see him this time, but Emma had stayed.

She caught the look on your face and immediately shifted into her diamond form. You laughed as you reached out, forming a forcefield around her head.

"I've got an experiment for you," you started, letting it get smaller and smaller, tightening it around her neck like a noose. All you could think was that she had helped Nathaniel nearly destroy you. She had tried to take everything from you. "Which is going to happen first? Will the diamond finally crack, or will you run out of air? Let's find out."

You saw Emma's eyes go wide in panic, her hands coming up to uselessly claw at the forcefield.

Someone grabbed your shoulders and forced you to turn towards them. You were ready to strike out, but you stopped at the sight of Logan standing there.

He looked so lost, afraid, and you were worried for a moment that he was scared of you. The thought caused you to drop the forcefield around Emma, aware that she was leaving the room now that your attention was off her.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling a swell of emotions you couldn't bring yourself to embrace. Tears welled in your eyes and you finally let yourself fall into Logan's arms.

"It's okay," Logan murmured, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. "I've got you. I have you, sweetheart. It's okay now." He kept up the reassurances as you cried, sobs leaving you faster than you could try to contain them. Logan's arms tightened around you and for one moment it felt like it was just the two of you.

You were fighting every thought that Nathaniel had poured into your brain. Logan had never left you, but you still felt like you had been abandoned. Laura had never turned her back on you, but you still felt like she didn't want you anymore. Wade had never chosen Logan over you, but you still felt like you had been betrayed.

You were a mess and you didn't know how to make the warring thoughts in your head go away.

"Shh," Logan soothed. You could feel him trembling, likely holding himself back. "I've got you, Y/N. He's never going to touch you again. No one is every going to lay one fucking finger on you ever again. Not as long as I'm around."

It was everything you wanted to hear, but there was still a sick twist in your gut that told you it wasn't over. You were literally standing in the remnants of Nathaniel's body, but you felt like he was still in your head. You didn't know how to shake off the feelings he had instilled in you while trapped in his illusion, but you wanted to believe. You so desperately needed to know that Logan was sincere.

You pulled back enough to meet Logan's eyes. Unshed tears were caught in them and they were filled with hope, longing, relief, and fear. You knew Logan hadn't rested since you were taken and you wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed with him.

But you were terrified. What if you went home and you woke up to yet another fake world?

So, no matter how much you truly wanted to go home, you needed something else more.

"Charles," you rasped, watching Logan's expression fall. "Take me to Charles."

Logan looked like he wanted to argue. "Don't you--" he started before he was cut off by you shaking your head.

"Please," you begged, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and attempting to reel him in closer. "Logan, please, I need to talk to him."

"Let's get you to Charles, then," Logan agreed, his voice gruff as he pulled you in tighter. He placed a kiss to your temple before reluctantly letting you go.

The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur. Piotr was flying the X-Jet back while you sat with Logan pressed close to your side. He had his arm around your shoulders and you knew that it would be a while before he would let you out of his grasp. Feeling Logan against your side, warm and protective, went a long way towards convincing you that you were finally safe.

The blonde stranger turned out to be Alex Summers. You realized that was why Nathaniel had sought him out even when his lackies were being killed all around him. He had an obsession with the Summers family and he couldn't help but pursue it.

"Yeah," Wade started once the introduction had been made. He clapped a hand to Alex's shoulder, ignoring Alex’s eye roll. "We wanted the other brother, but he was busy saving starving orphans from a well or whatever."

Alex shrugged off Wade's hand and shot him an irritated glare. "You're an idiot."

"Don't I know it," Wade sighed before turning back to look at you. He dropped into the seat across from yours and reached out to pat you on the knee.

You nearly flinched away, but checked the reaction in time. From the way Wade quickly drew his hand back, you knew you weren't entirely successful.

"God, what I'd give to run that jackass through with my blades," Wade muttered, carefully watching you.

You didn't like feeling so fragile, but you knew that it would take you a while to heal from what Nathaniel had done to you.

"He's dead," you replied, knowing that it was mostly just to reassure yourself.

Even if you weren't quite convinced, you still had to try to fool yourself into believing it was true.

Once you got to the X-Mansion, Charles was waiting in the foyer. He offered you a warm smile before cocking his head to the side, silently requesting you follow him.

Wade and Laura stayed behind in the foyer with Piotr while Alex stalked off, grumbling something about getting some sleep. Laura let you go with a hug and Wade placed a kiss on your cheek, the fabric of his mask soft against your skin. Piotr simply gave you a solemn nod of his head.

"I'm glad you are safe, friend," he told you before Wade called him an 'ol' softie,' leaving you to follow Charles down the hallway leading off the foyer.

Logan trailed after you, leaving enough space between the two of you so you wouldn't feel crowded.

Charles stopped at a door before pushing it open, gesturing for you to walk inside. You realized once you got into the room that it was Charles' office. You opted to take one of the chairs in front of his desk while Logan stayed near the door. You glanced over your shoulder to see he was leaning up against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed and expression guarded.

You assumed Charles would take the spot behind his desk, but he came to a stop at your side. He turned his chair to face you and you gifted him with the same courtesy, meeting his stare.

Silence fell between the pair of you and you tried to figure out what you wanted to say. Finally, you settled on, "Thank you."

Charles dipped his head in a nod. "I'm glad Emma was there to give us your location. I'm afraid I wasn't able to find you with your forcefield up. They're quite unique," he mused.

You felt just the slightest bit of guilt for the way you had turned on Emma once Sinister was dead, but you couldn't go back to change your actions.

"Piotr mentioned that you wanted to talk to me," Charles prompted with a curious quirk of his brow.

"I know he's dead," you forced yourself to say. "Alex and I killed him, but I still feel like he's in my head. What if he left something behind? What if he's still in there waiting to strike again?"

Charles considered you for a moment before he reached out. "May I?"

You shot Charles' hand a wary look. You would rather let Piotr hit you full force than allow another telepath in your head, but you needed to know. You finally leaned forward, crossing the distance between your head and Charles' outreached hand.

There was a rush before Charles carefully started picking through memories. Between Nathaniel and Emma, you felt mentally frail, but Charles was being delicate.

"Oh, my dear," he whispered, dismayed at whatever he found. "You've been through quite an ordeal, haven't you?"

You didn't have to answer, because you knew your secrets and the darkness that had invaded your mind were all in full view for Charles to peruse. You were ashamed and humiliated and terrified that Nathaniel had tipped you over the edge and now you were falling, heading straight for rock bottom.

"I can assure you that Sinister no longer has any hold over your mind," Charles continued, still combing through your memories and thoughts. "If you like, I can try to suppress the memories," he offered, his voice calm in your head.

You wished more than anything that you could allow Charles to soothe the balm, but you were worried about letting anyone tamper with your memories. Even though Charles had the best of intentions, you wanted to know that everything in your mind was undeniably yours.

"If you change your mind or need me to take another look, all you have to do is ask," Charles said, carefully extracting himself from your mind.

"Thank you," you managed before standing. You turned to see Logan still watching you, a tiny spark of warmth taking root in you. "Let's go home," you told him, watching as a relieved smile crossed his face.

"Let's go home," he agreed, reaching out towards you as you got closer.

The following weeks were spent trying to convince yourself that you weren't still trapped in Nathaniel's manipulation. You didn't know how to rid yourself of the doubt, so you did your best to counteract that with the proof you needed to show you that your loved ones would never leave you.

You started by talking to Wade.

Logan and Laura had left to run errands, and right as they were out the door, Wade showed up on the doorstep. You knew they practically had a rotation going to make sure you weren't alone at any given time.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said as he stepped into the living room. "Ooh, are those cookies?" He reached out to grab one of the cookies Laura was addicted to.

So much had been on your mind that you weren't even sure where to start. You were staring at Wade, attempting to figure out what to ask first, when he stopped mid-bite to look at you.

"What's going on, baby bird?" He let himself drop down into a seat at the kitchen table before he snagged another cookie. "This shit is good," he moaned, stuffing one into his mouth whole.

"Wade," you started, sitting down in the chair across from him. "If Logan were to ever leave me, would you let me stay with you?"

Wade suddenly stopped chewing before setting down the third cookie he had swiped. "Did Logan say he was leaving you?" His voice was low and dangerous, cautious enough for you to know he was trying to grasp the situation while forming his plan of attack.

"No," you told him, hoping you were right. "But what if he did?"

"Good," Wade snorted before picking up his pilfered cookie again. "I'd chop his off his balls and serve them to him sunny side up if he ever did," he promised, tone serious.

"And I could stay with you?" You checked, wanting to assuage that fear.

Wade shrugged his shoulders. "I'm always up for a sleepover, sure," he agreed. "You'd have to share a bed with Blind Al, but I promise she won't bite. Well, maybe just once or twice," he amended with a thoughtful grimace. “Or, I could put some couch cushions on the floor and tell her that’s the bed, so we could share,” he added, gesturing between the two of you. “And then we could cuddle and tell each other all our secrets and it’ll be a fun little sleepover every night. Fuck, you should totally dump Logan so we can do that.”

You felt a surprised laugh bubble out of you, and it felt so fucking good. Trust Wade to bring you the levity you so desperately craved. “God, you’re an asshole,” you sighed, loving him all the more for it. You watched him eat another cookie, knowing Laura was going to be pissed when she got back and realized they were gone. "And what if you were mending things with Vanessa and didn't want another roommate? What then?"

Wade was silent for long enough that you started to worry.

"If I were to get Vanessa back," he started, voice uncharacteristically small yet hopeful, "then she knows what she's getting with me. And that includes you," Wade added, shooting you a wink. "We're a package deal now, baby bird, and Papa Deadpool would never leave you."

You didn't respond, instead choosing to push the box of cookies in Wade's direction, silently urging him to take more.

Next, you decided to talk to Laura.

She had been quiet around you, studying you from afar. Logan had told you she blamed herself for not being there to keep Gambit from taking you. You didn't want Laura to feel guilty, so you sent Logan out to get dinner and took your chance to talk to her without anyone else around.

"Gambit would have gotten me sooner or later," was what you said instead of any sort of platitude. "Nathaniel, Sinister," you corrected yourself, "wasn't going to stop. So, if it came down to me being taken or me being taken and you getting hurt, then I know which scenario I prefer. I'm glad you weren't with me," you told her, "because if anything had happened to you, I wouldn't have made it. I need you safe more than anything else."

Laura didn't say anything for a while. She kept absentmindedly running her nails over the fabric covering the couch, digging in until she caused a small rip. "I spent a really long time without a family," she finally got out. "And just when I thought I had someone, he died protecting me. I never thought I would have anyone who actually made me feel like I belonged somewhere, but then you found me. I was lost in the Void for a while and Cassandra's guys were bearing down on me, but then you showed up with Johnny." There was a fond little smile on her face, but she still hadn't looked at you since she started talking.

"You took me back to the hideout and you treated me as if I had been there with you all along. You looked out for me and protected me and loved me. And you still do all those things. Now, I have you and I have Logan and you've both given me a home. A family. And then you were gone and we didn't know if we would ever find you again. I was so scared," she whispered, finally meeting your gaze. "I can't lose you too."

You knew then that you had been stupid to believe, even under Nathaniel's influence, that Laura would ever pick someone else over you. You felt a smile break out on your face before reaching out to pull her into a hug.

"You won't lose me," you promised, reaching up to flick her ear.

Laura huffed out an amused little laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a relieved sob.

You had never found it hard to be vulnerable around Logan, but you were half-terrified at the thought of trying to broach the subject of his wife. It was your deepest fear and Nathaniel had exploited it perfectly. You had nearly lost yourself just at the thought of losing Logan. What if there really was someone out there, even if it wasn't his wife, who would make him leave you?

You were lying in bed, tucked close in to his side. Your head was resting on his chest and you were trailing your fingers up and down his stomach, trying to work up the courage to ask what was on your mind. You had already told Logan what happened to you while Nathaniel held you captive, but he didn't know just how much it had affected you.

"When Wade told me he could get the TVA to fix my universe, I wanted nothing more than to return there and have them all back again," Logan's voice was a low rumble in his chest, nearly soothing despite the way anxiety shot through you at his words. "And then it turned out that there was no fixing it. I am who I am because of those mistakes and those losses. I wouldn't be here without them."

You pressed a kiss to his chest, letting him know you were listening, but not willing to contribute just yet. Logan had an uncanny ability to know exactly what was on your mind, so you didn’t question why he chose the topic.

Logan's hand came up to press between your shoulder blades. He swept his hand down to the small of your back, urging you to press closer to him.

"You're nothing like her, you know." Logan was quick to press a kiss to the crown of your head when he felt you tense up. "You like different movies and songs and books. You love the rain and she was scared of thunderstorms. She would have hated Wade, but you've practically adopted him. I told you in the Void that I knew you weren't her and I've known that every second since. I love you," he admitted, his voice soft and nearly pleading. "I love you knowing that you aren't her, because I don't want to dwell on the past anymore. There's no changing the past and there's no bringing her back, but even if it was possible, I would still want my future with you. I will always want you."

You had carefully kept your gaze directed at Logan's shirt, but you finally lifted your head to lock eyes with him.

"I want my future with you too," you told him, aware that you had to let him know you were on the same level. Logan was used to fighting for what was his, but you knew that letting anyone see this side of him was special. He trusted you and you knew without a doubt that he loved you. It would be hard to erase the damage Nathaniel had done, but you knew that Logan, Laura, and Wade would all gladly take on the task of helping you heal.

"I'm not going to lose you again," Logan swore, his hand dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to press to the skin at the base of your spine. "And you're not going to lose me. We'll fight for you every day if we have to."

Your throat felt tight and your eyes stung, but you managed to rise until you could kiss Logan. It was a promise from you to him that spoke of every ounce of the love you had for him.

"And I'll fight for you," you spoke into the kiss, feeling the way Logan smiled against your lips.

It was easy, then, to lose yourself to Logan. Every touch was a vow to continue forward together and every kiss was sealing the deal set forth between you. You were no longer alone and now you would never have to be.

You had a team. A family.

And most importantly, you had Logan.

Author's Notes: Is Sinister dead? Was it a clone? We may never know. There is a part 5 and part 6 being planned out! I'm going to grant a request that a lot of people had for this series regarding bringing back two certain characters, so I really want to deliver on that. I'm also going to bring in another villain and other characters. So, if you liked this or you're interested in more, please let me know! I literally wrote 15.6k in the past week just fueled by y'all's support and it really does help me so much. I can't thank y'all enough. I haven't been this inspired in a really long time. 💖 (also my coworker called me baby bird the other day and I had a moment of blind panic where I was worried she somehow found this fic, because she knows I've written reader fic before.)

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[advent-if]

DEMO TBA 🌑 CHARACTER INTROS (5/5)

A fine line separates civilians from saviours, saints from sinners; it was never a line you expected to cross, but one you did anyway. Now, the fate of Advent City’s clueless citizens or cunning criminals rests in your hands… best not to let it slip from your fingers, mm?

Thirteen years ago, your life changed. Thirteen years ago, you swore requital. Now, the opportunity has arisen for you to either defend the city from the dark or rid it from the rot spreading throughout its core. 

Now, it’s your turn.

Play as Advent City’s saviour, a daring vigilante here to protect those you love or ruin those you hate — the choice is up to you. Learn to inspire fear, earn respect, fall in love, or even become the greatest superhero this city has ever known.

ADVENT is rated 18+ for explicit language, violence, explicit sexual content, substance abuse, and more. It deals with heavy themes; discretion is advised.

Customise your character’s appearance, personality and intentions: are you a hero spurred by the desire to protect, or an anti-hero propelled by the promise of retribution? Does your alter-ego vastly differ from your day-to-day life, or is it an extension of your nature? Are you ruthless or compassionate, ingenious or Machiavellian, courageous or psychopathic?

Choose your origin story: were you a rich orphan à la Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark, a Regular Joe turned hero on being given powers by a mysterious force, or born with them for reasons you’re desperate to find?

Fight villains who threaten the safety of the city and its inhabitants, and maybe even a supervillain who happens to be your foil…

Romance 1 of 5 characters, each of whom come with their own hefty baggage, and have interesting(?) reactions to yours…

Manage your new life and all its nuances. Who said being a saviour was easy? Try to separate your old life from this new one by keeping your identity a secret, maintaining old relationships, forging new ones, keeping your loved ones safe, etc. etc… damn.

the Head of Police: Luis/Luz Aguilera (m/f): Stern, sexy, moody. Relentlessly hardworking and caring to the point of no return. They want to be the one to clean Advent City’s fucked up system, not for glory, but simply because it’s the right thing to do. Unfortunately for them, that also means putting up with your whole shebang… maybe try to keep the arguing to a minimum?

the Journalist: Vincent “Vinny” Jacobs (m): Cheeky, suave, opportunistic. Inordinately ambitious and impressively dedicated to their cause. He’d never miss an opportunity to investigate something deeper if it intrigued him enough. Unfortunately for you, he’s now focused solely on the up and coming vigilante stalking the streets. Uh oh.

the Childhood Friend: Arya Anand (m/f): Sweet, thoughtful, kind. Patient to a fault and excessively trusting. You guys knew each other really well, once upon a time. But now that they're back, years later, you’re not quite convinced by the “I’m okay”s and forced smiles they seem to be hiding under. Surely it has nothing to do with you, right?

the Other One: Nian (f): Unpredictable, flirty, mysterious. Fast to arrive and quick to disappear. She’s someone you meet often in your… line of work… and curiously, she’s always ready to help you. Behind her mask and catsuit is someone you suspect is dangerously similar to you. As long as you two have the same goal, it shouldn’t be a problem…

the Heir: Josephine/Joseph Bieri (f/m): Arrogant, cunning, brash. Annoyingly haughty and odiously elusive. They were an asshole when you first met five years ago, and seem to be an even bigger one now… worse, they’re in the way between you and taking down their Mafia kingpin dad. Although, getting close could give you an advantage - just try not to punch them.

reblogs are appreciated! thank you so much for your interest <3