#ao3 may be down but love never dies

[strangeannamaul]

Lasso's Ranch

(a sesame street/Mr Rogers AU)

Sadia Crimm sits criss-cross applesauce in front of her TV with her notepad and pen, in rapt attention as the theme song begins. She wiggles her toes in rhythm with the twangy fiddle and guitar that introduces every episode of Lasso's Ranch.

"Daddy! Hurry up, you're gonna miss the buck-uh-rooooo!"

Trent yawns as he comes in from the kitchen, carrying a freshly brewed tea. His hair is still a mess from sleep and he's wearing his housecoat and sleep clothes. It had been another late night writing for his newest novel, and he was feeling it this morning.

"I'm right here, darling."

He sits back in the couch and clutches his rainbow Snoopy mug like a lifeline as the cheerful television host comes on screen.

"How d'ya do, Buckaroos!?" The man cheerfully greets the camera and pauses with a grin.

"How daya do, Farmer Teddy!" Sadia shouts back, along with the pre-recorded childrens voices on the program.

The host walks through a stage set of what Trent assumes is a cartoonish pantomime of small town Americana. As Teddy greets each puppet chicken, cow, and dog in song, Trent sips his tea and let's his mind wander. The show had been another attempt to bring the success of Sesame Street to a British market after the limited run success of Furchester Hotel. The educational content was accurate and easy for children to understand, which made up for the cartoonish accent of the host and his ridiculous outfit. If Trent was being perfectly honest, though, the tan canvas jacket, plaid button down, cowboy boots and wrangler jeans combo actually did him more than a few favours. As a business model, it kinda worked. Bright colours and music for the kids, science and eye candy for the parents.

"Today on the ranch, we're getting ready for a big snowfall. Do you know where snow comes from?" A pause. "That's right, snow falls from clouds in the sky!"

Farmer Teddy goes on to explain the lake effect to the audience, as a puppet cloud crosses the screen picking up puppet water drops as they rise on sticks from behind a tank of water that is meant to represent the great lakes, somehow turning into snowflakes and dropping back down on the other side.

Sadia scribbles furiously in her notebook. She doesn't yet know how to spell, so mainly her notes consist of random letters and pictures of clouds, but it still makes Trent feel incredibly sentimental.

"let's give a big thank you to Mister Nimbostratus and the precipa-posse for helping me with that demonstration. Thank you, fellas!" he ends his lesson.

"Any time, Farmer Teddy! Toodaloo, buckaroos!" the cloud salutes a felt arm to his cloudy forehead and the puppets walk off screen.

Off-screen, there's a loud jangle from a telephone.

"Do you hear that Buckaroos? Sounds like someone's giving us a ring-a-ding-ding!"

The host walks up the porch steps and through the front door, and the scene cuts to his livingroom set. Next, he sits down to remove his boots and jacket, then slips on a pair of flashy trainers and pullover. Trent barely registers the phone song he sings, momentarily entranced by the tendril of hair that is disturbed when Farmer Teddy pulls the jumper over his head.

"Today's call comes from Sadia in Richmond. How'dya do, buckaroo?"

"Howdy, Mister Teddy!"

Trent recognizes his daughters voice, and it pulls him from his thoughts.

"Sadia, when did you call Farmer Ted?"

"Nana and Papa helped me do it. Is that okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Trent stutters out, "I just wished they had asked me first, that's all darling. It's okay."

She turns her attention back to the screen.

"How can Farmer Teddy help you today, Sadia?"

"I have a question about feelings."

"Sounds like a good question for the Diamond Dogs. Should we call them, Sadia?"

"Yes, please, Mister Teddy," she politely answers.

"You have very good manners, Miss Sadia. Okay, you heard her. Diamond dogs, mount up!!"

Four puppet dogs come bouncing in from all corners of the set, barking and yipping, and Farmer Teddy joins in with a couple barks of his own.

When the barking dies down, Farmer Teddy urges her to go ahead with her question.

"Well, sometimes I feel like I'm happy and sad at the same time. My mummy and daddy don't live together anymore because he is gay, and sometimes I miss my daddy when I'm at mums, or I miss my mummy when I'm at dads. How do I stay happy like you, when I miss one of them?"

Something briefly flashes across Farmer Teddy's face, almost indistinguishable, but he stays in character.

"Separation is always tricky. Your big feelings are normal and valid, and missing someone just shows how much you love them. It sounds like you love your mom and dad very much."

"I do! Mummy dances with me in the kitchen and daddy reads the best stories to me!"

"That sounds like mighty good folks you have. You know, when I miss my son, I like to think of the happy memories we shared just like that and it makes it feel a little less sad. I bet if you shared your feelings with your parents, they would also have some good ideas to help you when you miss them."

"I don't want to hurt their feelings though. If I say that I miss one of them, what if they think they aren't enough?"

Trent is fully awake now, like an ice water bucket had been dumped over his head.

The Higgins puppet, a collie with a dress shirt and tie, speaks next. "Your parents love you, they won't be hurt if you open up to them."

"That's right, I think they will support you if you give them the chance!" Nate the Great Dane agrees.

The other dogs, a German shepard with thick black eyebrows, and a brownish red terrier with a beard murmur in the affirmative as well and Farmer Ted nods.

"Thank you, Mister Teddy. Thank you, diamond dogs!"

"You're very welcome, miss Sadia. It was very brave of you to talk about your feelings. We're all honoured as can be to help you."

The show moves on to another segment, where they show the kids how to build their own weather sock, and then finished with all the farm animals being read a goodnight story as the snow falls. Trent turns the show off and pulls his daughter into his lap.

"Is that true, you felt like you couldn't tell me when you miss mummy cause you thought it would hurt my feelings?"

She nods her head.

"Oh, darling. You can always tell me anything. Its perfectly okay to miss us."

He kisses her on the temple and hugs her snugly.

"I know this has been a tough adjustment. Mummy and daddy will talk about ways you can see us more, no matter who you are staying with. Does that sound good?"

Her face lights up and the brightness of it warms Trent like a furnace for the love and pride he feels for her. Later that evening, after he had put Sadia to bed, he calls Molly and they make a plan to do nightly FaceTimes and eat dinner as a family once a week alternating houses.

(10 months later)

"Come ON daddy, hurry!"

Sadia pulls his hand, weaving them through the other pedestrians as they make their way to the book store. Farmer Teddy was doing a storytime tour and they had gotten tickets for when he was going to be at the inkwell.

The bookstore is crowded; about fourty children are seated around the tiny makeshift stage, and their parents stand around the perimeter in a semicircle. Farmer Teddy steps forward to get them all and read the stories, with animated inflection and gives each character a voice, as he does on the show. Afterwards, a bearded man with a guitar joins him, along with a boy a few years older than his daughter. The boy passes a tambourine to Farmer Teddy.

"I'm honoured to have this very special guest here to sing with us today, my son Henry. This song is very special to us and we wanted to share it with everyone here today. Hopefully it can help some of you the way it helped us. Grownups, if you know the words, please join in."

The bearded man begins playing, and they start singing Hey Jude. Some of the parents reluctantly join in, but by the nah-nahs at the end, the whole room has been swept up into the song.

"Alright, that's all the show we have for you folks today, I just need to take a five minute break and then I'll be here till closing to meet everyone one on one. Thank you for being such a great crowd!"

The trio disappear through the backroom doors as parents begin to shuffle to reclaim their children and form a queue.

"Daddy, can I go see mummy in the back?"

"We can see mum, but we have to leave Farmer Teddy alone. He deserves to take his break without us bothering him, okay?"

"I promise."

Trent follows his daughter through the doors and sees her disappear into Molly's office. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop but the storeroom isn't very big.

"How ya doing, bud?"

He recognizes the voice as Farmer Teddy, familiar but his speech was in a more normal cadence and tinged with a little nervousness.

"I'm good, dad. It's just a lot of people."

A pause.

"I know, it can be pretty overwhelming. Would you like to go back to the flat with Uncle Willis for the afternoon? I can join you and your mom around 5 and I'm all yours for the rest of the week. Promise."

A sniffle, another pause.

"Uhm, yeah, I can do that dad."

"I'm really sorry Henry, I know this wasn't the plan. Thank you for being here with me for this today. I love you, bud. More than anything."

He hugs the boy, and then straightens back to standing. The bearded man hugs him as well and gives him a pat on the back.

"We got this Ted, don't worry."

"Thanks, I appreciate you."

Trent stands there awkwardly, not sure what to do. He considers if it would be best to try to slip into the office undetected or announce his presence, but the decision is made for him a moment later as Sadia reemerges with Molly in tow.

"Hello, Mr. Lasso. Thank you again for appearing here today, it's a privelage to be hosting this event."

The men break their hug, and the bearded man guides the boy out the back doors.

He takes a shakey breath and then beams at her.

"Pleasure is all mine. Independent bookstores like this are invaluable. And who is this?"

He crouches down once again to greet Trent's daughter.

"This is my daughter, Sadia Crimm. Her father should be somewhere around here...ah yes, right over there."

Ted turns to where Molly is pointing. Miraculously, Trent finally regains the use of his legs to walk over, join them and offer his hand to shake.

"Trent Crimm. My daughter is a big fan of the show, so it's quite the honour to meet you today Mr. Lasso."

"That's awfully kind of you to say, sir, but you can just call me Ted."

He lets go of Trents hand and turns his attention back to the little girl.

"Sadia, you have a lovely name."

"Thank you, Mister Teddy."

"You're very welcome. Tell me, did the advice we gave you help you talk to your mom and dad about your feelings?"

The polite smile Trent had had on his face drops away as the mortification sets in. Not only did he have an embarrassing crush on a children's entertainer, but said man remembered that his daughter called about his divorce and coming out.

"Yes, thank you Mister Teddy. Mummy and daddy call me every night so I always see them both every day."

She isn't usually affectionate with adults she just meets but Sadia wraps her arms around Ted's neck, and he has to quickly put a hand out to steady himself from falling over before hugging back.

"Sadia, please be gentle. I'm sorry Mi- uh...Ted. And err, thank you for answering her call. We watched that episode together and it led to some very good conversations. It really helped."

"Shucks, Trent. I mean I try my best. I'm glad I was able to make a difference. Divorce is hard, and I've been where you are. Harder still when you have a kid caught in between."

Before he could think too long on what that means, Molly speaks up.

"Sorry to cut this short but it's time to start the meet and greet."

Ted stands up again with a groan and stretches, and Trent tries his best to not blush at the sound. Unfortunately, he doesn't think he was that lucky and he swears he catches Ted wink at him, although it could've been a trick of the light.

Ted smiles at him. "I'm busy this week visiting with my son, but I would like to chat again before I have to go to the next stop on the tour. Are you free next Thursday?"

Trent doesn't say anything, just glances at Molly. She rolls her eyes and gestures from Trent to Ted, silently telling him say yes, you idiot.

"Uh, I can do Thursday. Yeah. A drink? Or uhm, lunch?"

"I'm not much of a drinker these days but I would like to take you for dinner, if you'd be amenable?"

"Dinner. Yeah. Okay, see you then!"

Ted smiles at him then tips an imaginary hat to Molly. "Duty calls."

With that, he turns and walks back out the doors.

"Breathe, Trent." Molly laughs at him.

He takes a deep breath and blinks.

"What just happened? I think I blacked out."

"I think that Ted Lasso just asked you on a date."

Trent scoffs. "Nonsense. It's probably a friendly hangout. Or a polite but empty offer that he had no plans on following through on. I didn't even get his number."

Molly rolls her eyes.

"You let me worry about that. You can take this one to the park while I get back to running my shop."

9pm that evening:

Trent is lying in bed, emailing pages to his editor and doing his required social media posting as part of the marketing plan for his upcoming novel. The room is dark, except for the blue square of light coming from his phone to Illuminate his face. It's then he recieves a text.

(Text ted to trent)

Hello Trent! I got your number from your ex-wife. Sorry about running out of there without taking care of the details. Busy afternoon!

(Text ted to trent)

What kind of food do you like? I admit I'm not super familiar with Richmond yet but I do like the food at this pub around the corner, Crown and Anchor. Do you know it?

Ok, so it wasn't an empty invitation. He still didn't know why the man had invited him out. A pub didn't exactly scream romantic intentions, but he would be lying if he said he'd never had a date at one before.

(Text Trent to Ted)

I know it. Shall we meet there for eight?

(Text Ted to Trent)

You bet, bobba fett.

(Text Ted to Trent)

Looking forward to it.

(Text Ted to Trent)

I'm absolutely bushed though, gonna hit the hay. Night night!

Trent felt an unbidden bubble of excitement and let his phone fall to his chest with a smile. He tries to temper his hopes by reminding himself he still has no idea the reason for the invite. It still takes him another hour to settle for sleep that night, and for the rest of the week he has a bounce in his step that his ex-wife only teases him about on days that end in y.

Finally Thursday night comes around. Trent chats on FaceTime with Molly as he checks himself out in the mirror again.

"I don't know. You sure it's not too much for crown and anchor?"

"You look dashing, Trent. He's going to be blown away, and if he isn't then he's an idiot."

He wears a patterned orange and brown sort of paisley inspired koi blouse with the top buttons undone so that a decent peak of his chest is bare. On his wrists he's layered multiple bracelets and has a statement turquoise ring on one hand. His trousers are cream, high waisted and with dramatic wide legs.

"I'm more worried about me looking like an idiot."

"Don't you dare get cold feet now! You March down to that pub and have a nice meal and a pint with a handsome man and have a good time!"

"Love you too, Molly. Ok, wish me luck."

"Good luck!"

Trent arrives about five minutes early, and scans the room. It's a quiet evening, only a handful of patrons tonight. In a booth to the right, he locks eyes with Ted, who bolts upright with a smile and stands as Trent walks over. Ted had traded his wranglers and boots for a dark wash denim and dress shoes. He wore a navy blue dress shirt that looked like it had been tailored for him as it showed off his althletic build.

"You made it!"

Ted says it as if he had been worried Trent would have stood him up and like he's relieved he hasn't been.

"As did you."

Ted smiles, and his eyes drop briefly to the open collar.

"You look good. Uhm nice. I like your outfit."

Ted runs his hands through his hair at the base of his neck, as he awkwardly compliments Trent. Tick one for this being a date.

"You look good too. Shall we order?"

Ted nods and they sit down, and are promptly greeted by Mae, who takes their orders and disappears again. For what feels like a full minute, neither of them says anything.

"So-" "Wh-"

They choose the same moment to begin to say something, and then laugh at the awkwardness.

"I'm terribly sorry, you go first."

"No really, you go right ahead and say what you were gonna say."

"Honestly, I'm not even sure what I was going to say. This as entirely unfamiliar situation for me, I've never been invited to dinner by someone I only know from television."

Trent sees him flinch.

"What I mean is, I know you're work but I don't know you, so I don't really know where to begin the conversation or why you are interested in talking to me at all. "

Ted's shoulders relax again.

"Well, not sure if this helps or hurts but I could say the same to you. Your ex-wife gave me some homework for the week, unintended of course. She let slip that you're a writer, and I ended up on a deep dive of what my internet searching told me was some of your best work. I just wanted to get a sense of who you were but it was such a good novel that I read another and then another after that. You have a real talent for imagery, sir."

"You...read my work?"

Ted nods.

"Sure did. Now romance isn't my usual genre but let me tell you I was cheering when the protagonist would finally get with his love interest every time, once I remembered how to breathe again. I had no idea a bit of reading could do that to a fella, not least of all his blood pressure. I've always said the written word is a powerful thing, but wowee do you set the bar."

"Oh, uh, thank you."

Trent blinks in surprise. Of all the revelations he thought this night might reveal, he hadn't forseen that Ted would have read his queer erotica. Not just read it, but enjoyed it.

"I write other things too. Some biographies, a couple mysteries. It's not all just... that. They were cathartic when I first was trying to understand aspects of my own life and later when I came out and people responded well so I just... Kept writing them."

Trent fidgets with his napkin. He isn't embarrassed, because he is proud of is writing, but he does feel uneasy with being so seen. Those novels are the most emotionally vulnerable of all his work, each one taking no small amount of courage to voice his desires to the universe. Ted reaches across the table to put his hand on Trent's.

"Well count me as a fan. You've got a beautiful way with words, Trent."

"That's kind of you to say. I-"

Ted gives him a moment to finish his sentence, but when it's clear Trent has thought better, he gently presses.

"What were you about to say?"

"It's nothing; it's stupid."

"I doubt that the mind responsible for writing a love as real and compelling as Stephen and Daniel had in that royal court series has any stupid ideas. Go ahead, I promise I won't judge."

*Oh god, THOSE are the books he read?* Trent thinks. Royal Court was his most popular series, but it was also a thinly veiled self-insert of everything Trent had ever dreamed his ideal romance could ever be, treason plots and high tea aside. He definitely didn't want to read too deeply into why they had resonated with Ted.

"It's just that you don't seem like my typical demographic, I don't have many readers that are.."

"What, American? Or childrens TV personalities?" Ted finishes.

"... straight."

Fuck, it's out there now. The bubble of what if and circumstantial proof he'd built up in his mind to imagine this was a date was finally going to be popped. He'd shown his cards and Ted was going to let him down easily. Taking a deep breath, he awaits the inevitable rejection.

Ted chuckles a little, but then stops at the look of pain on Trent's face.

"No you're right, sorry, not funny. Look, maybe this is just a clash of cultures thing but where I'm from if a fella meets another fella and then he asks that fella to dinner, and he doesn't clarify it as business, that's a good indication he's angling for a date. I wasn't sure you'd be interested, but I was sure interested in finding out. Doubly so after I read your books. What part of that did you get straight from?"

Trent covers his face with his hands, and groans in embarrassment.

"You were married to a woman and you have a child together. I assumed."

Ted chuckles again. "You have an ex-wife and a child."

"Point taken. Look, I'm really sorry I made any assumptions. Can we start over?"

"No harm, no foul, Simon Cowell. If it's all the same to you though, I like where this thing we got going on is at now. Seems like a shame to let all this progress go just to start at the beginning."

Trent searches his face for any indication of negative reaction but all he sees is a genuinely pleased smile, the sparkle of amusement in his eyes, mixed with a look of hunger that Trent finds thrilling.

"Alright. Onwards, forwards."

"I like that, might have to take that."

"Might let you."

Their banter is interrupted by the arrival of their food, and the conversation flows naturally until they're the last people in the pub. Mae gently (but firmly) sends them on their way, so they wander down the street together, arm in arm, neither willing to call it the end of the night, until Ted stops in front of a white door. He grabs Trent's hand when he keeps walking, to stop him, but doesn't let go once Trent has stopped too.

"This is me."

He looks at Trent with a silent plea in his eyes.

"Oh."

A silent moment stretches between them as either tries to read the intentions of the other.

"You could -"

"Yes."

Trent interrupts, and launches forward to crash their lips together. Ted responds in kind, and pulls him by the waist against the door, fumbling with the keys until it finally clicks open and they stumble through the entryway.

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 2 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex » 【note, there is physical & emotional intimidation in this chapter (from naoya not satoru), this is a form of domestic abuse, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 12.5k

ꨄ a/n. firstly, wow thank you so much for all your kind words on ch 1 :") secondly, this series may be more than 3 chapters (maybe more like 4 or 5?) idk i'm still working out the pacing rn bc i really want the relationship to feel fluid and natural. this chapter ended up being much longer than i anticipated 😅 but as always, i would love to hear your thoughts and hope you enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 2 // under the spotlight

Becoming a mother makes you realize you can do almost anything one-handed—though honestly, sometimes you wish you had an abundance of limbs.  

Especially now. Your apartment is a whirlwind of activity – scattered toys, half packed bags and the remnants of breakfast still on the table. You’re in the middle of prepping your daughter’s essentials, trying to make sure you don’t forget anything important. Her preferred snacks, extra clothes, diapers, and a few of her favorite toys all stuffed into a bag.

“Mama, mama, look!”

Haru’s innocent voice rings out like a melody amidst your morning clamor. Halting your frantic movements, you’re drawn to her face, lit up with pure joy as she holds up her beloved Pikachu plushie. The bright yellow toy bounces in her hands as she makes it dance.

Her innocence provides a brief, much-needed, calm to the storm of nerves brewing inside of you. After all, today’s the day you’re meeting with Satoru and his lawyer to finalize the marriage contract. Your marriage—weird.

It feels odd saying it, the word foreign on your tongue. Marriage is a concept you never thought you’d be rushing into, especially not like this.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d marry Naoya Zenin.

Back then, you were so in love with his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But reality had a way of shattering those illusions.

His charm turned to arrogance, his confidence to control. It wasn’t long before you realized he cared more about owning you than loving you, and now you’re left with nothing but heartache and a broken family.

But amidst your turmoil you found a precious gift—Haru.

Her infectious giggle is a stark contrast to the chaos within your mind—it always manages to pull you back from your whirlwind of worries.

You’ll do anything in your power to keep her smiling, even if that means marrying Satoru Gojo, the man who is guilty for an abundance of your headaches.

With a deep breath, you zip up your duffle bag and turn to Haru who is lovably babbling to Pikachu.

“Come here, sweetie,” you say, kneeling down with her small jacket in your hand.

She toddles over to you, clutching her comforting plushie, eyes wide and curious.

Easing her tiny arms into the sleeves, you gently help Haru into her jacket.

“We’re going to meet some new friends today,” you tell her softly, fastening the buttons with care. “One of them is named Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo?” she echoes, face scrunching up in concentration.

Truth be told, you weren't planning on bringing Haru to this meeting, but you’re faced with a lack of options, especially since technically, you’re fired.

Well… temporarily.

Until Satoru rehires you, paying the nanny isn’t feasible with your already stretched finances, Utahime, your ever-reliable friend, is unavailable. Your neighbor, who sometimes steps in to help, is out of town, and your mom is… your mom – as undependable as ever.

At this point you'd rather be caught dead than call Naoya again.

Calling him yesterday, when your nanny bailed, was a moment of pure desperation, a lapse in judgment driven by the chaos of the day and the fear of getting fired. Not your proudest moment.

It’s no surprise he’ll likely use it against you—hold it over your head like a weapon. It’s a pattern you’re all too familiar with.

But today marks the beginning of a new chapter, one that you’re determined to make the best of for both you and your daughter—once this marriage is finalized, you’ll be back to earning a steady income again.

A sigh escapes your lips as you focus back on Haru, her innocent eyes look up at you expectantly.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo,” you repeat, giving her a reassuring smile as you reach down to tie her shoelaces. “We’re going on an adventure today, just you and Mommy.”

“An adventure!” Haru cheers, clapping her hands in unbridled excitement.

Just as you pull the last loop tight, a knock reverberates through the front door, startling you. It’s unexpected, you weren’t anticipating any visitors.

With a deep breath, you twist the handle and pull the door open. The sight that greets you sends a cold wave of dread crashing over you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Speak of the devil—Naoya.

He has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing, always appearing when he’s least wanted.

His presence is as imposing as ever—a smirk crowned on his lips, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets—exuding an air of ownership over everything that’s around him.

As if he owns you.

Damn it. You really can’t deal with this right now; you don’t have the time. Satoru is expecting you, and you need to get moving.

Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he surveys you with that annoyingly smug expression plastered upon his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite girls," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The frustration you feel from Naoya is vastly different from what you experience with Satoru. With Satoru, it's harmless—like dealing with a mischievous child. But with Naoya, every sight of him makes you want to flee, as if each encounter is a battle you barely survive. He reopens old wounds that never truly healed, leaving you raw and exposed.

Every fiber of your being screams in protest at the sight of him, but you force yourself to maintain composure—refusing to let him see the effect he has on you.

"What do you want, Naoya? I really don’t have time for this today."

Turning away from him, you begin gathering the last of Haru’s things with brisk, precise movements, making it clear you have no intention of prolonging this interaction.

He steps inside, smirk widening with satisfaction and tone laced with mock concern.

"Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're managing. Got your message. Heard you were looking for a babysitter yesterday.”

As expected—you’re really kicking yourself for calling him. His false sympathy only heightens your irritation, grating on your nerves as the condescension drips from his words like venom.

If you weren’t already leaving, you would slam the door right in his smug face.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to keep your tone steady, for no one other than Haru.

"We're fine, Naoya. We don’t need your help."

In hopes to end this conversation quickly, you grasp Haru’s hand and attempt to brush past him. But he sidesteps, effectively forbidding your path to the door, looming like an unwanted shadow.

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see. How’s that working out for you?” he scowls as he peers through your apartment, “This place is a mess. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for work. Lost your job already?”

His words hit a nerve, you feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"We are managing just fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be."

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily. His expression darkens, and as you repeatedly try to step past him, he halts you yet again, blocking your way like an insurmountable wall.

"And where exactly are you going? Shouldn't you be at work today?"

"That's none of your business. I really need to go," you retort, lifting your chin assertively as you force your way past him. Your shoulder brushes against his in a deliberate act of defiance.

The moment you cast him aside, he immediately pursues after—but choosing to ignore him, you close the door behind you, turning the lock with a decisive click.

As you start leading Haru towards the elevator, you adopt a brisk pace in hopes to put as much distance between you and Naoya as possible.

But he raises an eyebrow, smirk widening as he traverses after you. You hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway of your apartment complex.

"Oh, I think it is my business. Especially when it concerns my daughter."

Oh, please.

It’s painfully ironic how he pretends to care about Haru only when it suits him.

After you served him child support papers, he had the audacity to demand a DNA test, claiming he needed ‘proof’ that Haru was his. Of course, something like that takes time for the judge to arrange.

He knew that damn well—it was just another ploy to delay the process further.

As anger bubbles up within you, a scoff escapes your lips, teetering on the edge of a bitter laugh.

"Oh, so she’s yours when it’s convenient for you. Don't pretend you care about Haru now. You’ve done nothing but make our lives difficult."

Your movements are sharp and frantic until you finally halt in front of the elevator. Just as you press the button to descend, Naoya’s presence descends over you—suffocating like a dark cloud, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

"Maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, things wouldn’t be so difficult. You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask," the insincerity in his voice makes your skin crawl—as his words slither into your ears, each syllable is laced with a condescending edge.

You scoff, jabbing the button over and over again with mounting urgency. Can this damn elevator come any faster?

"Help? From you? I'd rather figure things out on my own than rely on your 'help'."

He steps closer, making you feel small and cornered. It’s a familiar tactic he would use to get his way—the accustomed sense of intimidation he used to exert over you returns, chilling your spine.

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you need me again,” his voice drops to a low, threatening whisper, the underlying menace making it clear that he relishes the control he still believes he has over you.

Suddenly, you feel small tiny hands gripping tightly onto your leg. Haru’s wide eyes dart between the two of you, her innocent face reflecting a nervous unease that she can’t fully understand—but you do.

Fuck it. Enough is enough. You can't let this continue any longer—screw the elevator.

With a determined breath, you scoop Haru into your arms, feeling her trembling slightly against you. "Come on, sweetie," you say softly.

Her tiny heart beats against your chest, mirroring your own anxiety. Holding her close, you immediately head towards the stairway, your stride quickening.

But Naoya's presence lingers, his footsteps echoing ominously after you.

“Really, Naoya?”

Oh, this is it. Your patience is wearing thin—he’s like a growth you can’t get rid of.

You feel Haru’s grip tighten around your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder. You have been trying desperately not to yell, for Haru’s sake, but at this point, Naoya is overstepping your boundaries.

“Just go away. The only thing I need from you is to hurry up and finish that damn DNA test,” you shout, refusing to look back as you head towards the stairs. “There was no reason for that bullshit; you know Haru is yours. I know you’re just trying to stall our court date,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration and anger.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with a cold amusement, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a mocking smile.

"Stalling? Hardly. You’re insane, I just want to be thorough. You should understand that, being so meticulous yourself," he sneers, tone derisively sweet.

Finally, you reach the stairway—beginning your descent, Haru clings tightly to you as Pikachu dangles precariously from each hurried step.

"This conversation is over, Naoya,” your voice echoes in the narrow space. “Stay out of our lives. I only want to see you in court."

Naoya contemplates following you, lowering himself a few steps before abruptly stopping. As his voice reverberates through the stairwell, his unsettling demand bounces off the cold concrete walls, chilling you to your core.

"For now, y/n. But remember, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You always come crawling back to me one way or another. You’re incapable of anything without me."

There was a time when you believed those words, but you will not fall back into that same vicious cycle.

Choosing not to respond, your resolve is sharpened with one clear goal, getting Haru and yourself out of this building as quickly as possible.

The moment you clear through the lobby door, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. This day is already starting off with a bang—hopefully it goes much better at Satoru’s.

Forcing a smile for your frightened daughter, you try to mask the tears welling up in your eyes—the tremor in your voice quaking.

“Come on honey, let’s go meet Mr. Gojo.”

Time to get this marriage finalized.

ꨄ︎

You had expectations of what Satoru’s house would be like, but even those couldn’t hold a light to the real thing—it’s a stark contrast to the modest apartment you call home.

The meticulously manicured lawn, the pristine arcadian, and the large, ornate door all showcase opulence.

It’s far more luxurious than you had imagined, making you feel distinctly out of place as you step out of your car in your worn jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a lazy bun.

Wait…should you have come dressed businesslike?

But you have Haru—was this supposed to be a professional meeting? Fuck.

On top of everything else, you’re already a few minutes late. Tardiness has become a tiresome trend in your life, one that exhausts you to your very core.

Traversing the entryway, Haru grips your hand tightly as you walk through the stone pathway. Her fingers tremble slightly, perhaps from the unsettling encounter with Naoya, or perhaps from the overwhelming new environment.

Nerves simmer through you once you approach the doorway, but you resolve to mask them. You weren’t going to let Naoya ruin your day—this meeting is your chance to retake control of your life.

As you reach out and press the doorbell, a soft melodic chime resonates, echoing through the spacious foyer beyond.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Satoru.

You immediately feel a sense of relief as you observe him dressed surprisingly casual—a fitted blue t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with dark jeans that hug his long legs. His snowy hair remains tousled in that effortlessly stylish way, framing his strikingly handsome face.

It’s impossible to advert your eyes as he greets you with that familiarly confident smile curling upon his lips, and those vivid blue eyes, enchanting you with an intriguing glint.

“Hm, late again, I see,” Satoru teases, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded with an exaggerated sigh. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up. Here I was, thinking you might divorce me before we even get married—” he stops, lifting his brow as his gaze shifts to the small figure peeking out from behind your legs.

“Well, well, and who is this?”

Haru’s wide eyes are filled with curiosity and apprehension. She peeps out nervously, clutching her plushie’s worn, familiar fabric for comfort.

Satoru’s smile softens as he looks at the little girl, but a twinge of uncertainty tugs at him internally. Children were a mystery to him, their emotions and reactions unpredictable.

What should he say? How should he act?

A flicker of fear crosses his mind—what if he says the wrong thing and makes her cry?

Oh God…

The thought of dealing with a child's tears makes him feel out of his depth, a sensation he’s not accustomed to. Satoru finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s used to commanding rooms and negotiating high-stake deals, not interacting with shy children clutching stuffed toys.

But faking confidence has always worked in the business world, and he is determined to make a good impression now.

As you notice Haru’s uncertainty, you gently caress her head, delicately coaxing her out from behind your legs.

"It’s okay, sweetie. This is Mr. Gojo, can you say hi?"

There is an air about you—the gentle ease in your voice, the way you instinctively know how to comfort Haru. It stirs something within Satoru, something he can’t quite place.

All he knows it that now he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

"I’m really sorry for bringing her along," you begin, tone earnest as you meet Satoru with an apologetic gaze. "I hope it’s okay. I just didn’t have anyone who could watch her today. But she’ll keep to herself during our meeting, I promise."

Satoru’s expression softens further as he looks at Haru, his uncertainty momentarily forgotten. She is so fragile, so docile. In her delicate features, he sees an uncanny resemblance to you—a small reflection of your strength and vulnerability intertwined.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he reassures softly. Crouching down to her level, his toothy smile is warm and inviting. “Hi there, I’m Satoru. What’s your name?”

Haru looks up at you for reassurance, her small hand tightening around your leg. Encouraged by your nod, she turns back to Satoru and whispers tentatively—

“Haru.”

Satoru grins, captivated by the softness and delicacy of Haru's voice. Though he is uncertain how to connect with a child. His mind races—

What do kids like?

What should he say next?

While his thoughts scramble, a spark of an idea forms the moment he observes Haru clutching Pikachu.

“Nice to meet you, Haru. Do you like Pokémon?”

Haru nods, her grip on the plushie relaxing slightly. There is a subtle warmth behind the apprehension in her eyes as she holds up her Pikachu toy to show Satoru.

“Yes, Pikachu.”

“Pikachu is pretty cool,” he lets out a contemplative hum as he tries to find common ground. A faint nostalgic smile plays on his features. “But you know, Digimon is even better. Have you ever heard of Agumon?”

Haru’s eyes widen with curiosity as she shakes her head, her interest clearly piqued.

Satoru’s inner child shines through—eyes sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm as his lips curl up into a grin. This is his chance to bridge the gap between them.

“Tell ya what, maybe we can watch some Digimon together sometime. How’s that sound?”

You feel Haru’s grip loosen on your leg. A faint smile touches her lips and a quiet giggle escapes as her initial shyness begins to slowly fade.

“Okay.”

There are many thoughts that come to your mind as you watch this interaction play out—the foremost being how unexpectedly gentle Satoru can be with kids. Something about him, that overconfident and sometimes arrogant man you’ve worked beside, feels different now. Almost likable.

Charming, even

But what you really can’t fathom the most is the image of a sophisticated billionaire engrossed in a kids’ cartoon. That concept alone is enough to make you suppress a laugh.

“You’re a fan of Digimon?” you raise an eyebrow.

Satoru stands up, brushing off his knees with a nonchalant shrug and a crooked smile.

“I used to watch it all the time growing up. Please, come in,” he ushers you inside the building, leading you down the grand hall.

Your breath hitches at the sight of the expansive foyer. The high ceiling, polished marble floors, and impressive chandelier casting a warm glow leave you speechless.

Following behind him, you find yourself studying Satoru’s confident strides—the movement of his back, his broad shoulders and the effortless air of authority he exudes. It’s a stark contrast to what you just witnessed moments ago with Haru.

But that alone makes him even more intriguing to you. Satoru can feel a bit like a wild card. Glimpses of tenderness hidden behind feigned aloofness—subtle playfulness followed by an exacting seriousness.

He keeps surprising you.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Digimon fan,” you remark as you follow behind him.

Satoru chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“Guilty as charged.”

You can’t help but notice the way he avoids your gaze—is he perhaps being… bashful?

Oh, this is rich.

You really would need an abundance of limbs to count on your hands the amount of times Satoru has given you shit—making your life a daily torture is his specialty after all. Perhaps that is why you couldn’t resist letting this opportunity pass up.

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have a secret stash of Digimon cards somewhere,” you snort.

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum.

“Well, I did have a pretty impressive collection back in the day. Who knows, maybe I still have them tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

“Seriously?” you are unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You, with a collection of Digimon cards? That’s something I’d pay to see.”

He rolls his eyes with a pout tugging on his lips.

“You’re enjoying this too much. Maybe I’ll dig them out for you one day. But only if you’re nice.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Me, nice to you? That’s a tall order.”

A faint chuckle leaves Satoru’s lips as the spacious foyer transitions into a grand hallway. Haru skips beside you, glancing up at Satoru with a newfound admiration.

The moment you reach a large set of intricately carved wooden doors, he pauses, turning to you with a reassuring smile before pushing them open.

Inside, a cozy yet sophisticated study awaits—shelves lined with books and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

“Yo, Suguru,” he waves flippantly, “this is y/n and her daughter, Haru.”

Your eyes are met with a man seated behind the desk—a calm and composed air about him. He is strikingly beautiful, raven hair tied back into a bun with louse tousles framing his face. As he looks up from a stack of papers, his sharp yet gentle eyes focus on you and Haru. He rises, extending a hand with a polite smile.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” you shake his hand with a subtle nod.

The presence of another stranger causes Haru’s shyness to return as she hides behind your legs again—you kneel down, smoothing her hair gently.

“Haru,” you pull out a small bag of her favorite toys from your duffle bag, “why don’t you take a seat over there and play with your toys while Mommy talks with Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto?”

With a light nod, Haru takes the bag and settles into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room—spreading out her treasures with a look of concentration.

You take a seat across from Suguru, with Satoru sinking into the chair beside you—posture relaxed and seemingly indifferent.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Suguru leans forward, “I’ve drafted the marriage contract based on the discussions I’ve had with Satoru. I’ll walk you through the main points.”

Referencing the document upon the desk, he begins.

“Firstly, as you both know, the purpose of this marriage is strictly business-related with no romantic implications. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed relationship in public and professional settings.”

Okay, easy—right?

You nod, but in the corner of your eye you can see Satoru lounging back in his chair. The mild disinterest on his face and the nonchalant way he twirls a pen between his fingers makes you grit your teeth.

He carries a casual attitude—one you shouldn’t be surprised with at this point because it’s the same infuriating aura he brings to every business meeting. But in this case, it’s a stark contrast to the gravity of this conversation. Here you are, discussing marriage and he’s sitting here as if you’re determining what to eat for lunch.

Yup, nothing’s changed. He still aggravates the hell out of you.

“Next, the duration of the marriage is set for one year, starting from the date of signing,” Suguru continues. “There are provisions for extending or terminating the marriage early, should both parties agree.”

You absorb every word as you listen intently, but Satoru seems to be in his own world. It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes as you catch him leaning back further into his chair, now balancing it on two legs. He taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully—an indifferent expression plastered across his face.

Is he even listening?

Here you are, about to commit to a fake marriage for the sake of your job and your daughter, and Satoru looks like a bored child.

You shoot him a sideways glance, silently willing him to take this more seriously, but the moment he catches your eye he simply offers a lazy wink, making your blood boil even more.

Suguru, unfazed by Satoru's demeanor, continues outlining the contract.

“The financial arrangements are next…Satoru will include a monthly allowance to you, y/n, to cover personal and household expenses. Both parties will maintain separate bank accounts, and any joint financial decisions require mutual consent.”

You blink in surprise. A monthly allowance?

Though you had asked Satoru to cover child care, you weren’t expecting this level of financial support. Isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Wait, what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your astonishment. “A monthly allowance? For personal and household expenses?”

Satoru’s chair drops back onto all four legs with a soft thud as he leans forward, finally showing a hint of interest. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“We wouldn’t want you or Haru to struggle, now, would we?”

His words sound almost considerate, but it’s the casual way he says them that makes you question his sincerity.

“Some might see you being my secretary as a conflict of interest now. You’ll still work beside me, but I can’t give you a formal salary for that role. Doing it this way ensures that all you have to worry about is playing your part. Besides,” he adds, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t support my wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a wary look, trying to gauge his true intentions. It makes sense… but is he mocking you, or is this his way of showing genuine concern? With Satoru, it’s always hard to tell.

Suguru clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the contract.

“Moving on to the living arrangements, you will both reside in the marital home here.”

Satoru interrupts, tone almost too nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and lazily stretches, “I’ve already arranged for a moving company to pack your things in a few days. They’ll handle everything.”

You blink, the suddenness of it all sinking in.

“Huh?”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I... I didn’t realize I’d be moving in so… soon. What about my apartment? I have a lease, and breaking it will incur a penalty.”

He waves off your concern with a dismissive hand, leaning back further with hands casually behind his head.

“I’ll pay it. Consider it handled. No point in you staying there when you’re supposed to be living here.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his insouciant dismissal of what, to you, is a significant expense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. We need to make this look legitimate, and that means living together. Consider it part of the arrangement.”

To him, solving problems with money seamed effortless.

To you, this isn’t just a contract; it’s a complete upheaval of your life.

You’re starting to really feel the difference in your two worlds.

The abruptness is a bit overwhelming, and yet, Satoru seems to handle it with the same ease he applies to all his business dealings.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s not that you aren’t grateful, but you can’t help but wonder…does he pity you? See you as a charity act?

Suguru, sensing your hesitation, interjects your thoughts with a soothing tone,

“It’s important for appearances that you both share a residence. It solidifies the arrangement in the eyes of your colleagues and the public.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Right, I understand.”

Suguru nods, making a note on the document.

“Good. Now, let’s move on to the responsibilities and obligations. You’re both expected to attend public and social functions, maintaining the façade of a loving marriage.”

Satoru who still remains leaned in his chair, now has his head tilted back, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Oh, and by the way," he begins, eyes flicking to you while his posture remains unmoved, "we'll be getting married at the courthouse tomorrow to make things official on paper. Our public ceremony will be a grand affair, but it will come later to keep the media satisfied and appease everyone."

Tomorrow?

You give a hesitant nod, absorbing the rapid pace at which your life is changing.

“Alright…tomorrow.”

Suguru flips to the next page, “In terms of termination, either party can initiate it with a 30-day notice. Grounds for early termination include breach of contract or mutual consent. Upon termination, Satoru will provide a one-time settlement payment to you, y/n.”

You blink as Suguru pushes the contract towards you, the settlement amount highlighted in bold. Did Satoru add a few extra zeros by mistake? That number can’t be correct, right?

You glance up at Satoru, who is now inspecting his nails with a look of utter boredom.

“Is this…correct?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks up, meeting your eyes with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, it’s correct. Consider it a thank you for playing along.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to wrap your mind around the figure. This settlement could change your life, secure Haru’s future, and give you the stability you’ve been desperately seeking.

You could pay off your medical bills for the childbirth, could go back to school. Hell, you could be free of Naoya, you wouldn’t need him or his money.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

"And what’s the catch?”

Satoru chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"Come on now, sweetheart. Just think of it as me taking care of my...business partner."

Suguru clears his throat, glancing between the two of you.

“Well, there is one additional detail, y/n. The settlement is contingent on maintaining a favorable public image. Any actions or behaviors that damage Satoru’s reputation would result in the forfeiture of all financial support and settlement funds.”

You blink, the implications dawning on you. Ah, of course there would be a condition—you knew better than to think he was just being generous.

“So… I’m responsible for upholding your image? What does that even mean?”

Satoru’s crooked grin widens.

“It means no scandals, no controversies. You play the part of the perfect spouse, attend events, smile for the cameras, and keep any...personal indiscretions out of the spotlight. Simple enough, right?”

Your stomach churns as you realize the depth of his control—you thought you were escaping Naoya’s grasp, but it seems control is still a prevalent force in your life.

This isn’t just a marriage of convenience; it’s a binding agreement that keeps you in line with his public persona, ensuring that any slip-up on your part will have dire financial consequences.

A part of you can’t blame him, though. It makes sense for him to take extra precautions. The Gojos have always been in the public eye, and there have been countless rumors about Satoru's refusal to settle down.

“What if something happens that’s out of my control? What if someone tries to smear my name?”

Satoru’s eyes harden slightly, though his smile remains.

“We’ll handle that on a case-by-case basis. But let’s just say I have ways of managing the media. You just need to play your part, nothing more.”

The calculated control in his tone, juxtaposed with his unwavering smile, makes your skin prickle with unease. The room feels suddenly colder, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You thought you were stepping into a partnership, but now it feels like a performance where one wrong move could cost you dearly.

Suguru interjects, his tone professional.

“This clause is essential for protecting both your interests and Satoru’s. Maintaining a positive public image is crucial for the success of this arrangement and for avoiding any complications that could arise from negative publicity.”

You take a deep breath—this was a gamble. The settlement would secure Haru’s future, your future, but your every move would be scrutinized, and any misstep could strip away the stability you desperately needed.

Your eyes wander to Haru, quietly and innocently playing with her toys. For her sake, you were willing to play Satoru’s game, even if it meant living under the constant pressure of his expectations.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “I agree to the terms.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker with satisfaction and Suguru leans forward sliding a pen towards you both.

“Good. If you both agree to these terms, we can proceed with the signing.”

You observe Satoru as he reaches for the pen—he is back to that usual air of nonchalance; it is almost unsettling. He signs the document with a flourish, barely glancing at the terms, and you envy his composure.

When he hands you the pen, meeting your eyes with a confident smile, you hesitate for a second—then, with a determined snatch, you take the pen from his delicate hand.

Holding your breath, you press the pen to paper and sign your name in one fell swoop. Each stroke of the pen feels heavy, final, but also strangely empowering.

No turning back now.

ꨄ︎

The courthouse ceremony was as brief and impersonal as you expected.

Something about Haru witnessing you legally enter into a fake marriage just didn’t feel right—so you opted to leave her with Satoru’s nanny.

Standing in front of the judge, reciting vows, and signing the official documents felt more like a business transaction than a wedding.

Glancing at Satoru, you couldn't help but feel a bit solemn as you observed him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

This wasn't the fairy tale wedding you once dreamed of. There was no crowd, no rings, no romantic gestures—just a legal agreement with a pen on paper, binding you to him for the next year.

But then again, you knew that coming into this—it was never about romance or dreams; it was about survival and securing a future for Haru.

It was over as quickly as it began—just like that, the judge declared you husband and wife, immediately leaving you alone with Satoru right after.

Noticing your serious expression, Satoru leans in slightly as you gather the official documents.

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding Mrs. Gojo," his voice drips with playful mockery.

Hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Gojo’ sends a shiver down your spine. That was going to take some getting used to.

“And you look like you’re at a board meeting, not your wedding, Mr. Gojo,” you retort, unable to hide the underlying bite in your voice as your fingers shuffle through the pages.

A deep chuckle reverberates through the otherwise solemn atmosphere. Once you tuck the documents under your arm, you begin to make your way towards the exit. Satoru immediately falls into step beside you.

“Touché. But really, lighten up sweetheart. Gonna need to work harder to convince everyone you’re head over heels in love with me,” there’s a playful challenge in his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“Well, forgive me for not swooning over this magical moment. You know, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day," you mutter, trying to mask the internal melancholy whirling within you.

When you reach for the door, Satoru beats you to it, holding it open with a flourish.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?” he raises an eyebrow as his eyes gleam in amusement, “Let me guess, lots of flowers, a big white dress, and some poor guy professing his undying love for you?"

Okay, screw him. He was really not making this any better. You feel the heat rise to your face as a scoff escapes your lips—the only response you will give him.

Brushing past him, your heels click against the polished floors through the marble halls of the courthouse. As you glance to the tall, ornate windows lining the corridor, the sunlight streams through, casting intricate patterns.

“Hmm, think I guessed right,” he chuckles as he saunters after you.

“And what if you did?” you snap, voice echoing in the grand space. “Is it so weird for me to want a normal family for my daughter?”

The teasing glint in his eyes dim as his expression softens slightly. Once you reach the elevator, Satoru presses the button—the two of you wait in an awkward silence.

The moment the elevator door slides open, you both step inside, the quiet hum of the machinery enveloping you.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s just... different from what I’ve ever thought about,” he says while he presses the button to the lobby.

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the back of the elevator.

“What, Mr. Perfect never thought about settling down?”

Satoru's gaze drifts for a moment as he considers your question. The elevator begins its descent, the soft whirl filling the silence.

“Honestly? No, I never did. My father used to pressure me about it all the time. Wanted me to marry someone who could... 'enhance' our family’s status.” He was contemplative, and the echoes of old frustrations are clear in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden openness.

The rumors about Satoru had always painted him as a carefree bachelor, uninterested in the constraints of marriage.

Some said he was too focused on his career, while others whispered that he enjoyed his freedom too much to settle down. There were even speculations that he had a hidden lover, or perhaps he was waiting for the perfect match to come along, someone who could stand by his side both in business and in life.

“…and you never found anyone who fit the bill?”

He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Plenty of candidates. None that I wanted to spend my life with. Plus, all those ‘suitable matches’ were just women trying to get their hands on the Gojo fortune. Most people just see the money and power. They don't see the person behind it.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is fleeting, and you realize that his father’s expectations must have weighed heavily on him. The pressure to find someone was not about love or companionship—it was about maintaining an image, a legacy. In a way, you both have been victims to control your entire lives.

As the depth of his frustrations become more apparent, you feel a pang of sympathy. It’s enough to make you wonder about the real Satoru. The elevator continues its descent, and you find yourself lingering on his words.

“That sounds... difficult. So why did you go through with this then? With me?”

His gaze softens; his expression thoughtful as he watches the numbers descending the floor levels. He tilts his head slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Because you’re different. You didn’t come to me looking for wealth or status. You needed help, and I needed a solution. It’s honest, in a way. No hidden agendas, no false pretenses.”

A nervous flutter dances in your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the folder of documents in your hands. The softness in his words catch you off guard, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“In a world where everyone wants something from me, I find your straightforwardness refreshing.”

Your heart skips as a warm blush creeps up your cheeks.

“I never thought you’d see it that way. I just... I wanted to do what was best for Haru.”

“And that’s what makes you different,” he replies softly. “You’re doing this for her, not for yourself. That’s why I agreed to this. Because I believe you’re sincere.”

The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal the bustling courthouse lobby.

The weight of the conversation settles between you, a rare moment of vulnerability that made you see Satoru in a new light—a glimpse into his inner world.

The moment you near the courthouse door, you and Satoru push it open in an attempt to exit, but are immediately greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Paparazzi swarm around you, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere—how did they even know where to find you both?

Satoru, ever the master of public appearances, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. His touch is warm and firm, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart through his suit.

The sensation of his hand resting securely on your hip sends a tingle through your body, a fluttering in your stomach—you realize now that this is the first time he has touched you.

“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Gojo,” he whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin.

You blink, heat rising to your face as you’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But you quickly compose yourself, remembering the role you have to play.

Leaning into him slightly, you offer a shy smile to the cameras. The flashes intensify and the questions grow louder.

“Mr. Gojo why are you in a courthouse?”

“Mr. Gojo, what is the status of Gojo Corporation?”

“Who is this woman Mr. Gojo?”

“What is your statement on your father’s passing?”

As the paparazzi continue to snap photos and shout questions, Satoru leans down and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his breath burned your skin. The gesture, though small, sends a shiver down your spine.

It was all for show, you reminded yourself. Just part of the act.

Yet, the unexpected intimacy lingered, making it hard to ignore the way your heart raced at his touch.

Satoru’s kiss had worked perfectly, fueling the media frenzy. The paparazzi went wild at the tender action—camera flashes intensifying and voices growing louder. They call out more questions, desperate to capture every angle of the seemingly affectionate moment. You feel the eyes of the crowd boring into you.

“Let’s get out of here,” Satoru murmurs, voice low and soothing amidst the chaos.

He reaches out, hand warm and firm as he interlocks his fingers with yours, gently guiding you through the throng of reporters towards the waiting car. His other arm subtly shields you from the crowd.

As you finally break free from the mass of flashing cameras and shouting voices, you slide into the car, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Satoru slides beside you immediately after.

Glancing back at the courthouse, the reality of your new life begins to sink in. Once the car pulls away, a breath escapes you—one you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“That was... intense.”

Satoru chuckles, arm resting behind your shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, allowing a few tousles of white hair to fall into his eyes. Through the soft strands, his gaze meets yours, a mix of amusement and seriousness dancing in his striking blue eyes.

“Welcome to my world," he murmurs. "Better get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

ꨄ︎

The following day, a moving company arrived at your apartment as promised—they packed up your belongings with swift efficiency, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life.

Watching your life be boxed up and loaded into trucks was bittersweet—as your small apartment, with its familiar creaks and cracks, had been your safe haven.

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest detail. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of Satoru’s mansion once again, this time with all your worldly possessions.

Haru, wide-eyed and excited, clung to your side, her tiny fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Welcome to your new home," Satoru says with a grin.

It felt more like stepping into a palace than a home.

He reaches down and grabs one of your suitcases, lifting it effortlessly,

"Let me show you to our room."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

"Our room?" you stammer. "Why would we need to share a room when no one is here to watch this charade?"

Satoru's grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you. You have your own room. I just wanted to see your reaction."

You shoot him a glare, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

“You're impossible," you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, leading you up the grand staircase, and Haru follows closely, her eyes darting around in awe at the luxurious decor. The polished marble steps feel cool underneath you, and the ornate banisters gleam under the soft lighting.

"Come on, let me show you around." Satoru says as he leads the way down a long corridor.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and framed artwork, each piece more exquisite than the last.

Eventually, Satoru stops in front of a set of double doors, turning to you with a small, satisfied smile.

"Here we are."

He pushes them open to reveal a spacious bedroom. The room beautifully furnished, with a large bed, elegant drapes, and a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

"This is your room," he announces, setting your suitcase down gently.

"Wow," you breathe.

It feels a bit overwhelming the moment you step foot inside. Haru, on the other hand, darts past you, exploring every nook and cranny with a delighted giggle. It was easily twice the size of your old apartment.

"This is beautiful... and a lot."

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

The soft light from the chandelier above casts a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His white hair, tousled just enough to seem effortlessly stylish, frames his face perfectly.

"Only the best for my... business partner," he says, tone light yet carrying a hint of something deeper.

You offer a simple, "Thanks," but your voice is softer than you intended. Your eyes betray you, lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Satoru's eyes hold yours with a softness that catches you off guard—a striking shade of blue that seems almost ethereal. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice the intensity and warmth in his gaze, it’s almost tender, making you feel like anything but just a ‘business partner’.

Was he always this beautiful?

You can’t help but wonder, feeling a warmth spread through you as the silence stretches on. The moment feels strangely intimate, a connection forming that neither of you expected.

Crap. What are you thinking?

Haru’s giggle breaks the spell as she jumps on your bed.

"Oh, and just so you know," he adds with a playful glint in his eye, "my room is right next door. We share the bathroom, so try not to hog all the hot water."

You blink, surprised. "We have to share a bathroom?"

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the bathroom door and peer inside.

It was equally impressive, with a large tub and walk-in shower, all in pristine condition. The fixtures gleam, and the marble countertop adds a touch of luxury. There was another door leading directly to Satoru’s room, a constant reminder of his proximity.

"Yep. Just think of it as our first test of marital bliss. Can we survive sharing a bathroom?" Satoru's voice was suddenly closer.

You turn to find him standing right behind you, having moved from his previous spot at the doorframe. The idea of sharing such a personal space with him was a bit unnerving. An awkwardly intimate setup for such a detached relationship, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"…I suppose I'll manage.”

Satoru laughs softly.

"That's the spirit. And don't worry, Haru's room is right across from us. She's got the best room in the house actually," he adds, tilting his head to the side as a cue for you to follow him.

Haru trails excitedly behind as you walk through the luxurious hallway, her giggles echo off the walls. Opening the door, you peek inside and are struck by the sheer extravagance of it.

The room was a child’s dream—decorated in soft pastel colors, with a canopy bed draped in delicate lace, plush toys neatly arranged on shelves, and even a small play area complete with a dollhouse and a set of building blocks. The walls were adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and woodland creatures, creating a magical atmosphere that seemed straight out of a storybook.

Haru's delighted squeals bring a smile to your face, easing the last of your worries.

It was clear that Satoru had spared no expense in making her feel welcome. Each detail spoke of thoughtfulness and care, from the cozy reading nook to the vibrant rainbow-colored rug that added a playful touch to the room. How on earth did he pull all this off so quickly?

“Wow, look, Mama!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy, running inside to inspect her new haven.

A sense of relief washes over you as a tender smile forms upon your lips. At least Haru would be happy here. The sight of her so animated and cheerful makes the transition a bit easier to bear. Satoru stands beside you.

“I wanted her to feel at home," he says softly, eyes reflecting a rare sincerity.

“You've done more than that. She's ecstatic," you reply, watching Haru dive into a pile of stuffed animals with a gleeful laugh.

Satoru clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward. He glances at the clock on the wall, as if searching for an excuse to end the moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," his tone is gentle and almost hesitant. "Let me know if you need anything. Dinner will be ready soon, see you down there?”

His usual confidence is somewhat muted—you wonder, is it you? Haru?

"Yeah,” you nod, “I’m going to put a few of my things away and then we’ll meet you downstairs."

“Right. Take your time. There's no rush."

You can’t help but replay the interaction in your mind as you unpack the essentials from your suitcase. The awkwardness between you and Satoru would pass, you hope. For now, it was enough to know that Haru is happy and safe.

Haru’s laughter echoes from her room, a sound that brings a smile to your face. She seemed to be adjusting much faster than expected, her innocent joy undiminished by the upheaval.

And to you, her laughter solidified it—marrying Satoru, this was the right call.

ꨄ︎

The past few days living with Satoru had been a whirlwind of adjustments—it wasn’t without its challenges. The mansion, with its sprawling rooms and luxurious decor, is more like a museum than a home.

The sheer size makes you feel small and out of place at times, and the constant presence of staff make it difficult to find a moment of privacy.

Satoru, however, had been surprisingly considerate. He’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance you need to maintain—attentive yet reserved, playful yet serious, a paradox that kept you on edge.

Your interactions with Satoru had settled into a routine of polite, if somewhat distant, cohabitation. There were moments of unexpected tenderness, like when he had found you struggling to open a jar in the kitchen and had stepped in to help with a playful grin.

Another time, you had been overwhelmed while trying to assemble a new toy for Haru, and Satoru had quietly taken a seat beside you, helping to figure out the instructions without a word.

Yet despite these moments, there was always an underlying tension, a reminder of the unusual circumstances that had brought you together.

As the days passed, the impending charity gala loomed larger in your mind—the first public event you would attend together as a married couple.

Satoru had taken the time to sit down with you and discuss how you would present yourselves, a task that seemed daunting but necessary.

You agreed on the basics: stay close, exchange subtle touches, and share occasional whispers to create an air of intimacy. The plan was straightforward, but the execution would be another matter entirely.

He emphasized the importance of appearing united, offering tips on how to handle the media and the probing questions that were sure to come. His confidence and ease in handling the media was something you were learning to lean on, though the pressure of maintaining the charade weighed heavily on you.

“What about Haru?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“We’ll leave her out of the spotlight,” Satoru replied gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. She takes no part in this agreement beyond being your daughter. She’ll stay here with the nanny during the event.”

Amidst all this, your phone had been buzzing constantly with missed calls from Naoya. You hadn't answered any of them—maybe you should just call off the court case?

You did just go through a life changing event, marriage, and that often interferes with the legal process anyways. The judge would need to take into consideration your new source of income for the child support payments.

Honestly, you don’t need Naoya’s support anymore.

You’ll take care of that after the gala though—right now you already have too much on your plate, spending hours with Satoru, fabricating shared experiences and finding common ground to make your relationship believable.

The task of memorizing details about his likes and dislikes, his habits, and his quirks was daunting, but you found yourself surprised at the small details you were beginning to remember about him—the way he took his coffee, his favorite late-night snack, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly when he found something genuinely funny, or how he would absentmindedly run a hand through his tousled white hair when deep in thought.

As the days slipped by in a blur of preparations and rehearsed smiles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this carefully constructed façade was starting to take on a life of its own. Each shared glance and each moment of unexpected kindness blurred the lines between reality and pretense, leaving you wondering just how deep this charade would go.

ꨄ︎

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, you adjust the luxurious dress Satoru had picked out for you. A deep, elegant blue fabric clings to your curves in all the right places, and the V-shaped open back that rests above your hips adds a touch of allure.

Loose cascading waves frame your face perfectly, and the professional makeup artist gave you a look that is both subtle and glamorous, enhancing your features in a way the felt natural yet striking.

You barely recognize yourself.

The transformation was astonishing, turning you from a frazzled single mother into a vision of sophistication and grace.

Was it too much? You feel out of sorts, like you’re wearing someone else's skin. The elegant image in the mirror is both thrilling and unnerving.

As you try to steady your racing heart, a knock on the bathroom door makes you jump slightly—Satoru’s door.

“Y/n you ready?” his voice calls out.

With a deep breath, you take one last look in the mirror. As you open the door, Satoru’s frame leans casually against the entryway.

The sleek black tuxedo he is adorned in highlights his broad shoulder and lean frame. His white hair is perfectly styled, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric.

He meets you with a stunned silence—eyes widening slightly as he takes you in. The cool blue of his irises seem more vibrant, gleaming with anticipation as they trace over your form.

You had never seen his eyes linger across your figure like this before—the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flutter. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fear what will come out of his mouth.

Does he think it’s too much?

“Wow,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You look... stunning.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," you say softly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

Satoru steps closer, eyes locked on you. He reaches out and gently lifts your chin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Seriously, you look amazing. I knew the dress would look good on you, but this... you’re going to be the star of the gala,” a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Ready to knock them dead?”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…hopefully I can live up to the part.”

“You will,” offering you his arm, he adds, “Just be yourself, and stay by my side, we’re in this together."

ꨄ︎

The ride to the gala is filled with a comfortable silence.

The city lights blur outside the window as the car smoothly navigates through the streets. You find yourself stealing glances at Satoru, admiring the way his profile looks in the dim light.

Strange.

The usually insufferable man seemed different tonight—steadfast, dependable, almost... comforting? Perhaps it’s the nerves.

His arm rests casually behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, and you’re surprised yourself how it does not bother you—in fact, it’s actually quite soothing.

Once you arrive, the grand ballroom is a stunning sight. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the elegantly dressed crowd.

The room is filled with the city’s elite—a sea of luxurious gowns and tailored suits mingling and exchanging pleasantries. The sight of you and Satoru together was enough to turn heads, drawing curious and admiring glances.

But the sheer number of people, the pressure of playing your part, and the countless eyes watching your every move—it’s all a bit overwhelming. You really felt out of place here.

Sensing your unease, Satoru leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Remember, just follow my lead.”

Guiding you with ease, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back as you voyage through the attendees—the warm gentle touch is electric against your bare skin.

Your eyes skim through the herd of people and land on a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Perhaps a drink would ease your nerves? You don’t hesitate to grab a glass as you navigate the crowd.

Satoru, ever the socialite, seamlessly traverses the room, introducing you to important figures and engaging in small talk that you struggle to follow.

Discussions ranged from market trends and corporate mergers, to the latest charity galas and art exhibitions. Trying to keep up, you nod and smile at the appropriate moments.

It’s clear that Satoru is in his element—his charm, effortless. You find yourself admiring how easy he makes it all look.

As you cling to him, the pride in his eyes when he looks at you makes you feel like you belong, even if you are just playing a part in this elaborate charade.

The evening flowed smoothly enough, with your glass of champagne acting as a steady companion. The warmth of the alcohol helps you mingle with guests, exchange polite conversations, and stay close to Satoru, all as planned. But each interaction was a delicate dance—your smiles and nods masking the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

Honestly, your mind was elsewhere—there is an undercurrent of anxiety as you anticipate Satoru’s announcement on stage, where he would publicly acknowledge your marriage during his donation speech.

When the moment you had been dreading finally arrives, you settle into a chair near the front, heart pounding in your chest.

Satoru takes the stage with a natural grace, and as the spotlight illuminates his striking figure, his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice resonating with a confident authority. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity and support make events like this possible.”

His words flow smoothly as he speaks eloquently about the cause and significance of the charity, each sentence perfectly crafted to engage and inspire—you marveled at his ability to enthrall people.

Pressing your champagne glass to your lips, you desperately hope the cool liquid can help to steady your nerves a bit more.

Then, the moment came.

“I will be donating ten million dollars to this charity,” Satoru announces, his voice carrying a conviction.

The amount causes a ripple of excitement and murmurs to spread through the crowd—you nearly choked on your champagne in shock.

Ten million?

You couldn’t even fathom having that much money, let alone donating it. The magnitude of Satoru’s status is staggering.

A smile tugs at Satoru’s lips—a genuine warmth mingling with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He pauses, letting the impact of his words settle, then lifts a finger to tap his chin contemplatively, as if he just remembered something.

“Or should I say, we will be donating—me and my lovely wife.”

Satoru gestures in your direction as a spotlight beams upon you. The crowd erupts into an enthusiastic applause, causing your heart to race the moment all eyes instantly turn to you.

There is a rush of heat that rises to your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. The weight of the crowd’s gaze makes your vision a bit blurry.

Beckoning you to join him on stage, Satoru extends his hand and offers a comforting smile. Though, the moment you stand, the room spins slightly—perhaps it’s from the champagne, or perhaps it’s the sheer pressure.

You can’t fuck this up.

With as much grace as you can muster, you make your way to the platform.

Satoru wraps an arm around your waist the moment you are at his side, pulling you close and steadying your trembling figure. He looks down into your eyes with a genuine look of endearment.

“Everyone, please welcome my beautiful wife, y/n,” he says softly in the microphone, his voice filled with a gentle pride.

The applause swells, and you manage a smile, trying to focus on Satoru while ignoring the spotlight’s heat and the intense gazes of attendees.

Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Despite the orchestrated nature of your relationship, in this moment, his genuine reassurance means everything. His presence is a steady anchor in the sea of faces and flashing cameras, the only thing holding you together right now.

When the applause dies down, Satoru continues his speech, the warmth of his hand remaining on your waist as his thumb traces soft circles.

You can barely focus on his words, the dizzying reality of where you’re standing feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The moment Satoru’s speech concludes, the soft hum of conversation mingling and the delicate notes of the live orchestra begin to fill the air yet again. Satoru leads you off the stage, his hand never leaving your side.

Almost immediately after you descend to the floor, Satoru is approached by a business associate, his demeanor shifting effortlessly into that of a seasoned negotiator as they exchange discussions of market trends, potential collaborations, and strategic ventures.

Your heart is still pounding—public speaking was never your strong suit. Despite not needing to speak, being on that stage stirred something within you.

You recall a particularly disastrous presentation in college where you accidentally knocked over the projector, sending your notes flying across the room. The laughter from the audience still haunts you, and since then, you’ve always dreaded being the center of attention.

With Satoru engrossed in conversation, you seize the opportunity to make your way to the bar—seeking a moment of reprieve. Another drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

The gleaming rows of crystal glasses and various bottles of wine and spirits catch your eye. You scan the selection, your gaze lingering on a particularly rich, deep red wine.

Deciding it’s exactly what you need to steady your nerves, you signal the bartender and opt for a glass of the robust vintage, savoring the thought of its smooth, calming flavor.

One glass turned into two—your nerves finally beginning to settle as the soothing effects of the alcohol take over your senses.

Realizing you’ve been away from Satoru for quite some time, you prepare to rejoin him—but just as you start to rise, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” Naoya sneers, leaning against the bar beside you, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mingling with the high society.”

A chill runs down your spine and you heart drops. No amount of alcohol could have prepared you for this moment.

“Naoya,” you stiffen, clutching your wine glass tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a swig of his scotch, emptying the glass and placing it down on the counter with a loud clink. Leaning closer into your space, his eyes narrow—a cold, cynical stare boring into you.

“I could ask you the same thing. This doesn’t seem like your usual scene. What’s your angle?”

Your breath quickens and you feel your pulse hammering in your chest. Adverting your gaze, your fingers brush against the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m sure you heard, I’m here with my husband, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The sneer he meets you with makes the room suddenly feel smaller, as if his presence is suffocating you.

“Husband, huh?” his eyes rake over you with contempt suspicion, “Quite the leap from where you were a few weeks ago. Is this some kind of game to you?”

Summoning your courage, you straighten your back and meet his gaze head-on.

“Not a game, Naoya. It’s called moving on. You should try it sometime. My life is no longer any of your concern.”

Taking a step closer, he looms over you—his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

“I don’t buy it. This whole charade… you think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”

For a moment, you are frozen in place, the fear and control Naoya exerts paralyzing you. Your mind races, the implications of his words sinking in.

What if he exposes you?

What if this carefully constructed facade comes crashing down?

Before you can respond, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you with practiced ease out of Naoya’s bubble and right beside Satoru.

“There you are, darling. Everything alright?”

His voice is smooth and warm, and his gaze flicks between you and Naoya, narrowing as he surveys the situation. The look on your face unsettles him—something feels off.

Naoya straightens himself, leaning against the bar with a supercilious smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, right?”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Satoru’s tone was light but laced with an underlying steel, “I’m y/n’s husband, Satoru Gojo.”

A scoff escapes Naoya as his eyes flash with irritation, but an unnerving smile remains upon his lips.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You certainly move fast, don’t you, y/n?”

Naoya can see right through you—you fell a flash of panic. Turning to Satoru, your eyes meet his with a silent plea for support. His expression softens and he gives you a reassuring nod while tightening his grip upon your waist.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Satoru says with a charming smile, “and we knew.”

Naoya snickers, running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Come on y/n. How did someone like you end up with someone like him? Seems... unlikely. You don’t belong here.”

Heat rises to your face and the sudden urge to shrink away overwhelms you—your heart dropping at the sting of Naoya’s words.

Suddenly, Satoru steps closer, creating a protective barrier between you and Naoya—the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination.

“Watch your mouth, you don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Naoya shrugs, meeting Satoru’s glare with an indifference as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s out of her league here.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“If you think she’s out of her league, then you clearly don’t know her at all. You’re out of line. Y/n belongs here more than anyone. So, unless you have something worthwhile to say, I suggest you move along.”

“Is that so?” Naoya raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, Satoru Gojo.”

Panic seizes you as Naoya’s observation hangs in the air. The last thing you need is for him to start spreading rumors or causing trouble. You realize you have to do something, and fast. Your mind races, desperately searching for a way to convince Naoya of your authenticity.

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you step forward, threading your arms around Satoru’s neck as you rest your forehead against his own. Your words are addressed to Naoya, but your eyes remain on Satoru the entire time, drawing strength from his steady gaze and the warmth of his touch.

“Satoru and I... we chose each other for reasons that go beyond what you see. We may have our differences, but we’re stronger together, and we have a connection that you can’t comprehend.”

Satoru’s eyes soften, reflecting a silent understanding and a shared resolve—his breath mingling with yours.

Feeling Naoya’s probing gaze, you know he won’t be easily convinced, and so, acting on impulse, you pull Satoru closer and crash your lips against his.

For a moment, Satoru seemed caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered closed, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The world around you seemed to fade away as the kiss lingered, heat pooling in your stomach.

It was supposed to be a quick peck, just enough to sell the act. But the moment your lips met his, something shifted.

Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps it was the need to be convincing, perhaps it was the way Satoru stood up for you—without thinking, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, making things more intimate than you originally intended.

You can feel Satoru tense for a moment, his surprise evident. But then, with a soft hum against your mouth he melts into the kiss, a hand moving to cup your face as he returns the intimacy with unexpected fervor—his other hand encircling around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

Your fingers thread through Satoru’s hair and the world around you seems to fade away—the only thing that mattered now was the heat radiating off of Satoru’s body, the warmth of his lips against yours, and the lingering sweet taste of the gala’s chocolate cake mingling with the wine on your tongue.

It was a moment that felt both incredibly real and utterly surreal.

When you finally pull back, you are both breathless. As you catch a flicker of something unreadable in Satoru’s half lidded eyes, for a brief moment, you forget about Naoya completely, about the act, about everything except the electric connection between you both.

Satoru's thumb gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you peer over to Naoya—his smug expression had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and irritation.

“As you can see, we’re very happy together,” you say sweetly, rubbing your nose against Satoru’s.

"Didn't think you were the type to move on so quickly," Naoya sneers.

A wave of exhilaration and embarrassment course through you as Naoya retreats back into the crowd. The kiss had done its job, but it had also left you with a lingering sense of uncertainty. Satoru’s touch is still warm on your skin—you can still taste him on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his concern genuine.

The question pulls you out of your thoughts, but his gaze does the opposite—your face flushes and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest.

"Yeah. I... I just needed to convince him.."

Satoru studies you momentarily—knowing there is more to the story with Naoya. But he also knows now isn’t the time to pry.

He chuckles softly, his hand lingering on your waist.

“Well, I think you succeeded. That was... unexpected. You really went for it there,” he murmurs.

For a moment, it felt like you were playing a role, but the feelings stirring inside you were anything but fake.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard, face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

“I didn’t mind,” he interjects, thumb brushing against your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just so you know, you did great. Better than I expected,” his voice low and husky.

Fuck.

You blink—Naoya is gone, but here Satoru is, still holding you so intimately, so intently.

The way he looks at you, the warmth in his touch, the tone of his voice—it makes you question the lines between reality and pretense.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Satoru hums, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. He leans in, his breath dancing on your lips, tantalizingly close. “But next time, let’s save the tongue for when we’re really alone, hm?”

What is he saying?

Your mind races, trying to decipher his words, his intentions. Was he still in character, or was there a hint of genuine desire in his eyes?

The electricity in the air was undeniable, and you find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze—the crowd around you fading, their murmurs and whispers becoming a distant hum.

Satoru’s eyes held secrets you were desperate to uncover.

As you struggle to formulate your thoughts, Satoru’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along you jaw.

"Relax," he murmurs, "We're just putting on a show, remember?"

You nod, though your heart betrays you with its rapid pace.

“Right,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Just a show.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there was more to this act than either of you were willing to admit.

ahh i really enjoyed writing this chapter. okay, i was snickering at satoru's internal turmoil when he met haru for the first time. i couldn't resist with the digimon 🤭 my daughter is currently obsessed with pikachu so that's where that inspiration came from lol. also, this kiss was one of my favs to write 🥰 lemme know if you guys are interested in me making this a longer series. as always, thanks for reading 🫶🏻 → on to the next chapter ꨄ

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[eempyreall]

♪ 444 𝑏𝑦 𝐴𝑠ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝑆𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑎 ♪

༺༺ Devour ༻༻

Oneshot ~ Bonten x Female Reader

Summary ~ You are devastated to learn that your soulmates are power-hungry monsters entrenched in an illegal industry. Despite knowing they only seek to consume your life source, no matter how fast you run, you can never escape fate.

Featuring ~ Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, Kokonoi Hajime, Kakucho, and the Haitani Brothers

Extra Notes ~ *Slight Language Barrier

*I didn’t mean to make this story as angsty as I did.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr, ao3, and subscribestar. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

l apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Your breathing is ragged as the platform of your shoes slam against the pavement. Liquid runs down your face as rain pours from the nightly firmament. You rub your eyes to clear the drops of water from your eyelashes so you can continue making your way through the crowd.

You’ve finally escaped your prison with nothing but the clothes on your back. You have no clue what to do other than run through this foreign city.

It was supposed to be a normal trip. An impulsive decision on your part. You decided to stay in Japan for a week just to take a break from your work life back home. Truly, you had grown bored of your everyday routine and decided to up and leave.

Your friend reprimanded you out of love, knowing you tend to act impulsive despite your overthinking tendencies. You ignored the small voice in the back of your mind and said, “Fuck it,” before buying your ticket, packing your bags, and disappearing.

What you hadn’t expected was to finally meet your soulmates.

It was a beautiful night in Tokyo. The lights of the city shimmered as busy people—tourists and natives alike—walked the streets. You strolled alone, leaving a random bar as you made your way through the crowd.

Suddenly, you feel a pull in your chest, eyes locking on the red ribbon that protrudes from the middle of your chest. You watch in awe as it spreads out in front of you, the soul tie flying through the air before splitting into seven strands.

“Seven?!” you breathe out in disbelief. You can’t fathom finding one soulmate, let alone seven.

You spent years bitter and lonely when you couldn’t find them. It was a normal occurrence to find your soulmate on your eighteenth birthday, as everyone else did in your town. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen for you.

Considering you never even felt a slight pull from your chest, it was concerning. You thought that maybe your mate had died tragically, or perhaps you were one of the unlucky individuals who could never find your mate.

You spent many nights crying yourself to sleep, as this occurrence was seen as something very tragic. You wanted to be loved. You wanted to be cared for, and you were tired of the loneliness consuming you. So when you finally felt the pull and saw the ties in a foreign setting, you didn’t hesitate to follow where they led you.

“God, I’m so stupid!” you exclaim as you recall the memory. The months you wasted being nothing but a fucking energy source caused tears to mix with the raindrops on your cheeks.

You feel broken and used. You never knew how awful your soulmates could make you feel. You should’ve known when you figured out who they were—what they stand for and their tainted morals.

“I—is this the real reason why you all accepted me? Am I truly nothing but a pawn to bring you more power?”

Your heart ached, your stomach heavy as you felt nausea build in the back of your throat at the statement Kokonoi just told you. You bring your fingers to your mouth, biting your nails as you await his response, your eyebrows furrowed.

“You are fulfilling an important role for Bonten. You can never leave.”

Your eyes widened as the platinum-haired male kept his arms behind his back, intently eyeing you with an unreadable gaze. You glare at him with anger as you step forward, his office lamp shining the only light into the dark room.

“It all makes sense now. Whenever I gave myself to any of you, I always felt pure weakness after. For days I couldn’t move after you took from me, and yet somehow you all were stronger than ever. You never even bothered to replenish me. You lied. You all lied to me!”

You fight the tears threatening to fall as you feel your face heat up with anger. The cold look Koko gives you really hurts. Where was the man with the content smile who asked you to give him a show when he had you try on new outfits? Where was the man who was a romantic? Had you really been deceived all this time?

“We did what we had to do. In order to receive your life source to the fullest, you must be happy with the circumstances, so we made you comfortable,” he said with impatience in his tone, stepping closer to you.

“You say it like it’s some sort of transaction,” you respond, disgust prominent in your expression and tone. You look at him with wide eyes, a scowl fixed on your face.

“It has always been a transaction, Y/n.”

You continue to run to nowhere, passing by citizens as you shove them out of your way, apologizing swiftly in the process. You knew that you had to at least find a place with a phone.

“I’ve been here for a while, Rin. Don’t you think I should learn more Japanese instead of you guys being my personal translators?”

The purple, mullet-haired man wraps an arm around your waist as he keeps you pinned to his lap, the rest of your legs lying on the seat of the sofa as he leans back in his seat. He ignored you while his lips grazed your neck, sucking the skin as he fed from you, the soul tie wrapped around your figures.

“Rin!” you exclaim as you try to catch his attention, pulling back from him slightly as he sighed, giving you a lazy smirk.

“You don’t need to learn any language. T’s not like you’re around anyone else anyway,” he responds before his hand meets the back of your head, forcing you into a heated kiss as you feel the drain of your energy. You obliged as you weakly kissed back, pathetically yearning for the touch as he was rarely affectionate aside from feeding. The soul tie tightens as the kiss deepens.

You grab your own scalp at the unwarranted flashback. God, you felt so stupid. It had been right in front of you the whole time and yet you missed it. Then again, maybe you hadn’t really missed anything at all. You just ignored that familiar voice in the back of your head. You blamed the unsettling feeling in your stomach on your own nerves and insecurity.

“I don’t want to see this shit anymore!” you scream at Sanzu, shoving his chest as you turn away from the limp body in front of you.

He snatches your wrists, pulling you closer to his chest with the maniacal grin growing on his expression. His enlarged pupils almost replace the blue in his irises.

“Yer gonna fucking kill him, Y/n.”

You preferred when Sanzu was sober.

Although he was still sadistic, he seemed much calmer and more collected. He was especially gentler when feeding from you in the bedroom, despite his erratic and rough behavior when he was high.

"No, I'm not! Let me go, you fucking asshole!" you yell, yanking your arms from his grip, only for him to twist you around and force you to face the kneeling man who was barely conscious.

You glare at the deep lacerations and bruises on the man’s skin as Sanzu forces you to hold the gun. His fingers are wrapped around your trembling hand as he aims the weapon at the male’s head.

Before you can react, he forces your finger to pull the trigger with his own. Your body jolts at the loud noise as the blood from the man splatters on your own legs. You begin to hyperventilate while eyeing the dead human, something you’ve never seen before.

The way the pieces of brain and blood have splattered on the floor — the way the man’s head dropped and his body limped. The dullness of his open eyes. The bullet split his skull open, the skin no longer concealing what’s beneath. His face was almost unrecognizable, split open in the top middle of his features.

Once Sanzu released his grip, you dropped to the floor, body shivering as the hairs on your arms stood straight. You couldn’t stop staring at the bloodied corpse in front of you. The smell made you sick.

Arms hugged you from behind as legs trapped you from both sides of your body.

“You killed that man in cold blood,” he chuckled, lips meeting your neck to begin sucking your energy. The red ribbon forms around both of your figures, locking you in place.

You finally reach a structure that looks inviting, with its lack of people and a bright light.

You rush to the entrance, pushing the door open swiftly. A black-haired man eyes you with concern, his hand gripping a broom.

“I need help!” The man seems to understand your distorted Japanese as he nods before walking toward you.

The palms of your hands cover your eyes as tears smear against your cheeks. Kakucho strokes the middle of your back as you both sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m tired of being trapped in here, Kakucho! I just feel like this is some sort of trick or something. Do mates really act like this over here? Everything is so much different back home. I feel like a prisoner who’s used for labor here. I can barely feel my arms and legs at times.”

He pulls you closer, causing you to straddle his thighs as he wraps his arms around your waist. You continue to cry on his shoulder before his hands rub up your torso, slightly pulling you back so you’d make eye contact.

“I want you to know that you’re important to us. Without you, we’d be weaker. We need you, Y/n,” he says before pulling you into a kiss, the soul tie returning as it traps you both together.

Your eyebrows furrow at his words. Although they were meant to sound sweet, there seemed to be a hidden meaning—or… was it really that hidden?

“I need a phone!” you exclaim, pointing at the device lying near the register. “I need to call someone! Please!”

He nods before handing you the phone.

“Thank you!” you respond before walking to the back of the store, erratically dialing your friend’s number.

“F—F/n! I need your help!”

You hadn’t been able to contact her for months, considering you weren’t allowed a phone. They told you it was because they couldn’t afford any leaks to their whereabouts, considering what they do for work.

“Y/n? Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I found my soulmates! But I’m in trouble! They aren’t who I thought they’d be, and they’ve been holding me captive for months! I—I need you to get me out of here! I have nothing! Please!”

You felt bad for bringing her into this, but you had nothing. No money, no phone, not even an extra pair of clothes. You didn’t have time to grab anything. You had to leave immediately or else you might have ended up killed.

After you stole Ran’s gun when he fell asleep, you immediately rushed to the guard who would be taking you to Mikey’s headquarters, contemplating your next move as you sat in the back seat. They hadn’t noticed the gun in your back pocket nor when you slowly pulled it out while eyeing the rearview mirror. Before they could even begin driving, you shot both men who sat in the front of the car, killing them accidentally considering you had a bad aim. You hadn’t had time to think about the fact you had just murdered two people.

“Y/n,” the voice sings behind you.

You freeze in your spot, eyes widened as your friend calls your name. Slowly, you turn to see Kazutora standing there, a grin on his face. You shakily snatch the gun from your pocket and aim it at his torso.

“Stay away from me,” you hiss with a mix of anger and fear. You watch as the soul tie forms, connecting both of your chests, the red ribbon stretching in the space between you.

“Aww, are ya really gonna shoot me? That’s not very nice,” he chuckles with mock disappointment.

At that moment, you realize that you can’t shoot him.

Why don’t they ever say it back?

The lump in your throat burns as you drop the phone, staring at Kazutora with a crazed look on your face. His grin shifts into a frown as he watches your movements with caution, the ribbon vanishing.

Is this all I’m ever good for?

“Put the gun down, Y/n,” he says calmly.

You scream, your throat gurgling with blood as you try to snatch the scissors back from Ran’s grip, the bathroom floor covered in red as he forces you on your back.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” His smooth voice is filled with unease.

You tried to cut the soul ties by stabbing your own chest. You don’t know how you survived but the medic must’ve arrived in time, rushing you to Bonten’s underground hospital.

“I don’t want to go back,” your voice breaks as your breathing becomes erratic, bringing the gun to your head.

Your eyes shut tightly with your teeth clenching.

Why can’t you just let me go?

Before you can pull the trigger, a hand roughly knocks the gun out of your grasp before yanking you from behind. A hand on your jaw forces you to face them, your teary eyes fully exposed.

Your eyes widen at the crazed look Sanzu gives you, his grip on your jaw tightening roughly as you feel his hand tremble slightly.

Neither of you says a word as he glares down at you before roughly releasing you and snatching your wrist.

Before you can begin to struggle against his grip, a syringe is gently pressed into the skin of your neck. Your shocked gaze shifts to Kokonoi, who simply gives you a disappointed look before darkness engulfs your vision.

"If you try that again, I'll keep you chained to my bed for as long as you live," Mikey warns while you lie barely conscious on your bed.

You stare back into his dark eyes before he lowers himself, his lips pressing against your forehead.

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 4 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter four!!!! this chapter is shorter than normal, but i needed to get this done for you guys <3 i definitely am excited to continue this, and i hope you are too!!! as always, if you want to be added to the tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 3,070 chapter three masterlist ao3 link

Your head was pounding as you stalked through the hallways of the base, away from the gym. You didn’t know your destination, your heavy, angry footsteps becoming a monotonous beat that kept you from falling over the edge. You were filled with so many confusing and conflicting emotions, which made it hard to think, let alone even begin to comprehend the miserable cocktail thrumming through your veins. Your omega side was so enamored with Simon’s behavior, whining to stay close and let him apologize, but your more logical side wouldn’t let you. What had he done to deserve your forgiveness? 

The short answer? Nothing. Sure, he stayed by you when you were sick, but he was the reason for it to begin with. Past then, it’s been nothing but fights and weirdness, and you hadn’t seen any glimpse of change or improvement. You felt lost and confused - the two sides of your being constantly at war with one another. 

You were so lost in your own internal conflict, you didn’t even notice the other person in the hallway until it was too late, and your face met the hard planes of their chest. The scent of wind-carried sea salt, fresh candied apples, and the dust of a demolition site invaded your senses, and your head whipped up in surprise to find Soap looking down at you. His signature smirk was playing on his lips, but his bright blue eyes shone with concern as his hands settled onto your hips to keep you in place before quickly slipping off. 

“Woah there, bonnie. Where ye headed with all that steam blowin’ out yer ears?” 

You stared up at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - an apt representation of how you felt at the moment. You tried to come up with something, anything to tell him, but no words would fall past your lips. The vitriol you felt towards Simon died in the back of your throat, your omega caught between wanting to defend your alpha and the reality of your situation. So you settled for placation. 

“I’m fine, Soap. Not a big deal.” 

It was a lie passed through gritted teeth, and Soap could tell, especially as you looked away to avoid his eyes. His gaze softened, and he brought a gentle finger to your cheek to force you to look at him. 

“It’s Ghost, yeah?”

You blew out a frustrated puff of air, unwelcomed tears welling in your lash line. You were angry - angry with Simon, with yourself, with your designation, with society as a whole, anything you could possibly blame to even attempt to make sense of all of your emotions. But even anger couldn’t completely mask the bone-deep grief that had settled over you like a lead-lined blanket. All you wanted was to feel normal again. Unfortunately for you, it seemed likely for that to never be the case again. You were bonded to an alpha who, up until a week and a half ago, refused to even acknowledge you outside of mission-related conversations, and now he had become some sort of overprotective, overbearing asshole. 

“I just… I don’t know what to do. I want to hate him. Gods, I want to hate him. But…”

“He’s your alpha.”

“Exactly.” You ran a hand down your face, trying to force the traitorous tears away. Soap sighed in resigned understanding, his hand settling on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice how his touch was angled strangely, his wrist turned out in an odd angle that just so happened to press the scent gland on his wrist right into your own scent gland right in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You weren’t wearing your scent blockers, a medically necessary intervention to try and keep the bond sickness away. Why he wasn’t wearing his, you didn’t know, but it felt rude to point out or ask about. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself that it was just coincidence, a mistake, but the way he pressed his skin further into yours made it hard to believe. 

To confound the emotional turmoil even further, your omega was now not only at war with your logical, rational side, but also itself. Soap’s touch, his scent, felt good. Safe. More familiar to you than even your own alpha’s after the last few months. But that was just the problem, wasn’t it? Soap wasn’t your alpha. He was a part of your pack, sure, but he wasn’t your alpha. And right now? Right now all your omega wanted was your alpha, no matter how upset you were. But, you were far too prideful to actually admit that at the moment. 

Instead, you gently shrugged off Soap’s touch. As his hand slid off your shoulder, an almost sad smile appeared on his lips. “He cares about you, you know?” 

Your gaze snapped back to Soap’s, your lips parted in surprise. Your mind whirled, racing with conflicting thoughts, hopes, fears, and desires. Soap shook his head, that same sad smile accompanied by a small, sad laugh. “He does. He’s just shite at showin’ it. Just… give ‘im a chance, aye?” 

And with that, Soap walks away, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his military-issued cargo pants, leaving you completely shocked and stunned. 

—

It was nearing midnight, if the time blinking in a bright red on your alarm clock was any indication, but sleep still stubbornly refused to take you. You were sprawled out uncomfortably on your military-issued bed, the result of tossing and turning nonstop since you had laid down. After your conversation with Soap, if you could even call it that, you picked up a shift at medbay, but even your work, something you had missed deeply in the worst throes of the bond sickness, couldn’t quell the pain and anger. But even worse than the pain and anger was the confusion. Why did Soap act the way he did? It felt like there was more than what he was saying, but maybe you were reading too far into it. And right now, as shit as it felt to say it, it was the least of your problems. 

It had only been a few hours since Simon had interrupted your sparring session, and the bond was stronger than it had been, even with your anger and resentment and the distance that you had created between the two of you. You still couldn’t feel his emotions very well, even when you tried to focus on it, but you just chalked that up to the fact that your own emotions were blocking him out, as strong and volatile as they were at the moment. It didn’t matter to your omega though. Your base instincts were prowling inside of you, your skin prickling with the need to be near your alpha. 

And that’s how Simon’s crumpled up sweatshirt that you had thrown into the corner ended up on your bed, tucked between your pillows as you laid in the dark room. Soap’s words echoed in your ears, his Scottish brogue repeating to just give Simon a chance. You were so tired. Tired of everything. The type of bone deep exhaustion that you knew a simple night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. And that type of fatigue only brings weakness, and weakness brings irrationality. Plus, Simon’s sweatshirt was losing its scent, leaving your omega side even more on edge. Even though you hadn’t touched it until tonight, it had been sitting in the corner for a week, and it barely held the residual scent of the harsher scents of Simon’s pheromones. You knew that already, as you had unabashedly buried your face into it a few minutes ago to try and subdue your omega side enough to find sleep. But instead of finding the smoked pine, wet gunpowder, and a freshly-lit cigarette smell you knew should be there, you found it all smelling stale and rotted, which only made your omega freak out more. 

You flopped onto your back, a groan of frustration leaving your lips. You picked up your phone for the umpteenth time that night, but this time your finger hovered over Simon’s contact. Soap’s words whispered in your mind again, but this time, you listened. 

Your fingers flew across the screen before your more rational side could stop them. 

Hey. Are you awake? We need to talk. 

You threw your phone down onto your bed, your hands flying up to cover your face as another groan of frustration pushed past your lips. You hated this. All of it. You wished you could go back in time and somehow stopped all of this from happening. But, it didn’t work like that. 

Simon wasn’t in any better of a state than you. He rarely slept as is, but he had found it especially hard since you had left his quarters. His thoughts were all consumed by self-deprecation and fear, and those thoughts became especially loud in the darkness of his quarters, where your sick, rotted scent still clung to his bedsheets from where you had laid for those three days. When he heard his phone buzz from where it lay face down on his bedside table, he had half a mind to ignore it, just as he had done with everything other than work the last week and a half. But something told him that it was important. He sighed, stretching his arm out to blindly grab at the device from where he was laying face down in his bed. He looked at the bright screen, his eyes adjusting to the light. As soon as he saw your name flashing across his screen, he flipped over and sat up. His heart raced as he read your text, so many worst-case scenarios flashing through his mind. 

He normally wasn’t the type to worry like this. To feel anything for anyone, as evidenced by the neglect he had put you through. But, after seeing you so close to death, and his conversations with Soap and Price, he had noticed it more and more. This all-consuming desire to protect you, to be what you need. But, he would still stand by what he told you that very first day, before you had passed out. If you still wanted to break the bond, he would. 

He just hoped that this wasn’t what this conversation was going to be about. 

Do you want me to come to yours or do you want to come here?

His response was short, succinct. The detached words completely betrayed the way his hands shook as he typed out the response carefully, trying to give you the space to make the decision without being too overbearing. 

Your response didn’t come on his phone. Instead, 10 minutes later, there was a soft knock on his door. He jumped out of bed, tugging on a pair of sweatpants. As he opened the door with one hand, the other was deftly tying the strings of his pants. 

Your gaze fell down to the movement, your cheeks heating up in a flush of embarrassment before your gaze snapped up to Simon’s. Your tongue felt heavy, uncertain of itself. “Hi.”

Your scent hit Simon at full-force. You smelled better than you had the last time you were in his quarters. Your warm, caramelized vanilla, full of spice and the thinnest layer of medical antiseptic and gunpowder. It smelled much more like you, right, but there was still something off. You smelled… defeated, almost, like you had given up. And, maybe, you had. 

“Hey,” he whispered back in response. He felt uncertain, something he wasn’t familiar with. “You said we needed to talk?” 

You looked down at the floor, biting the corner of your lower lip. You knew what you needed, what your omega wanted, but your logical side was holding you back. You nodded slightly, keeping your gaze averted. “Can I come in?”

Simon nodded, even though you couldn’t see it, and stepped back. You stepped inside, letting the door fall closed behind you. You looked around the room, noticing how much it hadn’t changed. Simon’s sheets were mussed up, and it was clear that he had been tossing and turning just as much as you had been. You sighed softly, running a hand down your face. Your omega side was whining, begging to be wrapped up in Simon, but it had finally started to settle down being within Simon’s quarters. 

Simon stood awkwardly behind you - like a puppy afraid to be seen. You felt the emotions radiating off of him, smelled it in the air. His normal scent had soured slightly, but you could tell he was trying to hide it. You glanced over your shoulder at him, and, sure enough, his hand was clamped over one of his scent glands to try and dampen the scent. He stared back at you, his brown eyes filled with a sad warmth. A frown tugged at your own lips as you saw the sadness in his gaze, a strange feeling of guilt flaring in your chest. 

“What did you need to talk about?” He asked softly, his gaze unwavering from yours. 

Strangely, just hearing those words from him broke something in you. Maybe it was the fact that you were exhausted, your omega so wounded and confused, or that you were so tired of being enemies - whatever the reason, it truly didn’t matter. Tears started to well in your lash line, your eyes closing to try and fight against the unrelenting tide. In the brief watery moment, you saw Simon’s face morph into thinly-veiled panic, and right when your eyes closed, you felt his arms wrap around you. 

“Hey, hey, love, shhh…” Simon muttered softly as he shifted his body to press completely against yours. Your hands came up to rest on his bare chest as the tears started to flow freely. Your chest stuttered as you tried to force air into your lungs, but this was all too much and yet, not enough. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you.”

You shook your head, but you weren’t quite sure what you were denying as the tips of your omega claws dug slightly into the thick muscle of his pectoral. “I… I’m tired, Simon,” you whispered in response, your voice weak and shaky. “I’m so, so fucking tired.” 

He pressed you further into his chest, your head slotting perfectly under his chin. “I know, sweetheart. I know. Do you want to talk about it?” 

You shook your head again, not trusting yourself to speak. Not trusting yourself to keep the armor of spite and anger that you had carefully crafted over the last few months at bay. You knew what you needed. From both yourself and him. 

Vulnerability. 

“Tell me what you need, love. Please. You’ve done such a good job blocking me out, I can’t get a read on you. I need you to talk to me. I want to help you, but I can’t without words.” 

“I-I didn’t do it on purpose,” You sobbed out, pressing your face further into his skin, angling it to get as close as you can to the scent gland on the underside of his jaw. 

A small grumble shook in his chest as he pulled you impossibly closer, a huff rustling your hair. He placed his lips against the top of your skull gently, rocking the two of you slightly as you wept. “I know,” he muttered, his lips brushing your hair tenderly as he spoke. “It’s my fault. I pushed you away. I fucked up. And I ain’t gonna stand here and make excuses anymore. There was reasons for why I reacted the way I did, but… now’s not the time to go into them. Just know that… I’m here for you. I got you, love. In every and any way that you want me.” 

“I don’t know how to forgive you.” The words were small, little more than a breath of shaky, pain-filled air that brushed against the thin, delicate skin of his throat. 

And, fuck, if that didn’t stab him through the chest like a twisting blade. He knew he deserved it, gods, he knew it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I know,” he whispered in response, but his voice lacked any real strength. He sounded hollow, like your whispered admission had completely shattered him. “I know.”

“I’m just so tired,” you repeated, your voice breaking on another sob. “I don’t know what to do, I’m so fucking… I’m torn, Simon. Every day the logical side of my brain and my omega have been at war with each other, and I’m so fucking tired of fighting it. I give up.”

“You… you give up?” Simon whispered, his voice coated in shock. 

You tilted your head up higher, moving away from him just enough to look up at him fully. Your cheeks were streaked with tears, the skin red and swollen. For the first time in a long time, you could feel his emotions through the bond. The shock, the self-hatred, the pain that ricocheted through his body felt almost like your own. Even through the onslaught of his emotions, you could feel your heart, which had been so cold and detached to his, warm slightly. He cares. You blinked, trying to will the tears away enough to look at Simon - really look at him for the first time, probably ever. 

“I give up on pretending I don’t need you.” 

Simon blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“What?” he mumbled, his voice still filled with shock. 

“At least for now. I’m tired of fighting it. All of it. And I might not know how to forgive you, how to trust you outside of a battlefield, but I’m tired of sleeping in an empty bed away from the man I’m mated to. I’m tired of avoiding each other like the plague. I’m tired of feeling like I’m incomplete. I’m just… tired.”

Tired. Simon could work with tired. The trust and the bond strengthening and all of that can come after. But, it’s a chance. And that’s all he needed. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” 

You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. You knew you couldn’t run any longer. And you knew that this, even just for a night, would help soothe your omega. The actual conversation can wait until the morning.

tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy @alkalineapparition @cringeycookies @trulovekay @luvlyleah276 @mundanenonsense @unclearblur @masterclassofescapism

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 1

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 4700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: sigh. look, I had one scene idea and it became this. If you've ever read anything by me, you know this happens. And just look at Acacius. How could I not? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“We can’t thank you enough, miss.”

I wave my hand. “No need to thank me. I’m just doing what I can.”

I pull the palla (scarf) over my head as I wind my way back up the city streets, heading towards the home I grew up in. The largest home in the entire province that used to belong to my father, the noble in charge of this entire area. But ever since he died, my brother has taken his place and well, let’s just say he is far from my favorite person. Which is why I’m hiding as I sneak back inside, my brother having forbidden my leaving the grounds ever since I was forced to return after my husband’s death. 

I wake the next morning to the sound of many footsteps running outside and down the halls. I quickly pull on my tunic and head out of the door, turning to head towards the main chambers where my brother would undoubtedly be. Sure enough, as I approached, I heard him raise his voice. It sounded like he was trying to muster troops? He barks out a few more commands and the door flies open, catching me off guard.

“Sister! Come here!” My brother, Cato, demands. I enter the room, casting my eyes downward and away from him for a moment before looking at him. 

“Brother, what is happening?”

His eyes scan me from head to foot, his lip pulling up in a snear. “The Army has arrived.”

I cock my head. “Who’s army?”

He sighs, exasperated,. “The Roman army, Cornelia. The one led by Marcus Acacius?”

My eyes widen. “The general who has never been beat?”

“That’s the one.”

The people running around make sense now. We’re preparing for a fight. “What will we do?”

“We will fight!”

I scoff. “You cannot hope to win.”

His mean eyes snap to mine. “You don’t think I can?”

“I…I just mean, General Acacius has a reputation. Our numbers are small, we can’t-”

He waves his hand at me, cutting me off. “Yes, yes. I know. We’re going to give it our best. But I also have a backup.” 

“Oh?”

The snear comes on full display. “Yes. Actually a way to solve 2 problems with one.”

“Two problems?”

“I will surrender and give the General you as a victory gift.”

My jaw drops, the air whooshing from my lungs. “M..me?”

“Yes, you. I know you’re already 30, but you look much younger. He won’t know. Besides, he doesn’t need to marry you.”

“You mean to give me to a man with no intention-”

He reaches out and grips my face with one hand. “Dear sister. I would whore you out to every noble, the emperors themselves, if it meant I got to keep my lifestyle.” He shoves me away. “Now go make yourself presentable. As much faith as I’d like to have in our troops, I rather think it will come down to you.”

And that was that. He turns, effectively cutting me off from any retort. I head back to my room, calling for one of my servants to help me prepare. As she washes me, I think on all that has transpired. Am I finally to be free of the hell that has been my life for the last several years? I know I should be afraid, terrified of the renowned General Acacius, but I’m not. Anything is better than here.

My brother has me sit in a chair off to the side of his own, the sound of swords clinking growing closer and closer. The heavy doors creak open and soldiers pour inside, nearly covering the space in a handful of steps. My brother holds up his white flag, a symbol of surrender and luckily, they stop, one of them yelling to get the General. Only a handful of moments pass before a man strides into the hall, broad shoulders barely contained in beautiful leather armor, the head of Medusa proudly displayed on its front. He is covered in blood and dirt and sweat, a sword still in his hand as he confidently strides up to my brother, who instantly bows. 

“General Acacius. I humbly surrender to your forces.”

“So many people died for you to be sitting here on your chair. You could have stopped the bloodshed before it started and you did not.”

“I had to give it my best shot. Honor was at stake. You can understand that, yes?”

General Acacius considers this for a moment. “And let me guess- honor is what you think will keep me from slicing you in half with my blade?”

The smile on Cato’s face falters slightly. “Well, yes.” The blade shifts in the General’s hand and my brother puts his hands up. “That and-” he reaches over and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin as he throws me at the General. I fall to the floor on my knees with the unexpected movement, my palms stinging with the impact. “-my sister! Take her, marry her, use her, whatever. She is yours.”

The General leans forward, extending his hand towards me. I look at it, the blood and dirt mixed together in some kind of horrible art on his palm, and I take it, allowing him to help me up. Once I’m standing, my eyes find his and I’m shocked to see concern. 

“Are you alright, miss?” He asks, his eyes scanning my face.

I don’t break the gaze as I whisper. “Please take me with you. I will be faithful to you however you need me. Free me from this prison.”

He cocks his head ever so slightly, searching for something in me. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for as he looks over my shoulder back at Cato. “I will take her. But I should kill you here for the way you treat your people but especially for the way you treat your sister. Your own blood.”

“My people will recover and I’m sure you or your men will be thankful to have such a beauty after-” the General takes a step forward, his blade coming up. All I hear is slicing, a horrible gurgling, sputtering sound as a body thuds to the floor. I don’t move, not right away, using my breath to steady myself. I start to turn when the General grips my arms, preventing me from moving. 

“You do not need to see this.”

“I think I do.”

“Miss-”

I drop my voice so only he can hear me. “My brother has put me through hell for years. I have no love for him. Let me have this closure. Please.”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, dropping his hands from my arms. I take a breath and turn, my eyes immediately finding the crimson pool on the floor, the thin gash across Cato’s throat bright and angry against his skin. His are vacant, every trace of the evil life he lived, gone. I nod once and turn back to the General, who is still watching me. His soldiers file from the room, a loud silence falling over us.

“So…do I..do I follow you or?”

He holds his hand up. “I do not plan on holding you to that deal or whatever your brother tried to do.” He starts to turn but I gently grip his arm. He looks down at my hand briefly before looking at me. 

“You saved me from this torture. I will be faithful and loyal to you.”

He puts his large hand over mine, taking it from his arm and holding it. “I have no doubt of that, miss. But you owe me nothing. Go live your life.”

“General Acacius, may I speak plainly?”

He nods. “Please.”

“I understand what you are trying to do. But please think: my brother has controlled this province ever since my father passed several years ago. He has placed more taxes and fees on these people than anyone before. And he just led half of them to slaughter with your arrival when he planned on surrendering. They are not happy with my house. They may like me but I don’t think that fondness will suffice when they are burying their husbands and sons for no reason.”

He thinks for several moments. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot in good conscience leave you here to die. I can escort you to our next province but know that it isn’t a place for a woman. War and battle are hard and bloody. I can protect you from my men but I cannot promise to protect you from those we fight against.”

“I understand. Wherever you need me, there I’ll be.”

“You are free to leave whenever you wish.” He turns, heading towards the doors.

“But what if I wish to stay? With you?” I follow behind him and slam into his chest when he abruptly stops and turns around. He looks down at me and my heartbeat races. Now I’m closer, I can see past the grime, see his greying hairs, the scar that runs down the side of his face, his eyes, dark and battle-hardened but also caring, a tinge of regret. They also darken with a look I’ve seen in many men’s faces as they chase the skirts of women. But then he blinks and it’s gone.

“We shall see.”

General Acacius accompanies me to my chambers and allows me to pack a few things. It’s lighter than I would normally travel with, considerably, but it’s not needed. And I can always get new things along the way. A few pallas (head scarfs) and tunics, some health and hygiene products and I’m ready, the General giving me a nod of approval at my small bag that I’d packed. His soldiers ransack the estate, including my room, taking anything of value to either sell or melt and turn into weapons. General Acacius ensured I had everything I wanted before he allowed it, a gesture I wasn’t expecting. As we head towards the front gates of my previous estate, he turns to me, speaking low so only I would hear.

“Stay close to me. Speak to no one. Pull that palla over your hair and stay quiet. Understood?”

I nod quickly as I do what he says, making sure it covers my hair. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a favorite horse?”

I blink. “Yes. In the stables.”

He allows me to lead us to the stables and I quickly locate my black barb horse, Caius. He is nervous, snuffing and chittering in his stable, but the moment he sees me, he calms. 

“Hi, Caius. Are you ready to go on an adventure?” He presses his forehead to mine, a gesture we’ve done since he was a foal. I can feel the General’s eyes on me, watching as I lead Caius from the stables and ready him for travel. It only takes a few minutes and I’m grateful for learning how to do it rather than relying solely on stable hands. He has me lead Caius out with his reins rather than riding, no doubt to make me less of an easier target. 

We head out of the main gate and I stifle a small gasp. I hear the sounds of wailing, mothers having lost sons, wives their husbands, children their fathers. The Roman soldiers are trying to calm the area, and they’re succeeding by sheer numbers, but the sounds of grief have no master. It’s then that I realize what the crimson tinge to the soil under my sandals is. I swallow hard, willing the tears not to fall. I don’t want to look weak. But these were my people, even if we were separated by title and money and my heart aches for them. 

General Acacius sets a brisk pace, winding around the main square, no doubt trying to avoid any sort of riot or call for my head. I couldn’t blame them. Like I’d said to the General, they may like me, but my family is the reason they’re burying their boys and men needlessly. I can feel how nervous Caius is, but he trusts me fully and obediently follows me without issue. What seems like hours later, we make it out of the city. The General steers us towards a group of men guarding horses. They salute him as he walks up.

“General, sir!”

He nods and they drop their salute. “My horse.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the soldiers runs off and comes back moments later with a beautiful chestnut colored horse. He hands the reins to the General and salutes before going back to his post. The General turns to me.

“We will ride to camp. Stay close to me. Keep that palla over your hair, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He watches me for a moment, his hand coming up to rub his horse’s nose. “Ready?”

I swing myself up onto Caius in one fluid motion, one that I had been doing for the majority of my life and at least 10 years with Caius. His eyes linger on me as I settle in, adjusting my palla to cover my hair. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze for just a brief moment before blinking and looking back towards his own horse, swinging himself onto the saddle. Despite my situation, I can't help but to think...

Damn he looks good on a horse. 

We don’t ride far, maybe a quarter or so mile from my city. We break through a line in the trees and I gasp - an entire camp has been built, complete with walls, tents, cooks, all of it. The soldiers by the wall call out and the gates creak open, General Acacius riding through the opening, glancing back once to make sure I’m following. We wind through the camp to where the horses are kept. He hops down from his chestnut mount and offers me his hand to help me down from Caius. I hesitate a moment before linking my hand with his and slide off of my horse. General Acacius nods to a young man and hands him the reigns to his horse, motioning to me to do the same. 

“I promise they will take good care of him.” 

I give Caius a pat on his head and hand the reigns to the boy, who leads both horses off towards the makeshift stable area. 

“Follow me,” The General commands and I comply, my sandals squishing in the mud as I go. We arrive at a grand tent, some soldiers stationed outside, one of which holds open a flap to allow General Acacius inside. He motions for me to follow and I do, feeling the tent flap close behind me. The tent is just as large as it appears. One side has a table with maps on it with little pins placed all over it. There are some traveling chests, which I assume house either weapons or other clothing or armor. On the other side of the tent is a room divider, behind which is a mattress and a small area for changing. A loud clank snaps me back to my reality and I see The General lay a sword on another table, this one set closer to his sleeping area. He removes his bracers as well, rubbing his wrists after he does so, glancing up at me.

“I will instruct my men to not touch you, but I would advise you stick to my tent.”

“I- yes. I understand, General.”

He barks out a name and I jump, the volume catching me off guard. A man enters the tent and salutes.

“Sir?”

“Fetch me some bath water for my…guest.”

“Yes, sir.” The tent flap closes behind the man as he goes off to bring the bath water.

There are a few moments of silence where he watches me, his eyes quickly glancing down my body and back up. “You can leave your belongings here.” He walks over to the divider and motions for me to follow. He points to a small crate in the corner. “You can set your bag here. I have some space in a chest for your things when we pack tomorrow.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

He’s so close now, I could reach out and touch him. I want to, his greying curls and dark eyes heating me in ways I didn’t know possible. He blinks, shaking his head slightly.

“I will have them make you a sleeping mat, but you may not get it for a bit. You can take mine and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Absolutely not.”

He cocks his head slightly to the side, curious at this woman who would say no to him. “Excuse me?”

I clear my throat. “I won’t have the general of Rome sleeping on the floor. I can do that.”

“But, you are my guest, and a woman. I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to share.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think. He fights back a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You would share a bed with a man who is not your husband?”

“My husband has been dead for many years. And not just any man. The man who saved my life.”

He watches me still, his eyes softening but somehow dark. He reaches out, hesitating a moment before gripping my upper arm. “I am sorry for your loss….well, if you insist, I promise to be respectful until we can get you your own mat.”

I speak quietly. “When I get my own mat, then you’ll be disrespectful?” I don’t intend for him to hear, but sometimes my inner thoughts become outer ones. His eyes meet mine and he opens his mouth to speak, but then several men enter with a tub full of water and the moment passes, General Acacius holding my gaze for a moment longer before dismissing the men. He pulls over another room divider and places it in front of the bathtub, gesturing towards it. “This is for you. I’ll personally stand outside to make sure no one enters.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

I take my time bathing, knowing that it may be a moment before I’m able to again. The water is cool when I emerge, wrapping a blanket around me and wringing out my hair. I pull on a clean tunic and sit on the sleeping mat, grateful that I’d packed a brush. The General returns a few minutes later, poking his head around the corner. 

“Oh. I assumed you would be asleep.”

“Almost. I won’t take up too much space.”

He waves his hand. “I am not worried.” He shuffles around, grabs some tunics from a chest, and disappears, reappearing later with wet hair that has started to curl, in a fresh tunic, sans armor. He gets on the mat beside me, trying his best with his broad frame to give me space.  

“General Acacius, it’s ok. Take as much space as you need. Tell me if you need more. Whatever you want, I will give it.”

He shifts a bit longer. “You are fine. Breakfast will be brought to us in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, General.” I settle into my spot, trying to take up as little space as possible. It’s quiet, quieter than I thought a camp would be. 

“Thank you,” I whisper to him in the dark. I know he doesn’t hear me, but I wanted to say it anyway.

“You’re welcome,” a whisper back. I smile, knowing that I at least made some sort of headway into us getting to know each other. I meant what I’d said before -I will be loyal and go wherever he wants me. Do whatever he needs me to do. I owe him my life. 

It’s early when I wake, I can tell by the quietness of the camp. Slowly, I become aware of my immediate surroundings, remembering the events of the previous day. It’s then I feel something heavy draped across my waist. I crack an eye open and look down, seeing The General’s arm casually slung across me. His breaths puff out on my neck and I can tell he’s in a deep sleep. But then he shifts and..oh. 

He’s hard and pressed against my ass, pushing against me slightly in his sleep to relieve some of the pressure. It’s been so long since I’ve had any interaction this way, let alone with someone I’m attracted to. I’m torn as to what to do. If I wake him, I don’t want him to be embarrassed. If he needs me in that way, I will happily consent. Beg for it, even. But I don’t want to be presumptuous either and take advantage of him, even if it’s just to feel his warm, protective presence. My body seems to make the decision for me, my hips grinding back on their own accord. A few seconds goes by before his hand moves and he grips my hip, his fingers digging into my skin.

“You need to stop moving.”

My cheeks heat instantly and I’m relieved he can’t see my face. “O-oh. I’m sorry if I was bothering you.”

“Not bothering me. I am trying to be respectful and you’re making it…difficult.”

“Who says you need to be respectful?”

His fingers dig in tighter and I inhale sharply, the sensation going straight between my legs. He presses himself closer to me, which heats me up more. He stays like that for several moments, his breaths fanning out over the side of my neck. But then he pulls away and sits up, my back feeling cold with his absence. 

“No. I cannot ask that of you.”

I sit up too, turning to face him. “You would not be taking advantage. I meant what I said - I am yours in whatever way you need me. I will follow you wherever you want me.”

His eyes find mine, deep and dark, as he contemplates my words. He opens his mouth to speak but then the tent flap opens and a man calls out that breakfast is ready. The General’s mouth slams shut and his expression changes. “Place it on the table.” The man complies and the tent flap closes again.

He gently places his hand over mine. “Come. Let’s eat.”

The Roman troops are impressive. 

That day, they pack up the entire camp and start the long trek towards our next destination, which is at least several days worth of traveling by land. And every night they build an entirely new camp that looks identical to the one they had outside of my city. It’s mind boggling.

Ever since our first night, The General tries harder to keep a respectful distance from me, not wanting me to feel pressured or obligated to do anything. He keeps me close though, always keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m safe. A week goes by and we’re in his tent, him pouring over maps and moving the little pieces and pins, me reading a book that he pulled from one of his chests. A soldier enters the tent with a tray of food and the General motions to his side table. The soldier leaves and I close my book, watching General Acacius for a few minutes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stares at his board, a single curl falling forward onto his forehead. I quietly get up and cross the space to him, gently squeezing his arm. 

“Hey. Come eat.”

He blinks and looks down at me, heaving a big sigh. “You’re right. I need a break.” He follows me back to the table and sits, starting to eat some of the cooked meat the men had brought in. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do once we capture the next city?” He takes a bite out of the meat and watches me as he chews.

“Are you asking me to leave?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Damn I want to lick it. “War is no place for a lady.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He studies me for a moment. “You may do what you want. I told you you are free.”

“And I told you that I will follow you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You saved my life.”

“You do not wish to get married?”

I shrug. “I was married before. But I am not objecting to marrying again. To the right person.”

He takes another bite of meat and thoroughly chews it before speaking. “What happened to him? Your husband. You mentioned his passing before.”

I’m honestly surprised he hadn’t asked before. We had started having little talks at meals, but it wasn’t about anything heavy. 

“Remus was a kind man. He was the eldest son of the wealthiest merchant in our city. My father arranged our marriage to unite our houses. He was wealthy and had his own estate. We married and I moved in with him. I…suppose I loved him, in a content way. Like I said, Remus was kind, despite his hard exterior with his business dealings. He made sure I had everything I wanted. He had bought me Caius when he was just a foal. However, a few months after we were wed, he was called to the army. He left, proud to serve his people, despite his family begging him not to go. He never returned.” I take a sip from my mug, giving myself a moment to gather myself. “It was..hard, after he had passed. We had not really had a chance to have children. His family returned me to my family after a grieving period. I was allowed to keep Caius only because he had formed such a fierce attachment to me, along with some trinkets and clothes. Honestly, Remus would’ve been appalled at the way his family moved me from the estate. Anyway, I moved back in with my father and brother. A few years later, my father became ill and passed away, leaving me to my brother, Cato. He was abusive, verbally and physically. But I had nowhere to go. I dreamt every day that someone would come to take me away from him. But he always reminded me that no one would want someone who was used and old.” I shrug, taking another sip before meeting his eyes. “When I say you saved my life, I mean it. I am not simply in your debt. I want to be here.” He watches me for several moments, his jaw ticking as he fiddles with his mug. He sits up and leans forward, placing his large hand over mine.  

“I am sorry you had to endure all of that tragedy.”

“Thank you, General.”

“Marcus. Call me Marcus.”

My stomach flutters. “Marcus. Thank you.”

We’re back in the saddle the next day, me on Caius and him on his beautiful chestnut horse, Augustus. He has been softer with me since I told him my story, chatting and making jokes. He’s still respectful, never wanting to push a boundary. One that he set himself, I might add. Another camp goes up, this one built a little differently. There are more wood cabins instead of tents and Marcus explains that we may be here more than a night or two. We eventually settle into our bed, another mattress somehow never appearing for me. Not that I’m reminding anyone.

“We ride out in the morning. I want you to stay in this cabin, do you understand?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He turns to me on his side, his eyes on me in the dimly lit space as I roll to look at him. He speaks quietly, but firm and I think I can make out worry in his eyes.

“I will have Caius ready and waiting for you outside. If you hear any soldiers, you take him and you ride. You run, do you understand me?”

“Yes, but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. You get to safety. That is your priority. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but-”

In an unexpected move, he reaches out and cups my cheek, his eyes on mine. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

I place my hand over his. “I promise.”

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[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.)

Taglist: @wonderfrost @mrsyixingunicorn10 @blackbleedingrose @arrozyfrijoles23 @elianamarie-blog

@sarahskywalker-amidala @shizzybarnaclee @whiskytoast @zbeez-outlet @halepack2011

@facelessfionna @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @whyam1heree @serendippindots @janilovecookies

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[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 6: Justice

A friend visits as Joel reckons with his feelings. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 5 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 8.3k

A/N: Please be aware that we see Joel's suicide attempt at the start of this chapter and really get into his headspace just after Sarah dies. It's rough. If you aren't feeling up for it, jump to the second italicized date in this chapter.

Take care of yourselves! Love you!

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

October 5, 2019 

The decision had been an easy one. 

Almost shamefully so, really. 

It had been surreal, watching the casket that held his daughter’s body be lowered into the ground. He’d half expected it to be raining even though the forecast didn’t call for it. It just didn’t make sense for the sun to be shining the day he buried his child. 

Everyone he’d ever met was there, it seemed. All of Sarah’s classmates, too. So many people came to pay their respects for his baby girl. Like it made a damn difference now. So many people he had to thank for their sorrow, so many people who said they wanted to help but couldn’t because how could you help something like this? 

He decided before the first shovelful of dirt was on her casket. It was a relief, in a way. It was all finite. This pain that had all but devoured him in the last week was going to end and he was never going to have to wake up in a world without his daughter again. 

“Sure you’ll be alright?” Tommy asked, hands awkwardly stuffed in his pockets as he hovered in Joel’s entryway, the one button down shirt he owned already open at the collar, tie loosened. 

“Yeah,” Joel said. It wasn’t even a lie. He would be alright. Soon, he’d be alright. 

“I can stay,” Tommy said. “I’ll just go by my place, get a few things…” 

“Don’t need to,” Joel said. 

“Joel.” 

“Go home, Tommy.” 

His brother watched him for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes going over his face again and again. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid if I leave you here alone,” Tommy said, his eyes stuck on Joel’s. 

“Not gonna do anything stupid,” Joel said. That wasn’t a lie, either. It wasn’t stupid, it was the only smart thing he could fucking do. 

Tommy watched him for another moment. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?” 

That, however, would be a lie. Joel clenched his jaw. 

“Joel,” Tommy said. “I will see you tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. “You know where to find me.” 

“Alright,” Tommy said, hesitantly, before pulling Joel in for a hug, clapping him on the back. “I know it… it’s awful, man. It is. But you’ll get through it.” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. 

“I love you, brother,” Tommy said, holding him close for a second. 

For the first time since he’d decided, Joel felt a twinge in his chest. Something akin to fear or regret or apology, something that made it feel like leaving his baby brother was the wrong thing to do. He just didn’t really care.

“Love you, too,” Joel said, voice thick. 

He watched the front door for a minute after Tommy left, his hands in his pockets in his oddly silent house. 

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whisky, staring at the mug Sarah had left by the sink the last day she was alive. He couldn’t bring himself to clean or even move it and it was going moldy, rot already claiming the parts of her that were still here. He drank the whisky. 

Joel considered writing a note but decided not to. What else was there to say? Every word he had died with her. And it wasn’t like there was anyone to fight over what little he had to his name. Just a small life insurance policy that may not even pay out and the equity he had in the house he’d bought so his daughter had roots. Tommy could handle it. He’d proven, over the last week, that he was more capable than Joel had given him credit for. 

He went to Sarah’s room. It was still in a state of teenaged disarray - he hadn’t been able to do anything about that, either - with a diorama she was building for her history class on her desk and her comforter shoved down toward the foot of her bed. She kicked it off in her sleep, she always got warm in her sleep. She was cold now. 

Joel took it all in, committing it to memory. He looked at all the posters - the pop star in the middle of a dance move and the movie star staring out at nothing - and ran his fingers over the spines of the books. He even picked up the teddy bear on her dresser, small and pink with worn fur. He ran his thumb over the bear’s face, remembered tucking it next to his daughter when she was a newborn. Tommy had brought it for her when he came to the hospital to meet his niece for the first time. 

“Figured, it’s pink,” he’d said then. “Girls like pink.” 

“Don’t think she’s old enough to like anything yet,” Joel said, not looking at his brother, too busy watching the tiny bundle that was now his whole world. 

“She will,” Tommy said. “Once she figures it out. She’ll be the best little girl in the whole world.” 

Tommy was right on both counts. She had loved pink. She had been the best little girl in the whole world. 

He couldn’t handle being there very long. The room was already starting to smell different, less like Sarah herself and more like her body spray and hair serums and detergent. She was already fading from the place that had been hers and he couldn’t bear to know the world was moving on without her. 

When it felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, he left, closing the door softly behind him, going over the space again and again in his mind. He went to his room, to the gun safe in his nightstand drawer. 

Joel didn’t really like guns. But he wanted to have it, it felt smart, what with just him and his daughter in the house. He needed to have a way to protect her if he needed to because, when it came down to it, that was his purpose. He was supposed to protect his daughter. Protect her, raise her, teach her to be smart and sweet and strong, watch her grow to become something so much better than him. But he’d failed at that. The gun only had one use now. 

Joel had considered this part carefully, going over options in his mind while people told him how sorry they were that the only thing that mattered in the world was gone. 

Tommy would be the one to find him, he reasoned. No one else had keys, no one else would care enough to come looking. He wanted to be surrounded by Sarah but he couldn’t bring himself to do it in her room, it seemed wrong to have violence touch her space. He’d considered the entryway but that seemed cruel, a shock like that for Tommy when he first opened the door. Outside by the pool would be too loud, some nosy neighbor calling the cops and with that was a risk - maybe a small one but a risk all the same - of someone getting there fast enough to save him and he didn’t want that. His bedroom would be comforting but getting blood out of the carpet… he wanted Tommy to be able to sell the house, set himself up for some success in life. So, he’d decided on his bathroom. Easy to clean up, plenty of walls between him and the neighbors, away from the sacred space that still belonged to Sarah. 

That’s where he stood, in the shower he’d tiled years ago over a long weekend. Sarah had been about eight, she’d wanted to help. He’d smear on the adhesive and she would pass him a tile and he’d put it in its place and they would do it all again, her never seeming bored with it. She was perfectly content to be next to him, listening to classic rock on the radio, making something with her dad. 

The gun was weighty in his hand but that was a comfort. There was nothing left here for him. He was done, ready to move on to whatever there was beyond this life - if anything at all. He didn’t much care if there was. All he wanted was an end to this pain, this suffocating agony that had consumed his entire being since he’d lost his daughter. All he wanted was to go with her into the cold ground. That’s where he belonged, next to her. He’d let them put her under alone, let her go ahead of him into that dark earth. It wasn’t right. He was going to fix it. 

He took a deep breath, oddly aware of his lungs, the beat of his heart. It wasn’t racing the way he thought it might be. In his final moments, he was calm. Sure. 

He pressed the gun to his temple and closed his eyes. He pictured Sarah. He pictured her laughing and smiling, he pictured the pleading look on her face the last morning of her life. He pictured how happy she’d been when he’d told her she could go to the party, when he’d unknowingly sent her to her death. 

“I’m coming, baby girl,” he said quietly. “See you soon.” 

He took one final breath and pulled the trigger. 

There was a moment, one that had to be only a fraction of a second but seemed to last a small lifetime, that he saw everything. Every moment of his life with his daughter - her first steps, her beaming on Christmas morning, her riding her first bike, her rolling her eyes when they were in a fight - and every moment with his brother, his own father, the guys on his crew at work. All these moments that made up a life, all these things that made it seem like continuing on was somehow worth it. 

He flinched. 

November, 2024 

It wasn’t the guy. 

In the week since you and Joel had returned from California, he’d been off duty. Or, at least, at home and answering questions for police and Tommy as the authorities investigated whether or not the man who’d hurt you was your stalker. 

He wasn’t. 

When the police started investigating, they quickly discovered that he was new to Los Angeles. He’d been in another state entirely on days your stalker had clearly seen you. The man - Joseph Wilson - was just another rabid fan, one who took his adoration of you a step too far at the premier. 

He’d bailed himself out but had to stay in Los Angeles, the police keeping tabs on him so he was controlled but that didn’t make Joel feel much better. He knew how little the cops actually did in situations like this. The guy may not be able to board a plane but he could just jump in a car and get on the road - something he was clearly obsessive enough to do - and be in Texas in a matter of days. With how often the police checked in, they may not even get any advanced warning, either. 

Mostly, it made Joel uneasy. You were still under threat. Worse, he was away from you while you were under threat. He couldn’t keep you safe from his house across town, he had to sit there and rely on Seth to do the job.

But there was a part of him that was relieved, too. You still being under threat meant that there was still a use for him. He had a reason to be next to you and Ellie, to move through the world with you and make sure you were both safe. You clearly needed someone to do that job, stalker or no, and just the passing thought of you with nothing between you and the violent things that seemed to be drawn to you in some way turned his stomach. He was happy to not need to reckon with disentangling himself from you yet - even if that meant it would be harder when the time came. 

Still, he wondered if you’d told Tommy about the incident with the watch. His brother had insisted that he take the full week, even after Joel pushed to come back early when the police confirmed that Wilson wasn’t who’d been sending you the letters. 

“It’s better if it’s me,” Joel said, standing in Tommy’s office with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I know the job best now and…” 

“And we need you sharp,” Tommy said, barely glancing up from his computer. “Can’t have you working yourself into the ground. Take the week, rest up, come back refreshed and ready.” 

He hoped you hadn’t said anything. He’d deserve it if you had, he wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved that day in your driveway. 

But he was already trying to get some distance, desperate for things to be somehow easier when he had to leave, his whole body already tense when thinking about anything - anything at all - happening to you and you handed him that watch. That fucking watch, the one that sat open in the red box on his nightstand, the one you’d given him as a gesture of kindness that he wasn’t due. It glared at him, the intact face shining in the lamplight as the cracked one lay next to it before he went to sleep. 

The other watch had been a gift from Sarah - Father’s Day when she was 12. She’d had an independent streak that year and did chores for the next door neighbors a few times to save up before asking her uncle to take her shopping for it. It wasn’t anything fancy - utilitarian and clean with a green fabric strap and a black face - but Joel had loved it. She’d been so proud of herself for buying it, she beamed every time he put it on. She’d even gotten it fixed for him a year before she died because he just hadn’t found the time to do it. He wore it every day. He’d worn it the day she died, the face cracking when he threw himself against the car window, desperate to break through the glass and get to her. Desperate to save her and failing, always failing. 

You gave him a watch to replace that one in much the same way you’d replaced the absence of feeling that had taken over his being when she died. 

That terrified him. He hadn’t even been aware of how numb he’d become, not really, not until he wasn’t anymore. The world was a cold and dark place, something that hurt too much to endure if he sat in it a little too long so he just didn’t. What was the point? He’d tried to fix it, tried to realize that his time was up - how could it not be, the reality of her loss being what it was - but he’d failed at that, too. Now, he was just biding his time. 

Or he was until you showed up. 

Things hurt again, scared him again. It all seemed too big to contend with. It reminded him, a little, of when he was a teenager, when he first started really waking up to life outside the nucleus of his mom and dad and little brother. The first time he fell in love with a girl, the first time he got passed over on the football team, the first time one of his friends stabbed him in the back. It had all seemed like the most important thing to have ever happened, the depth of feeling broad and new. 

Everything since you’d come into his life was like that. He was a professional, he’d dealt with aggressive people before but none of them scared him the way Wilson had. He’d tried to make a kid smile before but none the way he wanted to make Ellie smile. He’d wanted to fuck a woman before but none of them the way he wanted to fuck you.

What was he supposed to do with any of that? It all felt too volatile and dangerous, the threat lurking beneath it all far greater than it had ever been before. It made every decision he made feel strangely consequential, his body constantly tense and waiting for some unseen force to destroy you both. 

It was a feeling he couldn’t shake in his week away from you. One that was made worse by the fact that the fucking paparazzi had been told that you’d moved to Texas and were adopting Ellie. 

Joel got wind of it from Tommy only 10 minutes before the rest of the world did, just a phone call to tell him that the veil of protection you’d had here was now gone. 

“Nothin’ much we can really do about it,” Tommy said. Joel could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose through the phone. “They don’t got her address yet but they know Ellie’s school so we got a team setting up a perimeter there until this dies down, new pick up and drop off routine starting now…” 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re sure you don’t want me to…” 

“Joel,” Tommy cut him off. “I know you’re bad at sitting on your hands for five minutes but you were on for weeks including an incident where your charge was injured. I can’t bring you back until you’ve actually gotten some rest, it ain’t safe. Just… I dunno, read a fucking book or something. You’ll be back to it in a few days, I’ll keep you updated otherwise.” 

Tommy sent Joel all the updates that morning, giving Joel a few hours to prep before he was set to go pick up Ellie and start his turn in the rotation of looking after you both again. 

There were changes, ones he was surprised you’d agreed to. No more grocery store runs, at least not while people were on high alert and looking for you and liable to follow you home. No more taking the same route every day to and from Ellie’s school. No more leaving the variable compound that was your home without good reason, every outing just another opportunity for someone to recognize you and tip off your stalker to your more precise location. 

Joel knew you’d hate these changes, the loss of the freedoms you’d clung to so hard here. There were notes in the file that they could be temporary adjustments, once things died down about your relocation and people weren’t watching for you anymore but he doubted that made much difference to you. The loss was still a loss. 

He went to pick up Ellie that afternoon, following the new procedure the school put into place to protect her and the other students, surrendering his ID to the rentacop guards at the gate to the school before he could pull into the drive to the front door. Ellie had to wait inside until he came to get her, something that he could tell she resented from the look on her face before he was even in the door. 

“Well would you look who it is,” she said, getting up and throwing her backpack over her shoulder. 

“You causin’ trouble?” Joel asked, brows raised. 

“No more than usual,” she said. 

“So, plenty?” Joel said. She gave him a look and he laughed a little. “Alright, kid, let’s go.” 

Joel kept a hand on her on the walk to the car and she flung her bag into the back seat of his truck as she climbed in front. 

“Should duck down,” he said, looking past the fence. There wasn’t a hoard of paparazzi, at least. “Just to be safe.” 

“So stupid,” she muttered but obeyed, doubling over in her seat until they were to the end of the street and looking back over her shoulder when she sat up again before settling in and looking Joel over. 

“What,” he asked glancing her way. 

“Nothin’,” she said. “Just haven’t seen you in a while. Think you have more wrinkles and shit.” 

Joel just scoffed. 

“And you haven’t gotten any taller,” he said. “Still a runt.” 

“Hey!” 

“What’ve you been up to, kiddo?” He asked, glancing over to her. 

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged. “School bullshit. Had to get trained on how to dodge the paparazzi by Seth and he can’t even win at COD so you left me in great hands here, Big Miller…”

“Glad to know the benchmark is a video game,” he said. “You seen any trouble from those photographer assholes?”  

“No,” she said and he could hear the roll of her eyes. “It’s all bullshit.” 

“The threat ain’t bullshit, kid,” Joel said, sterner than he meant to. “Wish it was.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Me too.” 

Ellie told him some of what she’d gotten up to in the weeks it’d been since he’d seen her, the good grades she’d gotten and the asshole kid she’d put in his place. Joel just nodded along, trying not to think about the fact that there was some part of him that loved being someone she could talk to freely and openly. 

It was a pleasant distraction from what he knew would be a shit conversation once he saw you again. He’d have to say something about the watch and everything he’d said when you gave it to him. He just didn’t know what. He was dreading that, dreading it enough that the fancy pickup truck parked at your gate was a relief for a moment because it meant he had a reprieve. Then, his instincts kicked in. 

“Stay put, get down,” Joel ordered Ellie, throwing the truck into park. “Don’t get out, you hear me?” 

He didn’t wait for a response, just jumping out, his gun drawn as he ran up alongside the other - far nicer, newer - truck. 

“No, you don’t understand,” a man with a thick drawl said, standing at the intercom at your gate with his hands on his hips and a Stetson on his head. “I’m a friend of… look, she home? Just go ask her if she…” 

“I’m not about to tell a strange man whether or not my employer is at home!” Esmo said through the intercom. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave, you’d better go before…” 

“Hands up!” Joel barked, gun up an pointed at the man. 

He jumped, turning to face Joel, his eyes wide as he obeyed. 

“Woah!” He said, looking Joel up and down, his hands still up. “Take it easy, I swear I ain’t…” 

“Not about to take orders from you,” Joel said, stepping closer, gun still trained on the man’s chest. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doin’ here?” 

“Could ask you the same damn thing,” he replied. “Can you put the damn gun down?” 

“I’m personal protection,” Joel said. “I’m doin’ my job which, right now, means keeping you on the business end of my gun. Keep your fuckin’ hands up, gonna check you over.” 

Joel stepped in closer, tightening the grip on the gun with one hand and using the other to quickly pat the man down. He didn’t have anything on him that Joel could find easily, just wallet, phone and keys to the King Ranch F-250 that didn’t seem like had seen a day of work in its young life. 

“Alright,” Joel said, stepping back and lowering the gun slowly but keeping it drawn. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here.” 

Before the man had a chance to answer, Joel heard a door slam and then Ellie was doing exactly what he told her not to do. 

Joel tried to correct for it, looking quickly back over his shoulder to see where she was coming from, trying to cover her, but she ignored that, too. 

“Get back in the damn truck!” He snapped at her but she just careened around him, running for the other man. Joel raised the gun again, getting ready to shoot a stranger who may not even deserve it, but Ellie got in the way. 

“Justice!” She shrieked, launching herself at the man and he caught her out of the air with a grunt, lowering his arms for the first time since Joel had pulled his gun. “I missed you! Where the fuck have you been?” 

“Hey kiddo!” He laughed, holding her off the ground so she was level with his face. “Missed you, too. I’ve been a little busy lately, doin’ that whole tour thing. The hell have you been up to? Given all these here Texans a run for their money?” 

“Duh,” she said and he set her down before hiking up his jeans. “What are you doing here?” 

“Came to see you, you little trouble maker,” he said. “And check on your aunt while I was here, I suppose…” 

“I guess,” Ellie said in a mockingly long-suffering way. 

“Think you can get uh…” he jerked his chin toward Joel, giving him a furtive glance. “Rambo there to put the gun away and convince the gal inside that I’m not some security threat?” 

“Sure,” she laughed, looking to Joel. “You can put the gun down, this is just Justice, he’s cool.” 

Joel clenched his jaw for a moment before putting his gun away and relaxing a little. The other man seemed to take it as permission to step forward, holding his hand toward Joel with a too perfect smile. 

“Justice James,” he said. “Good to meet you.” 

Joel realized then that he recognized this guy. He was some country music superstar, the kind that Joel felt like was ruining country music and would make Johnny Cash turn in his grave. 

He just grunted, going to the intercom. 

“Esmo,” he said. “Big Miller, at the gate. Trouble is secure.” 

There was a moment of silence before she responded. 

“Are you letting that strange man up here?” She asked. 

“He’s not that strange!” Ellie yelled and Joel gave her a look over his shoulder. “What? He’s not!” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. “It’s under control.” 

Joel keyed in the gate code and looked to Justice.

“Drive up but stick by your truck when you get up there,” he said. “Trouble, you’re with me.” 

“Come on, seriously?” Ellie stomped her foot. 

“Don’t wanna hear it, kid,” he replied. “My truck, move it.” 

“Fine,” she huffed before looking to Justice. “See you in a minute, apparently.” 

Justice just laughed. 

“See you in a sec, kiddo.” 

The man drove slow up to your front door, Joel following close behind, sorely temped to try to scratch the paint off the back of this ostentatious truck with his own, beat down Ford from the 80s just on principle. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he just parked right behind the hulking, shiny rig, Ellie jumping out immediately and Esmo stepping to the drive, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes narrowed. Ellie didn’t seem to notice, beelining for Justice again. 

“It’s been so crazy!” She was saying as Joel got close enough to hear her. “There were these photographers at my school and shit, like people think I’m famous now, it’s so weird but also kind of cool and…” 

“Ellie,” Esmo cut her off. “Inside.” 

“But,” she protested. 

“Now,” Esmo cut her off. “I’m certain Mr. Miller agrees with me.” 

“Inside, Ellie,” Joel said. 

She looked to Justice and he chuckled a little before nodding. 

“Head on in, kid,” he said. “See you in a few.” 

The three of them watched Ellie go inside, Esmo moving to block the door, her eyes narrowing at the newcomer. He tipped his hat to her almost comically. 

“Ma’am,” he said. “Guessin’ you’re the one who was reading me the riot act over the intercom.” 

“I’m not going to just let a stranger into the house,” Esmo said, chin out. “Not after a man…” 

“Broke her wrist,” Justice nodded. “I know. Don’t blame you for bein’ protective. Appreciate it, honestly. But promise, I’m no threat. If she’s home…” 

“She’s not,” Esmo said. “But when she gets home, I’ll…” 

The sound of an engine interrupted her and Joel’s hand automatically went to his gun, ready to deal with whatever else was going to get thrown at him in his first hour back on the fucking job but it was just you, Seth at your back. 

“There a party no one told me about?” You asked, brows raised, barely looking at Joel. 

He didn’t respond, shifting to be between you and the unknown element that was Justice when the man turned to face you, an almost cocky smile on his face. 

“Hey shug,” he said and Joel watched as your face lit up in a way that made his stomach clench. 

“Justice!” You yelled in much the same way Ellie had and ran for him that way, too, more colliding with him than hugging him, making him stumble back as he laughed, his arms going around you and holding you tight. “What the hell are you doing here! Aren’t you supposed to be playing in Dallas tomorrow?” 

“Close enough,” he said, giving you a squeeze before stepping back from you. “Couldn’t come to Texas and not see my best girl now could I?” He took your injured arm in his hands and turned it gently. “How you feeling?” 

“Fine,” you waved him off with your uninjured arm. “It’s really not a big a deal as everyone is making it out to be…” 

“Someone broke your wrist, honey,” he said, running his thumb over your wrist. 

You shrugged.

“I’ve had worse.” 

He glared at you and you took your wrist back, still smiling all broad and warm and Joel didn’t like it, not one bit. 

“Want to see the new place?” You asked. “You’d approve of the set up, lots of room for horses and shit.” 

“Horses, eh?” He asked. “You actually got any, Hollywood?” 

You scoffed. 

“Like I would dream of buying livestock without your approval.” You looked past Joel like he wasn’t even there. “Esmo, would you mind showing Justice inside and getting him something to drink? I just need to grab my things, I’ll be in in a second.” 

“Of course ma’am,” she said, leading your friend inside as you turned without even a glance toward Joel, going back to your car. He and Seth followed and you grabbed a duffle from the trunk as Seth called headquarters. 

“This is Cook,” Seth said. “Transferring custody of Siren to Big Miller.” 

“Thanks for everything, Seth,” you smiled at him, reaching out and giving his arm a squeeze. “Tell your wife I say hi. And tell her thanks for letting us have you the last week.” 

“She likes having me out of her hair now and then,” he said with a wink before clapping Joel on the shoulder. “Have fun holding down the fort, see you in a few weeks.” 

You stood next to him and watched Seth leave before turning and heading inside without a word. Joel clenched his jaw and followed, trying to brace himself for the conversation that had been hanging over him for days. 

“Siren…” 

You turned to face him, brows raised. 

“Yes.” 

He took a deep breath. 

“I… I should…” 

“I don’t really care, Joel,” you cut him off. Your eyes flitted to his wrist, where the broken watch sat. “You made it perfectly clear. We are not friends. I pay you, you protect me. We don’t need to talk about it.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, just going inside to find your friend. 

***

“And how is Adam doing?” You asked Justice, sitting next to him on your bed, safely behind closed doors. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he said and you could almost hear him glaring at you. 

“I do want the answer!” You said, turning your head so you could actually see him. “Why wouldn’t I want the answer.” 

“Because you don’t like him,” he said, turning his head so he could look at you, too. “I know you don’t like him.” 

“When have I said I don’t like your boyfriend?” You asked, brows raised. 

“You don’t need to say it, I can tell,” he replied. “You forget I know you as well as I do and you don’t like him.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him a little and he looked back, smug. 

“I just think…” 

“Told you.” 

“Shut up!” You elbowed him lightly and he laughed. “I’m just looking out for you, OK? I’m not a fan of seeing you get your heart stomped on…” 

“That’s reassuring.” 

“…and this guy seems like the heart stomping type,” you continued. “That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Because you’re such a great judge of men all of a sudden?” He asked. 

“Well that’s just rude,” you said and you both laughed before you sighed. “I missed you.” 

He smiled. 

“I missed you, too.” 

You snuggled closer to him and he held you and you let yourself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. 

It shouldn’t have surprised you, Justice turning up when he did. Beyond Anna, he was the person you were closest to. The three of you had practically lived together for a while when you and Justice were just starting on Siren. 

You and Justice had hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends before even day one on set. You were both young, just 21, both loved acting and music. He was kind in a sweeter, more genuine way than you were used to with men, lacking all the undertones you’d come to expect from the opposite sex that any kindness was just a bill to be paid with your body. 

It didn’t take long to figure out why it was different. You were only halfway through season one when your characters acted on the sexual tension that had been building between them as rival recording artists, the two of you kissing passionately, Justice’s character - Trace - backing yours into the spongey walls of a recording studio and pulling her leg over his hip, rutting against her with no tell-tale sign of a hard on in his jeans. 

He had a funny look on his face when the director yelled cut, his eyes a little wide as they searched your face. 

“Are you OK?” You’d asked, laughing a little. 

“Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just… be in my trailer.” 

He left without another word as everyone else got reset to do another take. You sat in the chair with your name on the back, drinking a bottle of water and chewing spearmint gum so your breath wasn’t awful when you had to kiss your friend again. 

“Can we get set?” The director yelled after a while, sounding exasperated. “Please? Where the hell is Justice?” 

“Hold on,” you said, hopping down from your seat as you passed your water off to a production assistant. “I’ll get him, two minutes!” 

You jogged to his trailer, knocking quickly. 

“Yeah,” he called, his voice wet. 

“You alright?” You frowned. 

“Yeah, uh…” he sniffed, hard enough that you could hear it through the door. “Yeah, I’ll…” 

“I’m coming in,” you said, not giving him a chance to protest and just opening the door. 

You found him sitting on the floor, his elbows on his knees, head hung low. 

“Justice?” You asked, closing the door behind you and locking it before getting on the floor next to him. “Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.” 

You put a hand on his back but he pulled away from you for a moment before he leaned into your touch, crying. You’d never really seen a man cry before - at least outside of work. You weren’t really sure what to do about it. 

“It’s OK,” you said after a moment. “Whatever it is… Did I do something? I know this is your first job and if I pushed too far in that scene, I’m sorry, I can…” 

“No,” he shook his head, sitting up and drying his eyes. “No it…” he laughed once, twisting a little to face you. “It ain’t that. You were good. Are good. That’s… that’s the problem.” 

You frowned. 

“I don’t…” 

“You kissed me,” he said, voice trailing off for a moment. “You kissed me and I didn’t feel anything.” 

You looked at him, waiting for the part that was supposed to be a problem. 

“OK?” You laughed eventually. “That’s fine! Great, actually, because - and no offense, you’re a good looking guy and all but - I have no interest in you like that and…” 

“No,” he shook his head, stretching his legs out on the floor in front of him and slumping back against the wall. He took a deep breath. “It’s not… I’ve never been interested in any woman. Ever. And I guess I… I thought… I thought I would, you know, eventually… I thought I was just a late bloomer or some shit and it would happen for me and if… if I could do a scene like that with you… You’re so beautiful and we’re friends but I still didn’t feel anything and… I thought I’d feel something. Anything. But I… I didn’t. I didn’t feel a goddamn thing and if I can’t feel somethin’ with you… I…” 

He got choked up again, looking at the ground. 

“Justice,” you said softly, reaching out and covering his hand with your own. 

“I think I’m gay,” he said, more to himself than to you.  

You just held him for a while. It took the two of you some time to get back to set so you texted a PA and said Justice wasn’t feeling well but you’d be back soon. You did a few more takes of the scene, sticking close to him when it ended, his fingers firmly laced with yours between every take. He came over to your house that night and the two of you talked for hours. He told you everything, how he’d always felt about boys the way he thought he was supposed to feel about girls, how he hoped that one day, he’d just meet the right girl and that it would all be OK, how he thought he’d surely feel something when kissing you on set that day. How his parents would never accept him. How he saw any hope he had for a career vanish before his eyes. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He asked once the pair of you were a few bottles of beer deep. 

“I dunno,” you said. “But I don’t think you need to figure it out right now.You can take your time. And I know we’ve only been friends a few months but whatever you need? I’m here for you, OK?” 

He looked at you, his green eyes soft and kind. 

“OK.” 

You were the only one who knew for a while. Then Anna, then a handful of others. When Justice hit it big in country music - just like he’d always dreamed - the two of you pretended to date for a while. You did again when you were worried about some parts of your personal history coming to light that you weren’t particularly proud of. And then, when Anna died, he stayed with you and Ellie for a few weeks, just helping both of you get adjusted to the way life was now. Of course he would just show up when things went sideways. It’s what you would do, if you were in his position. 

You’d given him the grand tour and he liked your house and the property you’d found in Texas, getting excited about the amount of real estate available for things like horses. Esmo warmed up to him fast after a prickly introduction and made fajitas and guacamole for everyone, the food smelling good enough that even Joel emerged from his room to eat. 

“Which guest room would you like me to make up for Mr. James before I leave?” Esmo asked during dinner. 

“Oh I don’t wanna put anybody out,” Justice said, waving her off. 

“It is no trouble,” Esmo assured him. 

“Well, ma’am, also mean to say, don’t think I’d use that room anyway,” Justice said, giving you a wink. “Would I, shug?” 

“You never have before,” you smirked a little at him and you caught a glimpse of Joel grinding his teeth as you looked back toward Esmo. “No point in pretending, he’ll just stay in my room. But thank you, Esmo, for the offer.” 

Joel stalked back to his room not long after and you, Ellie and Justice sat around the fire pit that had gone unused in your backyard, Justice teaching Ellie how to play guitar and you just finding a sense of peace and stability in their presence. 

“Think I can come stay for a while after my tour wraps up?” He asked Ellie as she tried to hide her yawns in the flickering firelight. “See if I can’t talk your aunt here into gettin’ some horses for this damn ranch?” 

“Fuck yeah!” Ellie said. “And we can play guitar and maybe next time you can bring me on tour, too, and…” 

“Alright, let’s plan your future as a superstar later,” you cut her off. “Time for bed, kiddo.” 

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically, going to hug Justice. “Good to see you.” 

“You too,” he gave her a squeeze and watched her head inside before the two of you put out the fire and went to your room where you could really, properly talk. 

He caught you up on his life - the tour, the stress of dating someone in secret, writing his next album - and asked you about yours. You sipped whisky and told him about the run in with Henry in LA and how the threat of the stalker had felt more real since the premier. He held your broken wrist in his large hand, an odd look on his face as he did. 

“Try not to go scarin’ me like that again, hear me?” He said, giving you your hand back. “I was in fuckin’ Australia, watching you get hurt on the news. Gonna put me in the ground early.” 

“Well if it bothers you then I guess I’ll avoid it in the future,” you teased, taking a sip of the liquor. He glared at you and you smiled a little. 

“Can I ask the awkward question?” He asked. 

“When has a question being awkward ever stopped you.” 

He ignored you. 

“What’s goin’ on with that bodyguard of yours,” he said. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, grip on the glass tightening. 

“Yes you do,” he said. “Seemed like I could cut the tension between you two with a fuckin’ knife. What happened there?” 

You sighed, turning the whisky glass in your fingers. 

What had happened there? 

You had no idea, honestly. It was like a switch you didn’t know was there had flipped in him. Things had been going well in LA. Disturbingly so, really, after the incident with Henry. Joel had seemed to actually give a shit, at least enough that he didn’t want you to die for something beyond professional reasons - not something you’d been convinced of before that. 

Sure, you’d fucked up getting drunk with Quinn but he’d seemed fine with it. Told you not to worry about it. And the way he’d saved you from the man in the crowd… 

When he’d taken your face in his hand, it felt like he cared. For the first time in so long, you felt protected. Not because he was paid to but because there was something he saw in you that was worth protecting. He’d held you on the drive to the hospital, seemed concerned about your wellbeing and then… nothing. 

You were almost thankful for the blowup in your driveway when you got home, the indifference crueler than any active distaste. Not that you understood what had pissed him off so much, not any more than you understood what made him so utterly uncaring to begin with. But at least him snarling at you and telling you exactly what he really thought cut you instead of leaving you floating in some vacuum that you had no right to be hurt by. Yelling at him had felt good, even if you’d cried when you went to bed that night, cradling your wrist to your chest as you remembered how he’d held you like he gave a shit. 

You knew, deep down, why it hurt as much as it did. Because, against your better judgement and all logic, you liked Joel. Watching him with Ellie damn near made you fall in love with the man but even without that, he felt safe in a way that men rarely did. You trusted him, you liked being close to him. You even appreciated how he’d worked with you to get better before you were going to start shooting Savage Starlight. You wanted him to like you, too. He just didn’t. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “He just… it seems like he hates me. I just don’t know why, I don’t know what I did to him, you know?” 

He frowned. 

“Hate’s a real strong word, shug.” 

“I know,” you said. “And it seemed like, maybe, we were in a good place for bit. I mean, when he first started, there was… I probably wasn’t the nicest.” 

“Really?” Justice made a skeptical face. “You’re always nice to people who work for you.” 

“Yeah,” you winced a little. “But I really didn’t want a body guard. And it’s not Joel’s fault he is one but I took it out on him. But then we kind of figured each other out a little - or it seemed like we did, anyway - and I thought… anyway, it was going well, I tried to do something nice and he made it perfectly clear how he sees me so… I guess it doesn’t matter.” 

“And you’re sure he doesn’t just wish he could fuck ya?” Justice smirked a little. 

You barked a laugh. 

“Pretty damn sure,” you said and then sighed. “At least this isn’t not permanent. Just until this whole stalker thing gets figured out.” 

“Well, he at least seems good at his job,” Justice said. “You need to let him do it. If not for you then for me’n Ellie. We need ya.” 

“I guess,” you rolled your eyes dramatically and he laughed. 

“You’re gonna get through this,” he said. “I know it’s been a shit year but you will.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again and polished off your whisky. “Do you ever wish we hadn’t become famous? That the show flopped and we just faded to obscurity?” 

“You were famous long before we did that damn show,” he smiled a little. 

“Pedantic ass.” 

“But,” he ignored you. “Yeah, sometimes. Seems like shit would be a lot easier if I were an accountant who played music at some shit hole bar on the weekends and you were… I dunno, a theater teacher or something.” 

“Apparently we should have gone to college,” you said wryly. 

He snorted. 

“Guess so. You gonna be OK when I head to Dallas in the morning? I got sound check in the afternoon I gotta get back for.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “I have to train in the afternoon, anyway.” 

“Sorry I only came for a little bit,” he said. “Tour schedule’s kicking my ass.” 

You smiled a little. 

“I’m really glad you did.” 

“Yeah,” he smiled back. “Me, too.” 

The two of you got up early and you walked him to his truck, giving him a long hug goodbye and watching until you couldn’t see him anymore. You sighed and went back inside, only to find Joel standing there in his pajamas - shirt on, at least - his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Not tryin’ to take off on me are you?” He asked. 

“Perpetually,” you said. “Because all I think about is ways to make your life difficult.” 

You ducked around him and headed for your room but he stopped you. 

“Can I talk to you.” 

You sighed and turned back to face him, brows raised. 

“What,” you said. 

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes oddly soft for a moment before going cold and dark again. 

“We have to work together, you and me,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know I… made that harder, the other day…”

“You think?” 

“And I shouldn’t have,” he continued, ignoring you. “But I think it’s better if… if we keep our distance. Keep it professional.” 

You frowned, your eyebrows knitting together, heart thudding a little harder in your chest. 

“Professional,” you said. “When has it ever been anything but professional.” 

“Just…” he quirked his jaw and you could have sworn you could make out his hands forming fists in the pockets of his pajama pants. “Thought it should be said. Close quarters and all.” 

You watched him for a moment, trying to get a bead on him but you couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he wanted at all. You weren’t sure what you wanted, either. 

“Fine,” you said eventually. “Professional.” 

“Good,” he said, looking you up and down and, if you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn there was something like longing in his eyes. Your stomach clenched and his face hardened again. “Get me your itinerary for the week.” 

You had to stifle a smile at that. At least it was business as usual. You’d take that. 

“Sure, Big Miller.” 

He gave you a stiff nod before padding off to the kitchen and you tried not to wonder when it had been more than professional. 

Next Chapter

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[marigoldbaker]

life's a bitch and then you keep living

She attends the funeral and Buffy punches her in the face. She’s getting used to it.

title from my beloved bojack horseman.

this fic possessed me when i was reading a different fanfiction that ended with one of those like -- one character dies and their immortal romantic partner decides to die along with them -- and it made my brain feel so many complicated feelings that i decided to excise them through this and didn't sleep until i was done. i am never done with my forevergirl. <3

i'm adding it under the cut because ao3 is going to be down for a few hours and i feel like posting my first jenny calendar fic in almost a year and then ao3 is inaccessible is uhhhh a little evil lol. trying to be nice to any existing jenny audience i may have...

She’s not graceful about it. That’s what’s really fucked. Probably, if it had been him, he’d have had some sort of romantic, Byronic spiraling-out, never loved again, burned everything down trying to avenge her, something like that. Him and his big fucking feelings that she never completely knew what to do with, never knew how to look directly in the eye, had to look away from when she admitted to her own.

They weren’t really anything. They didn’t have time to be.

She attends the funeral and Buffy punches her in the face. She’s getting used to it. She came expecting worse, so maybe that’s her grieving, wanting to feel it—wanting to feel more of that clawing, awful horror instead of clawing, awful nothing. He made her feel things. Her life was colorlessly superficial and he was a fucking Monet, full of soft, bright, out-of-focus-but-it’s-all-right sentimentality, and now he’s gone, so she can just go back to being a burnout failure of a comp sci teacher who never did anything truly worthwhile with her life. She could have had a destiny, a purpose, something, and she let that purpose kill him, because she wouldn’t commit to feeling it.

Vengeance. Love. Anything. She wouldn’t commit. She wouldn’t throw out that old blood, but she wouldn’t throw herself in with it, either. He’d chosen, at least, in the end—he’d dug his heels in and stuck to what he’d been before her, and if she’d done the same, there’s a sliver of a chance he’d still be here, sending her cold looks in the hallways. Reminding her that—well—maybe it would have been the wrong choice, but it would have been a choice. That would have been something.

She examines the blossom of a bruise on her cheek. Purple and red. Two of her favorite colors.

~~~~

So here’s a not-choice of a choice: she’s still teaching. You’d think she’d leave, or stay, or do something: this is neither. She stays where she is. She’ll freeze herself in amber, be that not-a-person that he fell in love with, that fictitious and beautiful woman who really wasn’t anything but what he wanted her to be. She’s Jenny Calendar. She teaches computer science at the local high school. She smiles only sometimes, jokes with the faculty, encourages the kids to be the best and brightest, and when blood gets on her shoes, she smiles like a fucking Stepford wife, because that’s what you do in a town like this when you’re not one of the people who knows how to fix it. Of course there are the people who sob and cry and try to change things, but she’s not one of those people anymore. Those are the people who get killed.

Willow drops her class. The kids huddle in the library still like they’re chasing a ghost, waiting for him to step out from the stacks, translucent, clinging to his job and his responsibilities even in death. He fucking would. She’d go in there and wait too if she thought he’d have anything to say to her.

When she dreams of him, it’s never the good shit, like when she talked him into driving down to the beach with her on a school day, wore a skimpy-but-tasteful bikini under her work blouse and flowing skirt, got to hear his indignant Jenny when he realized she’d been planning for this and hadn’t bothered to so much as pack him some swim trunks. She dreams about roses and roses and blood and roses and blood and the way the candlelight glinted off his glasses, glinted in his empty eyes.

She wonders if he’d have been fooled—if it had been her on the bed. He was always such a fucking romantic. She knew the goddamn second she walked in. Felt it in the air. When he was romantic, there was always an undertone of goofy excitement to it—he couldn’t pull off sensual operatic bullshit, not unironically. He wouldn’t have even tried for it. He’d have talked himself out of it in the first few seconds, convinced she’d have laughed him out of California, and god, maybe he’d have been right; she was such a fucking bitch.

When he was romantic, you felt it right down into your bone marrow, because it wasn’t the kind of bullshit you got from guys who thought they were being smooth and were really just assholes. He said the kind of things that knights said to princesses, and he’d say it right after Jenny had just gotten done making fun of his tie, but it only happened once or twice without him stammering too much to get the words out. She’d wait, though. She always waited for him to finish. Sometimes the bell rang before he could, before they’d kiss, and she’d linger in the hallway, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Never doing anything. Never doing anything right by him.

~~~~

When the new Watcher comes to the library and she sees him with his fucking tweed suit and his fucking round glasses and his fucking British accent, too young to die like her heart, why do they keep sending fucking kids to this fucking death trap of a nightmare of a town—she corners him in the faculty room, shoves him up against the wall, says, “You leave, you son of a bitch. You leave. You are not him. If he died, you’re not gonna last a fucking week, and if you last longer than that, I will kill you myself,” and it’s only because Snyder doesn’t give a shit about anything and she’s passing the athletics team like he asked that she doesn’t get some sort of disciplinary write-up.

Buffy comes in the next day and stands in her doorway like a ghost. Staring. Jenny says, “Fuck you,” and shuts the door in her face, which isn’t exactly the kind of blank you-can-kill-me-if-you-want impartiality she was going for, but what the fuck ever. Everything is ruined forever. The love of her life is dead.

~~~~

The Watcher keeps living. Buffy kills Angel or Angelus or something; Jenny doesn’t care. She remembers the floppy disk almost three months after Rupert’s death and goes down to that old mansion with it, sits outside—they’ve all cleared out, of course, or maybe Buffy’s killed them, or maybe they’re still there and they’ll kill her. Jenny doesn’t care.

She says to the empty air, “Well, I guess you got what you wanted after all, you sick fucking asshole,” and then she breaks the floppy disk in half. She doesn’t give a shit what anyone wants anymore. Not her family, not Buffy, not anyone. Who the fuck cares about the philosophical implications of Angel and Angelus? Rupert is dead. That’s it. End of fucking sentence.

Someone sits down next to her, light as a ghost. She doesn’t turn to look. It could be a vampire, it could be Buffy, it could be someone else, but whoever it is, it doesn’t matter, because the moment she says anything to them, that’s something unfurling within her, towards change, and she won’t let it. She’s Jenny Calendar, hollow girl. She is completely untouchable. And Rupert Giles is dead.

The someone who’s next to her says, “Not the sort of town you want to be alone in.”

Jenny doesn’t answer.

“I loved him too,” says the man. “Just so you know.”

So then she does know who it is, a little. Lets her head fall against his shoulder, a little. He’s about as important as she is around these parts, which means he’ll be gone by the morning. That’s the way it works when you love Rupert. He’s the sun and you’re the earth and the minute he’s gone—

“The Mayor hired me to drug every adult in town with enchanted candy in a few months’ time,” says the man whose voice she really does remember. “I’m staying here until then. Hidden from the eyes of the Slayer, of course.”

“Yeah, you have fun with that,” says Jenny.

“I’m inviting you to stay,” he says.

“No, you’re not,” she says. “You’re just not. I’m not helping you with shit. I’m done being something important. I am just fucking done, Ethan.”

Ethan’s quiet for a moment. “Then why are you still here?”

Because death is action and life is inaction and Jenny, demonstrably, is a woman of inaction. Jenny, if she takes an action now, will have taken one too late to save Rupert. Jenny, if she had taken an action then, could have saved Rupert, could have fucking done something, and refuses to grow into or past the version of herself that let Rupert die. She will not become someone who could have saved his life.

“I think you two would have been very happy together,” says Ethan. There’s a derisive edge to it. “You have the same goddamn martyr complex. The same sort of insufferable refusal to change when faced with the inevitable unpredictability of the world that we live in.”

“Yeah, whatever,” says Jenny. “You’re still sitting out here with me. You think you’re any better?”

“I don’t need to be,” says Ethan. “He’s dead.”

He gets it, Jenny thinks.

~~~~

Five months later, there’s a bunch of candy, inexplicably, in the area. Jenny picks up a bar and takes a bite and suddenly she’s hacked off all her hair, set a cop car on fire, and doubled over in the Sunnydale High parking lot, crying so hard, so, so hard, crying like she hasn’t cried since she was sixteen years old, so hard she’s going to throw up, thinking about what it would have been like if Rupert were here right now.   

She wakes up the next morning and books an appointment at the salon. Evens it out.

~~~~

Five months after that, Buffy and her friends are in college across town, and Jenny’s teaching a new group of kids, and it’s all really starting to blur into a comforting haze of nothing, an endless blur of gray. Whatever she was before, whatever she could have been, she’s Jenny now, the masquerade mask of a woman with nothing behind her eyes, beguiling and bewitching and empty inside. A lie made up to hold something real.

The real girl is dead.

~~~~

Five months after that—

~~~~

It’s printed on the list of new students for the new semester. Intro to Comp Sci. Dawn Summers.

Somehow Jenny does not feel equipped for this. At all. Dawn is Buffy’s little sister. They haven’t met before now, mostly because Dawn was—was—her mind skips like a record playing wrong—because Dawn was too young at the time to be involved in much of anything, so Dawn’s impression of Jenny has to have been through secondhand information provided by Buffy.

Computer Science is not a mandatory class. Dawn could have very easily chosen not to sign up for this. Dawn very much has.

Jenny feels—

Feels—

That is what is wrong with the sentence; the rest does not need to be finished. Jenny feels. It’s been nothing for years and now it’s—something. Curiosity? Apprehension? She sits down at her desk and stares at the printed letters, trying to will them into a name that doesn’t matter. Sure that, somehow, she can do it.

~~~~

Dawn is a model student. Jenny compares her obsessively and repeatedly to Buffy, but also to Willow; she has aspects of both. She steels herself for Summers antipathy, a hand across the face, but Dawn treats her as though they’ve never met before, and somehow that hurts too—imagining her scrubbed from the lives of these children like she’s nothing. Never mind that she stepped away and did it first. Rupert mattered. Rupert changed the fabric of everything, and Jenny loved him. Failed him. She’d thought at least—

She’d thought at least that would mean something.

Dawn turns in her first assignment. It’s close to perfect without being Willow-levels of meticulous and slightly obsessive prodigy, which means that Willow isn’t helping her. She’s doing this herself. Jenny wants to ask why. She can’t ask why. She wants to ask why. It’s just not an option.

Dawn misses school every so often. No explanation. The fifth time this happens, she comes up to Jenny’s desk after class, which freezes Jenny’s goodbye-everyone smile in rictus. But Dawn’s only ever seen her tense and strange, so, luckily enough, Dawn doesn’t seem to really notice exactly how tense and strange Jenny is right now.

“Ms. Calendar?” she asks. Her face is blank, open, sweet—nothing but a teenage girl. “Do you have a minute?”

Jenny throws herself bodily into that shell of a mask of a woman and says, “Yeah, sure, Dawn. What’s up?”

“It’s just.” Dawn wavers. “You’ve kind of excused my absences every time without even asking that I make up work? I was looking at my grades when they came in, and I thought they’d be way, way lower, which I was totally okay with. Sorta thought you were the kind of teacher who doesn’t give the opportunity to do catch-up assignments, and I was a little too nervous to ask, ‘cause you always seem a little strung-out. Not in a bad way!” she hastily adds. “Just…I don’t know, I didn’t want to bother you? Especially after being gone as much as I am. But I got my grades, and it doesn’t look like you marked any of my missing assignments. Pretty much gave me perfect scores. So I was just wondering—”

“You were wondering why,” Jenny finishes.

Dawn smiles gratefully. It’s the kind of smile Buffy used to give Rupert. It claws a hole into Jenny’s chest and starts ripping her open, slowly, vivisecting her at her stupid fucking meaningless desk.

“Pretty much!” she says.

Jenny says, “I had your sister in my class.” That’s about all she can manage.

“…Oh,” says Dawn. She looks a little bemused. “Huh. You know, that’s not usually the response to Buffy.”

Yeah, well. Buffy doesn’t go around punching just any teacher in the face, kid. But Jenny can’t exactly say that to Dawn.

“She never mentioned you,” says Dawn. “Were you…did you guys get along?”

Jenny’s hand flickers to her throat. One of the other dreams she has, a lot, is one where Buffy kills her—on the desk, at the funeral, at school, on the sidewalk, like she’s an animal, like she’s an evil thing. Those are the dreams that hurt the least.

“Okay,” says Dawn. “Well. Uh. Cool talk, I guess?” She’s doing that Buffy thing, where she smiles with bemused annoyance, bouncing on the balls of her feet, puzzled-but-she-thinks-it’s-funny. Sisters. Jenny sees it every day. “And thanks for the grades, but you really don’t have to—”

“Yes,” says Jenny. “I do.”

There’s something too much about the intensity in her voice. She knows that the second she speaks. Dawn pulls back a little, still smiling, but now there’s a bit of Willow to her—that mystery-solving curiosity. That determination.

Jenny decides to let her try. Death is action. Life is inaction.

~~~~

The next day, Dawn is at her desk again. She doesn’t look ready to kill Jenny, but she does look a little miffed.

“So you do know Buffy,” she says.

“What did Buffy tell you?”

“Uh, literally nothing. Do you have siblings?”

Jenny has a hundred family ghosts on her shoulder and her dead parents are two of them. She might not have been an only child if things were different. They’re not.

Dawn seems to take her silence for the answer it is. “Well. All Buffy said to me when I asked her was leave it alone, Dawn, which is literally so-o Buffy of her, like, can you even believe? I mean, what am I supposed to do, just—”

“Leave it alone?” Jenny dryly suggests.

“Come on,” says Dawn. “I’m not doing that.”

She sees her, for a second. Buffy. Standing in front of her desk, smiling sharply, that other ghost girl she failed—sunlight and bubblegum, bruised by the world but still so hopeful. Thrumming with joy and possibility. Twirling her hair over Angel because no one told her not to do it, or maybe because everyone told her not to do it, or maybe—possibly—because sometimes loving someone makes you forget what’s smart and what’s safe.

Jenny sits up a little. She says, “Your sister decked me in the face at her Watcher’s funeral. You want to find out more? Ask her about that.”

And credit where credit is due—Dawn doesn’t flinch back with oh-my-gosh teenage horror. She tilts her head just a little, eyes narrowing with that Summers spirit, and smiles almost appreciatively.

“Thanks, Ms. C,” she says. “I owe you one.”

~~~~

Buffy shows up at Jenny’s house after hours. Without preamble, she says, “Stay away from my sister.”

Jenny says nothing. Waits for the blow.

Buffy turns on her heel and storms away. Jenny watches her, curiously, and wonders if Buffy knows that she holds no power over a woman who dreams of what it would be like for the Vampire Slayer’s hands to close around her throat again. Buffy kills monsters. That’s what she does.

~~~~

Of course Dawn shows up at Jenny’s desk again after class, and this time, when she does, Jenny actually smiles. It feels strange on her face—a smile in a way that doesn’t hurt. It makes her think about how much everything else does, all the time.

Dawn sits down on the edge of the desk and says, gleefully, “Buffy got so mad.”

“Yeah,” says Jenny. “I bet.”

“She’s totally not going to tell me,” says Dawn, “but I asked, so now you totally have to. Why’d she punch you in the face?”

Jenny takes out her wallet. Takes out the folded-over ticket stubs: Admit Two for a monster truck rally from 1997. “Give her these,” she says. “Tell her where I was keeping them. See what happens.”

~~~~

And honestly, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen. She’s hoping Buffy kills her.

But Buffy doesn’t come at all that night.

~~~~

This time, Dawn doesn’t bounce up to her desk. She places the ticket stubs back down in front of Jenny a little shakily, mouth trembling.

“She cried all night,” she says. “This isn’t fun anymore. I don’t want to know.”

Jenny picks up the ticket stubs and puts them back in her wallet. Rummages in her desk drawer, instead, until she finds the thing that she can’t look at anymore. Hands it to Dawn.

Dawn stares at it for a very long time. The tremor in her hand increases. She lets the photo strip flutter back down onto the desk, on top of the ticket stubs: Jenny and Rupert tangled up in the tiny booth, laughing. Jenny’s lipstick is all over Rupert’s face. He’s too big to fit in the booth and she’s mostly on his lap. They’re luminous.

“That’s—” Dawn says.

“Yeah,” says Jenny.

“So you’re—” Dawn says.

“Yeah,” says Jenny.

Dawn sits down on the edge of Jenny’s desk. Her eyes are a little wet. She doesn’t say anything, just picks up the photo again, staring intensely at it like she’s trying to burn it into her eyes.

Jenny says, “He was the love of my life.”

Almost two seconds later, Dawn says, “My mom’s in the hospital.”

Jenny holds out her hand, palm-up. Dawn takes it.

~~~~

Buffy’s on her door again that night. She’s hammering hard on the wood. Jenny gets up, opens the door, and Buffy says, desperately, tearfully, “I’m sor—”

Which isn’t what she’s fucking supposed to do. So Jenny shuts the door in her face.

~~~~

Dawn doesn’t come up to Jenny’s desk after class. She comes in at lunch instead. Jenny asks, “Don’t you have friends?” and Dawn just sort of laughs wetly and offers her a carrot stick, which is a hell of a lot better than Jenny’s current lunch of choice, which is whatever she wants from the vending machine, because she doesn’t eat lunch anymore. Rupert had been making hers before Angelus snapped his neck and killed them both.

They eat in silence until about five minutes before they’re supposed to go, when Jenny says, “I don’t want to be in a world where he isn’t.”

“Yeah, but you are,” says Dawn. “And the thing is, you kind of have to be. I mean, if my mom dies, I know she’d lose it finding out I died too, and then you gotta deal with all that junk in heaven when you’re supposed to be having fun with the angels. You really want your first moments with Giles again to be all about him telling you how mad he is you didn’t do a good job at living without him?”

Which makes Jenny laugh so hard she chokes on a carrot stick. Lucky thing. She can say the tears are from that.

~~~~

Dawn comes with two lunches the next day. “Nobody ever sees you eat,” she says, and Jenny’s about to turn it down when she realizes it’s actually just greasy fast food in a deceptive paper bag.

“Oh, what the heck, Buffy?” Dawn demands. “Come on! She never lets me just have a burger and fries for lunch?!”

“I can’t take this,” says Jenny immediately.

“What?” Dawn groans. “Oh, man. Look, she gave me the lunch because I asked for an extra one.Does that make it better? Does that make whatever weird thing you guys have okay?”

“We don’t have—” Jenny stiffens defensively.

“Just eat the friggin’ burger,” says Dawn.

Jenny eats the friggin’ burger. Grudgingly.

~~~~

Buffy comes in at Parent-Teacher Night. Her eyes are a little sunken; she looks older and more tired than Jenny remembers. Nothing even half as luminous as her sister, who’s chattering away in that nervous Summers-babble style where she’s trying to make sure everyone’s just talking about computers. She’s in the middle of some tangent about programming that makes it very clear she has no idea what’s going on in class when Buffy says, “Are you even washing your hair?”

“You sound like Cordelia,” says Jenny. Her mouth twitches. “Are you two still friends?”

“We weren’t friends before.”

“Excuse me for not keeping up with the intricacies of your high school social life,” says Jenny, brows raised. “I was a little busy—”

“Busy doing what?” says Buffy. “Stepford-wifing it up? You were goddamn creepy all through senior year. We kept on trying to talk to you and you’d just look through us.”

Jenny doesn’t actually remember any of that. She doesn’t really feel like arguing the point. “Get me a better shampoo, then,” she says. “Slay the monster that is my greasy and terrible hair.”

“Take better care of yourself,” says Buffy.

Why do you even care, Jenny wants to say, but some small part of her really does know why. It’s awful, the knowing.

“…does anyone want to see my program?” Dawn asks, a little hysterically.

Something occurs to Jenny. “Where’s Joyce?”

Buffy sort of smiles. It’s the kind of smile that hurts; Jenny can see the hurt in her shoulders and her hands. “Mom’s…not doing well,” she says. “But she’ll be better. We think.”

Fucking goddamn it, Jenny does feel something, thinking about Buffy losing Joyce on top of Rupert. How the fuck is that fair? She can’t get punched in the face and fix it. She can’t take the hit and be the villain, the problem, the thing Buffy could have killed to keep the right person alive. She can just sit here, mostly a stranger, basically nothing, and try to think of something to say that isn’t—

“Fuck that,” she says. It sounds—real. “Fucking absolute goddamn bullshit. As though you haven’t been through enough! Both of you! Living here! Why don’t you just pick up your sister, take your mom to an LA hospital—I have a credit card,” she’s rummaging in her purse, “take my goddamn credit card, go start just buying shit—”

“Ooh, absolutely!” says Dawn.

“Dawn, don’t,” says Buffy, blocking her sister’s hand. “We don’t take credit cards from people having a mental health crisis.”

“It’s not a mental health crisis, it’s a state of being,” Jenny corrects her.

“It’s not a state of being, it’s the worst hair I’ve ever seen,” Buffy counters.

“This is fun,” says Dawn. “I want to take Buffy to talk to my science teacher now.”

“Not everyone’s Ms. Calendar,” says Buffy. “Ms. Calendar has emotional problems.”

“God, you are a bitch now that you’re not in high school,” Jenny observes, which makes Buffy actually laugh. A real one. It doesn’t match her eyes or the tightness in her mouth, but—it sounds like that bubblegum girl.

~~~~

Jenny casts the bones and reads the cards and prays for a miracle when they all say the same thing: death, death, death, death, death. She whispers it into the wind: please, if it’s a punishment for my inaction, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, I’ll be better, if those girls get to keep their mom. Please, whoever’s listening, it’s worth losing him if those girls get to keep their mom. They’re young enough. They’ve lost enough. I’ll do anything. I will be anything. I will drown myself in blood, I will give myself to Hecate, I will bring back any monster, make myself the monster, just so long as—

~~~~

And of course prayer does fuck-all and Dawn breaks down in a class that isn’t hers. Art class. As though Jenny didn’t have enough bad blood with the art department. She finds out two days later when Dawn still isn’t in class and she ends up having an actual, embarrassing panic attack, has to stagger out into the hallway because she can’t breathe, can’t stop thinking about that little baby sunshine girl strewn out in an alley with her throat cut. When did it start fucking mattering again?

Someone catches her arms. For a moment, the grip is so strong, and she almost thinks—Rupert—

Xander says, “Hey. Hey, Ms. Calendar. Hey. It’s okay.”

Jenny actually does start crying. It’s really humiliating. Worse than that is the fact that Xander, who she remembers as the world’s most annoying fifteen-year-old, is suddenly a strong, solid college student who can help her over to a chair while she sobs hard enough to throw up. He holds her hand the whole time.

“It’s okay,” he keeps repeating. “It’s okay. Dawn asked me to come and check on you. She thought—well, we forgot—” He fumbles. “We didn’t know you and Buffy were friends again.”

Friends is a really weird way to describe “Buffy shows up outside my house sometimes with shampoo,” but Jenny’s still crying too hard to correct him. She buries her face in her hands and tries to remember how to breathe.

“She’s okay,” Xander says. “She’s—” His voice breaks a little. “It’s. Uh. Joyce.”

At which point Jenny actually does throw up on her own shoes.

~~~~

Xander takes the shoes and walks her to his car. He’s holding her hand, which is weird, but so is Joyce Summers being dead. So is whatever Jenny’s going to have to say to Snyder about skipping her own classes to throw up on the floor outside of the library.

“Anya might have shoes that fit you,” he offers. “Her feet run a little bigger than yours, but.”

Anya’s shoes are terrible. Impractical business-girl heels. Jenny ignores them entirely, clambering into Xander’s passenger seat and sinking back against the chair until it reclines.

“Yeah, you know what, sure,” says Xander to himself, and gets in, starting the car. “So, uh, how’ve you been? Anything new going on? Kinda thought you’d leave, after—all that shit went down sophomore year.”

“Inaction is death,” says Jenny. “Action is—” No, wait, that’s not right.

“…Neato,” says Xander. “Can I put on the radio?”

She doesn’t answer. He turns it on.

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming, or the moment of truth in your lies—

“CAN YOU TURN OFF THE RADIO,”says Jenny.

“Geez,” says Xander, “who died?” and then he starts laughing really hard and really loud, hyena loud, until he just doubles over on the steering wheel and starts crying.

Jenny stares at the ceiling. Thinks, bizarrely, and almost warmly, that this would be the kind of moment that Rupert would describe as his own personal nightmare, which is enough for her to sit up in the car a little.

“Hey,” she says, and sort of whacks Xander on the shoulder in an attempt to pat him. “Uh. There, there?”

Xander keeps crying. Jenny gives up and goes back to lying down.

One time she and Rupert tried to have car sex and he almost threw out his back on top of the crossbow bolt wound she inflicted. One time she drove Buffy to the docks with Angel in the backseat and Buffy in the front seat and both of them trying to convince her Buffy should be in the backseat—her resolute in her determination to at least halfway live up to her promise to her uncle, never mind that Buffy shouldn’t have ever been in that car in the first place. One time—

Xander’s crying is beginning to even out. Wetly, he says, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It wasn’t even—it wasn’t even like—monsters kill people here, not—”

“Xander, things just die here,” says Jenny. “This is the worst fucking town in the history of the world.”

“So why are you still here?” he demands.

“Rupert’s grave is still here,” says Jenny, and realizes with a small and painful jolt that this is the real reason.

He rubs a hand across his face and says, shakily, “Let’s get you home.”

~~~~

Dawn and Buffy both rush her at the door. She doesn’t know why she’s expecting this when it happens. They both just tumble into her like puppies, like it’s what they’re supposed to do, and she holds them so fucking tight, just about collapses to the ground with them. Nobody’s crying. Nobody’s saying anything. Buffy’s face is tucked into her hair.

From somewhere far away, Willow says, “Ms. Calendar?”

Buffy says, “The finances are a mess. And funerals are so expensive.”

Jenny says, “Now who’s asking for the credit card of a woman having a mental health crisis?”

“Yeah, well, I’m a woman in a mental health crisis. Make a donation.” Buffy’s holding Jenny hard enough to bruise. Jenny doesn’t give a shit. “You should be failing Dawn. She’s learning nothing in Comp Sci.”

“I do whatever the fuck I fucking want.”

Jenny lets go of them both, a little. Dawn looks dizzy with relief. Buffy is just meeting her eyes with this firm intensity, nothing hostile to it, but nothing at all like the light and frothy teenage girl who looked cheerfully through her. Maybe it’s the first time they’re actually looking at each other.

“It fucking sucks,” says Buffy.

“Yeah,” says Jenny. Maybe she’s crying a little. “Yeah, it does.”

“And it never—never stops hurting.”

“Yeah.”

“Never.”

Jenny reaches out and catches Buffy’s face in her hand. “Are you keeping up with your classes? I’m not letting you drop out.”

“I do whatever the fuck I fucking want.”

“Not on my dime.” She squeezes Buffy’s shoulder. “You’ll take a semester off and then it’s back to the grind. And maybe we’re moving to LA. What the fuck are we still doing here?”

“We need—”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“There’s still—”

“I don’t give a shit, Buffy, we’re done. We’re done.”

Buffy smiles a little. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “LA. We’re done. Let the hell town eat itself.”

No one’s there to stop them, anyway.

[sunny374940]

I will be waiting with open arms

Do you remember when I said I made myself sad with a story about Emmrich dying? Guess what I've finished? I made myself cry and now I am making this fic everyone's problem.

Emmrich dies at the age of ninety seven and Rook, who is seventy two now, receives one last letter from his love.

Cw: major character death (offscreen, not described)

Hello, @mercars-musings I am here to deal emotional damage

(Next up is Pining 2.0 Emmrich's POV, starring Davrin and Assan as wingmen, because I need the sad to go away)

Here on ao3

Edit: here is part 2

And here are my other stories

There was a knock on the door and Rook dragged himself out of his armchair with a sigh. The chair next to his own was glaringly empty and he felt his eyes sting with more tears, so he wiped them away and went to see just who had decided to bother him right after the funeral.

“GREETINGS, ROOK,” Vorgoth said as the door opened.

“Hi, Vorgoth. Is everything alright?”

They’d met at the service, so why would he come to visit him at home?

“THIS IS FOR YOU.”

Vorgoth was handing him an envelope and the neat handwriting on it was unmistakably Emmrich’s. Rook stared at it, at a loss for words, and when he looked up, Vorgoth was gone. There was a single word on the envelope - Rook. He opened it and took out the letter, noticing that the paper was crinkled in a few places, letters smudged as if waterstained. His legs were suddenly very weak and he felt that he should sit back down before he read it, so he settled back into the armchair.

9th of Parvulis, 9:94 Dragon

My darling Rook,

I have entrusted this letter into Vorgoth’s care, to be delivered to you after my funeral. I hope you can forgive an old man's wish to have one last goodbye.

I can feel the span of my days drawing to a close at last. I have lived a long life, longer than most, and even though a better half of it was spent waiting for you to come into it, I wouldn’t exchange the time we had together for anything.

I have made peace with my demise, as should you, my dear. I'm sure you are frowning right now, disagreeing with me, but it is true. Those fears that plagued me are long buried in the past, overshadowed by the joy of having lived my life to the fullest. With you. For what would eternity be without you there? Death seems a small price to pay for what you've given me.

As I look out the window at the yellowing leaves of our cherry tree, I find myself thinking back to the day you married me. You looked so beautiful with the flowers in your hair and I was the happiest man in the world. As I am even now. I am honored beyond words that you chose to take me as your husband and stay with me for all those years, even as I grew old (I can see you bristling at the word, but ninety seven years is hardly young, by my count).

I’d never expected such happiness to find its way to me, yet here I am, blessed with a family that has grown so much since the time it was just the two of us and Manfred. First little Elanora, and what a wonderful woman she has grown into!

And I still cannot believe that I got to have not just children, but a grandchild as well. Rupert (do you remember how I cried, when Ellie chose the name?) has grown so much. It feels impossible that he is already fifteen and well on his way to becoming a man. I am actually waiting for him to come visit as I write this and I hope to hide away the tears before the boy arrives. I don't need to ask you to take care of them, for I know you will.

I love you, Rook. I love you, I love you, I love you. I have told you every day and yet it doesn't feel like enough.

Please, do not spend too long mourning me. Live out your days, take joy in our family and know that you were the brightest light of my life.

Goodbye, darling, may we meet again in the afterlife. I will be waiting for you with open arms. And do visit the Memorial Gardens in the meantime, I will be there in spirit.

Forever yours,

Emmrich

Rook's hands were shaking, making the paper flutter in his grip. The tears started falling, landing on the letter and he quickly set it down on the side table, terrified of destroying Emmrich’s last words to him.

He was crying, ugly heaving sobs were tearing their way out of him and he couldn't stop himself. He buried his face in his hands. He hadn't cried like this at the funeral, couldn't allow himself to, but now the weight of it all was coming down on him. After what felt like hours the tears dried up and he was staring numbly ahead. Distantly, he heard footsteps coming closer.

“Dad?”

Ellie's hand was on his back, the gesture so similar to how Emmrich used to touch him that he choked back another sob.

“Hi, bug,” he whispered, and this once she didn't reprimand him for using her childhood nickname.

There were tears streaming down her face as well and he opened his arms for her. She climbed into his lap, draping her arms around his neck and he was young again and she was five years old, crying over a skinned knee. But this time the wound ran deeper and they held each other through the tears.

“I miss him so much,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “It felt like he would be here forever and now he's gone. I hate it!”

“I know, El. I hate it too,” he said, stroking her back in soothing circles, much like he had seen Emmrich do so many times before and why did everything have to remind him of Emmrich when he was gone!

But weren't the memories just the thing? He knew that Emmrich would say that they should take comfort in the memories they had of him, of the life they shared, instead of mourning what they could no longer have. He sighed and even Ellie's sobs were finally quieting down.

“Hey, bug?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna come with me to the Memorial Gardens? I could tell you again about how me and you daddy met.”

“I'd love that, dad.”

She smiled at him and the world slowly began setting itself right again.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: Car Sex w/ Dean Winchester

a/n: for the first time in the last six days this day was not prewritten! that kind of worries me because i've been doing so good being on time but never fear, i'll make it work!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

The way you ended up here was a total accident – at least, that’s what you like to tell yourself, that is. 

You weren’t attracted to Dean by any means, no no, don’t get it twisted; yes, you may think he’s handsome. Yes, you sometimes fantasize about what it would be like if you were the one that he was taking home that night, but it was totally normal to think those thoughts about your friends… right?

It was like everything that you had ever known, that you had ever told yourself had melted away into nothing as you found yourself in the backseat of the Impala, nails digging into Dean’s broad, naked shoulders as he bounced you up and down on his thick cock. He buried his face in your neck, heavy pants brushing against the sensitive skin that sent a shiver down your spine, a whimper escaping your throat when his tip brushed your g-spot.

It was kind of hard to remember how you may have ended up in this predicament, especially since Dean was  too busy fucking you into next week. Maybe it was the sexual innuendos that were rather consistent these last couple of weeks, or maybe the quick glances and secret shared moments when you’d knock into each other in the middle of the night, eyes devouring one another from the inside out as you’d bid lustful goodnights – even though you noticed the way Dean’s hands were tensed, flexing as he walked away.

You thought that maybe being away from the bunker would help with the fact that you often found yourself falling asleep after rubbing furiously at your needy clit, Dean’s name always on the tip of your tongue but never daring to slip past your lips. 

It was obvious that being locked up in a stuffy hotel room was going to be the death of you, even after the hunt was over. All it took was suggesting you, Sam, and Dean take a trip to the local dive bar to end up losing a game you hadn’t even had a chance at winning.

The windows were fogged and the car was sweltering, but that didn’t deter either of you. Months upon months of swelling tension had bubbled to the surface which was portrayed in Dean’s hard thrusts and your harsh bouncing.

“‘You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.” He grunted, moving his head so that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. His stubble burned at your skin.

There was no gentleness in the way he fucked you, just pure depravity fueling your needy gripping. You took advantage of your position to caress and stroke as you pleased, just in case this was a one time thing.

“Can’t believe I finally get to fuck you,” He grunted, lifting you up to then slam you down on his cock. If the car wasn’t rocking before, it definitely was now. “Shit!” You cried out, throwing your head back.

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to feel this sweet pussy? God,” He cursed when you squeezed him. “Fuckin’ years.” He finished with a slap on your ass, sending you jolting in his lap.

‘Years?’ You would have asked, but all of your words died in your throat when you felt his cock jab at your g-spot once again. 

“Me too.” Was all you were able to whimper out. “Yeah?” He questioned through a smirk. “Mhm!” You confirmed through curled lips. “‘Would always wish I was those girls that you took home.” A hand descended from your hip up your chest to cup your breast, his finger pinching a nipple. “Ah! And I- and I would always wonder about what you would do to them, how it would feel.”

“Do you know now, sweetheart? Huh?” He cooed.

“Yeah! Yes, yes I do!” You quickly corrected yourself.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @zippertwat @hallecarey1 @alixwriter

[icarusignite]

For Whom the Bell Tolls Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader

Tropes: World War 2 HOTD AU, nurse x soldier, trauma bonding, childhood sweethearts, star-crossed lovers

Wattpad / AO3

Summary:

"The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant, he is something divine, and then he dies, because there's nothing else left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask."

In the years preceding the inferno of the Second World War, the world dances precariously on the edge of destruction, teetering between disintegrating old empires and the looming dawn of new ones. In the heart of this volatile era, the Targaryen family rises to power through the might of their ironclad empire, the Targaryen Ammunitions Conglomerate. The story is set against a backdrop of a world torn between tradition and modernity, where the echoes of old wars linger in the corridors of power, and the spectre of new conflicts casts long shadows across the lives of those entangled in its web.

Viserys Targaryen, the Chief Executive Officer of Targaryen Ammunitions, is a man haunted by the ghosts of his past. Decades before the world would be set ablaze, he cements his legacy, but at the cost of his own soul. The death of his first wife leaves him shattered, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity through the love he bears for his only daughter, Rhaenyra, his chosen heir. 

But even Viserys cannot escape the machinations of those around him. Drawn into a marriage with Alicent Hightower, his daughter's former college classmate, he finds himself ensnared in a web of deceit spun by her father. Otto Hightower's ambitions reach far beyond the bounds of mere familial ties; he seeks to control the empire itself, and the Targaryen family, once bound by blood and loyalty, begins to fracture as ambition and betrayal take root.

Rhaenyra, a woman of fierce independence and unyielding spirit, is forced into a life she never wanted. Pressured by her father and the demands of his legacy, she is coerced into a marriage of convenience with Laenor Velaryon, a man whose own struggles mirror her own. Their union is one of necessity, where neither partner truly belongs to the other, yet, in their shared discomfort and understanding, they find solace, forging a partnership that defies the world's expectations. Laenor, hiding his true nature in a society that would cast him out, finds safety in the match, while she, in turn, secures the power and stability she needs to maintain her position as her father's heir.

Years pass, and the couple's inability to have children leads them down a different path—a path that brings them to the doors of Harrenhall, where the recently deceased Harwin Strong leaves behind four orphaned children who have been disowned by his brother Larys in his greed for their fortune. Rhaenyra, with a heart as relentless as it is kind, cannot bring herself to separate the siblings, despite the dangers it may pose to her own ambitions. She adopts them all, bringing the Strong children into the fold of the Targaryen family.

As the eldest of these children, you are burdened by the weight of the world. At just ten years old, you have been forced to grow up far too quickly, stepping into the role of mother and protector to your younger siblings in the absence of your own. Your heart is a fortress, built stone by stone, your mistrust of the world as deep as the abyss. When you and your brothers are taken in by the Targaryens, your siblings find joy in the luxuries and love showered upon them by their new family, but you cannot let yourself believe in the comfort being offered, waiting for the moment when it will all be torn away.

Your fears are only compounded by the cold reception you receive from Rhaenyra's half-siblings, the children of Alicent Hightower. The second of these, Aemond Targaryen, is a boy who has grown up in the long shadow cast by his half-sister. Neglected by his father, who lavishes affection upon his new adoptive grandchildren, he harbours a deep resentment toward the Strong siblings. In his eyes, you are all usurpers, interlopers who have stolen all that should have been his and his alone. 

Nevertheless, the two of you find an unlikely ally in each other. Aemond, who despises the hollow privilege of his lineage, finds in you a kindred spirit, someone who understands the bitterness that festers in his heart. You, in turn, see in him a mirror of your own disillusionment, a boy lost in a world that seems intent on breaking him.

As the world outside your gilded cage hurtles toward cataclysm, your connection blossoms into something deeper, something tender, but just as your hearts begin to entwine, calamity, as it always does, intervenes.

Tragedy strikes the family, one blow after another, as the winds of war begin to howl across the continent. The fragile alliances that Rhaenyra has built start to crumble, and as Viserys struggles to hold his empire together, the rifts within his own family threaten to destroy everything he has worked for.

It is all made worse when a terrible accident steals away two precious loved ones, and in the aftermath, guilt weaves its thorny tendrils around Aemond's heart. At the tender age of eighteen, burdened by the weight of his own self-reproach, he severs all ties with his family, abandoning the name that has become a symbol of his anguish. He takes up his mother's maiden name, hoping to cast off the shackles of his past and live free from the burdens that have haunted him.

But in his flight from the wraiths of his former life, he leaves behind the only person who has ever understood him, to pick up the fractured remnants of their family. You are left all alone, as you have been for so much of your life, to mourn in silence, and the grief that once bound the two of you together now festers into a simmering resentment. Aemond does not write, nor does he respond to the countless letters you send, each one a plea for reconciliation, a desperate attempt to reach him across the chasm that has opened between you. 

Eventually, you receive word that he has been drafted into the conflict. The news shatters the fragile remnants of your dreams, the ambitions you once held of becoming a historian now buried beneath the rubble of a world on fire. You abandon everything and follow him into the inferno, earning the nursing certifications that place you at the very heart of the battlefield, where life and death are decided with every breath.

In this vast and chaotic landscape, the young lovers keep missing each other, like ships passing in the night, always just out of reach. Time and again, they come within moments of reunion, but never actually do. Until, at last, they are thrown together once more when a severely wounded and half-blind Aemond Hightower is brought into the makeshift clinic where you have been stationed.

The reunion is a storm of tears and apologies, a raw and unfiltered outpouring of the pain that has been carried for so long. For a few precious months, you have each other once more, as you tend to his injuries, nursing him back to some semblance of health. In those fleeting moments, the two of you cling to each other like drowning souls.

But fate is a fickle mistress, and there is nothing she loves more than to slit the throats of young lovers, and you are not spared the annihilation that has been written for you in the very stars, centuries before you were even born, a destiny that neither of you can escape, no matter how hard you try.

"You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know."

CHAPTERS: (coming soon)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter3

Chapter 4

A/N: This isn't going to be a full-length fic. It's going to be a collection of one-shots almost, or snippets jumping around the timeline to tell the most important parts of the story, so maybe 10-12 chapters at most. This way I won't bore yall with unnecessary filler chapters and still get to tell the story I want. The summary is about as much as you'll on the background tbh, this is meant to be an AemondxReader centric story. It's inspired by Atonement and every other WW2 movie I've ever watched.

Comment to lemme know if this is something you would be interested in and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Alternatively, add yourself to the taglist!

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hello!

I love your writing for Gawtin, and I was just wondering if you had the time for a request! Like, Gawtin is mated to a female reader, but the reader is pregnant with a yautja baby? Qui-koy will have a baby sister? Something fluffy and smutty too if you are comfortable! (If you do not have the time I understand, thank you for reading though! ❤️)

-🥹 anon

Baby Sister

Pairing: Gawin (female Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, lactation kink (now you guys know where that question came from), wlw, angst,

Word Count: 6014

Summary: The father died and Gawtin helps take over the care and grows to love them. The brother of the Gawtin dies due to a hunt gone wrong. Reader is pregnant, early pregnant that not even a Yautja could smell it just yet. In the grieving process, the scent hides the pregnancy for some time before Gawtin picks up on it and lets Reader know. Reader takes the news as good, seeing this is the last gift to them from their dead lover. Due to the grievance, Reader searches for something to fill the hole in their heart. Gawtin is there.

Author Note: I'm so glad people love her as much as I do! This had me thinking. I had two different lanes to take. I choose the sadder one. Hopefully the fluff and smut make up for it.

P.s. There is 11 pages here. 11. I say to myself I need to do smaller to get through requests.... I can't. So, I hope the 11 pages of angsy, fluff, and smut make it up to you since it took a while to get to this....

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

He wasn’t coming home. Your home would be void of his presence now. Empty and silent. His laughter would never fill the rooms, the halls anymore. No children would roam the dwelling, running, sprinting.

A happy family.

Broken by his death.

It was a known fact every time he went out on his hunts, he may not return. But Bgiwl… This was Bgiwl. Nothing could take him down. He’s been in your life for a couple of years. Not a single creature he’s faced has dragged him down to meet Cetanu. He’s… he’s too mighty, too strong to be taken down and, and killed.

Nothing could kill him.

Until now.

Gawtin, his sister, had brought the news to you. You’ve met her before when she came over to catch up with Bgiwl or vice versa. She’s stunning, beautifully crafted both by genetics and hard work. The fact she doesn’t have a permanent mate at her side surprised you.

Then, there was Qui-oky. The sweet, adorable child that made you hopefully during all your intercourse with Bgiwl, it would take. It never did. Now, with him gone, you would have nothing of him to live with. You wiped away the tears that had stained your cheeks only for more to wet your cheeks. The tears would not stop, after an hour of the news was broken to you.

During that entire hour of your life, Gawtin stayed by you. Through haze, you can tell she’s struggling to figure out how to support you. The action alone has your broken heart aching even more. You cried a little harder and gripped tighter on her arm. Your head buried into her bicep as she stayed seated at your side, taking the drool, salty tears, and sobbing into her arm. With Gaston’s other hand, she reached over and began to softly pet your head. You sniffled at the action, tiredly coming down from sobbing to your hearts content. The Yautja began to purr a gentle tune that had your eyes beginning to droop. It helped slow down your heartbeat.

A hiccup broke the calm quietness in the room. With your brows furrowed, you glanced over to the origin and found a small form standing at the threshold of another room. Qui-oky.

At first, you smiled through the pain before the battle was lost. Tears poured down your cheeks all over again. The family you wanted with Bgiwl would never come. He’s gone. The only child that’s been able to run through the halls of your home was the child before you. You swallowed down the thick saliva in the back of your throat; struggling to get it down.

The female at your side gave your head a couple more pats before lifting herself to her feet. All the warmth was stolen back. You whined but stayed planted on the couch, unable to find it within yourself to leave this spot. She strolled over to Oky and bent at the waist to scoop him up. The child chirped at his mother and happily grasped at his mother’s face. Gawtin twitched her mandibles in reaction and tried to deter him. Qui’oky bonked his head to her temple in a love tap then pulled back, expectedly looking at her purple eyes. All he got was a deadpanned look from her.

Then, the little bugger twisted his upper body to look at you. You down casted your gaze to the ground and curled tighter into a ball on the cushions.

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Qui’oky nearly toppled over if it wasn’t for Gawtin’s hold, outstretching his arms towards you. You feel yourself tense, unsure if you were in the mood to handle the child. He wasn’t little for a one-year-old in terms for humans. He’s already walking and talking, though the majority of it is gibberish. But he’s much further along than any kid on earth. Would your kids be like him?

Fresh, hot tears stung your eyes at that internal question. You turned your head to the side to hide the fact you were going to cry again. A thick lump returned to your throat, blocking any words from being voiced. There are no children. There never be children. 

The sobs couldn’t be held back. A process stating all over again.

Days turned to weeks. Those weeks, your sadness still dragged on, pulled by your very own strength as you struggled to find your footing. Yet, every step of the way, Gawtin was right there with you. She held your hand the entire time, guiding you through the hours of the days and when the days turned weeks.

Later in your time Gawtin, you were curled up in her lap, head resting on her midriff. Such a minute little thing compared to the giant she is. She offered you comfort whenever you asked. Sometimes, you didn’t need to even use words. Just a look and she have you pressed against her.

Qui’oky is such a sweetheart. For the most part. As a kid, he still gets up to no good, learning the ropes of his world. He likes to figure out how soft human skin is, at your expense. There’s been a few added scars to you body from him alone.

Your fingers were slotted between her thick digits. Today was a lazy day. If there was a reason to be moving, that be your only motivation to be up. With your ear pressed to her chest, you felt and heard the rhythm of her heartbeat. Strong, loud. She was here, she was staying. She only went out to hunt for food and gather water every other day. You needed this. You needed her.

Her thumb rubbed along the back of your hand, engulfing the entire thing. The motion soothing and nearly lulling you into a slight slumber.

It’s been hard to sleep, even with time passing at the rate it has been. Yet, you believed every day that she allowed you to rest in her bed gave you a better night. A little less dead, a little less drowning.

The rubbing stopped and pulled you from your nearly unconscious state. You whined and tilted your head up to see if she would continue. Her chest filled deeply. Instantly, you began to grow nervous and pulled off of her midriff. “What’s wrong?” Those words falling your from lips immediately. Something was off.

Her free hand came up and cupped your chin to ensure you were looking her in her purple, piercing gaze. “When is the last time you have bled?” is her first question. Instead of answering you.

Bled? Like, a cut? Or… or that.

“You oomans bleed for their cycle. When is the last time you have bled?” Again? Why was she so pushy about it? But, her words confirmed your suspicions. You gave a week a shrug.

“I don’t know… it’s been a couple of months at least. I, I haven’t been paying much attention to it since,” you trailed off, unable to say those damning words. “But probably before… then. All this stress can through off the cycle.” It was the truth. You didn’t think about tracking it, especially after. There was no point. You had no one to have a child with. Those thoughts were bitter in the back of your mind.

Gawtin pushed you back to give her enough room to place her mouth to the crook of your neck. You shuttered at the feeling of her forked tongue slithering out and tasting your skin. “H-hey! What are you doing?” You wanted to be in the loop at all times, needing to be in control of the situation. Especially after everything came crashing down on you.

“You’re pregnant.” You blinked rapidly and jerked your head back. Then anger overcame the shock. You tore yourself from her lap and pointed firmly up at her.

“Don’t play games with me. Don’t!” you raised your voice at her. Hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes and blurry your voice. “I’ve not been near a male since then. It’s impossible!”

She followed suit and rose to her own feet, towering over you. You barely reached her waist. Her actions showed neutrality but your fear of angering rose to take control. Your feet stumbled back but caught the corner of a coffee table. As you fell back, a massive hand wrapped around your wrist and swiftly pulled you back to your trembling legs. All you could do in the moment was stand there, submissively lowering your head. You didn’t want her to be mad at you.

Her calloused hand returned to your cheek. “I do not lie. I smell the hormones, taste them even. Perhaps your sorrow overshadowed the scent but I can now smell it as clear as day. You are pregnant,” she assured and held you there, not allowing you a chance to even bolt from the truth.

The first thing you start to do is sob. It should be from happiness, relief but that’s not what you felt. The sorrow that filled you to the brim. Even as your knees give out, unable to hold you up, Gawtin scoops you up into her arms and hold you close. Her scent consuming everything. She sat back down on the couch and cradled you to her chest. A purr erupting from her sternum and vibrated across your skin.

The next thing you realize was waking up, face cleaned and body well rested. Confused as all can be, you slip out of the bed you’ve grown to know. Must’ve been a bad dread. You rubbed at your eyes and strolled into the kitchen.

An unfamiliar form stood in the living room. You immediately paused; muscles locked tight, ready to hide back away into the safety of Gawtin’s room. Expect, two sets of eyes found you first. Gawtin lifted her upper mandibles at you then motioned with a hand to come closer. You swallowed nervous and took the long route to stop just shy of Gawtin’s side.

Before Gawtin, another female stood in the main area of the living room. Face neutral and at ease. You can see by her scales she’s seen plenty of battles herself. For your own safety and assurance, you used Gawtin’s body as a shield. You kept a steely gaze on the new Yautja but didn’t dare step away from her.

Gawtin called your name and guided you from behind her to stand before her. “This is Fourta. She is the head medic for our village. I have requested her presence due to your pregnancy.” Your eyes widened. It wasn’t a bad dream. You gnawed on your bottom lip, the only thing holding back a sob.

Fourta gave a slight dip of her massive head. Her dark sea green blue scales shimmering in the low light. She’s from the sea clans. You recognized her form from times Bgiwl has taken you over to the coastal clans for supplies. What was she doing here? Your eyes narrowed again on her frame. She acted indifferent and stepped closer.

You tensed and stumbled backwards into Gawtin’s legs. The imposing female at your back placed her hands on your shoulder to hold you there. You swallowed nervously again and kept your gaze on her.

The sea green Yautja stopped her movements and knelt down to get closer to your level. It felt like someone trying to calm a terrified, stray puppy. You continuous eyed her. “I will not injure you, ooman. It goes against my oath as a medic. Yautja or not, you’re safe in my care,” she spoke in a soft voice that called to you like wind through the sails.

“I must check your vitals and ensure you are physically sound to carry this pregnancy through. There’s only been two recorded counts of a ooman carrying a hybrid. With little data, we have to be careful every step of the way. For both of your safeties.” The way she spoke, confident in her ability but also not cocky to show off.

A doctor, patient relationship to make this pregnancy as smooth as possible.

Yesterday wasn’t a dream. You were pregnant. This was Bgiwl’s last gift to you. Over your dead body would you let this fail.

Your head leveled out. You steeled your nerves with a full chest of air and stepped into her reach. Gawtin’s arms slipped off of your shoulders. “Okay, okay. I will allow for you to check me out but-“

“But anything that goes against her command, you will have to face me,” Gawtin interrupted and ate up the space you created between the two of you. Her heat washed over your back, blanketing you in a safety net. Her hands returned to your shoulders. Your body filled with confidence, head held up high and shoulders squared.

Fourta stilled and looked at the two of you before dipping her massive head. “Yes, of course, Gawtin.” Then, she stood back up. “Whenever you’re ready, I will begin my examination. At your speed and comfort.”

The new Yautja was true to her word, more so with the shadow of Gawtin being casted over her. Fourta was smaller than Gawtin by five inches, both by size and bulk. Gawtin was a hefty creature, yet not the largest Yautja out of the village. Fourta had a thinner body which is normal for the coastal clans, chest deep for the need for bigger lungs. Her arms having a slight fin on the outer sides to help with swimming.

A coastal Yautja wouldn’t dare to mess with a jungle Yautja in their own land and vice versa.

Once you were done with being poked and prodded, Fourta gave you more news. Three months. Three months along. Three missed periods you believed from the stress. Which, if you weren’t pregnant, you believed it still wouldn’t be working properly from everything you endured. So you don’t have a reason to worry at first.

Until now.

She left, leaving Gawtin with all the data they have about a hybrid pregnancy and birth. Information Gawtin would share with you at a later time. It was time to lax, to keep yourself calm during the duration of your pregnancy.

A way Gawtin knew was by drawing you a bath in her massive tub that could easily fit three female Yautjas comfortably. With soap and scents from a flower similar to lavender.

The clothing that was both a mixture from her and Bgiwl was pulled off of you and folded to the side. She didn’t even allow for you to take another step towards the tub. You were scooped off the ground and carried into the water. The perfect temperature for your body and newly growing baby.

Gawtin sat down on a ledge hidden under the water with you in her lap. You straddled her wide waist, arms surrounding her torso. The water drew away the tension in your body until you were lax against her. She rubbed the length of your spine, filling the curve of the bone. You groaned and tilted your head up. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you muttered and put your face on her sternum.

Claws zipped down your spine and drew a shutter from you. “I will be here for you.” Your eyes clenched shut, feeling the familiar burn of tears all over again. He said the same thing and looked where you are now.

“How’s this going to work? I-I’ve never be-en pregnant befo-re. I’ve never had a ch-ild before. I don’t know what I’m doing!” The hands left your back to cup your face and force your head up at her. “And-and without him! What am I go-ing to-to do?!” Your mewls and blubbering started again in full force. Your view blurred by the fresh set of tears staining your face. “I-I could die!”

As you opened your mouth to rant once more, a thumb brushed over your lips and silenced you. You looked up at Gawtin expectingly. “My brother chose you for a reason. Permant mates are not something we fool around with. He saw the potential in you. Though, he has gone to meet Cetanu, you are not alone in this.” When you tried to dip your head to curl into a ball, she followed your head with hers while keeping her grip firm.

“Each step through this pregnancy, I will be here for you. Along the way, the entire way. You will not be alone,” she stated with no room for an argument. You whimpered, cried slowly turning into hiccups. You raised your arms and placed them on her chest, water dripped off of your elbows.

“G-Gawtin,” you stuttered her name, doubt and hope both swirling inside of your eyes while gaze at her. Slowly, the green Yautja leaned forward and rested her forehead to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and enjoyed to the peace brought to this moment. “Thank you.”

All she did was hum and began to purr. Even though you knew the position couldn’t be good for her back, she stayed for as long as you wanted. Her hands holding your face, forehead to forehead. A little spark burning to life in the ashes.

Your belly grew, your ankles were swollen almost all the time, and your breasts ached so badly. All of this affected your back. At times, you cursed your lost mate for the predicament he put you in without him being here to help you. As time continued on, you wouldn’t trade Gawtin for anyone else. Her knowledge of pregnancy, though alien, was extremely helpful.

Every week, you got a checkup from Fourta, taking what was necessary and making sure you were well. And you were. Well, besides the constant body aches but Gawtin let you know that’s okay. Every time, she would run you a bath to relieve aches and pains. Every time, your eyes would sparkle while looking at her.

Qui’oky, as if sensing your discomfort at the current moment, waddled over to you. He does this adorable little run, hands nearly up to his arm pits and head slightly bowed. Like a little bull charging towards you.

At nearly two years old, twenty-two months, he stood a head taller than your knee. His hands slapped against your thigh as he stopped, chest to your leg. Oky doesn’t speak English just yet but you were teaching him a little every time he was willing to sit down. Yautja children rarely ever stop. Always on the move, testing their limits about everything.

This was a precursor to your new life. You were thankful that Gawtin was allowing you time around Oky and learning the ropes before it becomes a real deal.

The child at your feet chirped again to gain your full attention. With how round your belly has gotten, you weren’t able to lean forward. Instead, you tilted your head. “What’s wrong, little Oky?” you cooed to the toddler and offered a hand to him. He clicked at you in a mixture of baby talk and true Yautja. You were able to pick up a couple bits and pieces but it was hard to truly understand him.

He gave a huff then ran away from you, doing that precious run. Your shoulders shook with laughter at his antics. If he was trying to cheer you up, he sure did it.

Your hand rested on your profound belly and softly rubbed the stretched skin. Fourta was slightly concerned on how big your stomach had stretched to accommodate your growing kid. She first thought it was twins, but a quick scan only showed one heartbeat. Big and mighty. Just like their father.

Her biggest concern was the birthing process. Despite every Yautja striving for a vaginal birth, for the safety of you and your child, a Cesarean section would be the best option for you.

Of course, it’s up to you if you would like to process down this road. Getting cut open and your baby pulled out doesn’t fit with your dread of birthing them. You wanted to hold them, cradle them close, be the first one they see. And the healing process afterwards. Everything would be left to Gawtin, more than usual. At least for a month, you would be useless. You had time to think. Every second was used.

A shadow cast over your form. With a hum, you titled your head up and was met with the gaze of Gawtin. There stood your goddess adorned in casual clothing nearly like your own, except the bra holding up your grown breasts. More stretch marks lined the skin there. Your body sensed as if your baby was large and needed a heavy supply.

In her arms was Qui’oky, a moss green blob with short, maroon tresses. He began to blabber nonsense to his mother. She responded as if she understood every word that fell from his mandibles. Then, Gawtin lowered herself to her haunches, still holding her little one. One of her hands rested on your knee. “Would you like for me to run you a bath?” she questioned, eyes soft as they gazed at you.

You smiled at her. “If you can peel me off of this couch, then I will happily accept your offer,” you jestered with a light laugh. Her own upper mandibles raised at your comment.

“Your wish is my command.” The green giant offered her arm for you to grapple onto. To which, you did with a firm grasp. As she stood back up, she pulled you along for the ride, eyes observing your entire movement. Once you were settled back on your feet, she guided you carefully to the bathroom, taking every stride at your pace.

If you were to ever move from this place, you would demand a tub like this to be in place. It was larger than an average hot tub, which was perfect for both you and Gawtin to fit in comfortably. The nudeness of the two of has long been a forgotten bother. Bgiwl drove the disgust and terror out of your system long before you met Gawtin. Gawtin has helped further.

Though before, you were grossed out by all your stretch marks appearing, they were a sign your baby was growing healthy and strong. Same with how large your belly has gotten. Your growing child was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

Gawtin settled you on a ledge under the water. The perfect temperature to fight off the ever-growing soreness that has woven its way into your very bones. “I will return,” she explained before spinning on her heel and taking her leave. You were saddened to see her go.

When she returned the room, it was without Oky. Every step she took towards the tub, a piece of clothing was stripped from her body. At the edge, she was fully naked like yourself. Gawtin carefully lowered herself into the calming waters. Then, the Yautja picked you up from your spot, took it as her own, and deposited you in her lap.

This time, you have your back to her torso, head leaned back to expose your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut as you go lax against the other mother. Her hands rested on your hips, thumbs running over the newly created bumps. There wasn’t enough coconut butter to save your body from the marks it has received. You reached above your head and carded your hands together behind her neck. The Yautja purred slightly and ran her hand up your side, gaining a shutter from you.

“There’s never enough words for me to show you my appreciation,” you uttered softly. Without her, you would be completely lost, even before learning about this pregnancy.

Bgiwl’s death still hurts, it forever will. But that hole he left was slowly being healed by Gawtin. Her presence, her words. Everything about her was healing. She filled what needed to be complete. You needed her more than she would ever know.

With your eyes shut, you felt her head shake. “There is no need.” That earned a huff from you. The hand petting your side left the skin there to softly grasp at your throat. Her thumb rubbed along your pulse, feeling it flutter like bird wings. “I told you in the beginning, I would be here for you. I am a Yautja of my word. I will stay. Through thick and thin.”

A whine built up in the back of your throat, eyes opening to stare at the blank ceiling. You shifted in her lap, still in slight discomfort. It was one growing for a while but you didn’t know how to relieve it. Your hands trembled, on the verge of rubbing at your tender breasts but stilled before making yourself a fool. You couldn’t do that in front of her!

Yet, the discomfort never vanished. It only grew worse even in the warm water shrouding you. You groaned and body your head with shame, doing everything in your power not to rub at them.

Your body was picked up and turned around to be chest to chest Gawtin. Green hands cupped your face and forced your head up again. You wouldn’t met her eyes. Not with the heat blazing to life beneath your cheeks.

“Your breasts, they hurt. Do they not?” Gawtin asked, as if reading your mind. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded to the best of your ability. She understood. Gawtin hummed and let a hand drift down to rest on top of your collarbone. “If you consent, I can help relieve you of the pressure. My own would ache before the suckling came. My second to last one was the worse. A giant suckling too. Needed every last drop.”

The palm of her hand was incredibly warm against your skin that it was making it hard to say no. You should. You really should. No one’s touched you since… since Bgiwl. And this… this would damn you.

“What would that entail?” you returned, eyes wide and finally meeting hers. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment within them. Just understanding and something else you couldn’t pick up on.

Her hand didn’t move but her claws flexed, creating indents in your feeble skin. “I would help push the milk out. You are in pain from the pressure build up.” You knew she wouldn’t dumb it down. Most Yautjas don’t beat around the bush and just get it out. No reason too. It wastes precious time, especially in a hunt.

Your eyes still jumped wide. “Like-like a cow?!” Her explanation did make sense but… it felt wrong to do that. Yet, to ease your pain? The pressure was bothersome that just rubbing or using hot water couldn’t solve.

“I do not know what that is. Would you like me to?” Gawtin still offered to you, letting you have the chance to deny her. It was all up to you.

You gnawed at your bottom lip then glanced down at your swollen breasts. It sounded both alien and heaven sent to have her relieve you of this annoying pain. You pushed down your nerves then raised your head to find her purple irises. “Okay. Just, just be gentle. They really hurt,” you relented, inhaling a shaky breath.

“If you are worried about waste, if you would like, I can bottle it up?” Gawtin offered as well. That got you thinking. Yet, if your body is producing this much before you have given birth, you will be fine. You shook your head in denial. “Okay. Remember, you control this. If you want me to stop, say so. It is your choice after all.” You could help the way your body nearly sagged against her due to her words. She was a blanket of safety you’ve been craving for a long time now.

“Please.”

A calloused but softened from water hand first engulfed the entirety of one of your swollen breasts. You flinched at first but we’re swift to nodded your head to encourage her. Your bottom lip was trapped between dull teeth, eyes fluttering shut in reaction. The hand still on your face pinched your chin. “Open your eyes, pretty little thing. Need to see those eyes.”

Instantly, the room felt ten times hotter.

“Keep-keep going,” you begged with a shaky voice that didn’t portray confidence, but it was enough.

The first squeeze had you choking on your own breath. Your nipples highly sensitive. Beads of white milk dribbled out and rolled down the curve of your under boob. “Oh, fuck.” She ate up your noises like sweet treats. Some beads collected on her hand. She released her hold and brought her hand up. With her long, skinny tongue, she licked off the milk. You watched the way her pupils widened, turning black before her eyes.

Before you had a chance, Gawtin picked you up and placed you on the tubs ledge. She stood between you open legs, head closer to your chest. “Let me taste you. You won’t be in pain anymore.” If you didn’t know better, she was begging. She wouldn’t ever admit being as prideful as she is. All you could do was nod your head rapidly.

This time, both hands found their spot on your breasts. One squeezed again. You found her shoulders to be your anchor and groaned. The giant leaned her head in, tongue darting out and licking up a stripe to catch the drop. The roughness of her tongue laved over your nipple. You moan, legs spreading wider to accommodate her size. She was more than happy to eat what space you offered to her.

You slightly knocked out of the moment when her fangs opened close to your teat. She felt your body tense up and stopped before her mouth was too close. “Ease, little ooman. I will not hurt. Just taste.” You took a deep breath in and nodded to allow her to continue. She took it to heart.

With her mouth awaiting, she pinched your boob again. More milk was released with the extra force. She was quick to lick up the spilled milk. “G-Gawtin,” you moaned her name, body growing warmer.

It was onto the next teat. Your hips rutted down on the tiled floor dragging against nothing, not gaining any friction. You released another soft cry, nails digging into her shoulders as more was drawn from your nipples, drinking from you like a spring stream.

She may not be able to suckle. Yet, the way she messaged your swollen breasts, each given the same treatment every passing minute was heaven sent. Your bottom lip growing heavy until you could only pant and writhe in her hold. She drank from you, easing up your pain with gentle caresses.

The longer this drew on, the more clouded your brain grew. It made it hard to think, of anything more than just her sipping away at your milk.

The entirety of your body was on fire. Every nerve a lit anew. You’re buzzing with energy and ready for more. You tilt your head up with a pleasing gaze. “More,” you begged and canted your hips downwards, grinding against nothing but air. All the while, Gawtin watched and consumed in rapture. Your milk sweet on her tongue. She became greedy for more, pushing more out to swallow down her throat. “Please.” You were going to be the death of her.

Her hand not actively pulling your nectar out found its way to your hip, claws biting at your skin. If possible, you shuffled your thighs more open, inviting that hand to find your twitching clit. You knew she had to smell your arousal thick in the air.

A spike of frustration hit you. You snatched her wrist and forced it between your legs to ease the new, growing ache she created. “Touch me.” With the dizzy effect she caused you from just sucking your breasts, you were mindless and acting on instinct for the pleasure building up inside.

Gawtin was quick to act. Her thick digits rubbing circles around your puffy, swollen clit. You moaned out and leaned forward, head resting on her broad shoulders, back arch slightly due to you belly. A combination of water and your growing slick dripped down from the insides of your thighs. It didn’t take long for Gawtin to make you a hot, sticky, sweaty mess in the palm of her hands.

At first, you tried to get on your knees to allow her more access to your slick cunt. Yet, Gawtin forced you onto your back and pinned you there. Her mouth refused to leave its spot latched onto your nipples. Her hand continued to rub tight circles around your clit, drawing out moans. Your hands clawed at the tiled floor, unable to find a lick of purchase anywhere.

Your hips lifted off of the wet floor and grinded down on her hand. She growled in reaction and sent vibrations up your sensitive nipples that had you seeing stars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out, scrambling for an anchor but coming empty handed at Gawtin’s mercy.

All of your muscles locked down tight, more slicky drippling down to stain the floor and your thighs. Gawtin did everything in her power to draw your orgasm out, drowning in the very pleasure you begged for. Gulping down every drop of milk you produce, Gawtin soothed the ache in your breasts.

Your back relaxed to the floor while you laid there as a twitching mess. Your eyes drifted shut, chest heaving with each deep breath. A groan sounded from your drained body. Gawtin purred above you and gave each other your nipples a cleaning lick before pulling off.

“You have given me a taste, Treasure. Now, I will be hungry for more,” she growled while trailing her fangs across your skin up to your ear. You whimpered underneath her, back arching up again.

After caressing the shell of your ear, she pulled back to peered down at your lax form. “How do you feel?” her voice rumbled from deep within her chest. You cracked up your eyes to find her still hovering above you. One of her arms holding her weight by your head.

“Fucking amazing,” you breathed out. She laughed, shoulders shaking with the movement. With her free hand, she caressed with the back of her hand your cheekbone. “Anytime you want to do that, I will not deny you that.”

“Good. Your milk is so sweet and delicious. It would be hard to part with it after gulping it down.” Her free hand slid down to your emptier breasts and gave each a light squeeze.

“God, they feel so sensitive.”

“How long have they ached? I am surprised you had not done anything to relieve the pressure sooner. They were quite full,” she asked and swiped off a bead of milk that had been freed. Her tongue licked it off of her thumb.

All you did was shrug. “Probably for a couple of weeks. To be honest, I didn’t know if I could.” Again, this pregnancy was completely new to you. You didn’t know what you were doing.

“Oh, sweet ooman. From now on, if they ached, just a little bit, let me know.” She leaned down and got into your face. “I will be more than happy to relieve that ache.”

Fuck yourself twice. Your clit throbbed against your will at her words washing over you. To have this massive Yautja more than willing to drink you dry as your will was something you didn’t know you liked. But now, you could check that heavily on your list.

“I will allow free access to them.” A growl pierced the air. One of her mandibles twitched.

“I would not offer that up so freely, little ooman. You do not know what you are giving up.” You looked her straight in the eye.

“Take what you want.” Though, they were softened from the lack of milk, Gawtin found a different spot to drink from.

[dilfhos]

STRAY

#!WHO : SHIGARAKI TOMURA

#!CC: puppygirl!reader, thoughts of depravity, readers kinda naive, no thots just dick, there’s no expressive consent but reader’s kinda dumb and needy, use of “doggy” and “pup”. reader does actually bark (not them arf, yips! like a husky, heady bark.) MDNI.

+bringing back this banger from my old blog. you can also read it on my ao3. im nervous lol idk how its gonna hold up 2 years later, diff audience. i can’t remember the ask specifically but it was something like Shigaraki finding a stray and he ends up using her. omg and i want to tag @bakatenshii idk if you remember my old alias but i do remembered you loved this fic!

+NETWORK(S): @angelshub @bitchcraftinc (i keep forgetting to do this mL, excuse the random @/lovelies)

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad…

Shigaraki still wonders how he ever let this be, an animal-woman hybrid living in his already cramped apartment. Doesn’t know why he hadn’t bothered to kick you out either. But it could be anybody’s guess as to why you still remain.

It all started when he got into an argument with his landlord, one that required him the self control to back off and avoid killing the bastard. It was rainy but Shigaraki paid no mind to the stinging raindrops that pelted his skin and soaked his clothes. It was dark out, but not too dark as to not notice you cowering against the side of his building upon his return. Your eyes were closed as you trembled in the cold rain.

Shigaraki didn’t know why he found himself moving closer to get a better look at you but when your eyes shot open, he found himself almost curious. He’d never seen anything like you before. Especially when your ears, you very doglike ears twitched forward, erect and alert. But you didn’t seem all that afraid. You were dressed in soaked shirt that was too big for you as it sagged off your body.

He crouched down and you inched toward him reluctantly and as you moved from your previous position, his eyes sought out the tail that had been tucked in between your legs.

“Hey, there you are,” Someone cooed from behind him. Shigaraki turned to eye the man. There was nothing all that remarkable about him; he wore all black, his hood over his head save for a few dark locks that stuck to his brows. Shigaraki wasn’t the least bit intimidated. But that couldn’t be said for you as you frantically dove into his arms, letting out a frightened whimper. Your ears flattened against your head as your hands curled into Shigaraki’s coat.

He wanted to back you off and leave from the situation as it had nothing to do with him and was fixing to do so when he looked down. Your pupils were blown and eyes glossy, pleading.

He sighed before standing, pulling you up with him to stand on trembling feet.

“She yours?” Shigaraki mumbled. You moved behind him, your hands tightening on his clothes.

“Heh, yeah, ran right out through the door. Isn’t that right baby?” You growled all while cowering behind Shigaraki’s form.

“No collar,” Shigaraki noted.

“Been meaning to get her one. C’mon baby, why don’t you leave the nice man alone and come back home with me?” He cooed.

The utter confidence and trust you had in Shigaraki at this moment was appalling. He barely covered the man in terms of height and upon first glance, he looked rather average. Definitely not the type to win in a fist fight. So why were you so dependent on him to save you?

Shigaraki didn’t have time to really think too much about it because the man advanced, silver glinting under the streetlamp. You yelped and cowered back against the wall again, covering your eyes.

You heard a grunt followed by a pained cry as that then died into the sound of pelting rain. When you lowered your shaky hands, Shigaraki was standing over a pile of what looked to be ash, the knife a few feet away.

Ever since that night, he couldn’t seem to shake you.

You’re loyal and to him, it’s annoying. Showing up at his doorsteps turns into you sleeping on his ratty couch. His chasing you away turns into grumbles of tolerance. The typical sneer he wears when you come sniffing around dissolved in hidden blushes and twitched lips as your distrustful cowering eventually turn into you becoming disturbingly comfortable around him.

After another day of pressing his key into the lock does he already see you on the other side of the door, tail whipping back and forth in excitement as you await his return. Except he isn’t really in the mood. Today was particularly bad and he wanted nothing more than to possibly let off steam, maybe watch something, blow his load and sleep.

“Stupid mutt, stop doing that!” He growls when his back immediately slams against the door, eyes narrowed in the way you smile up at him.

“Welcome home sir.” You beamed.

Another thing you picked up was calling him ‘sir’. Despite the many times he tells you not to. He wasn’t your last owner, and honestly, he’d like it if you didn’t call him anything. But every one of his complaints go through one ear and out the other with you having half the intelligence of an actual dog.

He recoils when he feels your tongue graze his neck. Groans when it doesn’t just end there. You’re licking his chin, his neck, and when your tongue laps over his lips, he’s trying to buck you off. But you’re so persistent as you press further against him, your front grinding up against his groin unknowingly.

Shigaraki bites back a moan at your ignorance, his cock already hardening from your aimless shifting.

You couldn’t feel the bulge pushing against your thigh? The soft grunts he’d release when you’d lap at the rough skin of his neck? You can’t be that stupid or then maybe you are.

But would it be that bad if you are? Because then he wouldn’t feel guilty when he dreams of stuffing you full with his cock. You practically ask for it every chance you get with him. The sleeping in his bed, your excessive show of affection, the sickening devotion in your eyes.

And then, isn’t it what he deserved? He did save you that night. Do you even remember how easy it could have been for him to just walk away? To give you up to that creep? Sure it only happened a few weeks ago but he thinks of that night as if it was only the last. How when he brought you home and went to retrieve a towel to dry you up, you were on your hands and knees practically presenting yourself to him as you slumped in exhaustion. As if giving him the go ahead to do what he wanted to and by gods, it took everything with him not to.

He wasn’t a hero, not by a long shot. And maybe you didn’t have the mental capacity to accept that he was actually a villain because in your eyes, he was your savior.

But as said, today was a particularly bad day and right now he felt anything but.

So just this once he’ll give in. Whether you wanted it or not didn’t matter to him at this point, already past contemplation. After all you’re his pet now, his property and if he can’t do this then what good are you really?

You release your little whimpers and when you look up, your eyes are wide, so full of confusion when he suddenly has you on your hands and knees pressing into you from behind on the floor. Your owner wears a new look, his eyes so feral, teeth gritted. And you know that look; it was the look of your last owner among all the other men that tried to take you on the streets. Hunger. Greed. Desperation.

And you should be wary, should cower away from the carnality in his eyes because you know better than anyone that when it’s present one thing is desired. Yet, you hold your ground. You don’t struggle, in fact he could just make out the way your hips shimmy back a little bit and the whine that surfaces from your throat.

You just can’t help it, the air around you has changed. A thick cloud of hot lust is weighing down around you and so much so, you can’t help but to submit. Besides you trust him one for reasons you can’t figure out.

Shigaraki refuses to meet your eyes, instead he quickly fumbles with his belt and takes out his hard cock. A blush spreads across his face when he eyes the steady slick trailing down your thighs and upon closer inspection he can see how swollen you were and that’s what does him in.

It’s what has him surging forward, bottoming out completely inside of you. Your ears flatten against your head as you let out the neediest sounding moan, one that has a shiver licking down his spine.

“Shit. Shit,” He should feel ashamed, taking advantage of you like this. But he clings on the fact that he’s a villain, that’s his justification. A villian with his pet, that’s all this is.

It’s fueling his newfound vigor as he speeds up, the heat of your tight cunny sucking him in with every cant of his hips.

His fingers dig into the plush of your hips as his own thrust forward, his cock forcing past your tight ring of muscle. You look back again, your eyes glossy with tears, long tongue hanging out as you whine and pant. He was so thick, so heavy within your tight, hot walls. Your nails scrape helplessly against the dingy carpet as he rocks into you with so much drive.

In the midst of your panting and whining surfaces his voice, so grating and filthy as he tumbles every degrading name in the book. It should worry him and yet it has his stomach knotting up, his thighs and glutes tightening as he holds on to your hips for dear life. And in the midst of that is the loud, wet, shlicks of each sink into you.

“My needy little bitch. Taking my cock like a good doggy,” He grits, eyeing the recoil of your ass against his hips.

His hand seeks out the base of your tail as he uses it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. And it hurts, it has the tears spilling over and yet, your cunt only tightens around him some more.

“F-Feels good sir!” You cry out at about the same time as he mumbles,

“Good doggy, such a good pup,” And at his praise, your ears bend forward, and your tail begins to switch slowly in his gasp. You feel a knot in your tummy, desperately winding down to what you’re chasing. It has you rocking back against him needy to have, so so needy. And the way your resolve has melted away, it makes all his thoughts of guilt completely vanish, leaving him with an unbearable need to fill you up.

He’s quickly pulling out and flipping you onto your back, nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he spreads you wide.

You were so wet, inhumanly so as it’s gushing down onto the carpet and the sight alone has him nearly cumming right then and there but he holds it. At least until he’s thrusting into you again, your head thrown back as you let out a broken whine. Your tits bounce with all the force he’s using as he’s putting everything into these last moments. His one track kind only focuses in the tuft of fur above your cunny, at the way your puffy lips pull part each time he's pushing forward and the slick coating his cock.

You’re yelping with each kiss he delivers to your cervix, hands desperate to hold onto to your new owner. You reach out and he grasps your wrists, using you to thrust impossibly deeper into you. Static fills his mind as his eyes roll back, his hips slamming against yours, balls smacking your ass each time.

“Fuck, fuck cumming!”

“Sir! Sir please-” You cut your own self off with a heady bark, one that startles him. It’s also what has him groaning as he twitches, his seed spilling so suddenly into you. Your pussy milks him as you gush around his dick and it has him falling over, elbows pressed into the carpet on either side of your head. Your legs wrap around his waist as your hips shimmy up against him, whining as you push past your own limits, twitching every so slightly at the overstimulation and sealing this moment of what would be the best one in your simple little head.

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad.

He also thinks he should probably name you.

dilfos. do not plagiarize any parts of my content— current or archival. all rights reserved.

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 3 (Finale)

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 8700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: I asked and you voted! One final part instead of 2! Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

A New Life Masterlist

The horses neigh and stomp at the ground, anxious to enter the city and start their path through its streets to the capital building where the Emperors were waiting for us.

Not us. Him.

The tent opens and Marcus strides out of it, his presence commanding. He’s dressed in a white and gold armor, a ridiculous color for actual battle but damn if it doesn’t leave me breathless. His hair sits in perfect salt and pepper curls, a new scar on his face a red line across his cheek, enhancing his attractiveness. Now I understand why Lucilla dressed me in a white and gold tunic - to match him. To show a team. To show my support of him. 

Marcus is lost in thought as he makes his way to the chariot where he is to ride and lead the procession, I'm somewhere behind him, not so far back that I’ll have to run to keep up with him at the end, but not so close that I take any attention from him. Not that Marcus would care in the slightest, but these Emperors are so damn picky. He doesn’t notice me at first, completely focused on whatever he’s thinking about until he nearly knocks into me. He steps back, an apology forming on his lips that dies there as he takes me in, his eyes roaming up and down my body. 

“You…you’re stunning.”

I can feel my cheeks warm and I glance away from him and back. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Marcus scoffs. “This old thing? I feel ridiculous in it.”

I step up next to him and speak in his ear. “Well then I’ll have to help you out of it.”

A growl rumbles in his throat. “Let’s skip the celebration. Think they’ll notice?”

I smile. “They might.”

“Damn.” He tips my chin up and presses a soft kiss to my lips that starts to heat up when his chariot driver clears his throat. Marcus breaks the kiss, his eyes lingering on my face a moment longer. 

“Sir. Sir, it’s time.”

His eyes are glued to mine and I can see all the anxiety and worry building there, not just for himself but for me as well. “See you up on the hill.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Damn this city is loud. I thought we had a lot of people but they were nothing compared to this. Packed in tight and yelling their approval, I can barely hear myself think. Despite my rapid heartbeat that increases the closer we make it to the center of the city, I can hear them chant his name. Acacius! Acacius! Acacius! They love him. And I find my first commonality with the people here in the great city of Rome.

We turn down a street and head through these massive pillars and down another path, at the end of which stands a massive white staircase. At the top I see 2 men clad in white robes - they must be the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. My stomach turns immediately and I have a sense of foreboding, but that may just be my nerves. I’ve never met rulers of a nation this size before. Marcus hops off his chariot and walks back to mine, offering me his hand as I disembark.

“Are you ok?” He asks as I step down.

I shrug. “As good as I can be.” 

He escorts me up the stairs, pausing several from the top to drop my arm, a move we had discussed earlier, as the Emperors would want to address him directly. I watch him ascend those last steps alone, praying that everything goes alright.

Also to check out his thighs because damn.

Some words are exchanged between them that are lost to me, the crowd behind me is too loud for me to make it out. Then they place a crown of golden laurels on his head, which sends my mind whirling. He looks like one of the Gods themselves. He addresses the crowd with a raised hand as they all cheer and chant his name. Then he extends his hand down to me, his eyes immediately finding mine and trying to offer some comfort. I gather up my tunic and ascend the last few steps, happily taking Marcus’s hand. He gives it a little squeeze and some of the nerves leave my body. 

“Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta. May I present to you my wife, Cornelia.”

Pale makeup cakes both of their faces, coal darkening the skin around their eyes making them look less imposing and more…psychotic? Geta addresses me first, his eyebrows raised as his eyes rake over me and flick between Marcus and myself.

“General Acacius. You found yourself a wife. It’s about time.” He takes a step closer to me. “We all thought he would die without having heirs.”

I nod. “I see, my Lord.”

His head cocks to the side, his eyes still on me as Caracalla steps up beside him. “Your hair is absolutely gorgeous! That red is so vibrant!”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Their eyes are studying me, watching me and for the first time, I realize exactly why Marcus asked Lucilla to tutor me. 

“Come! Let’s celebrate and get to know your new wife!” They turn and head into the room behind them, marching up to a table with a few goblets of wine. Marcus looks at me and gives me a soft smile before offering his arm to escort me inside. A servant offers us both a glass of wine and I take it, copying Marcus. 

“We will have the games in your honor, Acacius.” Geta holds out his cup to toast. 

“That is not necessary. I am merely happy to serve Rome.” Marcus lifts his glass to toast, but Geta withdraws his own, Caracalla looking between them with disappointment. 

“Nonsense. We are celebrating your wins, Acacius.”

“The wins are not mine but yours. I do this for Rome.”

Geta stares at Marcus for several tense moments. “Then you’ll be happy to hear we plan on conquering India and many others next, under your leadership of course.”

Marcus’s shoulders droop ever so slightly. “My Emperors. I was hoping to have a break from war to spend time with my new wife.”

My heart swells, but then Geta interrupts my thoughts. “Surely it won’t take you that long to make babies?”

Caracalla laughs. “It might brother. He is old.” They laugh together, Marcus smirking at an attempt to join in the jest, but I’m seething inside. This old man could kill them in an instant. 

“Whatever time it takes, I’d like to make sure my wife settles in and is comfortable before I go off again.”

Geta studies him a moment. “Nimibia.”

I can feel Marcus tense beside me. “What of Nimibia?”

“Take Nimibia for us. Once you return, we will have the games and then talk of a break for your lovely wife.” Getas eyes find mine for a moment, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips before he looks to Marcus. “That is not a request.”

Marcus takes a deep breath. “As my Emperors command.”

Caracalla claps his hands together. “Excellent! And don’t worry about Cornelia. I’m sure she’ll have fun at court!”

It’s merely a week later when Marcus heads for Port Ostia, his troops sailing this time to Nimibia. We had said several long goodbyes as I held him between my thighs. His last kiss was hard and deep, pouring every ounce of love and worry into it. He pulls back and cradles my face in his hands, speaking so quietly that I can almost not hear him.

“Stick close to Lucilla. You can only trust who she trusts, yes?” I nod. “Say nothing to anyone. There are ears everywhere.”

“I understand.”

He kisses me again. “Please be safe, Cornelia. Court is deceptively dangerous.”

“You’re going off to a literal battle and you’re telling me to be safe?”

There is no smile on his face. “Some battles are fought with swords. Others are fought with words and they can often do more damage.”

He’s right. “I understand. If I miss you, I can simply go stare at your statue.”

Marcus groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “You’re never going to let me live that one down are you?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“I did not ask for that.”

“I bet not.” 

“Truly! I came back from a campaign and they demanded it. And now I have to stare at that thing every time I walk down that street. I try to avoid it.” We chuckle together at that and then fall silent for a bit. 

I smooth my hands down the front of his armor. “Listen here, Marcus Acacius. You-” I jab a finger at his armor. “-are not allowed to die. Or get severely wounded. I forbid it. I won’t allow it. Do you understand me?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he tries to remain serious. “Yes, ma’am.”

We watch each other for a few moments, Marcus brushing a few stray red strands of hair off of my face. One last kiss, a heated one, and then he abruptly spins on his heel and leaves, closing the door behind him. One might find this harsh but I get it. He had to make a quick exit. It’s too hard to leave otherwise. I walk to the window and watch him stride to his waiting horse, taking the reigns from the stable boy as he heads out of the city. 

The house is quiet, except for the street noise from outside. There is a servant wandering around in the kitchen, but I am truly alone in this giant city.

Alone in a city full of people, most of whom I can’t trust. 

It’s been 2 months and I am certain about one thing: I. Hate. Court.

The Emperors demand my appearance at nearly every single party they put on, some of them more mild but most of them are outrageous. They bring in people to fight to the death as they place bets, the blood and body parts splattering across the floor to cheers and geers. The first time this happened, I was not prepared. I practically ran from the room to empty my stomach into the first pot I could find. 

When there weren’t fights to the death, and even when there were, the amount of promiscuity made me extremely uncomfortable. I am not a prude by any means, but I also don’t care to partake in massive orgies, especially when I was not made aware it was that kind of party. Emperor Geta tried to get me to stay, talking to me as I tried to keep my attention solely on him. Eventually, the woman hanging off of him took his full attention and I managed to slip away. Thankfully, no one questioned my absence. 

I tried often to get out of these parties, choosing to spend more time with Lucilla or pretend I was sick. It worked sometimes, either I missed my invitation or I was too ill to answer it. I remembered what Marcus had told me about being careful so when Lucilla told me I would have to stomach at least a few parties to keep up appearances, I did. For Marcus. 

Another month goes by when I receive another invitation. I’m about to say my apologies, as I have no desire to be amongst all of the backstabbing and political plays, but the delivery boy taps the front of the letter, urging me to read it. I open the invitation and my stomach flips, my lips pulling up in a smile as tears drop from my eyes.

Marcus will be home the day after tomorrow, a successful conquer of Nimibia. 

“Let the Emperors know I will be at the welcoming ceremony.” The boy nods and turns, running back to the capital building. 

My mind is whirling with questions and scenarios, mainly wondering if he had been injured. I had only received one letter in his absence, and he told me it would be almost impossible to communicate once he reached a point. Still, it has been hard these last months without him. 

“Leta?” I call out and my servant comes around the corner. 

“Ma’am?”

“General Acacius is coming home. Come, help me figure out what to wear.”

Just like my initial arrival into the city, the crowds are massive and loud and for once I’m glad I’m at the top of these ridiculous stairs. Leta and I had chosen the same outfit I’d worn on that day to match Marcus. Before we head out of the capital building and wait at the top of the stairs, Emperor Geta walks up to me.

“Nervous?” His eyes study me.

I smile coyly, playing my part. “A little.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. And if not…well I’m sure I can find a place for you here.” He takes a sip from a goblet, his eyes never leaving my face.

I swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat. “You are too kind, Emperor.”

He takes a step closer to me, too close in my opinion. He brushes my hair behind my exposed shoulder, his eyes tracing down my neck and across my collarbone. “I am nothing if not generous.”

Before I can say or do anything, a soldier walks in and salutes, his fisted hand tapping the opposite side of his chest. “Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta. They are in the city walls.”

Geta’s gaze is still on my face. “Come. Let’s go see if your husband is still…intact.” He offers me his arm and every fiber of my being wants to reject it. But I remember Lucilla’s words of warning. Always accept an arm from the Emperor. I put on that coy smile and take it, my stomach churning both at his touch and anticipation for what I’m about to see. Caracalla comes to my other side and we all walk out, Geta dropping my arm several feet from where they will great Marcus. I wait and try to remember how to breathe. The crowd gets louder and louder, their cries suddenly taking on a shape.

Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!

Relief washes over me as I realize they’re chanting his name, which means he must be on his chariot. I can’t see from my position, but a few moments later, Geta and Caracalla look down the steps and I assume he must be coming up them. I hold my breath, waiting for my first glimpse of my husband since he left nearly 4 months ago. 

Suddenly, he’s there. Dressed in white and gold, the sun shining down on his beautiful greying curls, a new scar across his cheek, but otherwise in perfect health. All limbs and no limping. I let out another sigh of relief, unable to stop a few tears from tracing a path down my cheeks. Marcus salutes the Emperors, pointedly not looking at me. I know he has to pay them their proper respects. It’s all part of the game. Some words are exchanged between them, but I only have eyes for Marcus, how he leans his head down so they can place yet another crown of laurels upon it, the way he stands strong, but trying not to impose. The way I can see how exhausted he is in his eyes, even though others may not see it. 

“Ah yes. Your wife. She is here.” Geta steps to the side, gesturing for me to come. I follow the command, my eyes on Marcus, seeing his face light up as his eyes rake over my body both in concern and something darker.

Marcus offers his outstretched hands to me and I take them, his familiar touch relaxing me even more. 

“My lady,” Marcus leans and plants a kiss to the back of my hand, standing back up to smile at me.

Marcus turns and addresses the crowd once more, his arm high in the air, before turning back and offering his arm to me, following the Emperors back inside the capital building. A servant comes and offers us wine, which we all accept. 

“We will have games in your honor. May your sword always be sharp and ready for Rome.”

Marcus shifts beside me. “Games are not necessary, my Emperors. I do this for Rome.”

Geta lowers his cup, the sip he was about to take abandoned. “Nonsense. We must give you the praise you’ve earned.”

“I am happy with no praise. I am only here to serve Rome.”

Geta studies him for a moment. “Well then you’ll be pleased to know we’ve decided to go after India next.”

Marcus clears his throat and I can feel him tense beside me. “Emperors, I was hoping to have the time off of war to spend with my wife that we had discussed before Nimibia.”

Geta looks at me and smirks. “Oh, I think she’s settled in just fine. Haven’t you, Cornelia?”

I plaster on as convincing a smile as I can. “Everyone here is wonderful. But I’ll admit, I have missed my husband and would love to have time with him, as husband and wife should.” 

“Mmm…” Geta’s eyes slowly move to Marcus. “And what say you, General Acacius? Would you let your wife keep you from doing what you do best?”

“May I speak plainly, my Emperors?” Geta cocks his head slightly but nods. “I was contemplating retirement. I am not getting any younger and my captain is more than capable of taking my place. It would give me time to start a family on the estate I am due.”

Caracalla stomps his foot. “No games, then? I want to see limbs being chopped off! I want to see blood! I want to see-”

“Brother! Enough. But you do give me an interesting thought.” He pauses, and I feel like I want to vomit. “We will have the games. And General Acacius, you are correct. You are due an estate at your retirement, anywhere of your choosing. However, it would be a great loss to Rome to lose someone of such skill.”

Marcus shifts slightly. “My Emperors, as I said before, my captain is perfectly-”

“I am not finished.” Marcus closes his mouth and waits. “As I was saying, your retirement would be a great loss to Rome. So how about this: you will compete in some of the battles in the games to represent us, Rome, as a sort of…farewell. If you win, you get to retire and you have my promise no one will bother you. If you refuse, you will leave for India immediately and you will continue warring in the name of Rome until the day you don’t return.” 

Caracalla claps and whoops, but all I hear is whooshing, the sounds from all around me fading into the background. Marcus? Compete in the games? The ones where people fight animals and each other and Gods know what else to the death?

“May I have a moment?” Marcus asks. Geta waves a hand, taking a sip of his wine and turning to talk to his brother, who is still animatedly waving his arms about. 

Marcus takes my arm and escorts me a few feet away, glancing around to make sure no one is in ear shot as he leans in, his eyes on mine. “I have to take this.”

“No! I have not been to these games but if they’re anything like the parties I was forced to attend, you cannot do it!” 

“Cornelia, I cannot keep going away to war. The moment I get back they will send me off again. And one day I may fall and not get back up, lost to another land.”

I lean up, pretending to kiss his cheek. “We could run away. Tell them no and I’ll sneak on the ships or take Caius. We could run away and start over somewhere else.”

“My love, you know they would hunt us down and find us. This is the Roman Empire. They own almost all the world.”

Tears well in my eyes as he pulls back. “I am afraid, Marcus. What happens if…if…”

He pulls my hands up and kisses them. “If something happens to me, go to Lucilla. Stay with her. She will get you out of the city safely. They won’t chase just you.”

“No, Marcus. You can’t.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I must.”   

The next day, Marcus and I sit in chairs behind the Emperors, his hand holding mine as they let loose some animals and fighters into the arena. The scene that follows is not a pretty one but I force myself to watch as the men mostly get punctured with horns or teeth, others being stabbed by their fellow fighters once the animals have all died. One man remained, brown hair and anger in his stance, and he was declared winner of that round.

There were several more rounds of this sort of thing. Sometimes the men would have weapons and other times not. The one thing that was consistent was the blood and gore and death. My stomach churned as I watched the blood pool in pockets around the arena, handlers carting away limbs as the crowd cheered. Then the Emperors stood, Geta turning to face Marcus and I as we stood. 

“Tomorrow, you will have your first match. Sleep well.” He smirks before leaving through the door, Caracalla following in his wake, his monkey perched on his shoulder. I start to say something but Marcus squeezes my hand, shaking his head slightly. It’s not safe to talk here. We hardly say a word to each other on the way back to our apartment, both of our minds on tomorrow. I let Leta go home the moment we come in, rounding on Marcus the second she leaves. 

“You cannot go tomorrow!”

Marcus beckons me to him as he walks to a small table to pour us 2 glasses of wine. He hands me one and we each take a sip, Marcus patting the seat next to him. I take it, setting my glass back on the small table. He speaks quietly, as if he’s afraid there’s someone listening. 

“There is more to this than you can see.”

My eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

He leans in closer. “There is a plan to retake Rome.”

“You mean, overthrow the Emperors?”

“Exactly.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

He shifts even closer to me, our bodies touching. “I have 5000 soldiers coming to Port Ostia. Men who are loyal to me as is my captain. They will march into the city and arrest the Emperors for crimes against the people.”

Nerves hit my stomach, both from relief and anxiety. “Then why don’t you move?”

“They won’t be there for another 8 days. We just have to hang on for that time.”

We’re quiet for a moment. “Who takes over?”

“Lucilla and those still loyal to her father have a plan. Rome will serve her people once more.”

Marcus cups my cheek, turning my face to look him in the eyes. “I know I am asking a lot of you, my love. I did not anticipate the Emperors asking me to compete, but I must keep up appearances.”

Tears start to well in my eyes at the thought of tomorrow. “But what if you-” he cuts me off with a kiss, his tongue pressing its way into my mouth before he pulls back, his forehead against mine. 

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. I may be older but I am still a soldier.”

I don’t eat the next morning, Marcus already gone before I wake. Leta dresses me in silence, this time in a black tunic laced with a gold trim, a red scarf to toss over my shoulder. She gives me a small smile. “To match General Acacius,” she says simply, having seen him depart this morning in his armor. 

An hour or so later, I’m sitting in the Emperor’s box, my chair moved to be seated between the Emperors. I clasp my hands together to keep them from fidgeting with my outfit, willing my legs to stop bouncing. A couple of battles go by but I pay them little attention, only noting that the same man with the anger in his eyes seems to have won some more, the crowd now starting to chant his name. Hanno! Hanno! Hanno! Once the arena was cleared and reset, the announcer clears his throat, addressing the crowd.  

“This battle will be different. General Acacius has agreed to compete in the fights in the name of Rome!” The crowd, momentarily bewildered, starts cheering and chanting his name. One set of gates open and several armed soldiers exit, walking to the middle of the arena. Then the gates on the other side open and the crowd goes wild. Acacius! Acacius! Acacius! Marcus struts out into the arena, sword in hand and determination on his face. I hold my breath and I swear my heart stops beating. A few of the soldiers step forward, meeting Marcus halfway. He salutes them, the hand holding his sword pressed to the opposite shoulder as he bows his head slightly, the soldiers copying him. 

And then, he dances. 

Marcus runs at the first soldier, slashing him down instantly with his sword, coming up to meet the next one. He gets tripped and lands on his back but wastes no time in slashing at their ankles, getting back on his feet only a handful of seconds after he fell. Another soldier slices him across the back and I gasp, seeing Marcus yell in pain before turning to slash at the soldier. 2 more rush him and he parries, a fist making contact with his cheek before he can block it. His sword rises and slices through 2 more soldiers within moments, leaving only one left. The soldier knocks him down but Marcus pulls him with him, angling his sword up so the soldier spears himself upon it as Marcus’s back slams into the ground, his chest heaving. 

The crowd goes wild, his name is chanted louder than before, deafening in the echo of the stadium. He rises to his feet, his sword at his side as he looks around, finding me in the Emperor’s box. He puts his fist to his shoulder in salute, bowing to not just the Emperors, but to me. A sigh of relief escapes me as I release the breath I had been holding for what feels like ages. Then a scoff of disappointment reaches my ears. 

“Damn. I wanted to see more blood!” Caracalla whines, his monkey screeching once at the rise of his voice. 

“Don’t worry brother. You may see more of it soon.”

Rage pours through my veins, my chest heaving against my will to not say or do anything. I swallow hard, turning my gaze to Emperor Geta. 

“My lord, may I go and see to my husband?”

His dark eyes bore into mine. “I think they have doctors there that would be better suited to tend his injuries.”

“You are correct of course, but some things require a woman’s touch.”

Geta smirks, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a more menacing way than I think he realizes. “Touche. Go to him.”

“Thank you.” I bow to them both and calmly take my leave, running once I am out of ear shot. I flag down a guard and demand he take me to where they have the fighters, specifically, the General. He escorts me across the arena and down a few tunnels until we come to a giant barred wall with a barred door set into it. He knocks and a man comes to it.

“Is the general here?”

The guard shakes his head. “Healer’s room. Next gate over.” I thank them both and run to the door, my hand raised to knock before I realize it’s not locked. I walk inside and see…no one. No one is here. I walk back outside and look around. Nothing. But then he rounds the corner, a man following next to him, trying to dab at a scratch on his face. He sees me and his entire demeanor shifts. I run to him, throwing my arms around him the moment we collide. He pushes me against the wall, his hands cupping my face, pressing his heated lips to mine, his thigh sliding between my legs. The man clears his throat but if Marcus hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge him. He merely walks me backwards to the healer’s door and kicks it open, the healer complaining and throwing his hands in the air when Marcus slams it behind us with his foot. 

He walks me backwards, our lips still dancing when my back collides with the exam table. He gropes at my tunic, bunching it up to my hips as he grips them, lifting me up on the table. He shifts himself and pushes into me with a grunt, my lips breaking the kiss as I gasp. His fingers are deep and bruising as he holds my hip with one hand, hitching my thighs around him with the other before slamming it down on the table, giving himself more leverage to thrust deeper and harder, the adrenaline from the fight fueling his desires. I bite his lip and he growls, pressing me further into the table with each thrust as I cling to his broad shoulders. My muscles tighten, my blood pulsing between my thighs as I cum, Marcus swallowing my moans with his mouth. He thrusts into me a few more times before he bites my shoulder, grunting and moaning as he spills himself inside of me. We stay like that, attached and breathing heavily for several long moments, his forehead now pressed to my chest. I raise an arm weakly, running my fingers through his hair. Finally he looks up at me, his brown eyes searching mine. 

“Did I hurt you?”

I smile, shaking my head. “You never do.”

He seems to realize where we are now, straightening up and pulling himnself from me with a hiss. I slide my tunic back down and stand up, adjusting my clothes. 

“I am sorry, Cornelia. I lost myself.”

I cock my head. “Sorry for?”

He gestures around. “It is…not exactly the most private place.”

I stand in front of him and grip him by the armor, looking up into his eyes. “You could fuck me in front of the entire Roman army and I’d beg you to do it again.”

His eyes darken, an eyebrow raised. “Oh really? Because I could make that-”

“Excuse me? Sir?” The healer is at the door, cautiously knocking and trying to avert his eyes. “I need to tend to your wounds. If…if I may?”

Marcus and I exchange a smirk. “Yes. I am…sorry. I get carried away by the sight of my wife.”

The healer chuckles, removing his hand from his eyes and looking at me before looking back at Marcus. “Don’t worry, sir. I have the same reaction to my wife. Which is why we have so many children.” 

The next night, we are wakened by a knock at the door. Marcus sits up and pulls on his tunic, gesturing for me to stay in bed. He comes back in a moment later, his eyes concerned. 

“It’s Lucilla. Did you send home Leta?”

I nod. “Yes. No one should be here until morning. Is everything ok?”

“I don’t know. Get something on an come out.”

I do as he says, quickly pulling over a tunic and a sleeping robe before I head out, seeing Marcus already pouring a glass of wine for Lucilla. She thanks him and takes a nervous sip, looking at me as I walk over. 

“Can I speak freely?” She addresses Marcus, glancing back at me. 

Marcus nods. “She knows. Is everything alright?”

Lucilla takes a shuddering breath and meets his gaze. “It’s him, Marcus.”

“Who?”

“Lucius. My son. He’s back.”

Marcus is silent for several moments, my mind trying to catch up. I do remember her mentioning a son at one point, but I assumed he’d died, as she stopped talking about him after a certain age. 

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I went to see him. This Hanno? That is him. He hates me, Marcus.” Tears start to fall down her cheeks. Marcus takes her hands in his in an attempt to soother her. 

“I am sure that is not true.”

She nods. “He hates me for sending him away.”

“May I speak?” I ask, unsure of my place in this conversation. Lucilla looks up at me, her cheeks glinting in the candlelight with her tears as she nods.

“I was sent away when I was young as well. I don’t think he hates you. He may be upset with you but not hate. I’m sure you didn’t send him away for no reason.”

She shakes her head. “If he had stayed, they would have killed him.”

“Why?” I ask, still not entirely certain I understand Roman politics. 

“Because he is the only heir to the Roman throne. The grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

I know that should mean more than it does to me, but I have heard his name whispered and seen busts of him, mostly in Lucilla’s home. I know he was her father and from what I gather, the last decent Emperor of Rome. When the Emperors still cared about the people. 

Marcus address Lucilla. “My troops are only a few days away. Then they will come into Rome to arrest the Emperors as planned.”

“But you will also have to enter the arena again during this time. What happens if you die?”

Marcus’s jaw clenches slightly. “My captain would still carry out my orders.”

Lucilla shakes her head. “I don’t know. This feels like too much time.”

“What if we..speed it up?” I ask. They both look at me questioningly. “It’s just…I’ve had to spend a lot of time with the Emperors over the last few months and…they each hate that they have to split the crown with the other. I can see it in their eyes, their small movements and glances towards each other. There is brotherly love, but there is a lot of hate and jealousy. What if we use that to our advantage?”

“How so?” Lucilla asks.

I take a deep breath, knowing that this will fall heavily on my shoulders. “We pit them against each other. Whisper in their ears rumors that they’d heard about the other one. Maybe about them trying to take the crown for themselves? Anything to drive that wedge. They may just off each other.”

Marcus looks at me. “This sounds very dangerous. And there’s no guarantee that it would be quicker than my troops.”

I take Marcus’s hand. “I’ve had to be around them for months, watching. Observing. Trust me, it’s right under the surface.”

Marcus and Lucilla exchange a look. “It could work, Marcus. She’s not wrong.”

“Yes but she will be in danger. I don’t want that.”

I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. “We’re all in danger the longer we’re here. You don’t think they would try to take you out just to have me? Why do you think you’re in the games? I can do this, Marcus. They would love the attention, especially Geta.” 

Lucilla thinks a moment. “They kill each other and my son takes over as heir. Assuming he would want that title. If not, we have a replacement. He already said he would happily stand aside for Lucius.”

Marcus shakes his head. “I don’t know-”

“It would mean far less bloodshed than a battle between soldiers. You know lives are bound to be lost if the soldiers enter Rome by force. This way, only 2 lives should be gone and Rome will be all the better for it.”

Marcus gets up and paces the room, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. Finally he sighs and comes back over.

“Let’s do this.”

The next day, I put on a tunic that Geta had complimented me on previously. Leta fixes my hair, half up with some braids pinned around my head. Leta leaves and Marcus takes her place, his hands on my shoulders. 

“Are you sure, Cornelia?”

I place a hand over his and squeeze. “This will work. I’m sure.”

An hour later, and I find myself tossing my head back with fake laughter at something Caracalla said. I gently touch Geta’s arm as tears stream down his face from laughter. 

“And his head just popped! Clean off! Rolled right across the floor!” Caracalla continues to laugh, turning to one of the men he has surrounding him, who immediately gives him all of his attention. I pick up my glass of wine, thinking of what to say.

“You’re so kind with that,” I nod in Caracalla’s direction, speaking to Geta as I take a sip.

“Kind? With what?” 

I turn and look at him, leaning a little closer, Geta matching my lean. “You allow your brother to go on and on about violence without worrying. It’s clear it means a lot to him.”

“Yes, I am kind…but…I don’t quite catch your meaning here?”

I look up at him, swallowing down the bile in my throat at his close proximity. “Weren’t the two men in his story brothers? Who both tried to control their family farm?”

He shakes his head. “So?”

“So..well, I just thought…oh nevermind.”

Geta shifts his body to face me, leaning closer. “Tell me. Speak freely.”

I hold my wine glass in front of my mouth, as if I’m telling him a secret. “Well, it’s sort of like you and your brother. Twins, having to share the crown. Him being above you being he was born first-”

“He is not above me!” Geta whispers angrily. 

I avert my eyes. “I am sorry, Emperor Geta. I was merely repeating what he’d said to me.” It’s not entirely a lie. I had heard Caracalla speaking about how he was born first and so he was first ruler. But he didn’t say it to me directly.

Fire burned in Geta’s eyes as they shifted from me to Caracalla. “And what else did my brother say?”

“Oh I shouldn’t-”

Geta grips my forearm tightly. “Tell. Me.”

So I launch into a small story I’d made up, planting more and more seeds of doubt in his mind.

That night at their dinner party, I walk up to Caracalla, speaking to his monkey. We chat about monkeys for a moment, Caracalla glancing over my shoulder every so often.

“I’m sorry, Emperor, is there something I’m keeping you from?”

“Hhmm? Oh no. It’s just..” He leans in closer to me. “Geta has been looking at me oddly all day. Like he’s upset.”

I glance over at Geta, who is currently involved in a conversation with a Senator. “I- well I shouldn’t say.”

Caracall looks at me. “Tell me.”

“Well, earlier I heard someone talking about how you’re first born so you’re the first Emperor.”

He nods. “I was and am.”

“Yes, well, Emperor Geta overheard that and was furious. He started telling everyone he was the main Emperor. Not you.”

“Oh really?” The same rage that fired up in Geta’s eyes now burned in his brothers. “He’s always been jealous of me!”

“Well, you do have a great monkey.”

Caracalla looks at me for a moment and then laughs. “You’re right! I do! Come, let me show you how he can dance!”

2 days and I’m spent. I cannot stroke their egos any more. Unfortunately, Marcus is to compete today, hopefully the last battle he will have to do. This time I wake with him, Marcus putting his head between my thighs before I can even move. When I try to pull him up, he declines, saying he needs to save up the energy. Something about it being good for battle. 

“As long as you come home and fuck me into this bed.”

Marcus groans, kissing one of my boobs. “That is a promise. But now, I must get ready or I will simply stay in bed all day.”

“That sounds better. Let’s do that.”

He chuckles, kissing me deeply before pushing himself up and getting dressed, the same armor as he’d worn a few days previously. He cups my face, kissing me gently before looking into my eyes.

“I love you. Be safe.”

Gods his eyes are all big and brown. “I love you. Please come back to me.”

“Now this is another special fight!” The announcer speaks to the crowd. “The strong General Acacius!” The gate at one end of the arena opens and Marcus struts out of it, sword in hand, as he walks to the middle of the arena as the crowd screams his name.The announcer waits a moment, letting the crowd settle a little. “Against the mighty barbarian, Hanno!” The crowd cheers for him too, a mix of names chanting around the arena.

I feel Lucilla behind me, trying not to make a scene. This is not something we anticipated. Marcus should not be fighting Hanno, I mean, Lucius, to the death! My pulse speeds up, my blood quickly pumping through me. Marcus turns, seeing Lucius angrily strutting towards him. But before he gets even part way, Geta stands and addresses his captain.

“Make sure your bows are fixed on Acacius. If he wins, kill him.”

“What??” I gasp out, staring up at Emperor Geta in complete shock. He smiles, the dark makeup around his eyes making them look even more menacing than usual. He sits down next to me, leaning in, a small hand placed on my thigh. 

“Do not worry, my dear. No one will question me and I will free you from this marriage so you can be with me.”

I can feel the color drain from my face. “Emperor Geta, I am..flattered, but I made an oath-”

“And I’ll help you to break it! My wedding gift to you!”

Shit. I flew too close to the sun on this one and Geta took it as flirting. I want to throw up, but there’s nothing I can do. They collide in front of me, swords slashing, Lucius headbutting Marcus as he stumbles, quickly regaining his footing as Lucius slams into him, Marcus using his weight to flip him on his back. Lucius swipes at Marcu’s feet as he leaps back, coming up to lunge at him again, the two men grappling. Lucius manages to slam his hand into Marcus, who relents, turning to shove Lucius into the ground. They roll, Marcus jumping up and to the side as Lucius swipes his sword, barely missing him. But when he rights himself, I can see that Marcus has no weapon. 

Lucius gestures to the staff on the ground with his sword and Marcus picks it up, both of them lunging back into battle, the staff quickly snapping in two. Marcus manages to knock Lucius’s head, momentarily stunning him enough he could get behind him in a chokehold. Lucius flings his head back and Marcus stumbles, quickly rallying with a sucker punch to Lucius’s stomach. They clash again, Lucius dropping to the ground after a few moments, getting back up with a smile on his face. They talk for a moment, but then Marcus throws his weapons on the ground, dropping to his knees, and raising his hand in surrender. My stomach churns and I nearly vomit. What is he thinking? 

“Acacius has raised his hand! He has surrendered!” The announcer yells. “Let the Gods decide!”

I feel Geta shift beside me, but I grab his arm. “Wait!” 

Geta looks down at my hand and then into my eyes. “My love, the Gods will speak through me and this will all be over soon.”

I squeeze his arm, willing my nerves to just give me a moment to think. “I know, but I think we should have a toast. After all, he is your General.”

Geta studies me for a moment. Then he nods and I feel momentarily relieved. “Good idea.” He holds up a hand to request a pause. “The Gods are…deciding!”

While he is distrtacted, I get up, taking the offered glasses of wine, my palla swiftly passing over Geta’s as I hand it to him, my own glass poised for a toast. 

“To us, my dear. And to the Gods.” Geta proclaims.

“To the Gods,” I say back, lifting my glass. I see Geta take a sip and turn to Caracalla, who was just taking his goblet from the tray, having had to adjust the monkey on his shoulder. He picks it up and nearly presses it to his lips before I grip his wrist. “Dont!”

Caracalla freezes. “What? Why?”

“It’s poisoned!”

And that is all it takes to crumble two Emperors. 

Caracalla stands up, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “It was you! You tried to poison me!”

Geta’s eyes are wild. I can tell he’d thought about poisoning his brother. “I did not! Do you hear yourself, brother?”

But it’s too late. Caracalla’s eyes are wide and nearly black with rage as he steps closer to Geta. “You were always jealous I was first! First out of the womb, more loved by mother, and HEAD EMPEROR!” 

Geta’s fists ball up. “You are NOT first Emperor!”

Caracalla laughs manically and I take this moment to sneak out from between them. I don’t want to get caught in that. 

“Jealous! You can’t even admit that I have a higher station than you! So much that you try to poison me?”

Geta’s eyes are wild with anger, spit flying from his mouth as he steps up to Caracalla, yelling “I wish I had done it because you deserve to die!”

Caracalla gasps, momentarily frozen before looking down, the red blood seeping quickly through his white tunic, a knife embedded in him. Geta quickly removes it, watching as his brother drops to the ground, his body moving no more after a moment. Geta tries to straighten up, but he clutches at his stomach. 

“He…he was mad! He was…he would have…what…is happening?” Geta drops to the ground, groaning and yelling in pain as he clutches his stomach. A servant tries to help him but he yells in their face, the color draining from him as his breathing becomes labored. And then his gaze goes blank, his head dropping against the ground.  

For a moment, no one moves. But then the captain snaps me out of it as he commands his troops. “Keep your bows on him! Stand your ground!”

I quietly sneak to a soldier and, in a move Marcus had taught me, hit a certain spot on his shoulder that send him tumbling, but not before I grab his bow and notch an arrow, another in my hand.

“Move!” I yell and the crowd parts as I raise my bow and aim it at the bewildered captain.

I summon all the courage I have, not just for me but for protecting Marcus, and command “Tell your men to stand down!”

The captain just looks at me, almost smirking. “And what are you going to do with that, little girl?”

I loose the arrow and it glides into the pole just next to his head. By the time his head snaps back to look at me, I’ve notched the next arrow. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Look around. Your Emperors are dead from greed and jealousy. Drop your weapons and pledge yourself to your new emperor.”

Still bewildered, the captain takes a moment to respond. “And who might that be?”

“The grandson of Marcus Aurelius and heir to the throne, Lucius Varius Aurelius.” I nod towards Lucius in the arena, my bow still aimed at the captain. 

“Lucius…he’s alive?” The captain asks.

“He is.” Lucilla comes up beside me, addressing the captain. “I can confirm it.”

He thinks a moment. “Well then. Stand down, men.” He watches me as I wait, watching all of the archers to make sure they’ve all put down their bows. When I’m sure, I lower mine as well. 

The captain turns towards the arena. “Lucius Varius Aurelius! I pledge myself to you!” He salutes, one fist against his opposite shoulder as he drops to one knee, his soldiers all following suit. Soon the entire arena follows, everyone bowing to Lucius who, bless him, looks completely out of his element. He tentatively raises a hand and everyone cheers, chanting his name as it echoes across the stonework. 

As the crowd continues to chant and cheer their new Emperor, I drop the bow and run down the back steps, moving as fast as I can towards the gladiator entrance. The guards, having seen me before, fling the gates open and I sprint past them, moving quickly into the arena. The crowds are still chanting Lucius’s name, but my eyes are purely for one man. Marcus turns his head, seeing me coming for him and stands, his chest heaving from fighting and tension, but he still jogs towards me. We crash into each other, Marcus picking me up, his lips finding mine like they were meant to. He pushes his tongue into my willing mouth and I taste sweat and blood mixed in with his scent. The crowd notices as they change from Lucius to ooooo! I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to his for a moment before I look into his eyes, so soft and warm. A small clearing of the throat comes to me and we turn our heads, looking at Lucius.

“Hi,” He does a little wave. “Uh what the fuck just happened?”

We laugh, Marcus placing me back down on the ground. He drops back down to his knee, saluting him. “I, General Acacius, do pledge myself to you, Emperor Lucius.”

Lucius’s eyes widen even more. “What if I don’t want this?”

“You have a choice. If you think this is not your fate, there is another who will take your place. But he is happy to step aside for the grandson of Marcus Aurelius.” 

He nods, still looking uncertain. “But what if I don’t know what to do?”

I smile at him, stepping closer. “Your mother, and her trusted people, will guide you.”

He nods again, turning back to Marcus. “Rise. Or whatever.” He extends a hand and helps Marcus to his feet. “I totally would’ve had you.”

“Keep dreaming, Emperor.”

4 years later on an olive farm outside of the capital…

The light streams in through the window on my face, gently waking me to a new day. I blink my eyes open slowly, stretching lazily. I try to sit up, but a large arm wraps around my bare torso and pulls me close to his own bare body, burying his face in my neck.

“Marcus,” my voice laced with sleep. “It’s time to wake. The twins will be up soon.”

Marcus groans, a quiet “No” emanating from his chest. “Let the servants cook them breakfast today.”

I chuckle. “They do love Leta’s breakfast. But you also have that meeting with the other olive farmers today.”

Marcus starts to kiss a spot on my neck, applying more pressure so as to leave a mark. He lets it go, nuzzling the spot with his nose as the skin reddens. He continues to kiss my shoulder, gently pushing me on my back as he slots his massive frame between my legs. He stares down at me, softly pushing a stray hair from my face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in awe.

I trace the scar on his cheek with my finger. “Not as beautiful as you.”

He kisses me and then pulls back to nip at my chin. “The farmers can wait. I plan on putting as many babies in you as you’ll let me.”

He pushes into me with a moan, my head pushing back into the bed as he gently slides his hips against mine, taking his time to make sure he gets evey sound, every ounce of pleasure he can from me. 

And when I come downstairs and see him play wrestling with the twins, I think about how lucky I was that my brother tried to use me as a pawn all those years ago. Sure, it was hell enduring my brother, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[imagine-you]

my love is alive and not dead [Logan/Reader]

Summary: The sixth and final chapter of won't somebody come take me home. All hell has well and truly broken loose with the arrival of old friends and unwanted guests. You want nothing more than to send Jean and the other Logan home, but you start to realize that your main priority has to be freeing your Logan from Apocalypse's clutches. You're not prepared for the sacrifice you'll have to make to wake Logan, but it might be the only way to get him home and secure the future you're so desperate to share with him. Word Count: 10.1k This Chapter May Contain: Angst, Reunions, Surprise Cameos!, Near-Death Experiences, Logan Brooding, Retribution, Teamwork, Fluff, and A Happy Ending.

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"Get the fuck out," you spat at Jean and the other Logan. You knew Jean was the bigger threat, especially when she was using her full powers, but you couldn't take your eyes off the other Logan. You didn't trust him and you sure as hell didn't want to let your guard down around him. "Leave," you demanded when they both kept staring at you. "I don't care how the fuck you do it, but you’ve got to go back. You sure as hell can't stay here."  

"We're only here to help," Jean claimed, holding on to her usual unbothered facade. "I've defeated Apocalypse before. I can do it again. I thought you would appreciate us lending a hand." 

You rolled your eyes, beginning to form a spiked forcefield around your fist. "Get out," you ordered. "We've got more than enough here to defeat Apocalypse. We don’t need you. We’ve never needed you," you stressed, meeting the other Logan’s stare.  

"Are you really going to deny our help because of our past?" Jean wondered, arching an eyebrow at you in question. “I thought you’d want to put all that behind us given the current circumstances.” 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, taking a step in her direction. You didn't care if she could kill you with just a though, because all you wanted to do was hurt her. She had swept your life away from you like it was nothing and now she wanted to play nice? You didn’t trust her as far as you could throw her and that was not at all. You wanted her and the other Logan gone so badly that you could feel your shoulders pull tight with tension. You were poised, ready to strike at just one wrong word, but you weren’t even sure which one of them you wanted to hit more.  

"Hold on, now," Cable started, moving to put himself between you and Jean. "We're all here for the same reason." 

"Are we?" You questioned, looking from Jean to the other Logan. "Because I can't help but think their motives aren't so altruistic. After Scott died, those two made my life hell," you reminded everyone in the room. "You really think I can trust them to help me get back the love of my life? What the fuck are you two even doing here? Shouldn’t you have fucked off into the sunset together with your kid?" 

You noticed the other Logan shift warily on his feet. "You came back to get me from Omega Red. We can do this for you." You thought he would leave it there, touched that maybe he had found some semblance of compassion since you were gone. Until he opened his mouth again. "And then you can come back home." 

You blinked at him in surprise before the words fully registered. "What the fuck did you just say?" 

“Oh, it’s about to get good,” you heard Wade mutter. 

"Come home," the other Logan repeated, having the audacity to look like he genuinely wanted you back in your original universe.  

 You could do nothing but stare at the other Logan for a moment before you started laughing. It was too high, too hysterical, and entirely done with the whole situation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you growled.  

Cable held a hand up, his palm facing you. "Why don't we just calm down, alright? Let's think about the bigger picture here." 

"No, no," Wade tutted, shaking a finger at Cable. "Let her cook." 

"What is wrong with you?" You couldn't help but wonder as you stared down the other Logan. "Do you not remember when you dropped me at the first opportunity for her?" You gestured towards Jean, trying hard not to sneer at her. "Do you not remember when I showed up to save your ass and then told you I was happier here? Do you not remember that I never want to go back, because I found the right Logan? The better Logan? Huh? Any of that ringing a bell?" 

The other Logan's jaw was clenched, and you could see him trying to suppress his irritation. "This isn't your home," he tried to argue, and you finally decided you had enough.  

You lunged at the other Logan, letting the spikes disappear as you hit him over and over again. You didn’t want this to be over too soon, preferring to take your time with the other Logan. You wanted him to feel pain and while it would never compare to the kind he had inflicted on you, it would have to do for now. So, you let your forcefield take the brunt of the impact, bringing it down into his face over and over again.  

The other Logan’s nose broke and blood was now pouring freely from a cut on his lip, but you couldn't stop. You realized that the other Logan was simply letting you take out all your anger on him and that only fueled your rage more. You didn't need pity from him or any favors. You needed him gone.  

You had drawn your fist up for another hit when you staggered back, clutching your head as a blinding agony took over. It took you entirely too long to realize it was Jean. You remembered the psychic blasts she would bestow on opponents, putting them through unimaginable pain. Now you knew what it felt like, and it only served to piss you off even more.  

You turned your attention away from the other Logan and towards her. You could shield yourself, but you wanted to annoy her. So, you brought up a shaky hand and pushed past the pain to erect a forcefield around her, cutting off her psychic power. Jean narrowed her eyes at you, but you weren't done. You felt a grin form on your face as the first spike shot out, nearly catching Jean in the side. Her eyes went wide in surprise, and you spat out a mouthful of blood. Jean's attack had startled you enough that you had bitten the side of your mouth and now blood was all you could taste.  

"You're not the only one with tricks," you told her. "Want another one?" 

"Alright, alright," Magik sighed before grabbing your arm. "Break it up, children." 

You were suddenly on the front lawn, Magik still keeping a tight grip on your arm. You could hear shouting inside the mansion, and you turned back to consider it, not able to get a good glimpse into the room where you were previously standing. 

You were equal parts grateful and annoyed for Illyana’s intervention. You wanted to see just how many hits you could get in before Jean crumbled. You wanted to bash the other Logan’s face in until he could see nothing but his own blood. You wanted to destroy them, but you also knew that it wouldn’t bring you the peace you sought. You would only get that back once the pair of them were gone and you had your Logan back. Now, you were caught in a weird limbo where nothing felt right, and everything was fucked up.  

"Fuck," you sighed before letting yourself drop onto the ground.  

"Fuck," Illyana agreed, sitting down at your side. "Breakups are messy." 

You snorted, shaking your head. "It's not even the breakup anymore," you admitted, listening to the raised voices inside the front room.  

You heard the other Logan roar before Wade was thrown through the window. He was bent over the frame, a piece of glass sticking through his torso. He let himself fall forward as a flash lit up the front room and you heard Charles tell Alex to calm down in an exasperated voice.  

You watched as Wade practically bounced back to his feet, shaking off glass as he rapidly healed the claw marks along his ribs.  

"It's her and it's him and it's them here together while my Logan is off being a weapon for Apocalypse. They're the last people I wanted to see," you continued once the ruckus died down. 

Wade dropped down on your other side, throwing an arm around your shoulders.  

"Maybe I should have called on a different ex of yours," Illyana mused, gaining Wade's attention. You could feel him practically perk up at your side.  

"Oh? Please share," Wade chimed in, leaning forward to get a better look at Illyana. "I thought she only had eyes for tall, dark, and angry in there." 

Illyana laughed, shooting you a smirk. "Not entirely," she allowed with a shrug of her shoulders. "There was one Sergeant Barnes. The two of you were so sweet together." 

You hadn't thought of Bucky in a while, but you couldn't deny that you missed him. Before the two of you fell together, you had been friends. You had been pining over Logan and Bucky had been missing Steve, so it just made sense that the two of you would seek comfort in each other. It had been good, perfect, until it wasn't. But you knew that despite the distance, if Magik had gone to him telling him you needed help, he would have dropped everything to be here.  

"Oh my God," Wade gasped, pointing at you. "Look at that smile. You fucked the Winter Soldier! Wow, you really like the strong, silent, traumatized type," he remarked, bumping his shoulder into yours.  

You ignored Wade and turned your focus on Illyana. "You need to take them back. I don't want them here. I don't need them here." 

"I think you do," she refuted, shaking her head. "Jean killed Apocalypse once before. Maybe she can kill this one too. You're being stubborn, no?" 

You sighed, not wanting to admit that maybe Magik was right. There were a lot of things you were willing to compromise for the sake of Logan, your dignity among them. "I'm not apologizing," you told her, knowing you sounded childish. "And I can't promise that I won't try to kill Jean or that asshole in there if they piss me off." 

"First, we kill Apocalypse," Magik replied, before shooting you a conspiratorial smirk. "And then if you still want to kill the two idiots, I'll help you." 

"Yes," Wade hissed in approval. "That's what I'm talking about," he agreed with a hand raised at Illyana. She simply quirked an eyebrow at him before reluctantly giving him a high-five.  

"It is chaos in there," Piotr interrupted, approaching the three of you. "I do not think this was the best idea." 

"You're telling me," you sighed, before gesturing towards Illyana. "Piotr, this is Illyana. Rasputin," you added, glancing between the two of them. "And this is Piotr Rasputin." 

Illyana looked intrigued as she turned her full attention on Piotr. She moved to stand, saying something in Russian, before Piotr responded. They had a whole conversation before wonder flashed across Piotr's face as he held his hand out for Illyana to shake.  

"Not that this isn't fascinating," Wade started, springing to his feet. He reached out a hand, helping you up off the ground. "But what the fuck is going on here?" 

"It seems we share a sibling," Illyana answered, still watching Piotr in fascination. "A brother named Mikhail." 

"Maybe we were brother and sister in another universe," Piotr speculated with a nod of his head.  

Illyana let slip a soft smile in Piotr's direction before she let it fall away. "We should go back inside. Apocalypse will only grow stronger and I'm sure you're eager to get back to your Logan. Think you can play nice? Just for now?" 

"I'll try," you conceded, shooting Wade a wary look. "But if he pisses me off, I'm going to break his face. Again." 

Wade offered you a fist bump as you trudged back into the house. You knew whatever you were about to face, he would have your back.  

The other Logan had already healed by the time you reconvened with the rest of the group. He was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he glowered at the others in the room. You had to fight the urge to hit him again, instead sticking to Wade's side next to the doorway in case you wanted to make a strategic retreat.  

Of course, it didn't take long for everything to go pear-shaped.  

It started off civil and quickly teetered into more bickering and yelling.  

"We just need a plan," Cable reiterated for what felt like the fiftieth time. "Why can't we just act like a fucking team instead of a bunch of children?" 

"Because we're not a team," you reminded him. "Some of us shouldn't even be here." 

Wade snorted, before turning his gaze on the other Logan. "You got that right." 

"We got a problem here, bub?"  

"Oh, I've got ninety-nine problems, bitch, and you're every one." 

The other Logan freed his claws with a growl. "Come over here and say that." 

"Oh, I can take you, big guy," Wade promised with a laugh. "But before we get started, let me tell you my safeword." 

"Do you ever just shut the fuck up?" The other Logan snarled, taking a step towards Wade.  

"Not really, no," Wade answered, holding his hand out and curling his fingers in towards his palm, silently beckoning Logan forward.  

"We're not going to get shit done like this," Alex groaned, looking like he was barely keeping himself contained. "My brother has been taken by this Apocalypse fuck and we're getting nowhere. I swear to God, if he dies because we can’t get our shit together, I’m killing every one in this room." 

"We should figure out where Apocalypse is looking for his next Horseman," your Erik volunteered. His jaw was clenched, and you knew he was growing tired of the fighting. He had very little patience for team squabbles and you reckoned it wouldn’t be long until he started showcasing his own power, seeking an end to the arguing. 

"I can go down to Cerebro," Charles volunteered, but from the way he looked at his Erik, you knew he was hesitant to leave him. 

"That's a start," Remy mused from where he was sitting in an armchair near the broken window. "We also need to figure out how this little team of ours is gonna work when half of us wants to kill the other half." 

"I don't remember ever havin' a problem with you, sugar," Rogue pointed out, watching Remy with interest.  

"I'd never have a problem with someone so beautiful," Remy replied with a smirk. He turned his gaze on the others, his eyes landing on Jean and the other Logan. "But this won't work if we don't all play nice now." 

"I'll play nice if Wolvie over there does," Wade promised, nodding at the other Logan.  

"Don't fucking call me that," the other Logan snapped, the fragile peace in the room breaking again.  

You didn't want to listen to another argument, so you slipped out of the room.  

You found yourself wandering until you stopped outside a familiar door. You opened it, taking in the sight of the room before you. It wasn't yours, at least not in this universe, but you still found yourself walking inside as if it still belonged to you.  

You wandered from the bed towards the window. It was still the same view. You weren't sure why you were expecting it to be different, but you found it oddly comforting.  

Here, you could see the trees that outlined the property. The way the sunlight hit them, the branches swaying lazily in the breeze, brought you a measure of peace you hadn’t felt since Logan was taken. It was a sight you had appreciated in your old universe when you just needed time to think. It had offered you solace in your desolation, and while you weren’t so lonely in this universe, you still wanted a moment to yourself.  

It was incredibly short-lived.  

"I thought I'd find you here." 

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You should have known he wouldn't be able to just leave you alone. In the Void, you had dreamt of having a moment like this one. One where you left, and he tracked you down, and you knew that he well and truly cared about you. But everything had changed, and you no longer felt anything for him except for disdain.  

You no longer needed him and you sure as hell didn’t want him here. All you really wanted was for him to go away. 

Since when had he ever given you what you wanted? 

"Get out," you ordered, not bothering to even look at the other Logan. You were trying and failing to grip tightly onto the brief semblance of serenity you had forged for yourself. You didn’t want to allow him to disrupt it, but he had a penchant for fucking things up for you.  

"You know," he started, moving further into the room.  

You groaned, letting your head dop forward until your forehead touched the glass window. “Can’t you just fucking listen to me for once?” 

"The baby wasn't mine,” the other Logan continued, ignoring your words. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting you absorb the bombshell he dropped. “It was Scott's," he informed you, as if he thought you should give a fuck. As if he thought it changed anything between the two of you. "Jean's still in love with him." 

You laughed, not even able to help it. "I could've told you that if you hadn't dropped me the second she bothered to look at you. How’s it feel, huh? Being second best. Never measuring up to the person she really loves and lying awake at night knowing there’s not a damn thing you can do to make her love you like you love her. Never being good enough. Knowing that when she looks at you, she’s wishing you were him. Bet it fucking sucks, right? Because that’s exactly what you put me through, so I’m only going to ask you this once and I deserve an answer. Why the fuck are you even telling me this?"  

You finally turned to meet his gaze, reading his expression. No matter how much you wished to forget him, you had spent years knowing him. You didn't need to be a telepath to know what he was thinking. "Let me guess," you started, leaning against the wall behind you. "You got everything you ever wanted, paid whatever price it took, except it wasn't exactly like you pictured it. Guess that's why they say be careful what you wish for." 

"I thought she needed me," the other Logan admitted with a scowl. "But she never really did. I only ever wanted to be there for her. I wanted to be what she needed," he added with a rueful grimace. He locked eyes with you, his expression mournful but without a hint of remorse for what he had put you through. "But you, you always needed me. And I didn't appreciate that enough. But I know now. I know what you need and it’s not with him. You should come back, and I'll be better this time."  

You laughed again, this time nowhere near as amused. "You're fucking crazy, you know that? It's not my fucking fault that you fucked it all up between us. But you know what? You did me a fucking favor," you spat, advancing on him. "Because once I get Logan back, my Logan, and you fuck back off to your universe, I want nothing to do with you. You can fuck off and die for all I care, because I found someone who actually loves me and would never abandon me." 

The other Logan didn't say anything for one beat of your heart and then the next before he shook his head. "Well, he's not here now, is he?" 

"That was the wrong thing to say," you warned him before drawing your fist back and punching him again without the aid of your forcefield. Pain radiated up your arm, but it almost felt good. The blood running from the other Logan's nose felt even better.  

You decided to hit him again and again before using a forcefield to push him to the floor. You kept him there, not wanting him to move until you said what you hoped would be your final words to him.  

“I don’t need you. I don’t love you. Not anymore and never again, because I found someone, a whole family,” you amended, knowing you couldn’t discount just how much everyone in this universe truly meant to you. “So, listen to me when I tell you that I’m not going back. I never am. So, you better accept the reality you brought on yourself real fuckin’ fast, because I will never go back to you. Never,” you stressed, waiting for the hint of begrudging acceptance in his expression before you let your forcefield go. “You can do one good thing for me, just the one,” you allowed, taking a step away from him. “You can help me get my Logan back, but then once that’s done, I want you to get the fuck out of here. I’m never going back there to be with you and I sure as hell don’t warrant being your fallback plan. I don’t care if you go back to Jean and I don’t care if you leave the X-Men and wander off into the wilderness to find yourself. As long as you go back, then I don’t care. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ll ever need from you again. You got that?” 

 The other Logan briefly rolled his eyes, but his head dipped in a tiny nod of understanding. You knew only time would tell if your words had actually hit home, but you couldn’t keep trying to get it through his thick skull that you were well and truly off the market.  

You had more important things to worry about.  

"I came to check on you, but you seem to have yourself well in hand," Remy interrupted from the doorway. "C'mon, chérie," he prompted, beckoning you towards him. "Last thing you need is a broken hand along with broken ribs." 

You glanced down at your hand, the knuckles split and bleeding. When you flexed your fingers, you could feel a bone-deep ache work its way up your arm. “Yeah,” you sighed, “I’m done here.” 

Remy chuckled, glancing down at the other Logan. “Oh, I can see that.” 

You shot the other Logan a glare on your way past him, shaking out your hand. "I still don't trust you," you informed Remy as you followed him out of the room.  

"I wouldn't expect you to," he allowed with a smile. “But I supposed between me and your friend in there, I’m the better option. Did you enjoy your present?” 

You felt a reluctant smile tug at your lips as you thought about your getaway with Logan. You really didn’t trust Remy, not after everything that happened with Sinister, but you got the hint he wanted to try to make amends. “I did,” you confirmed with a nod of your head. “Didn’t think you and Wade would conspire like that.” 

“I owed you and le petit rouge wanted to get you something nice. It was really nothing,” he deflected with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Well, thanks,” you told him, not wanting it to go unsaid between the two of you. “Keep that coming and maybe I’ll even start to like you.” 

Remy shot you a pleased grin over his shoulder. “Well, how can I resist a temptation like that?” 

You followed Remy down one hallway and then another, realizing he was starting to take you towards Cerebro. You were brought up short by Rogue leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for the two of you.  

"Wondered when we'd run into each other again," Remy mused, joining Rogue with a satisfied smirk.  

"Funny, I was wonderin' the same thing," she told him, matching his grin.  

Remy swayed forward just the tiniest bit, as if drawn in by Rogue, and you did not want to be the one to interrupt whatever the fuck they had going on. You clapped a hand to Remy's shoulder, waving off his questioning look, as you passed the pair.  

You made your way down to Cerebro, glad that you didn't run into anyone else on the way there. You got there in time to see Charles with the helmet on his head, his eyes closed as he concentrated. Piotr was standing right behind Charles, with your Erik not far behind. He was still watching over Charles, even if this wasn't his husband, as if he wanted to protect any Charles he came across.  

"What's going on?" You asked Wade, who was standing back near the doorway.  

"Ol' Chuck over there thinks he knows where Apocalypse might be holing up with his Horseman." Wade glanced at you, his tone changing to concern. "You alright there, baby bird? You're looking a little freaked out." 

"I had a talk with the other Logan," you confessed, not able to stop the frown from forming on your face. You had spent many days and nights in your old universe wishing that the other Logan would see sense and come back to you. Now, that you were finally happy, here he was making good on that wish. It just made you hate him even more.  

"Oh? How'd that go? You happen to knock him out again? I'm sad I missed the show." 

"No," you answered, "although, I did hit him again. A few times,” you confessed with an embarrassed wince. You didn’t like letting your anger get the best of you, but you felt like it was warranted for this situation. “He wanted me to go back with him, because Jean's still obsessed with Scott. The baby's Scott's by the way." 

"God," Wade groaned, stomping his foot on the floor with a huff. "I miss all the good drama, I swear. Your life is angstier than a season of Degrassi. It really goes there, huh?" 

"I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you told him, letting your arm brush against his in apology. “But I do know that I need Logan back," you sighed. "At least Laura doesn't have to deal with this bullshit. I don't want her seeing him like that.” 

"Like what?"  

"He was just...completely blank,” you settled on with a frown. “He didn't even recognize me. It was like all that we had been through was just wiped away with one touch from Apocalypse. And he's going to try to kill us, because that’s what Apocalypse will want, and I don't want Laura fighting him. She doesn't deserve to have to go through that." 

"And you do?" Wade argued, his tone disapproving. "You love him. You shouldn't have to fight him either. Not when he's going to be trying to kill all of us. I can take on the angry bear just fine all by myself, so maybe you should just wait here. Where it’s safe," he tacked on, letting you know what he was really worried about. 

"Like that'll happen," you dismissed with a humorless laugh. "I have to be there, Wade. I can’t just leave him there. Even if something goes wrong, because it will, I have to be there for him." 

Wade heaved a heavy sigh before nodding his head. "Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say that."  

You gifted him with a sad smile before swaying into his side, letting him put an arm around your shoulders.  

"Then let's fucking go," you decided, watching Charles take off Cerebro's helmet and give a satisfied nod to Erik and Piotr.  

"Let's fucking go," Wade agreed with a nod of his head.  

Wanda and Pietro weren’t thrilled they had to stay behind with Charles and their father. Your Erik considered the two with a wistful expression before shifting his gaze towards Charles and the other Erik.  

“I’ll bring Lorna back,” your Erik promised with a solemn expression. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. I know how precious your loved ones are to you,” he continued, meeting Charles’ eyes.  

There was a long, drawn-out moment when it was clear that Erik and Charles were having a conversation only they could hear. Charles ducked his head, a blush dusting his cheeks, and you marveled at the sight of Charles acting shy. You had only ever really known Charles as the steadfast headmaster, Professor X, mentor and advisor. But you were starting to realize there was a whole lot more to Charles than you had ever known, and you couldn’t help but feel curious about what his past held.  

The other Erik, where he was still lying injured on the couch, looked like he was seconds away from getting up to fight your Erik. He was jealous, you realized with a grin, and you wondered if it was part of a plot to get the Erik and Charles of this universe together too.  

From the smug expression on your Erik’s face and the challenging eyebrow he arched at the injured Erik, you knew you were right.  

“Are you sure we can’t go?” Pietro checked, speeding from one end of the room to the other. “I’m fast. You might need me.” 

“And I can fight too,” Wanda insisted, turning a frustrated look in your direction.  

“I’m afraid it’s best if you stay here,” Charles remarked, regaining his composure. “If Apocalypse has your sister, then there’s every reason to believe he’ll use her against you.” 

Pietro was practically pouting at being left out and Wade leaned over towards you.  

“Sequel material,” he whispered, ignoring your questioning look.  

Once the team or whatever the hell you all were assembled, it didn’t take long to get everyone on the X-Jet. Cable was piloting, ignoring Piotr’s attempt to take the role for himself, and promised that it wouldn’t be long until you arrived.   

You were used to being on the X-Jet, but you didn't know how to handle the awkward tension that threatened to suffocate you. The other Logan and Jean were on the opposite side of the jet from you, and while you did your best to ignore them, you could still feel the weight of their stares.  

"You alright there?" Alex asked, addressing you. He had chosen the seat on your right, spending the ride so far with an irritated expression and flexing his hands, as if he was gearing up to use his power.  

"Yeah," you lied with a nod of your head. "Worried about Logan. You?" 

"Same," he dutifully lied as well. "Worried about my brother. I'm worried about what this Apocalypse fuck might be doing to him. Worried about his girlfriend too. Scotty sure loves her," he told you. “It’d destroy him if anything happened to her.” 

"He'll be okay," you tried to promise, even though you weren't entirely sure. All you could think about was Scott's body cradled by a grieving Jean. Scott might not have been your favorite person on the team, but he had been your leader. He made the tough calls and he kept the team together when you all threatened to crumble. Without him, everything fell apart.  

You found yourself meeting Jean's gaze, knowing she could read what was on your mind. It was likely the only time you would ever feel sympathy for her, because while you had gotten your second chance with the love of your life, she never would.  

"Five minutes," Cable called from the front of the jet. "Get ready!" 

"So, we'll get Logan back and then you and him and the little munchkin can ride happily off into the sunset," Wade started, dropping down into the seat on your other side. "Then you and Logan and Vanessa and me can have a double wedding and a shared honeymoon and our rugrats will be friends." 

You couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips. Wade always knew what to say to make you feel better.  

"Munchkin?" The other Logan repeated with a scowl. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Laura," you supplied, feeling just a bit of a thrill at how vindictive your next words would feel. "My daughter. With my Logan." 

The other Logan's face fell at your words and Wade snickered, turning to hide his face in your shoulder.  

"Oh, you are evil," he approved with a kiss to your cheek. "Baby bird's got claws." 

You shook your head, knocking your head gently into Wade's. "You are so weird," you breathed, tone affectionate.  

"You know it," Wade pointed out, fully sitting up in his seat once he felt the jet begin to descend. "It's showtime," he muttered, shooting you one more searching look before he was up and checking over his holstered weapons.  

You weren't really sure what you were expecting once the jet landed. You thought you would find a scene of total chaos. Hollowed-out buildings and corpses littering the ground. But all you saw when you made it off the walkway leading out of the X-Jet was Apocalypse waiting in the middle of an abandoned street.  

"Did you think you could sneak up on me?" Apocalypse wondered, watching as your makeshift team filed out onto the street. "Nothing will stop me." 

"Oh my God," Wade breathed as he took a step towards Apocalypse. "I didn’t know it was you! I loved you in Star Wars." 

Apocalypse considered Wade with a thoughtful glance before he turned his attention on Jean. "Don't I already have one of you? I admit, you would make a formidable Horseman, but I already have my team. Besides, it was never my intention to take your variant or her companion. It seems as if that was plot devised by Sinister. Now, we might never know what he had planned for them. Pity," he said, finally turning his gaze on you.  

You couldn't help but wonder if this had somehow been part of Nathaniel's plan all along. Maybe he knew if he was going to die, then he could still fuck everyone over just one last time.  

"Scott," Alex muttered, his attention caught by something just beyond Apocalypse.  

It was Scott and Jean. Both had been knocked unconscious and were lying on the sidewalk. You couldn't even tell if they were breathing, because they were too far away, but you sure as hell knew how to spot a trap that obvious. 

"Alex, don't," you warned when you noticed Alex tense up, coiled to attack. 

"You're gonna regret taking my brother," Alex told Apocalypse, ignoring you, as he geared up for his attack. He shot one plasma burst at Apocalypse, but Apocalypse seemed to anticipate the move and blocked it with a forcefield.  

"And you will regret fighting me," Apocalypse claimed with a satisfied smile.  

You nearly didn't see him, because you were so focused on Apocalypse. But you sure as hell noticed his power, an intense heat that only grew stronger. There was a burst of light before you finally saw him. You had no idea who he was, but he practically glowed, radiating a light so strong you nearly had to look away. He held up his hand, aimed at Alex, and you reacted instinctively.  

"Remy," you called, an idea coming to you. You had no idea if it would work, but you had to at least try. It might be the only way to save Alex's life. You met his gaze, nodding towards where you were forming a forcefield around the guy preparing to kill Alex. "Make it go boom," you commanded, catching his excited grin before you focused on your forcefield. 

The guy, whoever he was, was extremely powerful. You could feel the force of his power slamming against your forcefield, and you had to grit your teeth, feeling like you were barely holding on. Remy worked quick as he charged one of his cards and threw it at your forcefield.  

You watched it land, relief flooding you when you noticed the pink glow of Remy's power engulf it. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and you had to pour everything you had into your forcefield. When Remy's charge activated, you only had a moment to prepare before the explosion happened.  

The force of it was focused inward on the stranger caught in your trap. There was blood coating the sides of your forcefield, and you were hesitant to drop it, because he had been so incredibly powerful. You weren't even sure if he was dead but you waited until you felt the remnants of his power slip away from your defenses.  

"You dare to take Sunfire from me? My Famine?" Apocalypse questioned, barely concealed fury in his voice. "My other Horsemen won't fall so easy," he promised and then you heard the roar.  

It wasn't Logan. This was deeper, louder, and unfathomably terrifying.  

"Oh, fuck! Fuckety, fuckety, fuck, fuck!" Wade yelled, before pointing at something just behind you. "The Hulk is in this?! Ah fuck, not again," Wade groaned, sounding resigned. 

"Shit," you breathed just before a giant green hand entered your field of vision and swatted Wade away like he was a fly.  

You took off running, all hell breaking loose as you caught sight of a girl with dark green hair wielding a power that reminded you a lot of Erik's. Between her and the Hulk, they were making quick work of keeping the team busy and their focus off Apocalypse.  

You searched the chaos unfolding before you and finally spotted your Logan. There was a red cloth wrapped around most of his face, but his claws gave away his identity. He was fighting the other Logan, both throwing themselves into the fight with a ferocity that terrified you.  

Jean had turned her attention on Apocalypse while Alex helped her with his plasma blasts. They were both being careful not to hit the other Jean and Scott and you knew both were fighting to ensure that Scott survived. Erik, Magik, and Rogue were fighting Lorna and Piotr, Remy, Wade, and Cable were all taking on the Hulk.  

You wanted to run to Logan and try to get him to remember. You wondered if you could break him of Apocalypse's spell, but you weren't even sure if it was possible. You had decided to try something, anything to get through to Logan, when you found yourself in the middle of a different fight.  

The Hulk let out another roar before pounding his fist on the ground, sending the others around him flying back with the impact. You weren't sure how, but you managed to snag his attention, and he advanced on you.  

"Y/N, run!" Wade yelled, but you were eager to get the entire fight finished so you could get Logan back. You formed a forcefield around Hulk, one of the biggest you had ever created. You could feel the stretch of the field as it entrapped him, and you were worried that it would simply end up snapping. He brought a fist up to pound on the side of the forcefield and you could feel it rattle you, practically shaking you with its force.  

The Hulk wouldn't die easy, but maybe if you could keep him contained for long enough, then the fight with Apocalypse could be won. All you had to do was subdue him and wait for Apocalypse to fall. 

In theory, it was a decent plan. In execution? You should have never taken your focus off of Logan.  

You were so focused on keeping the Hulk in your forcefield that when someone stepped in front of you, you didn't even register the threat at first. You only had a moment before you pulled in a breath and felt it cut off with a wheeze, agony blooming quick through your chest. Your forcefield dropped as you stared up into Logan's eyes, shock and fear warring within you.  

"Logan," you gasped, reaching up to grasp his wrist. Both sets of his claws were buried in your sides and you could feel them inch deeper with every attempted breath. You felt like you couldn't focus on one thought, but all you could see was the man you loved.  

"You're hurting me," you managed to choke out, the taste of blood slipping into your mouth. You coughed, crying out when that only made the pain worse. Red was spreading out across your shirt and soon enough you would be soaked with your own blood. You could hear Wade screaming your name and Hulk was barreling towards Cable and Logan didn't even realize he was killing you. All you could think was that once he regained control of his own mind, this would kill him.  

"It's okay," you got out on a shudder. You stopped gripping his wrist and instead brought your hands up to cup his face. It only brought you more pain, your full weight resting on his claws, but you knew a losing battle when you were faced with one. At least you could spend your final moments doing something you truly wanted to do. "You have to forgive yourself, alright? Because I forgive you." You were rapidly losing vision, the picture before you fading into a disorienting shade of grey before color flooded back in only to be snatched away again. "I love you," you whispered, blood starting to leak from the corner of your mouth. "I love you, Logan," you stressed before letting yourself fall forward just enough to brush a kiss against his lips.  

He pushed you back, adamantium slicing you deeper, and you cried out in agony.  

Recognition suddenly flooded Logan's eyes and you dropped to the ground when he quickly pulled his claws from you. "Oh God," he breathed, horror and guilt clouding his expression. "Y/N, I--" he only managed before Piotr tackled him to the ground.  

Logan was quick to throw him off before he was back at your side. He pressed a gentle hand to your side, before shaking his head. "Baby, I don't know what to do."  

Logan wasn't usually one for pet names, but he only brought them out for certain situations. You knew he must have really been scared, but you were having a hard time feeling anything at all. "It's okay," you told him just as Wade dropped to his knees at your other side. "It wasn't you. It wasn’t you," you assured him when he looked like he wanted to protest. 

"I wasn't even aware of what I was doing. It’s like he pulled a mask down over my face and I couldn’t see past it. He had me doing so much fucked up shit for him and I didn't even blink. And he wanted me to kill you, and I was gonna, but then I just couldn't." There were tears in Logan's eyes and he looked like he wanted to scoop you up into his arms, but he was too worried it would only hurt you more. "I don't even know how I broke out of it. God, I wish I'd done it sooner." Logan's hands were trembling as he cupped your face, managing to press a chaste kiss to your lips.  

"I know what pulled you out if," Wade chimed in, reaching out to grab your hand, despite Logan's snarl in his direction. "Wuv," he answered, "Twue wuv. God, where's Fred Savage when you need him?" 

You could feel your eyelids growing heavier and you were having trouble keeping your eyes open. "I just need to sleep," you mumbled, already feeling yourself begin to slip away. “Just let me rest my eyes.” 

"Wade," Logan said, looking to him in panic. "What do we do? I don’t know what to do here." 

Wade was silent for long enough that you started to realize you must be well and truly fucked. "I'll watch over her," Wade finally volunteered before nodding at the fight that had been carrying on around you. "And you go help them finish that fucker off for good." 

You managed to turn your head to the side to see Jean along with Erik and Illyana fighting Apocalypse. Logan gave a firm nod of his head before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna make this right, sweetheart, okay? And you just hold on for me. You hold on and I’ll be back for you," he promised you, before you watched resolve fall over him.  

He turned away from you, letting loose a low growl, before he sprinted towards Apocalypse. You started losing moments in bits and pieces. Wade was gripping your hand so tight and you didn't have the heart to tell him you couldn't even feel it. The other Logan was getting thrown around by the Hulk while Piotr landed hits where he could and Remy distracted him with explosions. Alex was hovering over his brother, willing him to wake up. Rogue was pressing an uncovered hand to Lorna's neck, effectively draining her and knocking her out. Rogue then turned her attention towards Hulk, using Lorna’s stolen power to help Remy. 

And Logan, who was nearly feral in his rage, was bringing his claws relentlessly into Apocalypse's neck. Apocalypse had been weakened from the onslaught of Jean's full power combined with the others. Erik had taken a metal beam and impaled Apocalypse with it, nearly pinning him to the ground. Magik had managed to hit Apocalypse over and over again with her sword, leaving Apocalypse hurt enough that when Logan took one last swipe with his claws, letting out a howl of grief and fury, Apocalypse's head rolled back and fell to the ground.  

You managed to hold on long enough to see Logan turning to look for you, unhinged and wild, the brute Erik had always made him out to be. But the second he met your eyes, his expression softened and the love you had been missing flooded back onto his face.  

It was the last thing you saw before unconsciousness finally rushed in to carry you away.  

You woke to a steady beeping noise and the feeling of being suffocated. You opened your eyes, blinded by a bright white light, before you closed them again. You were sore and your mouth felt like it was full of cotton and you didn't remember how you got here.  

"On your left," Wade called, gaining your attention.  

You managed to open your eyes again, seeing Wade still outfitted in his full bloodied Deadpool getup sitting in the chair at your side.  

He let out a pleased snort and turned his full focus on you, carelessly throwing away the People magazine in his hand to the side.  

"I've always wanted to say that in this kind of situation, but no one ever really wants me at their bedside when they wake up. Can’t imagine why," he mused with a wistful sigh. 

You glanced from Wade to Laura sleeping on the couch against the wall. Something wasn’t quite right, you realized through the haze of painkillers. It took you entirely too long to figure out that Logan wasn't in the room.  

"You missed a lot while you were out," Wade continued, leaning forward in his chair to consider you. "But I guess several hours of life-saving surgery and numerous blood transfusions will take a lot out of someone. So, let me catch you up. The people your friend Magik brought here have all fucked back off to their universe. That other Logan said it was what you wanted, so he left with his pretend baby mama. Had a feeling there was some trouble in paradise for that particular couple, especially when Logan almost killed that other douchenozzle when he tried to get all weepy over you. Rogue and Gambit seem to have something going on now. You think correspondence across the multiverse is hard? Because they've got some shit to figure out. And Logan? Well, he's being a broody little bitch who thinks you don't love him anymore because he almost killed you."  

You weren't sure what to say, mind overloaded from information. You were relieved the other Logan and Jean were gone, but you were a bit sad you didn’t get to tell Illyana or your Erik goodbye. You were pretty sure they would forgive you, though, considering the near-death experience.  

"Where is he?" You croaked, wincing when you noticed how your throat felt like it had been scraped raw. 

"They only took out the breathing tube a little while ago,” Wade informed you. “And that idiot is somewhere around here," Wade answered, shrugging his shoulders. "He hasn't left the hospital since they brought you in, but he's also been reluctant to show his face around here. It’s not like his claws managed to snag on anything vital. That’s the only reason you’re alive, you know that? I’ve got a theory, though. I think the angry bear, despite how much he claims he can’t remember being a puppet, knew it was you he was trying to kill. I think he did what he could not to hurt you. If it was anyone else, they would’ve been dead long before they could try to kiss him."  

You knew Logan would never truly leave you, but he wasn’t going to concede easily. He was probably spending his time thinking he was a danger to you and convincing himself that it was best if he loved you from afar. He was likely already thinking of moving into an apartment across the hall and only seeing you when you needed help. 

You couldn’t have that. Not after everything fighting for him for so long. You needed Logan all the time and you would be damned if you let him slip away from you.  

It didn't take you long to make up your mind.  

"I need a favor," you told Wade, already struggling to sit up.  

Wade reached out, placing a hand on your lower back to help you. "I thought you'd see things my way." 

You rolled your eyes, an indescribable fondness welling within you for Wade. "I need a distraction so I can get out of here." 

"Leave it to us," Laura cut in, moving to get off the couch. You didn’t even notice her wake up. "And if you ever go off into a fight without me again, I'll kill you myself next time." 

"No, you won't," you pointed out, slowly raising your arms to beckon her into an embrace.  

Laura huffed out a laugh into your shoulder, her arms cautiously coming up to wrap around you. "He's just worried, you know. He thinks it's all his fault." 

"And I'll just have to convince him it's not," you easily replied, as if dealing with a stubborn Logan was ever easy.  

"Good," Laura responded with a smile.  

You held her by the shoulders, being careful not to aggravate your injuries, and simply took her in for a moment. You hadn't been lying when you told the other Logan Laura was your daughter. It might not have been through any conventional means, but she sure as hell was your kid now. And you were so fiercely proud of her and you loved her so much that just looking at her felt like you were lighting up inside.  

"Love you, kid," you told her, pouring in all your affection for her into the words.  

"I'm not a kid," Laura refuted with a shake of her head, but the smile on her face returned the love you felt for her.  

"Yeah, yeah, you're a grown teenager," Wade dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You going to get the angry bear or not, baby bird? Because clock’s ticking and the longer you let him brood, the longer it’ll take to pull him out of it." 

"Yeah," you allowed with a nod of your head, turning a grin on Wade. He was your best friend and so much more to you. He was your family, your confidant, your protector, and your savior. You figured as long as you had Wade, Laura, and Logan, you would always be home. Now, you had two of them, so you just had to go track down the last one to make the set complete.  

Wade clapped his hands together, shooting an expectant look at Laura. "Then let's get ready to cause one hell of a distraction, munchkin." 

Wade's idea of a distraction entailed flirting with a nurse while Laura set a fire in the break room. As the fire alarm rang, you slipped out of your room once you had managed to get dressed in the clothes Laura had left for you. Your sides ached and you felt like you couldn't pull in a full breath, but you reasoned it was a lot preferable to the death you had been prepared to endure.  

It didn't take you long to find him. Logan might have thought he was hiding, but a waiting room just down the hall wasn't exactly subtle. The fire alarm had drawn enough attention that the room was empty save for him.  

"Hey," you whispered, watching him from the doorway.  

He was leaning forward in his seat, his elbows on his knees and hands hanging in front of him. His head was bowed, and it took him a few seconds after you spoke to finally look at you.  

"You shouldn't be out here," he protested, making to get up.  

You shook your head, crossing the room until you could cautiously lower yourself into the seat next to him. He gave you an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.  

"I take it the fire alarm was Wade? Should've known you'd be stubborn about it," he grumbled. 

"About what? About you trying to keep your distance because you think you're to blame?" 

"I am to blame," Logan snarled, his hands shaking in front of him. Logan clasped them together tightly enough that he was starting to draw blood and you could see the way his shoulders tensed. You knew he wasn't angry with you, his fury focused on himself, but you didn’t want him to hurt himself over something completely out of his control. "I'm the one who hurt you. It was my claws that did the damage." 

"No, Logan," you argued, wanting so badly to reach out, but not sure if you were welcome to touch him. "It wasn't you. It was all Apocalypse. I know you would never hurt me. Not willingly," you amended when he shot you a doubtful look. "The second you snapped out of it, you tried to take care of me. That wasn't you, Logan, and I would never hold that against you." 

"You should," he muttered, turning his head away to stare down at his hands.  

"The only reason you went with Apocalypse was to save me," you reminded him. "If I had been stronger, if I hadn't been so distracted--" 

"Don’t do that," Logan denied, turning an incredulous stare on you. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. The shit you go through and you're still able to pull yourself back up and keep fighting. You've never surrendered to it the way most people would have." 

"I did once," you admitted with a grimace. "In Nathaniel's world that he built for me. But that's because I lost you and Laura and Wade. I can't do any of this without you." You knew you had a darkness in you, fed by years of pain and abandonment. But your family, especially Logan, was the light that broke through it. As long as you had them, you would never lose your way, because they would be there to guide you home.  

"That wasn't real," Logan pointed out. "There's no way in hell I'd ever leave you like that." 

"Yeah? You seem to be trying your best to right now. Or else what are you doing in this fucking waiting room and not with me where I need you?" 

Logan tried to look away, but you took your chance and tucked your fingers under his chin, pulling his gaze back to you.  

"There's nowhere you can go that I won't chase you down. You did it for me with Sinister and I did it for you with Apocalypse. If I have to, I will spend the rest of my life telling you that what happened to me wasn't your fault, because I love, you idiot. I love you more than anything and there's no me without you, don't you get that? It's always been you. It's always going to be you." 

Logan pulled in a shaky breath. Understanding was beginning to dawn on his face and you decided to go for broke.  

"Take me home, Logan," you pleaded, pulling your touch away from him. “Take me back to our home.”  

Astonishment flashed across his face. "You shouldn't want to go anywhere with me." 

You reached out to grab his hand, pulling it towards you. You placed a kiss to his knuckles, where his claws would spring free in heat of battle. You heard Logan's breath hitch, terrified, as a guarded hope overwrote his expression.  

 “I know what I want and it’s always going to be you.” You didn’t know how to tell Logan that you wanted everything with him. The good and the bad and the deadly and the fun. You wanted to build a home with him and Laura. You wanted to coerce Laura to take college classes after completing her GED and you wanted to watch her grow up without having to worry about her survival at every turn. You wanted to have Vanessa and Wade over for dinner and you wanted to fill the spaces of your home with love and laughter and family and friendship. You wanted to end each day with Logan only to begin the next one with him as well. You only wanted what you had been fighting for all along. 

Logan, at your side, and forever yours.   

"Logan Howlett, I will gladly spend the rest of my life with you. No matter how short or how long that might be for me. I want you to occupy all the rest of my moments. You’re it for me and the rest of my life is yours if you’ll have it," you told him, letting your fingers lace through his so you could hold on tight to his hand. You could feel your pulse fluttering and your heart pick up its beat, because while you were confident that Logan loved you with the same intensity you felt, you knew he had a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide. Logan would run if he thought it would save you, but you would never let him slip right out of your hold again.  

After what felt like an eternity, Logan snorted, the sound half-amused and wholly confused. "You proposing or something?" There was a brief flare of hope in his eyes, but you knew he assumed you were joking.  

"Yeah," you replied, dead serious. "I'd get down on one knee, but you'd just have to help me back up off the floor, and I can't spare that kind of dignity right now. Not until I've got an answer." 

Logan watched you for another long moment, as if trying to assess the sincerity of your words. Finally, he squeezed your hand, nodding his head in answer. "Alright, then," he conceded with a barely-there smile that betrayed just how pleased he was feeling. "Let's get married." 

You tugged Logan into a kiss, savoring the reminder of his taste and touch, when you were startled by the sound of someone clapping. Logan groaned, resting his forehead against yours, and met your eyes.  

"Think we can disinvite Wade from the wedding?" 

"You kidding? You can't leave me without a maid of honor." 

You looked over to see Laura and Wade watching the pair of you from the doorway. It looked like Laura had managed to singe the ends of her hair with her distraction.  

“You wanna celebrate with us or what?” You asked, already wondering how soon you could be released from the hospital so you could go home with your favorite people.  

You met Logan’s gaze and from the warm smile on his face, you knew he was thinking the same thing. 

Laura threw herself at the pair of you as Wade kept clapping. He heaved a sigh, placing a hand to his chest. "God, I love a happy ending."  Author's Note: This has been such a wild ride and I can't thank y'all enough for going on it with me. There will (hopefully) be a sequel eventually. I want to bring in Venom along with bringing back Peter Parker, Wanda and Pietro, and probably Rogue and Magik. Maybe even Bucky. My next fic will be my Wade/Reader/Logan one, though, which also involves some past Johnny Storm/Reader. If you want to be tagged in the new fic, just let me know!

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