#but other than that i think this came out great | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redroomreflections · 16 hours ago

Text

Her Best Secret

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: I wrote this after watching Mother's Instinct with Anne Hathway and Jessica Chastain. I needed to make it gay. I don't know what this is truly but it's here.

Warnings: Smut and fluff kind off.

Picket fences. Two-and-a-half children. A dog in the yard. A steady job. A house on a quiet street. Nuclear family. Marriage. College. This was what life was about. The checklist of happiness, painted in bright colors and polished to perfection, like the chrome trim on the cars Sam sold so well.

Tonight, it all seemed true. The music drifted out from the open windows of Steve and Natasha’s house, mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass and neighbors' laughter on the patio. The neighborhood had turned out to celebrate Sam’s big promotion—another shiny star on the life everyone was striving for. You stood by the punch bowl, watching as Natasha twirled beneath Steve’s hand in the center of the makeshift dance floor. Her laughter was light and infectious, her cheeks flushed in a way that made her even more stunning under the string lights. She looked happy—effortlessly so.

Your gaze lingered a moment too long before you turned away, your hand brushing absently over the fabric of your dress. Sam was recounting the story of his big sale to an eager group of neighbors somewhere nearby. You could hear his voice rise and fall, full of charisma and charm, the same traits that had swept you off your feet all those years ago.

"Mama, come dance with us," Claire demanded as she tugged on your hand. Your daughter was the perfect mix of the two of you, and she never ceased to make your heart swell. You smiled down at her, smoothing the hair out of her face and taking in her toothy grin.

“In a minute,” you promised, swirling the punch in your glass. “Let me finish this.”

“Okay,” Claire shrugged, already distracted. She launched into her version of the jitterbug as “Why Do Fools Fall In Love” spun on the record player. Her tiny feet shuffled wildly, arms flailing with abandon. It wasn’t quite the jitterbug but hers, and she owned it.

You smiled, watching her. The song brought back memories of Sam. You could almost feel the warmth of his hands around your waist, guiding you through the steps, the two of you laughing and stumbling over each other in the middle of your living room. A good memory.

“It’s a great party, right?” came a voice behind you.

You turned to see Sarah Wilson, her warm smile disarming as always. She was one of those rare people who could make anyone feel at home. Your sister-in-law had been a steady presence in your life, offering unsolicited advice and unwavering support.

“Oh, of course,” you nodded, eyes flicking between Claire’s eclectic moves and Natasha and Steve, who were swaying comfortably in the center of the dance floor. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Sarah chuckled, nodding toward the dance floor. “I didn’t think Natasha would ever get Steve out there. That man’s all business. But look at them now.”

You smiled into your glass, forcing a little laugh. “They seem like they’re enjoying themselves.”

“Speaking of enjoying,” Sarah said, her tone shifting as her gaze landed on Claire. “Your little one’s a great dancer. She’s got rhythm for sure.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling a touch of pride.

“Have you two thought about giving her another playmate?” Sarah’s voice was casual, but her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

The question was unexpected, and you took a step back. It was a fair question. Most couples with kids would have more than one. You had known that since the day Claire was born. But the thought of having another child—with Sam, of all people—made your stomach churn.

Sarah was waiting, and you knew her well enough to know that she would keep pressing until you answered.

"Oh, well,” you began, fumbling for an answer, “I’ve been thinking about returning to work. It’s just not the right time for us.”

Sarah arched an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Work, huh? Well, I’m sure Sam has his own thoughts about that.”

Before you could respond, Sam appeared beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his easy grin softening the tension in your chest.

“Oh, nothing,” Sarah said lightly, though her tone betrayed her nosiness. “We were just talking about Claire’s dancing—and whether she might get a little brother or sister someday.”

Sam glanced at you, his brow lifting in amusement. “Is that so?”

You felt your cheeks warm as you shrugged helplessly.

“She said she’s thinking about returning to work,” Sarah added, her teasing smile turning to him.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Come on, Sarah. Leave her alone. She’s got enough on her plate without you playing matchmaker for the kids. If you'll excuse me, I want to dance with my wife."

Sarah rolled her eyes at her brother. Then, with a quick wink to you, she said, "Okay, okay, I can take a hint. But don't go too far. We're doing the fireworks after dinner and need help setting up all the chairs."

Sam took your hand and pulled you out onto the dancefloor, ignoring his sister, twirling you playfully before pulling you close. His eyes shone, and you wondered how much he had had to drink. It didn’t matter. You needed this right now; you needed to feel the warmth of his skin against yours and a distraction from seeing her with him.

"I didn't know you were thinking about returning to work," he said, his eyes searching yours.

"It's been on my mind, yes," You nodded.

"I thought we agreed you didn't need to," He tilted his head slightly. "You'd be leaving Claire with a babysitter or at daycare. We can afford to take care of her ourselves."

"I know, but..." You trailed off.

He grinned down at you, his frown barely noticeable as he leaned closer. “But what?”

You laughed softly, letting him spin you again, your hesitation hidden behind the dance. “I just… I like the idea of doing something for myself again, you know?”

Sam pulled you close, his hand firm at the small of your back. His grin widened, his tone teasing. “You mean besides raising the most beautiful kid in the neighborhood?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his charm. “Exactly,” you quipped, tapping his chest lightly. He pulled you tighter to him.

"I know it's what you want," He whispered. "But you look so beautiful when you're pregnant."

You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous, Sam."

"I'm just being honest," He said, his tone light and playful.

"You're drunk, and I'm tired." You tried to pull away, but he held fast, his hands firm on your hips.

"You know you want to," he teased, his breath hot on your ear. Finally, he sighed. "I love you."

"I love you, too," You muttered, closing your eyes as his lips brushed your temple. When he moved to kiss your lips, you didn't pull away. You loved Sam. You really did. You always had.

And yet...

"Okay, lovebirds,” came Natasha’s voice, cutting through the music with playful ease. “Sam, let me take her away. It’s my turn to dance.” She said it with a teasing grin, the kind that made her so easy to like. Natasha, your closest friend, was a familiar presence, one the neighborhood never found threatening.

Sam chuckled, loosening his hold on your waist. “Fine, but don’t wear her out,” he replied with mock seriousness. "I need her tonight."

You pulled away and offered him a polite smile, careful not to meet his gaze.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sam exchanging a glance with Steve. The two men shrugged, their silent communication as effortless as their friendship. They knew nothing could come between the two of you.

“You alright?” Natasha asked softly, her voice low enough for only you to hear.

“I’m fine,” you replied.

She smiled, her lips curving into that mischievous way of hers, her eyes sparkling like she already knew the truth. “Good. Let’s go find some real fun.”

Before you could respond, she grabbed your arm gently but insistently, steering you off the dance floor and down toward the basement. She fumbled for the light control before pulling the string.

“What are we doing down here?” you asked, a small laugh escaping as she guided you to the landing. "I'm going to twist my ankle."

Natasha continued. “Sometimes a girl needs to breathe,” she said lightly, though there was an undercurrent to her words. "And Steve keeps the good beers down here."

"Well, thank God for Steve," you laughed.

"Amen," Natasha nodded as she rumbled through the deep freeze. "Ah, we only have one."

"We can share it," You shrugged. "We have the best stories, and I think we've earned it."

"Cheers," Natasha said as she raised the can and pulled the tab to open it. She wasn't anticipating the rush of foam that exploded from the top, so she stepped back in horror. Droplets landed on the floor and her dress.

"Oh no," You groaned.

"Shit," She muttered, trying to brush the beer off her front.

"Oh, no. Natasha, I'm so sorry. Come here," You reached for the paper towels on the table and tried to wipe off the beer. "I think I made it worse."

"Yeah, me too," Natasha muttered, frowning as she dabbed at the wet stain. "God, I can't believe this. This is the worst."

You sighed, trying not to laugh. "It's not that bad. Just tell people it's a design feature. Or... or pretend it's a bloodstain. Tell people you got a little violent."

Natasha's laughter bubbled up, and she gave you a playful shove. "Don't joke like that! My blood is supposed to stay on the inside, thank you very much. Also, it's clear, and blood is red."

You chuckled, reaching for the can. "Here, give me some of that."

Natasha relented and watched as you sipped from the can. Her eyes never seemed to leave you.

"So...how's Sam?"

"He's...good."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's it?"

You shrugged. "What do you want me to say? He's...good. Things are good."

"Mmm," she hummed, tilting her head slightly.

"What?" you asked, your voice coming out more defensively than you intended.

"What were you guys talking about?"

"Nothing. It was nothing. Just...work. Stuff. Things. Nothing important."

Natasha pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

You sighed, trying not to fidget under her stare. "He wants another baby."

Natasha blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How do you feel about it?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "I mean, I love Claire, and I don't know if we're ready for another baby. And..." You trailed off.

"And?"

"It's just...hard," you admitted quietly. "He's so attentive when I'm pregnant, and I get to spend a lot of time with him, and then when the baby comes, he gets so busy. It's just...hard. And sometimes, I think maybe it would be better if we didn't have any more kids."

"You don't want Claire to have a sibling?" She probed. "Are you guys being careful?"

"By careful, do you mean not letting him finish inside me?"

"Um, yes?"

"Then yes," you confirmed, nodding. "Do you really want to hear the ways Sam and I are practicing safe sex?"

Natasha laughed, the sound soft and low, a private melody just for you. “No, no, I don’t,” she said, shaking her head slightly. She would rather you not sleep with him at all. She sighed, the corners of her mouth tugging downward, then licked her lips—a slow, deliberate motion that drew your attention, as it always did. That shade of red was your favorite on her, and she knew it.

Her green eyes met yours, steady and probing. “Are you happy?”

The question hit you like a stray gust of wind, sudden and disarming.

“Of course,” you replied, the words tumbling out too fast, too practiced. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Natasha raised a single, elegant eyebrow, the expression laced with skepticism. “Because I can tell when you’re lying,” she said plainly, her tone cutting through your defenses like a knife through butter.

Your shoulders slumped slightly as you leaned against the countertop. The calm surface grounded you, though it couldn’t stop the swirl of emotions rising in your chest. “It’s just hard sometimes,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself.

Her gaze softened, the sharp edges of her wit giving way to something warmer, something more tender. “Yeah, I know,” she murmured.

She set down the beer can she’d been holding, the metallic clink almost imperceptible under the weight of her words. Her fingers drummed on the countertop; the rhythm was uneven, nearly hesitant, as if her thoughts were tangled in the silence between you. The crimson polish on her nails caught the dim light, matching the glow in her eyes as she studied you.

“Sometimes,” she began, her voice barely audible, “I think we forget we’re allowed to want more.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the implication hanging like unspoken truths. You glanced back toward the stairs, where laughter and music blasted above you, but it felt a world away from this moment.

“And what if we can’t have more?” you asked, your voice trembling just enough to betray the depth of the question.

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Then maybe we take what we can get,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving yours. Before you could respond, Natasha's lips were on yours. Soft. Warm. Inviting. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from her body.

A quiet moan escaped her, muffled against your mouth, and you could taste the sweetness of the beer lingering on her tongue. You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the warmth of her touch, in the familiar scent of her perfume. Your mind raced, and yet your thoughts were perfectly still. Her body was so different. Her touch was so different.

A loud thump, followed by the unmistakable sound of laughter, cut through the air. Then a cry and a scream of "Mama" followed. Natasha pulled away quickly, her face flushed, her breathing uneven. You glanced at the ceiling, the spell between you broken. That was the cry of your child.

"I should probably go and check on her," You said while Natasha spoke.

"We should probably get back," Natasha murmured.

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. Wiping your mouth, you glanced back at her before heading upstairs.

*****

You could smell the firecrackers before you saw them, the sharp scent of smoke mingling with the sweet smell of hamburgers grilling. Claire sat in your lap, the three-year-old tired and sleepy from all the excitement. You couldn't blame her after the day chasing the other kids around the house.

Claire leaned her head against your chest, her eyes heavy with sleep. You rubbed her back absently, smiling at how her small hand curled around yours.

The sky was dark, but the backyard was lit by the string lights draped over the trees and the fireworks in the sky. You were amazed at how she could sleep through this. Sam sat next to you in the grass, his arms wrapped around your waist and his hands rubbing your side. He felt at home.

Briefly, you could see a flash of the light catching across a couple, and your eyes moved towards them. It was Natasha and Steve. He stood almost a foot taller than her, his arms wrapped around her midsection as she leaned back into his chest. They looked comfortable like they belonged together. How their bodies seemed to mold into each other was the kind of thing romance novels talked about.

They were so beautiful together.

The thought made you uneasy.

Sam leaned over and whispered in your ear, his breath warm on your skin. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," you murmured, leaning into him. "Just a bit tired. She's a heavy sleeper."

He chuckled softly, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"You know, it's our anniversary tomorrow," He said, his tone casual, but the meaning behind his words clear.

"Oh," you said, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

"Yeah, five years," he smiled.

"Wow, I can't believe it's been that long," you admitted.

"Me neither," he grinned, kissing your lips softly. You couldn't see Natasha's eyes on the two of you.

Sam looked up and noticed the fireworks lighting the sky. He nudged Claire and whispered, "Come on, sweetheart. You're going to miss the fireworks."

Claire lifted her head, blinking blearily. "No, Daddy. I'm sleepy," she whined.

"Come on, pumpkin. Let's watch the show," Sam coaxed, his voice gentle and coaxing. Claire groaned softly but let Sam lift her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, her tiny hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Alright, pumpkin,” he said with a chuckle, “just for a little while.”

You watched them walk toward the edge of the patio, where the first bursts of fireworks lit up the night sky. Claire’s sleepy eyes reflected the vibrant colors as she yawned against her daddy's chest.

Five years. It was a long time. You'd built a life together. One you were proud of. One you were comfortable with.

Your eyes drifted to the couple again, and your chest tightened. Natasha and Steve looked so natural together. So at ease. And then there was you, feeling like an imposter. You weren’t the girl Sam fell in love with anymore. You weren't the one who wanted all the same things he did. And you couldn't tell him. You couldn't shatter his image of you.

Sam whispered something into Claire's ear, lifting her head to look at you.

"Mama, come watch."

"In a minute, baby," you called, your voice thick with emotion.

You swallowed hard, trying to fight back the tears. How could you be so selfish? Sam had given you everything. He had given you Claire. You were blessed, yet you couldn't seem content with what you had.

Natasha echoed in your mind: Sometimes we forget we're allowed to want more.

*************

Tuesdays were sacred. At exactly 12:30, without fail, Natasha would appear at your front door, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she walked the three doors down. By the time the clock struck the half-hour, you would already have the kettle whistling on the stove and the good china laid out.

It started as a casual thing—a neighborly gesture during those quiet, lonesome afternoons when the house felt too big and Sam was at work. But over time, it became something more. A ritual. A promise.

This Tuesday was no different. You were finishing the vacuuming when you heard Claire shriek with laughter from the living room. You smiled to yourself, knowing what that meant.

You rounded the corner, the vacuum still humming, and saw Claire spinning in circles as Natasha crouched down to her level, a broad smile on her perfectly painted red lips.

“She’s getting good at this,” Natasha teased, catching Claire mid-spin and lifting her off the ground.

“Too good,” you replied, switching off the vacuum and leaning against the doorway. “She’s going to join the circus at this rate.”

Natasha laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Her gaze traveled to the hallway and the bags of groceries waiting by the front door.

"Let me help," She said, setting Claire back on the floor.

"Thanks," you murmured, grabbing the nearest bag. "I don't know why I let Sam talk me into doing this today."

"Probably the same reason I let Steve convince me to get the new patio furniture," Natasha chuckled, following you into the kitchen.

"He can be persuasive, can't he?"

"Yeah, yeah, he can," She agreed, her tone wistful.

"It's not a bad thing," You said, placing the bags on the counter.

"Tasha, come play," Claire begged.

"In a minute, little one," Natasha promised. Claire nodded and rushed back into the den with her toys.

"How about some tea?" You offered.

"You read my mind," Natasha smiled.

You took the teapot from the cupboard and filled it with water, watching as the steam rose from the spout. Your thoughts drifted back to that night in the basement, and you wondered if Natasha felt the same. There had been many nights like that. Many shared kisses. Shared looks. You think back to that night months again when you'd given her her first orgasm at the hands of a woman.

It was a moment that changed things. It was the moment you knew you were done pretending.

"I'm glad we have this," Natasha murmured.

"Tea?"

"No, silly. Time." She turned to look at you, her green eyes softening. "I'm glad we have this. This friendship."

You couldn't help but smile. "Me, too."

"So," Natasha said, leaning against the counter and folding her arms over her chest, "how are things going with you and Sam?"

You shrugged. "Good."

"That's all you're going to give me?" She prodded, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"There's not much to tell," you admitted.

"You guys had an anniversary a few nights ago," Natasha reminded you.

"Do we discuss the juicy details like that still?"

Natasha hesitated, then shook her head. "No, but I'm asking because I care about you, and I know Sam has been a bit persistent about the baby thing."

You sighed, turning back to the stove. You were silent.

"I'm sorry," Natasha said quietly. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no, it's fine," you assured her. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, it's just me," Natasha reminded you gently, reaching out to touch your arm. "You can tell me anything."

You hesitated, then blurted out, "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Us," you said, gesturing between the two of you. "What are we doing? Is this just a...thing?"

Natasha blinked, her expression unreadable. "A thing?"

"Yeah, like, I don't know, an escape or something," you tried to explain. "Like, a distraction."

Natasha shook her head slowly. "No, no, I wouldn't say that."

"Then what would you say?"

"I'd say that I enjoy spending time with you. I'd say that you're a beautiful, smart, funny woman, and I'm lucky to call you a friend."

"But what does that mean?"

Natasha stepped closer, her hand moving from your arm to the small of your back. Her gaze never left yours, her eyes searching for an answer to a question she couldn't quite voice.

"It means that I care about you," she said softly. "And if you ever need a distraction, I'm here."

"What if I don't want a distraction?" You breathed.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn't answer. Instead, you pulled her across the kitchen to the laundry room. You left the door open to hear Claire in case she needed you. In an instant, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to hers, kissing her like it was the last time.

She kissed you back, her hands resting on your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Her tongue parted your lips, and you tasted the sweetness of her breath. Her hands moved lower, sliding over your curves, and you moaned softly against her mouth.

"Tasha," You gasped as her fingers traced the waistband of your jeans, her touch burning hot against your skin.

She broke the kiss, her eyes dark and hooded. "Yes?"

"I want you."

"I'm yours."

Her lips crashed against yours, and her hands fumbled with the button of your jeans, her touch making your skin tingle.

"Tasha, we can't Claire's here." You reminded her between kisses.

"She's playing," Natasha muttered, her fingers finally popping the button. Before either of you could ponder her statement, the front door opened. In a flash, Natasha was in the kitchen, pushing the rest of the groceries into the fridge as you attempted to gather your bearings. She was so fast.

"Hello?" Sam's voice called from the foyer.

"We're in the kitchen," You answered, closing the laundry room door and ensuring it was locked.

Sam walked into the kitchen, his suit jacket draped over his arm and his tie loosened. "Hey," he smiled. "I thought I'd surprise you guys."

"Well, it worked," Natasha laughed.

"Sorry, I forgot my lunch. I'll grab it and head out," Sam said, moving past the two of you. He glanced between you, his gaze lingering on your face.

"I'm going to finish the dishes," You murmured, turning away.

Sam stopped and frowned. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just feeling a little tired."

"You should rest," Sam stepped closer to you. "Have a cup of tea?

"I will."

"Good," Sam leaned forward and kissed your cheek. "Love you."

"I love you too," You said, the words coming out automatically. Sam lingered, landing another sweet kiss on your lips.

Natasha looked over her shoulder at you, her expression unreadable. "Sam, before you go, can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can I borrow a screwdriver? We're working on the deck chairs, and one of the bolts keeps slipping," She explained, her voice surprisingly steady.

"Sure, no problem," Sam said, digging through a drawer. He pulled out a screwdriver and handed it to Natasha. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Natasha smiled. "Oh, and before I forget, I'll have those pictures of Claire for you next week."

"Thanks," Sam replied. "And thanks for keeping them company."

"My pleasure," Natasha grinned.

"Okay, I'm heading back out. See you later, baby," Sam kissed you once more before disappearing into the foyer. The front door opened, then shut, leaving the house strangely empty.

"That was close," Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "Yeah, it was," you agreed. "But it was worth it."

"Do you regret it?"

"No," you said without hesitation.

"Me neither," She murmured, stepping closer.

You leaned into her, resting your head against her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. "Tasha?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being there. For being my friend. For just being...you."

Natasha hugged you, her arms wrapping around your waist and her chin resting on your head. "Anytime," she said softly, and you knew she meant it.

*****

Drive-In Night was interesting. It's a couple's night, truly. The four of you would get together and watch whatever movie was playing. This time, it was How to Marry A Millionaire. You all piled into Steve’s car, a vintage Chevy that seemed as timeless as its owner. It was a tight fit, but no one complained. The air buzzed with the crowd's excitement as headlights flickered across the makeshift parking lot of the drive-in theater.

Natasha sat into the passenger seat, leaning her elbow out the window, her eyes scanning the packed lot with a subtle smirk. “I’m impressed, Rogers. Didn’t think you’d show up for something so… pink.”

Steve laughed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “What can I say? I’m broadening my horizons.”

From the backseat, you chuckled. “You mean Natasha dragged you here, didn’t she?”

“Guilty,” Steve admitted, glancing sideways at Natasha, who simply shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like Sam and I had a choice.”

Sam, beside you, snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Real gentlemen, right?” He stretched his arm along the back of the seat, pulling you closer. “But hey, don’t think I’m above enjoying a rom-com. I’ve got range.”

Natasha tilted her head back, laughing. “Sure, Wilson. You’ll be crying by the second act.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Sam fired back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes fondly. They constantly bickered like this, but it was good-natured. You could tell they were friends. Real friends.

The movie began, and the warm glow of the screen washed over the car. The plot unfolded with charm, full of meet-cutes, sassy best friends, and conveniently timed rainstorms. It wasn’t bad, but you couldn’t help but notice Sam shifting every so often, clearly restless.

“Alright,” Sam announced midway through a particularly swoony montage. “Steve, snacks?”

Steve glanced at Natasha, who was far too engrossed in the movie to notice him leaving. “Yeah, good idea. You girls want anything?”

You and Natasha exchanged a look. “Popcorn,” you both said in unison.

Sam and Steve left the car, their silhouettes fading into the crowd as they made their way to the concession stand. Moving closer to the front seat, you shifted and settled comfortably against the backrest.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, a smile playing on her lips.

You smiled back.

The moment passed.

"You're so far away," You whispered.

"I know," she whispered back, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Come closer," She whispered. You climbed into the front seat, quickly glancing at the long concession line.

"Is this better?" You asked, settling in.

"Much," she said, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You're cute," She said. What she was doing was risky business. While it was dark, anyone with eyes and the guts to look your way could see.

"So are you," You responded.

"I want to kiss you."

"You do?"

"I do."

"I want to fuck you," She said.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the heat between your thighs growing with each passing second. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You leaned in. Her hand rested on your thigh, rubbing you through your skirt. "Tasha," you whimpered.

"Yes, kitten," she whispered.

"We can't"

"Why not?"

"It's too risky."

"No one's looking."

"What about Sam and Steve?"

"They're at the concession stand. And the movie is loud."

"But what if someone hears?"

"We'll be quiet."

"We've never been quiet," You giggled.

"We'll try," she whispered. She knew she didn't have much time. She needed this to happen and fast. Her hand slipped under your skirt, and she felt the dampness of your panties.

"Jesus, you're soaked."

"I can't help it."

"Neither can I."

She slid her hand down, pushed your panties aside, and plunged her fingers inside you. Your hips bucked, and you bit back a moan.

"So tight," She moaned.

"So good," You whimpered. She was an expert by now. She knew your body well and learned how to make you cum.

She fucked you hard and fast, her fingers hitting all the right spots. She was gentle while somehow being able to get you there so quickly. You couldn't moan or tell her how close you were. You couldn't even thrust into her fingers. You could only sit there and take it. Your face remained natural even as you closed your eyes. The pleasure was too intense, and you wanted to focus on it. You wanted to savor every second.

When you came, you bit down on your lip, drawing blood. Natasha watched you come undone under her hand.

"You are perfect," She whispered, leaning in and kissing your cheek. You were a trembling mess.

"Tasha," You breathed, trying to catch your breath.

"I can't wait to do that again," She said.

"Me too."

She kissed your cheek once more before sitting back.

You were her best secret.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #black widow x female reader #natasha x you

165 notes · View notes

letmesleeponu4sumtime · 3 days ago

Text

‘Sweet’ came on over the speakers and it reminded me of this..

In Kyoto in September of last year, I decided to go to a bar. I had spent the previous few days in a daze, staying out until early morning, chain-smoking, and drinking more drinks than I could count on my hands. I would wake up late in the afternoon as the sky began to dim. It was hot and humid out, but I liked the feeling. In Kyoto, I didn’t take public transport once. I walked everywhere; the bar was 20-ish minutes away, and it was around 11:30 p.m. when I had decided to go after rallying myself up. The bar was nondescript and inconspicuous; you couldn’t find it just wandering around. There was no signage. I made my way through a dark alley, unsure of the route Google Maps was prompting me to take. I passed by the spot and circled back around a moment later after looking at the reviews. Thankfully, someone had left a review detailing how to locate the place. I took a set of steep, narrow stairs to the second or third level, I don’t remember. The door was ominous, dimly lit with a single light above the frame.

This was the place; I knew it.

I stood in the stairwell taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves before I quietly pulled open the door. Low music enveloped the space; it was dark, lit only with tea-light candles. I was greeted pleasantly once my figure came into the low light. They guided me through where to put my bag and encouraged me to sit. I took a seat in the corner between the bathroom and the bar. There were 2 open seats next to me, but the corner felt right. There were a few other guests: a man sitting alone who was chatting up the bartender and owner whilst snacking on popcorn. A couple who were partly engaging in the man’s conversation and a group of foreigners in the back; I could hear their rowdiness. I ordered a gin and tonic. The bartender placed a bowl of popcorn in front of me too. I remember being quite hungry; I ended up eating 3 bowls of popcorn and drinking 3 gin and tonics that night. I listened to the man’s conversation; he was talking passionately about anime. He spoke fast, so it was hard to fully understand the conversation, but I tuned in nonetheless. A while later, the man left, and so did the couple. The owner encouraged me to move closer; he said I was too far away and looked a little uncomfortable. I laughed and obliged. We talked for a long while about many things in a mix of Japanese and English. He told me there was a song he loved but didn’t understand; he was going to play it for me and wanted to know if it was a sad song. I nodded and lit up the end of my cigarette. Sweet by Cigarettes After Sex played in a low hum over the speakers. I smiled softly; he asked if I knew it.

I said, ‘Of course, this is a great song. One of my favorites.’ He nodded, striking up his cigarette and blowing the smoke out the open window.

He left me alone for the duration of the song; I think he could tell I just wanted to soak in the moment. I recorded a short voice memo of the track over the speakers and sent an excited text to my dear friend J. When the song ended, he asked if it was sad. I took a moment to answer before I replied, ‘Not inherently. It’s melancholic because of the melody, but it’s a love song. You have good taste.’ He smiled softly at me and asked if the music well suited the space. I enjoyed the music, how it fluidly switched up from something like ‘Sweet’ to minimal techno. He seemed satisfied by my answer. He let me play a few songs for him. Somewhere in our conversation, my hobby of DJing came up, and he asked to hear one of my sets. I told him it was on SoundCloud, and he promised me that he’d figure out how to use the app and play one of my sets in the bar one day. I was a little flustered at the thought and assured him it was nothing special and he shouldn’t bother, but he was adamant and insisted. I stayed a while longer and made small talk with a few other patrons. A man came in alone somewhere in the middle of my conversation with the owner. He had 2 drinks before he left without saying more than 3 words. I tried not to stare too much, but I wanted to talk to him. Something about him intrigued me. Not to mention he was very handsome. I didn’t end up saying anything. I was too nervous and didn’t want to come off weird. What would I even say? How would he react to being approached by a foreign girl who clearly just wanted to be alone with him? I'm not the type to approach a man anyway. He passed me once to go to the restroom, he didn’t even blink in my direction despite my lingering gaze. I took that as a sign not to bother him. He seemed quite content all to himself a few seats away from me.

When it was my turn to leave, the bartender turned on a dim flashlight to ensure I made it out without toppling over. He and the owner waved and shouted after me with well wishes. I thanked them graciously, bowing repeatedly with deep appreciation until the door shut behind me.

73 notes · View notes

piecesunfolding · 10 hours ago

Text

I really appreciate this perspective. I personally love limited/retired items because of the sentimental value. I also simply do not see a point to playing a collection game if everything is too easy to attain. I think there IS something to be said for having things that are difficult to get or time limited.

However, I am not, and have never been, against there being a slow trickle of older items into the game. By all means introduce some ways to add light sprites. Just keep the percentages low so as not to minimize the nostalgia for older players or the joy of attaining a difficult to obtain item. I think FR admin are aware of this and have tried various means to try to mitigate the problem for future items.

I'm also in a household where one once active and relatively well known player straight up quit because of the eyepocalypse. The other almost did the same when the v2 of this same issue came out. I think the admin have drawn a firm line that the dragons breeding will always be available and changeable (with the exception of the imps), but they did a horrible job of implementing it and never really made a good statement. Certainly never even attempted to understand user frustrationm. I wish there were some aspects of the breeding part of the game that were strictly randomized luck and not purchasable. Because FR's problem is that actual dragon collection and customization runs the risk of being too easy. It's a little too sandbox in nature.

As a result, it makes sense to instead cling to retired items or low digit dragons (which suffer some of the same problems mentioned above). Unfortunately, that's just...It's such a big divide. There's not much for the middling group, who want the challenge without it becoming unfeasible. And I think this is where FR needs to be careful about the balance.

And that's my argument. Yeah, you're right. Hopefully collection sites learned from Gaia Online. But FR hasn't quite managed to hit that sweet spot of something-for-everyone either. They DID. They had it. The days of not having certain eye vials were great for that. But then they made it too easy again. And it needs more consideration than a "bring back old items/never retire anything" thought.

The most frustrating part of the conversation about retired items is that the people who really want to push for more things to retire so that they'll "appreciate in value" don't seem to understand that if there isn't enough supply for the demand, it just means that no one gets anything.

It means that the player selling the Light Sprite for more than what my mortgage is worth...doesn't sell the Light Sprite, because most people can't fucking pay for it. And it means that players who want the Light Sprite can't have it because its only listing is beyond the definition of expensive, or that saving up for years is a race against other people trying to save up fast enough to buy it first. Either way, most players go without.

It means that, with enough retired items, you end up like GaiaOnline. Yeah, there's tons of limited items that may "appreciate in value" but the truth of that...is actually this:

Some of these items have been on my wishlist for a decade.

These items have no value because not enough of them even exist.

GaiaOnline used to be a place where "Questing" for an item was something that tons of people loved doing. Even I did it. I quested for a Fallen Wish back in the day, I quested for Inari's Beads, I quested for monthly collectibles every time one I liked dropped.

Now I'm not questing. Because the items I want simply don't circulate. This is what too many retired items does to an economy. I watched GaiaOnline die this way. Which is why I strongly oppose any retired items in any other site. Flight Rising doesn't need this.

278 notes · View notes

daveth-isnt-dead · 1 day ago

Text

Coalescence part 2/3

Part One

Summary:

She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter. The question rises once again, unbidden. What are we? AKA: She works with Viktor for seven years, she is in love with him for five of them.

Contains: she/her pronouns, supremely slow burn, sharing a bed, canon typical illness stuff.

Word Count: 12,181

Read on AO3

The next year feels a lot slower than the last few had, without the relentless push from the council to get the Hexgates finished, work stagnates as the three of them try to figure out what to make next. A few months in she gets sick of sitting on the other side of the room and goes through the arduous process of rearranging the furniture. She has to move Jayce’s desk first and then the blackboard and then she finally has enough room to squeeze herself in, the fact that the only available spot is next to Viktor’s desk is only serendipitous, at least that’s what she tells herself. Jayce seems pretty excited about the change when he comes in, that maybe the rearrangement might be enough to finally get all their synapses firing.

Viktor, by comparison, sits quietly next to her and doesn't even acknowledge the change for the first few hours, just scoffs when she asks to borrow his ink for her pen, “If you’ve only moved your desk next to mine for access to my stationary then I’ll be very upset.” despite his words, he slides it over to her desk, “You’re lucky I’m so accommodating.”

She wants to say something about how his stationary is the last thing on her mind, but instead, she just laughs and replies, “Very lucky, thank you.”

A few weeks after her impromptu rearrangement, she comes into the lab to find a new desk sitting where hers once was and more surprisingly, a person sitting at the desk. Shocked, she lurks in the doorway while trying to figure out what to say, only for the visitor to notice her and immediately jump up from her chair and rush over to greet her.

“Hi! I’m Sky! It’s so great to meet you!” She says, grabbing one of her hands between two of her own, “I’m the new lab assistant! Viktor hired me!” She blinks for a moment, trying to find a way to reply that doesn't make her seem utterly repellant, “I thought I was the lab assistant…” is what came out, and it wasn't the energy she had been aiming for.

Sky laughs, “You’re funny. It’s nice to know you three have a sense of humour.” she finally releases her hand before readjusting her glasses, “If you ever need anything, I’ll either be here or in the botany lab down the hall. I’m going to study as much as I can while I have the chance, but I’ll always be nearby.”

When Viktor eventually arrives and sits at his desk, she scoots her chair a little closer to his and whispers, “Why’d you hire another assistant?” “Sky’s an old friend and we’re going to need the help-” he pauses a moment and then spins his chair to face her, “Why did you say another assistant?” “Because I’m your assistant.” Viktor lets out a disbelieving laugh, “ You haven’t been our assistant in a very long time.”

Her heart thrums nervously in her chest, and all she can let out is a weak little, “...huh?”

“You’re a partner.” Viktor clarifies as he rests his hand on her forearm, “A friend .” a beat, his thumb lightly rubbing against her bare skin, “and you always made terrible coffee, it was time to let you off the hook”

She laughs and playfully slaps his hand away.

It’s only a month after that when Jayce has the idea that changes the trajectory of their research for the foreseeable future. They had all been sitting at their desks, doing barely any work. It was still just under a year before the next progress day and without an active request from the council, there wasn’t all that much pressure for them to create something. She had been entertaining herself with a paper ball that she was tossing up into the air, Jayce was flicking paperclips into an empty crate on the other side of the room, and even Viktor had been absently spinning around in his chair for the past hour, which was definitely out of the ordinary for him.

“Maybe we need a change of scenery?” Jayce suggests, hanging his head low when he finishes his last box of paperclips.

She scoffs, tossing the paper ball in the air once again, “It’s not like we can take the research outside with us.”

“Even if we could, it would be far too dangerous to take any of the crystals out of the lab.” Viktor supplies, completing another rotation on his chair, “They are too volatile.”

Jayce sighs, “I didn’t literally mean moving the lab equipment outside, guys. I just thought we could take a walk and-”

When the paper ball finishes its most recent arc into the air, she doesn’t bother catching it again, instead pointing a finger in Jayce’s direction, “That’s your idea face! You have an idea!”

Viktor freezes mid-spin, quickly rotating himself to face Jayce whose eyebrows are drawn tight. After another moment just sitting there and staring straight forward, Jayce leaps up from his chair and starts frantically pacing back and forth.

“Oh yes!” Viktor says enthusiastically, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “He definitely has an idea.”

Jayce laughs breathlessly and then stalls in the middle of the room, erupting into a passionate and wildly gesticulated speech about finally being able to bring Hextech to the people instead of just serving the whims of the council, about working on smaller devices that could be mass-produced and (importantly) would have a far shorter development time than something as large scale as the Hexgates. As he spoke, she couldn’t resist shifting her gaze to Viktor, leaning forward on her desk to get a better angle on his face and nearly melting at the impassioned warmth in his eyes, the delectably sweet tug of his lips.

“Before we get ahead of ourselves,” Viktor begins, trying not to seem as exhilarated as he clearly is, “We need to figure out a way to stabilise the crystals, then we can focus on utility.” “God, I’ve missed this,” She says with a warm smile dancing around her mouth, “When can we start?”

***

It’s full steam ahead in the lab for the next few months, literally, to some degree. Before fully joining the Hextech team she had spent a brief portion of time studying glass-blowing and shaping and while she was only half joking when she suggested that they should try tempering the crystals, it ended up being the first step to the final solution. While a collision with physical objects causes a volatile reaction in the crystals, standing about twenty feet back in the Talis family forge, they learned that heat did not cause the same problem. Tempering Hextech crystals turned out to be a much more exhaustive process than tempering glass though, and every step of the way they were worried about causing some sort of disaster in the forge.

Sky became an invaluable resource and her contagious energy meant that she also very quickly became a friend. While she wasn’t able to commit her full time to the lab because she had her own studies to worry about, she was always around to help copy down notes when everyone else had full hands or to provide encouragement whenever it started to feel like the next hurdle was impossible. Viktor was also right, Sky made a much better coffee than she ever could.

“Damn.” She mutters, sipping gingerly on the very hot coffee, “How do you stop it from tasting so watery?” Sky laughed, expertly working the coffee machine in the small tearoom in the sciences wing of the academy, “I worked at a coffee shop in the undercity for a few years, all muscle memory.” she explained, popping a lid on Jayce’s coffee and then scooping one spoonful of sugar into the final vacant cup.

“Viktor takes two sugars.” She says quickly, probably too quickly.

Sky gives her an odd look, and then chuckles, “I was about to add another one, but thanks for the help.” She suddenly finds her own reflection in the cup of coffee very interesting.

While the work on finding a way to stabilise the crystals took almost all of their time, it was impossible to stop herself from peering in Viktor’s direction whenever she had a spare moment. He had lied about the leg brace just being for the gala, he didn't wear it every day and on the days that he did he claimed to have plans to take a walk out in the city when they wrapped up in the lab, but she usually caught him walking straight back to his dorm as always. She and Jayce would often share a worried look on days that he showed up wearing it but both could sense he didn't want any attention being drawn to it. There were other changes too, smaller ones, that might have gone unnoticed by anyone from outside the lab. His breath quickened and the hours he used to spend working out calculations and formulas on the blackboard were now spent at his desk instead, his angles sharpened and his face slowly began to lose its softness.

“Just tired.” He responds, whenever she asks how he is feeling.

Her eyebrows pinch, an insidious fear taking up residence behind her ribs, “You're tired a lot.”

He sighs, and she is standing close enough that he can rest his head on the swell of her hip, “I am”

She wraps her arm around his shoulders to hold him against her, aching with the weight of a familiar question.

While he moves slower, he doesn't stop moving. When she and Jayce try to untangle just how to temper the crystals, Viktor sits on a chair nearby taking furious notes and offering suggestions. He sits at his desk with Sky as the two of them start sketching potential designs for smaller-scale Hextech projects. Viktor is, of course, there on the day that they manage to create their first successful gemstone. The crystals temper a lot stronger than glass does and were (so far as they could tell) completely resistant to shattering. The final test happens back in the forge where this process all began, with her and Viktor waiting impatiently on the other side of a wrought iron metal door with only a small glass window to watch through as Jayce bravely performs the final test of the gemstone’s durability.

Jayce waves at them both, though they can barely see his face under the full set of protective armour he is wearing just in case they were off with their calculations. Despite all the preliminary testing and Viktor’s absolute belief in the gemstone’s structural integrity, she still nervously chews on her thumbnail as she watches Jayce set it down on the anvil. Though she doesn’t express her nervousness, Viktor still notices, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Jayce will be fine.” He says confidently, “We’re ready.” She lets out a shaky sigh, the orange firelight from inside the forge washes gently across Viktor’s face at sets his eyes ablaze. His posture is more lopsided than it used to be, his left shoulder kicked up where he is putting almost all of his standing weight on his cane. Her feelings are discombobulating, a dizzying mixture of fear and denial with an overlarge dash of something aching and desperate that she is still too afraid to give a name despite so many years of feeling it.

“Knowing you think so makes me feel a lot better.” She replies, turning her gaze back to the tiny window, “I envy your optimism.”

“I wouldn’t call it optimism .” He says, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders and resting his cheek on the top of her head, “Determination, maybe?”

She softens against him, his touch is familiar by now and while it no longer sends her awash with nerves to feel it, a warmth still settles in her stomach that she is unable to do away with. Her arm slides around his waist and clutches him tight, breath high in her chest as she watches Jayce take a few cautious steps towards the gemstone, clutching an oversised smithing hammer in his hands. Just as he raises it in the air, she’s so panicked that she can’t bear to watch and spins to bury her face in Viktor’s chest. She swears she hears his breath catch, and while he stumbles a little to adjust for the new weight, it only takes him a moment to regain his footing. From behind her closed eyes, she hears the echoing boom of the hammer making impact and then a ringing silence where an explosion would have been, if there was going to be one.

Viktor lets out a breathless, overjoyed laugh, his hand rubbing enthusiastic circles between her shoulder blades, “We’re going to be able to do some real good now.” He says, “I can feel it.”

The leadup to the next progress day is a stressful one, a great deal of their time was spent tempering enough gemstones for testing purposes and the process was hard enough to replicate that they didn't feel comfortable letting anyone other than her or Jayce near the forge. Even Viktor found it a bit intimidating in there and preferred to sit back while the two of them worked. So while she was spending months and months writing detailed instructions for the tempering methods in preparation for the day that smallscale Hextech devices went public, for now, it was still safer to handle that part themselves. Once they finally have enough gemstones for the prototyping stage, they leave the forge behind for the far more familiar walls of the lab. She continues working to transcribe all the notes they have on the process of refining Hextech gemstones, while Viktor, Jayce and occasionally Sky toss ideas back and forth.

It takes a lot of late nights glowering at the blackboard and throwing out hundreds of ideas before Viktor finally has the idea to find a way to improve working conditions for miners in the fissures. She can tell that it’s a personal mission for him, the way he talks about what conditions were like when he was still living in the Undercity and she, Jayce and Sky all agree with the idea wholeheartedly. They have far less time before progress day than they would like, but after narrowing the scope of Viktor’s idea to a maximum of two projects for now, it feels doable. Viktor has a bit of his pep back, which also helps to soothe her worries. While he isn't moving around as much as she remembers, his enthusiasm surrounding their new project can be heard in every word, seen in every exaggerated gesticulation.

One day she is completely lost watching him with wrapt attention as he and Jayce discuss what kind of metal would best be suited for the final version of the devices. Utterly absorbed in each and every minute movement of his lovely hands, in the bright vibrancy of his eyes.

“He was like this as a kid too,” Sky says, snapping her out of her stupor.

“What, sorry?”

Sky laughs and inclines her head in his direction, “Viktor. We grew up in the same neighbourhood if you could call it that. He was always tinkering with something instead of playing with the other kids.” She shrugs a shoulder, “He always inspired me, still does, maybe even more so.”

“Yeah.” She replies wistfully, watching as Viktor excitedly gestures to an equation on the blackboard, causing Jayce to pick up the chalk and start making edits, “He’s certainly inspiring.”

***

With only two months left before progress day, the prototypes still aren’t in any sort of state to show the public even though they are almost complete. Especially since the gauntlet keeps insisting that it wants to remain clenched in a fist no matter how hard they try to convince it otherwise. It’s that terrible part of development, where all the brainstorming and assembly is completed and all that’s left is struggling to figure out the last remaining kinks. Despite not being able to make much progress, the four of them are in the lab from sunrise to sunset almost every day. Sky often wears the gauntlet for hours straight as they all take turns trying to diagnose the issue and Jayce almost loses a finger to the Hexclaw when he gets a little impatient in getting it out of the way and forgets to disengage the gemstone.

She’s tired. They all are. Sky at some point admits that she can’t keep up these hours when she has her own studies to work on and returns to only dropping by when they need help, but the main Hextech team persists, pulling allnighters and sometimes even falling asleep on the floor of the lab in a big pile. At the very least they endure the stress together. With the initial excitement of development over and the growing sleep deprivation, Viktor starts looking worse again. His already pale skin turns papery ashen and the bags under his eyes are purple like a permanent bruise. One day he shows up with a crutch instead of his cane. He doesn’t even try to create an excuse for it, just sits at his desk and starts working before either she or Jayce can ask questions. That’s when they quickly make the decision to insist that all three of them stop spending so much time in the lab, enforcing a cut-off time where, regardless of progress made, the three of them would all head back to their dorms for the evening. While he seems a little irritated by the idea at first, Viktor does agree. None of them are getting any good work done and a proper sleep schedule might be just the thing to change that.

It’s not a perfect system though. Some nights she sneaks work home with her and knows that Viktor is doing the same, but at the very least he’s more likely to fall asleep in his bed that way. Other nights she is still so anxious about their upcoming deadline that she can’t force herself to sleep, even as the time ticks through until the AM.

One such night, she dashes her way back to the lab well past 2:00 am. She had been planning to tire herself out by reading the book she had rented from the academy library, but she had left it on her desk in her rush to get home that evening. It’s cold when the sun goes down, so she wraps her arms around herself to avoid the chill as she finally draws closer to the lab. The academy can be a little spooky at night, especially alone. It looks a lot different without the usual warm lighting, and the sound of her feet echoes off the tiles and the whole way down the hall. When the door comes into view, she doubles her pace in the hopes of being back in her bed as soon as possible.

She wipes her eyes and lets out a yawn as she unlocks the door, only to freeze at the entrance of the lab when the cool blue light of a Hextech gemstone still shines brightly from Viktor’s desk. It’s concerning, because they're usually very careful to lock them away when no one is inside. That's when she notices Viktor slumped on the desk, head resting atop his folded arms, he's still, he's so still that it makes an ice-cold panic start rushing through her veins. She calls his name out, walking towards him, and then again when he doesn't answer, hurrying her pace to reach him as soon as she can, her breath coming hard and fast and desperate as she reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder.

At her touch, he startles immediately, inhaling a shocked and wheezy breath.

“Thank god.” She exhales, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in the join between his neck and shoulder. He's still only half awake, one of his large hands coming to rest on her forearm.

“I fell asleep.” He whispers

“Yeah.” She replies quietly, trying to calm the adrenaline still racing through her, “You did.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He clarifies slowly, trying to take stock of where he is, “And I came back here thinking that maybe I could solve our problems with the gauntlets before tomorrow morning.” He lets out a breathless laugh and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “My exhaustion must have caught up with me, I apologise.” She doesn’t move, her arms still clutch tightly around him when she lets out a shaky little breath against the skin of his neck. He was just tired, overworked just like her and Jayce. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep at his desk, not the first time any of them have. Her heart slowly calms at the feeling of him between her arms, the slow brush of his hand against her bare forearm. She almost wants to laugh, what had she even been thinking? That he had-

No . There’s no point in even thinking it. He’s fine, she was worrying for nothing.

“C’mon.” She says, unwrapping her arms from around his shoulders and smiling down at him, “You need to get to bed” He smiles weakly, and she watches with pain in her chest as he puts all of his weight on his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Don’t you need to get to bed too?” he asks, giving her just a glimpse of that mischievous smile she loves so much.

“I'll walk you back first.” She replies, heart in her throat, “Your room is closer anyway.”

Viktor looks at her curiously for a moment, and then replies, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

It isn't, they both know it, but the lie is comfortable and the fact that Viktor is willing to go along with it sends a dizzying rush down to her fingertips. They walk in comfortable silence, it reminds her of their first walk together on the way to the music wing, though a lot slower. His crutch makes more of a thunk than the click that his cane used to, but the sound is still good at helping her keep pace with him. The last thing she wants is for him to think that he’s slowing her down. He isn’t, he couldn't, a longer walk is akin to a gift for her, there's so little time for them to meet outside the lab these days that even this minuscule moment is enough for a syrupy warmth to spread through her veins.

“Do you want to come inside?” Viktor asks when they reach his door. His voice is thick and his tone uncertain, she catches the way his free hand clenches nervously at his side.

She nods, “Just for a second. It’ll be nice to warm up.” His smile is warm and his eyes shine like amber, “Yes.” He begins, quickly unlocking his door and stepping to the side to let her in first, “It is cold, isn't it?” It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable.

“Freezing.” She replies, smiling up at him and walking through the doorway.

This is hardly the first time she’s visited his dorm, though it’s usually during the day to pick something up or drop something off, once or twice to deliver lunch when she suspected that he forgot to eat and on one notable occasion, for a cup of coffee while she struggled through translating his notes into something comprehensible for the council. It looks much the same as she remembers it, very cluttered but still neat. He has stacks of books and piles of notes all over the room and a corkboard with so many overlapping sketches, notes and blueprints that its impossible to see the cork underneath. The floor is clear, though, all his frantic scientific mess is left across desks or bookshelves, a hard divide been his work life and home life.

Viktor shuts the door behind himself and starts making his way across the space to where she can only assume his bedroom is. He looks at her over his shoulder and says, “You’ll have to give me a minute. Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.” “Oh, okay. No worries.” She replies, wondering what he has to do back there. He might just want to change into something more comfortable for the evening, which is completely reasonable, even if it makes her cheeks warm to think about. Now that she’s actually standing alone in the middle of his sitting room does she finally remember that she’s wearing her pyjamas. They aren’t at all scandalous, thankfully, but she does feel underdressed. After a moment, she sits tentatively on his couch, trying to find the perfect balance between comfortable but not too comfortable for when he comes back out. She drums her fingers against her thigh, trying to ignore just how much it smells like Viktor in here when she hears him call her name.

She leaps up from the couch, “Yes? Are you okay?” There’s a moment of silence, and then he replies, “I’m fine, I just-” he’s muffled on the other side of the door, but she hears what sounds like a foreign expletive, “I’d appreciate your help, if you’re willing.”

She would be willing to do anything for him, so she walks towards the closed door and then says, “I am.” she swallows nervously, “Can I come in?” “Please.” He replies quietly.

Her heart races as she opens the door, this part of his dorm she has never seen before. He has a few plants that seem to be in various stages of deceased, a completely full bookshelf, a large wooden dresser and a second, smaller desk that is covered in just as many notes as the one out in the sitting room. His crutch leans against the wall and the man himself sits on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d prefer if she didn't even notice him. “How can I help?” She asks. He looks up at her and then sighs, “The clasps at my ankle.” he says, inclining his head towards his brace, “I’m stiff today I-” “It’s okay.” She replies, already lowering to her knees, “I can do it, don’t even worry about it.” It’s clear that he is still worrying about it, even with her insistence not to. The muscles in his jaw are tight and he turns to face the wall, unwilling to meet her eyes. She doesn’t take any offence, she can tell this is humiliating for him, even though she feels nothing but adoration as her fingers meet the metal clasp at the base of his brace. Luckily the mechanism is intuitive and she doesn’t need any help in undoing it, though her trembling hands make it harder. She is not unaware of the suggestive nature of her positioning, on her knees, between his thighs, but she manages to push past the cloyingly thick implication because more than anything she just wants to help him.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, when his ankle is loose, “I can reach the rest myself if you’d like to return to the couch for now.” Despite his tired expression, he looks very pretty above her like this, his hair is tousled and hanging slightly in his eyes and the dim lighting in the room catches on all his sharp edges in the perfect way. She sucks a shaky breath in through her nose and then suggests, “I might as well do the rest.” her smile is shaky with nerves, and her voice wavers when she adds, “It just makes sense. I’m already down here after all.” The room feels quieter without the sound of Viktor’s wheezing breath, that’s the only way she realises he’s holding it, “I, ah-” he clears his throat, “Yes. I suppose it only makes sense.” Her next smile is stronger, and more confident as she begins to undo the rest of the clasps and buckles. Viktor has to help her with a few of them, the one at his knee is particularly tricky and he’s insistent that she ask if his leg needs to be moved instead of manoeuvring it herself. Not that he needed to tell her, she would never dare do anything that could hurt him. She has to sit up on her knees to undo the final buckle at his thigh, and he rests a hand on the top of her head as she does so. The feeling of his hand has another smile jumping its way across her face and she quietly asks him to straighten his leg a little so she can slide the brace off completely.

“All done.” She whispers when it hits the floor.

He looks down at her for a moment, his gaze so soft that she feels herself beginning to melt in it, “Thank you.” “Do you, um, need help with anything else?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten again and he goes back to staring at the wall, “Well, yes, but-” he shakes his head, “I can do it myself, you’ve done plenty.” “No. I want to help.” She replies, “Please, let me.” Viktor sighs, “I have a back brace too, I can undo it myself, but it takes some effort.” Though there was no real way for her to have known until now, a painful churning begins in her stomach at the thought of her never noticing, not paying enough attention. She pushes the fury with herself down, something to deal with later and instead gives Viktor what she hopes is a comforting smile, “You might have to guide me through it, is that okay?” He looks relieved, as if he was half expecting her to get cold feet, “That would be fine. Thank you.” He adjusts himself on the bed so he’s facing away from her and slowly starts undoing the buttons on his shirt.

She sucks in a nervous breath and watches as the fabric slides down his shoulders. There’s a mole on the back of his neck that she wants to kiss so badly she can barely stand it. It’s alarming how much his shoulder blades arch against the papery confines of his skin, the way his posture slopes up to the left, the result of an overcorrection for his limp. She swallows thickly at the sight of his brace, layers of overlapping leather and metal splints that seem directly affixed to his spine.

Viktor takes a deep breath, she sees his shoulders move, “There are clasps on either side of my spine.” He says, voice quivering. One of his hands reaches behind himself in an attempt to point out one of the clasps for her, “It’s very tight, it will be easier if you start at the top and bottom and then work your way to the middle.” “Alright.” She whispers, trying to conceal the incessant way her heart patters behind her ribs, “Let me know if do something wrong, okay?”

He nods but otherwise doesn’t say anything. It takes her a moment to figure out how the clasp undoes at first, it’s quite a complex piece of machinery and she’s shocked to find that her first assertion was entirely correct. The central portion of the brace is affixed to his spine with a series of bolts the whole way down. Her hands shake as she moves to the same clasp on the opposite side, “How, um, how long have you had this?” she asks weakly.

“A few years.” She clenches her teeth. How did she never notice? “Just to correct my posture.” He clarifies, sensing her tensing up behind him, “It doesn’t hurt.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “You didn’t need to know.” “I would have liked to.” “Yes, well you know now,” he replies tersely and she immediately regrets pushing the matter.

He stays silent as she works her way through the rest of the clasps. There’s a window on the wall opposite the bed and the curtains are open just enough for a beam of moonlight to reach in and wrap around the bony protrusion of his shoulder, all the way down the length of his back. She feels lost, caught and tangled up in the sharp angles of him. Her hands continue slowly undoing the brace, but her mind is tumbling and grasping for him before he slips through her fingers. The back of his neck is very pretty, the bumps of his spine that aren't covered by the splints are delicate and heartbreakingly sharp and his breathing is quiet and even for the moment, though she has grown used to hearing it like a chesty wheeze. When she finally undoes the last two clasps in the centre of the brace, he lets out a sigh of relief and when she presses a palm beside his spine, she can feel his heartbeat. Without speaking, he slips his arm through the strap that wraps up and around his left shoulder and her heart aches at the red welts left behind where the brace was pulled tight against his skin, the one on his shoulder is particularly deep and she finds herself leaning in to press a kiss to it before she can even think. Viktor sucks in a breath at the feeling of her lips against him but otherwise makes no acknowledgement of it happening.

“Would you like me to go?” She asks quietly, “You’ll probably just want to sleep now.” He looks at her over his shoulder, eyes wide and vulnerable, “No.” he says quickly, “No- it’s, it’s dark. You shouldn’t walk back alone.” A smile tugs at her lips, “It is dangerous in the hallways of the academy at night, isn't it?”

It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable.

“It is.” He replies and his smile is a soft, heart-melting curl. After a lapse of almost excruciating silence, he shuffles himself to the side of the bed and stands shakily, resting most of his weight on a dresser in front of him, “Could you turn around a moment?” He asks

It clicks that the dresser must be where he keeps his clothes, “Oh! Yep!” He chuckles, “You can get in the bed if you’d like, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She does as he suggests, facing the wall away from him and crawling in under the covers. It feels strange, the academy bedsheets are exactly the same as the ones in her own room, yet it’s impossible to shake the significance of them being distinctly not hers, “You know I won’t let you do that, right?” she says quietly.

A drawer opens behind her, and there’s some rustling of fabric, “I’ve slept places far worse than my couch, you even caught me doing so this evening.”

She sighs and pulls the sheets up to her chin, clutching desperately at the fabric, “C’mon, Viktor.” she almost pleads, “It’s just me, I don’t bite.” He scoffs behind her and the bed sinks when he sits on the edge of it. There’s more rustling and she can only assume it's easier for him to change in and out of his trousers when seated, “That isn’t what I'm concerned about.” “Then what are you concerned about?” Viktor goes completely still, she can only hear the sounds of his breathing and she struggles to keep her own breath even as she worries that she may have overstepped. The moment hangs in the air like a pendulum above her and her fingers dig tightly into the blankets.

“Alright, you win,” Viktor says, and the weight is lifted. He shifts a little, and she feels the blankets lift on his side of the bed as he climbs in. Then she hears a click, and the only light source in the room goes out.

What are we? She wonders, body stiff and uncomfortable as she lies in the darkness. She’s so close to the edge of the bed that her bent knee hangs off it, too afraid of accidentally touching him because of just how much she wants to. It’s been years of aching and wishing and she’s starting to get the sense that she’s running out of time, that if she doesn't find the right words for what they are, he will be gone before she can express them. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to push the thoughts away, once again forcing herself to believe that Viktor is fine and to ignore all evidence to the contrary.

Then, she feels Viktor shift on the other side of the mattress and he whispers, “It’s cold tonight, isn't it?” Her heart stops in her chest and she tentatively rolls over to find he’s already facing her. He looks pretty, the light of the moon is eclipsed by the back of his head, leaving him backlit in a soft white light, “Freezing.” she replies, remembering their lie from earlier in the evening.

“There must be something we can do about that.” he breathes, shuffling in just a little closer.

She feels like she is about to burst into tears or laughter or something equally immense as she ignores all pretence and all comfortable lies, instead moving straight towards him and wrapping her arms around his chest, tucking her head under his chin. One of his arms slowly slides around her waist to tug her closer against him and his good leg tucks in between both of hers. Something that feels suspiciously like a kiss presses to the top of her head, and as she listens to the gradual calming of his rapid heartbeat she wonders again, what are we?

___

Progress day doesn't go as planned for a lot of reasons. Sitting at the side of the stage, she and Viktor clutch hands the same way they always do. Though maybe a little tighter than normal as they watch Jayce give his first progress day address. She lets out a shocked gasp when Jayce goes off script, deciding not to unveil their newest projects even though the three of them spent so many sleepless nights working on them, even though they drove themselves to exhaustion trying to reach this deadline. Viktor is especially angry about it, seething almost, but everything is thrown into disarray by the attack from the Undercity before they even have a chance to talk it over.

Jayce is their spokesperson, as always, when the three of them are forced to address the council about the theft of one of their gemstones as if it was somehow their fault. They didn’t even have the decency to scrounge up a third chair for her, so she just stands awkwardly beside Viktor and nervously clutches his shoulder. It sometimes feels like the council would forget that she and Viktor even existed if Jayce didn’t keep reminding them. An argument breaks out among the councillors as Jayce begins suggesting a full suspension of Hextech production until the gemstone is located. Viktor also tenses under her hand at the suggestion and while she can understand his reservations, it’s hard for her to disagree with Jayce on this point at least. The last thing they need is someone doing something illegal with their technology, it would be a terrible look, and who knows how many people could get hurt.

Then, things change so quickly that she can barely keep track. Councilor Medarda levies an attractive offer and before she can even wrap her head around what is taking place, the council issues a vote and suddenly it has eight members. Viktor’s hand shakes when it reaches up to grab her own where it rests on his shoulder, “This won't end well.” he mutters She swallows, filled with an anxious dread that doesn't leave her for the next three days, “Yeah.” She replies, “I have an awful feeling.”

When the two of them return to the lab, the room is filled with a thick and uncomfortable silence. Viktor sits at his desk and clutches his head in his hands, she on the other hand, can’t even bring herself to sit down, instead standing at the only open window in the room and resting her shaking hands on the windowsill. Her stomach twists itself into knots that will take hours to undo, any exhilaration from the the morning is completely gone, only replaced with a churning anxiety. Neither of them speaks until two hours later when Sky drops by, completely unaware of everything that transpired. Viktor explains it to her, his voice weak and exhausted. Sky is a smart girl, she can tell when there isn’t much she can do to help, she promises to let them know if she hears anything about Jayce’s whereabouts, but otherwise says she’ll be in her lab down the hall if they need her.

With Sky gone, the room once again turns to heavy silence. She swallows and the feeling is thick in her throat, “He must still be with the council.” she says.

“Yes.” Viktor replies, “He must.”

***

Jayce doesn’t come back that evening. While she’s certain that there is a lot that he needs to learn and probably some sort of extensive paperwork, when she looks over and sees the anxious curl of Viktor’s spine she wishes that Jayce would just tell the council to get fucked and come back to the lab where he belongs. Neither she nor Viktor manage to get any work done, neither of their prototypes are up for production and while there are improvements to be made, Heimerdinger’s insistence that the modifications would take a decade at minimum makes any attempt at progress feel utterly futile.

Viktor does occasionally pull his pen out and make a few notes, but then he curses under his breath and lets the pen go after just a few minutes. Once she notices the sun has well set through their window and the moon is hanging high in the sky, she lets out a sigh.

“We’re not going to get anything done, Viktor.” She says quietly, watching as he runs a desperate hand through his hair, “Do you want to get some sleep? Jayce will probably be back in the morning, then we can at least work out what we’re going to do from here.”

“I still don’t understand why he didn’t show the prototypes.” Viktor mutters, “Nothing today has made any sense.” “Yeah.” She replies, “It hasn't.” After a moment, Viktor sighs and grips tightly to his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Let’s just go.” he says, and then quieter, as if he doesn’t want her to hear it, “I’m tired.” They don’t talk at all on the walk over to his dorm, both exhausted emotionally and physically. Viktor is struggling to walk more now, she always finds him falling behind even though she is trying her best to keep in step with him, he must notice, even though she purposely doesn’t draw attention to it and she can only imagine how that makes him feel. He stands back as she unlocks the front door and she fondly remembers the morning when she found the spare key lying on his dresser when she woke up. He hadn’t told her that he was getting a copy made, he’d just left it for her when he headed to the lab for the day. It makes sense though, she spends more nights asleep in his bed than she does her own these days, trapped in a tangle of bony limbs that isn't necessarily comfortable but it is profoundly comforting .

“Do you want tea?” She asks as she steps in through the doorway, holding the door open for him as he follows her inside.

“No, thank you.” He says, moving to the bedroom and sitting down on the bed, “Help yourself, though.” She follows him into the bedroom, sitting down on the floor and going through the familiar routine of undoing his brace, “You know I was just being polite, I hate tea.” He laughs weakly, leaning back on his elbows as she moves to undo the clasps at his knee, “Don’t worry, it was very polite, thank you.” Her hands are quick now, familiar with each fastening the whole way up his leg, it only takes her a few seconds to have it undone. when she finishes She rests her head on his left thigh, peering up at him. Viktor sighs softly, brushing her hair away from her face. This isn’t a thing that friends do, she recognises, unable to resist leaning into his touch, but it is what they do. The fabric of his slacks is a little scratchy against her cheek and her legs are starting to go numb where they are curled under her, but the moment is so intimate and delicate that she can’t bear letting it shatter.

“If Jayce isn’t in the lab tomorrow morning, I’ll see if I can find him in the council room,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing gentle circles over her temple with his thumb.

“I can go instead, " she suggests, “if you want to get some work done in the lab.” “No.” He replies sternly, “I-” he sighs, hanging his head, “I need to talk to him.” “He’ll listen.”

Viktor lets his hand drop from her head, his face awash in painful uncertainty.

She raises herself up on her knees and reaches out to cup his cheek in her hand, “It’s Jayce.” She whispers, confidence proved only a mimicry by the way her voice shakes. Her thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone and her voice is more sincere when she adds, “He always listens.”

***

Whatever conversation Viktor and Jayce have doesn’t seem to help all that much. Jayce does seem apologetic at the very least, but for the next few days, Viktor is decidedly prickly. He sets himself up at one of their workstations and starts wordlessly assembling a new project that neither she nor Jayce has heard anything about until now. While he works, she mostly just sits at her own desk and goes back to trying to fix the issues with the hexclaw with the hopes of getting it to a more finished state before the next investor meeting in a few months. Something has changed in Viktor, she notices. A more pointed determination, something almost dangerously single-minded. He works on his new project all hours of the day and it’s harder than ever for her to pull him away for meals, or to convince him to leave the lab with her in the evenings.

His cough is getting worse too, worse enough that it’s impossible for her to pretend that everything is fine, no matter how much he tries to convince her that it is just a cold or just allergies or just-

She catches him once or twice, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand and she wants to scream or cry or do any number of things to force him to stop acting like everything is still fine. Jayce has noticed too, but he’s so busy with council business now that he only drops into the lab for a few hours a day.

“I don’t know what to do.” He says, leaning against the wall just outside the lab.

She leans there with him, not wanting to have this conversation in the same room as Viktor, “Me either.” “He is sleeping, right?” She nods, “Not as much as I’d like, but I'm getting him to bed every night.” “That’s good.” Jayce replies, hanging his head, “I should be in there with the two of you but-” he sighs, “Everyone’s still worried about the attack and that missing gemstone, until that’s sorted I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to spend in the lab.” “I know.” She replies, because she does know, even if the facts make her angry, they are still just the facts. She wrings her hands together and turns to face Jayce, his brows are pulled tight and he’s chewing hard on his bottom lip.

“Hey, Jayce?” He turns his head to look at her, exhaustion visible under his eyes, “Yeah?” “Do you-” her breath escapes her in a hiccuping sob, “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Sure he will.” Jayce says, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “If anyone can get himself out of a bind, it’s gonna be Viktor, you know?”

***

She visits her father for dinner the night after. They have a long standing arrangement where she stops by within a week of progress day to debrief him. For the first time though, she spends the whole time just itching to get back to the academy, nervously checking the clock with each passing hour and barely managing to eat any of her dinner.

Her father laughs, “I know I’m not a proper chef or anything, but my food can’t be that bad, can it?” “No, it’s good, I’m sorry.” She says quietly, pushing her food around the plate with her fork, “Still just discombobulated after-” she waves her hand around vaguely, “You know.” “The attack?” He asks softly.

“Yeah, the attack.” she lies

“Your friends are alright, aren’t they? The Talis boy and uh-” “Viktor.” She supplies. Suddenly even less interested in eating her dinner.

The new project Viktor is working on consumes him. He’s started calling it the Hexcore and says that he aims to find out whether or not Hextech can learn , if like she discovered so many years ago, they were missing a fundamental and human component. While all of their current creations resonated at a G4, who’s to say that there aren't other effects that could be unlocked by teaching it how to resonate at another, or by giving it an unlimited combination of runes to cast with? He sits at the workstation for hours, constantly manipulating and twisting the rune matrix around. At all moments the room is filled with the rapid click of plates realigning or the humming of the gemstone within them. The only break comes when he takes a moment to update blueprints or write down new notes. She still managed to get him to bed the past few nights, though it only becomes more difficult each time. With Sky’s help, she’s able to keep him eating, even if it’s little more than a sandwich or one bite of an apple.

She did tell Viktor that she was going to be out tonight and that she’d likely see him in bed. Sky will be staying late at the academy because she has an assignment due tomorrow morning and she promised to keep an eye on him as best she could. Jayce has a meeting with councillor Medarda (though he called her Mel ) and will try and find time to stop by the lab on his way back just in case. It doesn't matter though, there’s a terrible, awful feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach that she can’t do away with.

“I should get to meet those boys someday, you know?” Her father says, snapping her back to the present, “I know you’re probably embarrassed about our little house on the fringes, but it cleans up nice!” She laughs weakly, remembering that Jayce and Viktor technically already visited years ago, “Sorry, Dad. We’re all really busy right now, and Viktor-” she bites her lower lip to stop the words from coming out, “He’s tired, we’re all tired.”

“Well, maybe I’ll stop by your lab sometime.” He replies, leaning back in his chair with a warm smile on his face, “You can do experiments on me, I’m tough.”

That gets a proper laugh out of her and she’s grateful for it, “I think we’d all like that.” she says, “You could meet our assistant Sky, too. She does work with plants, which is probably a little more up your alley than our stuff.”

“Speaking of plants, did you see the hydrangea on the doorstep? She’s looking a lot better, isn’t she?”

“Doesn’t look one foot in the grave anymore, at least.” She says and then lets out a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry I still haven't been able to get you a seat in the main hall for progress day. Mrs Talis said you could both share a seat next year if they deny my request again.” Her father barks a laugh, “Good sense of humor, that woman. I like her.” he crosses his arms and a frown pulls his grey eyebrows together, “House Talis isn’t even that large, I don’t understand why she gets a seat every year and I don’t.” She shrugs a shoulder, “They’re still a house, Dad.” He huffs, “You’d think having a daughter who helped build that big whosawhatsit in the sky would count for something.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She replies with a halfhearted smile.

“When are you going to get your face on one of those mugs?” He grumbles, “I keep telling my clients that my brilliant daughter is doing all this amazing stuff and none of them ever believe me, but if i had a mug- ” Another laugh bubbles up and out of her, she shakes her head, “Hey, Viktor doesnt have a mug either. We just don’t have the faces for it.” She lies, Viktor has a face that should be carved out of marble, “Plus we’re not exactly socialites, I don’t know what Id do if people started recognising me when I went out for lunch.” Her father leans forward, taking one of her hands in two of his own, “You deserve some recognition though, pumpkin.” he waves his hand, “I guess that Viktor guy does too, but I don’t care about him.” Somewhere amidst her laughter it starts feeling like crying, she sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes, “Be nice to Viktor, he isn’t here to defend himself.” “Maybe i’d care about him more if i got to meet him.” “Okay, okay.” She says with a watery smile, “I’ll see how we’re doing next month, maybe we can find time for you to visit the lab. You just won’t be able to touch anything, alright?” He lifts his hands up in the air, “Fully hands off, no worries, kiddo.”

***

It’s well past midnight when she finally leaves. Despite the sense of urgency burrowing into the marrow of her bones, her father still makes great company and it was difficult to leave him, but as she finally makes her way back to the academy dorms the urgency has begun an evolution into terror. Viktor’s dorm is eerily silent when she opens the door, even when he’s sleeping she can usually hear the rasp of his breath. Her heart beats so wildly in her chest that she can feel it down to her fingers as she rounds the corner and finds no crutch leaning against the wall of his bedroom and not a single disturbance in the perfectly made sheets.

The bad feeling rises in her like bile. Desperation gnaws as she drops her handbag, grabs her keys and kicks off her shoes before sprinting from the dorms all the way to the lab on the other side of the building. Her breath is ragged in her chest and her heart is racing in a panic that only increases in metre as she runs. The tiles are cold under her bare feet and she is aware that anyone still awake must hear her barreling down the halls, but she couldn't care about anything less. When she finally turns the corner to their hallway, it feels like it stretches and stretches, mocking her as she tries to get to the door, faster faster . Her breath comes out in an aching sob when she finally makes it, hoping and praying to be proved wrong as the door unlocks.

But the feeling had been right.

Viktor’s Hexcore still pulses on the workstation, pitch shifting from G4 to A4 like it’s laughing at her, spinning quietly as she crosses the room. Watching. Her heart stops completely when she sees him slumped on the floor, there’s a disconnect between her brain and her legs, she can’t make them move, she just stares and inhales gulp after gulp of air that never seems to satisfy. Her feet shuffle slowly, like she isn’t quite awake, like it might all just be a dream. She drops to her knees and reaches out for him.

“Viktor?” she tries, shaking him by the shoulder, and then again, panicked, “ Viktor?”

He doesn't stir. She inhales a breath through her nose, biting back tears, “Okay. Okay. ” she whispers to herself, trying to calm her breathing despite the aching sobs that still lurk in the back of her throat. When the sounds of her own breath are finally quiet enough, she lowers her head to his chest, pressing her ear to his sternum. A heartbeat. Barely there. Her own heart starts racing again and tears of relief start rushing down her cheeks. He’s still alive, but she has to keep him that way. While he certainly can’t weigh all that much he’s still a lot taller than her and completely unconscious so there is no way she can carry him.

“Okay.” She says, more to Viktor than to herself, “I’m going to get Jayce.” she hiccups another sob and presses a hand to his cheek, nodding to herself, “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The academy has a capsule pipeline system to send information between wings. She knows (thanks to Jayce’s complaining about it) that there is also a system that connects directly to each individual counciller room. Most folk can’t get a letter through to them directly, but Jayce left her and Viktor with a couple of special capsules that get immediate access without needing to go through verification first. Just in case. Her handwriting is very messy as she scrawls out two letters, barely a sentence on each. She also writes another one for the hospital, but she knows they’re further away than Jayce is. Her shaky hand smudges the ink and the paper must be covered in tears, it’s hard to see what she’s doing with only the ominous light of the Hexcore for illumination, but she never even considers turning a light on.

Clutching the capsules she avoids taking another look at Viktor, because she might not be able to leave the room if she does, and runs down to the station that sends and receives capsules for the science department. She sends the one for the hospital first because they have a direct line she doesnt need to input an address for. Then she inputs the address for Jayce’s room, sends the capsule and collapses to her knees beside the machine. It’s loud, when a capsule arrives, at least that’s what Jayce says, loud enough to wake him up. She sits on her knees for what must only be five minutes, but even that feels like an hour. There’s a thunk when a capsule arrives in the tube and she opens it with a panicked vigor.

It’s the hospital, they’re on their way, but it’s going to be an hour.

She presses her forehead to the cool wall, gritting her teeth. Jayce should have heard it, she has another capsule just in case he didn’t, but he should have, unless he isn’t in his room. Her eyes snap open and she rises up on her knees, hand shaking as she inputs the address for Councillor Medarda’s room instead and sends the second capsule.

Sitting there on the floor, clutching her knees up to her chest. She can’t stop thinking about Viktor, how she wishes she could do something instead of just sitting here and waiting. She buries her head in her knees and lets out a wail, not even bothering to keep quiet should someone overhear. If she hadn’t gone out tonight, if she just told her father that she needed to postpone, she could have stopped this. It’s all her fault. Just as she feels a scream building in her chest, there’s another thunk .

This capsule is from Councillor Medarda’s room. The letter inside is Jayce’s handwriting.

Coming now.

___

What are we? She wonders, sitting for the fifth hour beside Viktor’s bed in the hospital. She holds his hand tight, tracing the bumps of his knuckles with her thumb and just waiting . It’s been long enough that the orange light of the morning sun is pouring into the room, trying its best to bring some colour to the sterile white hospital room. She’s so tired after an evening spent crying and screaming and running back and forth that her head leans uncomfortably against the unforgiving wall behind her because she can’t manage to hold it up anymore. Jayce is tired too, but he still has enough energy to argue with the doctors, apparently. She can hear them from across the hall.

It only took him ten minutes to show up after his letter arrived. She was slumped against the wall of the lab with Viktor’s head in her lap when he came scrambling into the room. She’d cried so much that she could barely even move, completely weak with emotional and physical exhaustion and when Jayce finally came in through the door all she could do was start crying all over again. Jayce tried his best to stay calm, though his breath was heaving after running all the way over and his eyes were watery and panicked. She remembers the way he forced a smile.

“It’s going to be okay.” He’d said, the wavering in his voice betraying his cool exterior, “We’ll get him to the hospital, c’mon.”

He’d pressed his forehead to hers for just a moment and then lifted Viktor from her lap and into his arms. She barely managed to tell him that the hospital already knew they were coming, all her words came in juts and stutters between hiccuping sobs. Jayce tried to convince her to stay behind, but even with her exhausted body and shaking limbs, it was impossible for him to change her mind. The rest of the night is a blur, lots of sprinting, arguing, crying and waiting, so much fucking waiting .

She sits up straight when Jayce slams the door open. He has his hand clasped over the lower half of his face and his eyes are wild. She just watches as he crosses the room and all but collapses in the chair beside her. She sniffles and tries to smile, “Didn’t change anything, did it?” Jayce buries his face in his hands and she tentatively wraps the arm that isn’t areadly occupied by Viktor’s hand around his shoulder. He isn’t quite crying, but it sounds like he could start at any moment, “No.” he says gravely, “The results for the second round of tests were the same as the first.” a humourless laugh escapes him, “and they said there’s no point doing a third.” She bites her lower lip to hold back a sob, “You didn’t need to yell at them.” She says quietly, “It’s not their fault.” “I know.” Jayce says, his voice breaking, “I just-” he doesnt finish, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes and sucking a desperate breath in through his teeth “Yeah.” she replies, resting her head on his shoulder, “Me too.”

***

Jayce forces her to go home after four more hours. Promising to stay at the hospital until Viktor wakes up. She tries to argue, but unlike her, Jayce had managed a few hours of sleep the night before while she was running completely on empty. For a moment she considers going back to Viktor’s dorm instead of her own and curling up on his empty bed, but logic settles in when she realises Jayce will need to know where to find her if something happens. So she sleeps alone in her own bed and spends the whole time wishing she was somewhere else.

Even when laying in the bed and clutching her knees to her chest she can still hear the rush of her heartbeat in her ears. Her chest hurts from so many hours of painful sobbing and her eyes sting whenever she blinks them open. Her dreams are restless and disquieting. Unfamiliar images flash behind her eyelids that make little to no sense, Viktor is in all of them, Jayce is there often, Sky too. The only sound she hears is the ominous humming laugh of the Hexcore, as if it has sequestered itself inside her grey matter. The dreams start and end in rapid fire. Nothing good ever happens.

She doesn’t have any sense of what the time is when a knock at her door has her waking with a panicked gasp. Sun streams in through her open window, so it must still be at least the late afternoon, but other than that she has no idea. She stumbles to her door, still dressed in her nice blouse and skirt from the evening before but terribly rumpled for all her tossing and turning. It takes a moment for her to unlock the door, her hands don’t seem to want to obey her anymore.

“He’s awake.” Jayce says in a rush, when the door swings open.

Her heart jumps back into gear, all aching lethargy suddenly replaced with a jittering anxiety, “We have to go back now!” she says, moving to push past him.

“Wait!” He exclaims, grabbing her by the shoulders before she can start running, “I- I wish i could, but Mel doesn’t even know where I am and-” “Oh.” She says quietly, Jayce looks just as tired as she feels. The Councillor Medarda situation notwithstanding, he needs to rest, she can tell. She lifts up onto her toes and pulls him into a hug, breathing shakily, “It’s okay, I understand.” she buries her face in his shoulder, “Did you at least get to talk to him?”

Jayce returns the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight, “Yeah, for just under an hour. I know you wanted to see him straight away but,” he laughs a little, “He wanted me to let you sleep.” Her eyes start beading with tears again, at the thought of him asking Jayce to make sure she gets some rest as if he wasn’t the one who almost died the night before. Sucking in a shaky breath, she releases Jayce and gives him a tired smile, “I’ll see you later then, I guess.”

He nods, “Let me know if you’ll need me. I’ll be in my room all night.”

“Will do.” She replies, stepping past Jayce and closing her door behind her, “We will talk about you and Councillor Medarda later, though. I want details.” Jayce laughs and they both head their separate ways.

***

Viktor is at least sitting upright when she finally makes it back to his hospital room. His breath is an aching, painful wheeze and despite being open, his eyes seem glassy and inattentive. They do dart to her face when she enters and something like the first inclination of a smile tugs at the very corners of his mouth. She wants to start crying again, to hold him tight and never let go. She doesn't. Instead, she lurks in the doorway, wringing her hands together.

“I hear you saved me.” He says quietly, his accent and the rasp of his voice makes the words difficult to discern.

She swallows thickly, “I tried to.” Viktor sighs, then. Turning away from her to face the window. The sun's light makes his skin seem less ashen, but the hollows of his cheeks look even deeper, “I take it you were here with Jayce for my diagnosis, then.” “I-” she starts, voice catching on the word, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs bitterly, “Don’t do that to me, don’t apologise.”

She doesn’t know what to do but apologise. So instead she keeps her mouth shut and forces herself to return to the chair she had been sitting in for all those hours. Wordlessly, she shuffles the chair forward so she can rest her head on the edge of the mattress, peering up at him. She grabs his hand again, holding it tight the same way she had been when he was asleep.

“I wouldn’t judge you wrongly.” He says quietly, his other hand moving to cup the back of her head, “If you decided to put a stop to-” he closes his eyes and then says the last word like a secret, “-this.” There’s no specification, no clarification. But she knows, she knows what this is, she’s known it for years. This is the only thing she’s ever wanted, this has taken up residence behind her ribs and any removal would have to be surgical. They’d have to rip this from her, out of her and even then she would kick and scream the entire time. This is what they are.

“I don’t want to.” She breathes.

“Milackú” he whispers achingly. A word she has never heard before, but instantly recognises it as being for her, “I’m dying .”

It hurts to hear him say it, more than when the doctors did.

“You’ll figure something out.” She says, “I know you will and if- well if you don’t, I-” she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to force back her tears, “I’m still not going anywhere okay? Neither is Jayce, or Sky. Okay? ” she somehow manages to let out a weak little laugh, “and my father wants to meet you, so you have to stick around for a little while.”

Viktor laughs, though it's more of a rasp, “You talked about me?” he asks quietly.

“Always do.” She replies.

It looks like Viktor wants to say something and it looks that way for quite some time. He lets out a shaky breath instead and just keeps looking down at her, whatever words had been dancing on the edge of his tongue are long gone. Usually, she would be curious as to what they were, but at this moment she's just glad to have him, even in silence. It's hard to remember the precise moment when even looking at Viktor became an exercise in restraint, if it was the day they first held hands in the council room, or even before that. She always wants to reach out, to touch, for her skin and his to coalesce into something evangelical.

After some time, she attempts to readjust her head, frowning when she can't manage to find a position that doesn't put a crick in her neck.

“That cannot be comfortable,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing light circles on the back of her head.

“It isn’t, my neck hurts,” she answers truthfully. He huffs in faux irritation and shuffles himself to the far side of the bed, “Just get in.” he says, “Before you hurt yourself.”

The hospital bed is a lot smaller than the one in his dorm and while the sheets are starchy and uncomfortable, they do smell like him, so she is more than happy to climb in. The single bed leaves them pressed together from collarbone down to knee and the only comfortable place for her head ends up being his chest. He doesn't seem to mind, his arm curls around her and holds her even tighter against him. She wraps an arm around his middle and buries her face in his hospital gown to hide the new tears beading in her eyes.

“I love this.” She whispers, a close enough approximation, but its utterance feels less dangerous than the truth.

Viktor kisses the crown of her head, and he breathes, “So do I.”

He falls asleep first, probably less than an hour after she joins him in the bed. First the first time in a long while his breath sounds steady, though it’s probably because he’s still on oxygen. The rhythmic sound of his heart beneath her ear has her biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing, remembering how quiet it had been all those hours ago. How much it hurt to think he had died, how much it hurts still to know that he will .

She stays awake as the sun begins to set outside the window, once again painting the hospital walls in hues of orange, watching the shafts of light slowly shift with time. This is what they are. It’s not something that can so easily be named, it’s a feeling, a sob building up behind her ribs, his arm around her and the aching dread of something terrible on the horizon. She feels inseparable from him, a very real sense that if he were to die, she would be soon to follow. It takes another hour for her to fall asleep, hand clutched tight to the bedsheets at Viktor’s waist, leg tucked over the top of his own. She isn’t going anywhere, the universe itself couldn’t make her.

#viktor x reader #viktor/reader #arcane fanfic #viktor fanfiction

58 notes · View notes

welovewarcraft · 2 days ago

Text

when i die

fandom(s): homicipher

pairing(s): mr. crawling/reader (mc)

summary: What a blissful love life he enjoys. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

The fresh air was very nice to feel; it was very different from the metallic odor that constantly lingered in his old world. You told him about the sky and how beautiful it could be when it was blue. When the rain clouds cleared and he saw the sun's rays poke through the clouds from the confines of your apartment, he was giggling and happy. He had no eyes, but due to his supernatural qualities, he could still see.

Mr. Crawling liked many other things about your world in comparison to his. The buildings and their interiors were much like the ones he was familiar with, except they were cleaner and not tinged with dirt, rust, and blood. There were no ghosts with dubious intentions that could pop out at any moment. Though paranormal activity still existed in this world, as long as the both of you stayed away from prominent areas and activities, you two were fine.

This world was so much safer and nicer.

With you, Mr. Crawling was almost ecstatic every day. He had his first shower, his first set of clothes that weren’t his usual robe (you thought he looked rather cute in a hoodie and pair of sweatpants of the same color, but in the end, Mr. Crawling preferred his old clothes, so you got multiple kimonos for him), and his first real meal that wasn’t flesh (you’re a great cook!). He also learned about your language, your interests, and much more (once, you joked about turning him into a man of culture, but Mr. Crawling didn’t understand at the time).

About a year had passed since he started living with you. Mr. Crawling was content with the better and safer lifestyle, and he was able to speak your language at a basic level. One day, as Mr. Crawling was watching a documentary, he noticed you weren’t beside him. When he looked over, he noticed you staring out the window, lost in thought.

“(Name)?” He asked, the name rolling off his tongue naturally.

You looked at him in response.

“Yes, Mr. Crawling?”

“What are you thinking about?” His words still sounded a bit stiff. Your name was the only word that came naturally to him; once he got it right, he was ecstatic and didn’t stop saying it for a long while, enough to practice pronouncing it perfectly.

“Nothing, dear,” you replied.

Mr. Crawling blushed at the endearing nickname, but he still felt a bit unsure. Despite that, he turned his attention back to the documentary, enjoying the visuals on-screen and trying his best to pick up new words.

Mr. Crawling was very glad that he got to go to the human world with you.

A few days later, Mr. Crawling got worried. You seemed increasingly stressed, and he wanted to relieve you of it. This time, he was really poking at you, to the point of being annoying. He hadn’t acted this worrisome in a long time since accompanying you in the other world. When you finally were pushed past a tipping point by his badgering, you snapped and said that you attracted the wrong kind of attention and that if you weren’t careful, you would end up dead.

Mr. Crawling cried at your outburst. He could not produce tears, but the feeling was there all the same. You felt really bad, and patted his head and back to soothe him. Once he calmed down, he wanted to know everything. You refused to tell him much. A bit toward the end of your conversation, you said some words to him that made him shudder.

“When I die,” you began, “I would like to feed you my flesh so that you won’t be hungry for some time. I want to do one more good thing, even after I die.”

At this, Mr. Crawling had burst into tears again (to remind, metaphorically). He wanted to perish the thought, but you already planted the seed in his head, and he couldn’t seem to uproot it now. He could never eat you! You are his joy, the light of his life! He would rather go back to the otherworld or die than do such a thing.

He must have been really out of it because you dropped the subject instantly.

After that, Mr. Crawling became very clingy. He didn’t want you to leave your apartment at all. He succeeded at first, but after a few days, you managed to get away to go to work. You had to promise him extra cuddles and kisses after you came home every day (even on the weekends). He never wanted to leave your side, even when you had to take a shower (and thus, that’s how he got his first bath with you. It was greatly comforting, even if it was just temporary). You even got him a phone so you could send messages about what you were doing.

Fortunately, a few months later, the fear seemed to disappear almost entirely. You had managed to convince him that you fixed whatever situation you were in and that he didn’t have to eat your flesh. He was overjoyed. Everything was back to normal and perfect again.

Until one day, you didn’t come home. Mr. Crawling wasn’t too worried at first but when it was about eleven o’clock at night, he couldn’t take it anymore. He unlocked the apartment door while he was on his knees and exited the apartment. He tried his best to lock the door from the outside despite not having much experience with them; he knew you would be upset if you came home to an unlocked door and him not being there at the same time, but he was just so worried for your safety, that he eventually stopped trying and just left.

He wandered the city, making sure to stay away from other people and stick to the shadows. As he traversed, he picked up a strong metallic scent. He hadn’t smelled blood this strong since his residence in the other world (you would cut your hand on the kitchen knife sometimes). Afraid, he cautiously followed the scent.

He crawled and crawled until he reached an empty park. He made it to some trees when he saw you. You were still recognizable, but your body was mangled on the ground.

He crawled hurriedly over to your corpse and cried.

If only you just… didn’t go to work.

He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. His human was dead. Who would do this to you?

As he drowned in his sorrow, he suddenly remembered your words.

When I die, I would like to feed you my flesh, so that you won’t be hungry for some time. I want to do one more good thing, even after I die.

He made a louder whimpering noise. He wanted to preserve your corpse, like how he watched in those videos about funerals. He didn’t want to eat you! He was torn between doing what you wanted and doing what he wanted.

After he was able to calm down a bit, he looked at your corpse for a little while.

Unsure, he slowly reached with his claws out.

+++

AO3

#homicipher #homicipher game #homicipher mc #mr crawling #mr crawling x reader #homicipher x you #homicipher x reader

64 notes · View notes

webbluvrsugar · 2 days ago

Text

through and through. S.R fanfiction. CHAPTER ONE.

➠ fanfic masterlist ৎ୭

content warning: angst, lowkey mean Spencer, female reader, no use of y/n.

You knew that no matter how much Hotch begged for your help on a case, coming back was a mistake.

You figured it out when you’ve just walked into the BAU and Spencer’s eyes met yours, a flick of disappointment and hurt was pretty evident in the brunette’s eyes and honestly, you wanted to quit that mission right there, you wanted to leave and tell Hotch that you wouldn’t be able to do it — but that would’ve made you even more of a coward than you already are.

You didn’t need any introductions to team, they already knew who you were, the point was.. why were you here? That’s what Spencer asked himself. Were you here to work on a case, would you be gone after? Were you here to you with his heart just to leave to another state entirely? Again?

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to know, in fact, he didn’t want anything to do with you from the moment you walked in that room, he even gave up on his usual cup of coffee because you two were not about to have this conversation, you were not just going to come back here after all those months with no contact and then act like nothing happened, that was not happening because it did, something did happen and he suddenly feels like a fool for leaving all those voicemails when you came to the BAU with just a phone call from Hotch.

Turns out you didn’t change your number like he thought.

It’s clear why Hotch wanted you back on the team, you’ve always been a great addition to it and, with a harder case in hands, he should’ve expected it. He just didn’t think that you returning back would affect him so much, he can’t think, he can’t do his own job as profiler correctly because all he can think about is you — and maybe that is exactly why you two should’ve never gotten with each other, you’d end up hurting yourself or the team. Foolish as it seems, he still hoped it was different.

And now, as you investigate the house of another missing girl, he’s trying hard to avoid you, but you don’t make it easier for him.

You approach him slowly at first, pretending to look for clues, that is until, you actually talk to him. “Spencer, I —“ you try to speak, instead of running away this time, he interrupts you.

“You found a new lead?” He asks, you shake your head.

“No I just wanted to..”

“Then we don’t need to talk at all.” He tries not to come off as rude, but he does.

You should stay quiet and accept it that he doesn’t want to talk now and won’t want to talk soon but that voice in your head… “Spencer, I’m trying to explain, I want to apologise to you.”

You could’ve sworn he saw red from the harshness he closed the girl’s drawer. “I don’t want any apologies from you, this is not the time nor the place for you to start amends with people you lost — a little girl is missing and we need to focus on that.” He scrolls through the bottom drawers now. “And don’t talk to me about what you wish you had done because it’s not what you did.”

To an extent, his words are fair, but the fairness of them still doesn’t help to ease the pain you felt when he spoke like that to you, because it’s not the Spencer you know. It’s the Spencer you’ve seen talking to an unsub — because that’s what you feel like, he’s talking and treating you like you’re some kind of perp and.. that’s not the Spencer you know, it will always be the Spencer you love but not the one you know.

And it hurts to see that he doesn’t even want to look and you when you leave the girl’s house and meet back with team.

Sure, you have a new lead now but.. you’re forced to dealwith a broken heart.

You wonder if this is what he felt when you left.

54 notes · View notes

spicy30 · 2 days ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s 009

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

(Repost with extra things added at the end)

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+ (Use of drugs)

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29 @xmenteria @itwaszzmoon

WC: 16k

1st day of the 6th moon of 129AC

Dear Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon,

It has been a week since my departure from DragonStone and I was not able to bid you farewell properly, but most importantly—I was not able to apologize. I am sorry. I shouldn’t should not have said that. It was in crude taste, but I understand you shoulder a great weight and for me to add to that, I am sorry. Since I have arrived here, you have been one of my only friends and I value your friendship more than anything I have here. You are the only person who knows who I am, and I mean who I truly am. Not someone from Essos or wherever else other people think I’m from. You have seen things that I doubt I will ever show anyone ever again because I trust you as a friend and I am sorry that I have offended you and I am sorry for even speaking such things in the first place. I do not wish to lose you as a friend.

(P.S. I would’ve rewrote the letter but I ran out of paper.)

…

Three weeks left, it’s all you have before you have to present your grand ideas of a capitalist economy and yet you were here slaving away in the kitchen because your cannabis plant finally dried properly.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounded behind you and you jumped.

“Wha-” You turned around to see Aegon. “What are you doing here? This is a kitchen. Only servants enter.”

“Exactly servants. Have you been demoted?” Aegon laughed looking at you. Your dress is covered in smeared handprints of flour.

“No. If you must know, I'm doing something your father asked of me.” You turned around going back to mixing your concoction. Aegon peeked over your shoulder with a grin. “That looks like—” He pointed and you slapped his hand away.

“Yes I know, shut up.” You went back to mixing the white sticky substance.

“What is it?” You didn’t respond so Aegon looked around the kitchen seeing your mess. There were white squares and he touched them. It was soft, fluffy. “Can I eat this?”

That seemed to catched your attention because you turned around as soon as he asked. Aegon picked up the soft white square smelling it. It smelled light and like an airy vanilla. “No. Put that down, it's for your children.” After hearing that he tossed it in his mouth. It was soft and chewy, sweet, but not too sweet. He shook his head looking at you. “You can’t feed these to my children.” He spoke with his mouth full going to go eat another.

“Stop, do you know how hard it was to make that!?” You came to Aegon trying to take away the sweets.

“You are going to make my children fat. My daughter—Jaehaera—cannot get fat. No lord will want to marry her. Neither can my son…” He popped another in his mouth watching you and your expressions. “And Helaena is still my wife. My mother still expects more children and if I must…” He swallowed the sweet treat. “Well it's already hard enough fucking my own sister, don’t make it any harder.”

You were left speechless…well…at least he didn’t take any pleasure in having children with his sister.

Aegon ignored your pointed look, his gaze fixed on the platter. “What’s that?”

“Something for the King,” you replied briskly, moving toward the oven to check on your latest ‘experiment.’

“Can I try it?” he asked, already reaching for the platter.

“You won’t like it,” you warned, not bothering to turn around.

A moment later, you heard the unmistakable sound of gagging. Your eye twitched as a wave of irritation swept over you.

“You’re right, that was nasty,” Aegon groaned, smacking his lips. “The aftertaste is horrid.” He sauntered over to join you, peering curiously into the oven.

“You only took one bite, right?” you asked, casting him a sidelong glance.

“Why?” he asked with a crooked grin. “Are you about to commit regicide?”

You blinked, calculating the possible outcomes of his impulsiveness. Then, with a sigh, you straightened up and met his gaze. “...You’ll be fine,” you said finally, though your tone wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Aegon rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grimacing. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel fine. I’m not floating in the clouds or anything, but I feel… funny.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, muttering under your breath as you turned back to the oven. “Maybe next time, listen when I tell you something.”

That was weird though, even on your first time trying edibles, they didn’t affect you that fast. Did you make them too strong? Maybe it’s best to cut them into smaller pieces then.

Still a high for the first time Aegon is not something you want to be in trouble for. “Why don’t you meet me in the library? After I deliver these to your father.”

Aegon flashed you a flirty smile. “Eager to see my dragon?”

“Begging your grace.” You spoke, rolling your eyes, turning away from him, making more of your make-shift rice-crispy edibles. Making marshmallows and cereal wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be.

Aegon let out a smile a little too loud than he normally would.

Seriously, it never acted this fast for you.

Hands wrapped around your waist as he murmured into your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” Before he kissed your cheek and left you. You were left standing there. It was clear his high was going to prompt a high sex drive. Wonderfull. As if you didn’t have enough with the younger brother.

A shame you did not see Aegon sneak another two or three as he left the room.

Finishing your last batch you turned to take out your homemade pizza out the oven. Pizza is as old as time. Italy isn’t the only place that's ever made it, but as far as this world is concerned, it’s going to come from you. Pizza is commoner food, easy to make with basic things anyone can get, bread, cheese, tomato, and other toppings if available. Your prediction is that it’s going to be a hit with the commoners. You’d just sell the ingredients or maybe just open the pizzeria. How hard could it be?

First however, you needed to be a charity project. Help out with the starving. Starving, unhygienic people. It made you shiver.

“Dyana!” You called and she came running. “Yes, take this to my ‘place of work,’ and have someone bring me my ‘refrigerator.’ That’s all, thank you.”

A while back you had come with the brilliant idea of how to store goods. Of course there was drying out the food using the sun or covering it in salt, but…a zeer pot works best for you. It's an ancient technique that relies on evaporative cooling to reduce the temperature inside the jar, making it suitable for storing perishables. Very simply actually, it was a wonder how they haven’t done this yet. (Well they still did believe in spontaneous generation) No matter, more money for you once you get this patent idea out.

Cutting your edibles into smaller pieces you plated them ready to take it to the King. It wasn’t long before another servant came with your jars. You smiled and opened your and carefully stored them.

Finally, plate in hand, you made your way to the King’s chambers. With any luck, Alicent wouldn’t be there. Ever since you’d ditched her at the sept... well, things hadn’t exactly been cordial. Otto was even worse. The man seemed determined to make you regret every breath you took. Helping them nearly commit treason probably didn’t win you any favors. Just wonderful.

You reached the grand oak door and knocked firmly. It opened moments later, and you stepped inside.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, offering a stiff curtsy. Even after all this time, the motion felt awkward, like your body resisted the formality. Maybe it was your knees, or your hips, or perhaps even your ribs—all of which never fully recovered from that accident. That car slamming into you had left its mark, both physically and mentally. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffered any internal bleeding or broken bones, though it sure had felt like it at the time.

The King looked up from his chair, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “Ah, there she is,” Viserys said warmly, gesturing for you to come closer. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.”

“Never, Your Grace,” you replied with a small smile, stepping forward to present the plate. “You asked for something to help you relax, and I’ve crafted just the thing. A treat that’s as delightful to the palate as it is to the mind.”

Viserys leaned forward, intrigued by the small, golden-edged squares. “What are these?”

“They’re called... crispy rice delights,” you said, deciding not to overcomplicate the name. “Sweetened with honey and bound together with butter. Light and chewy, and utterly harmless.” Your smile was sweet, almost innocent, though the last part was perhaps a touch generous.

Viserys picked one up, turning it over in his fingers with mild curiosity before taking a cautious bite. A soft crunch filled the room, followed by a quiet hum of approval.

“Remarkable,” he said after a moment, reaching for another piece. “And you’re certain this will help me unwind?”

“It should, Your Grace,” you assured him with an encouraging nod. “The ingredients are simple, but I’ve added a touch of my... expertise to make them particularly effective. A small indulgence to ease the mind.”

Viserys chuckled, his mood visibly lifting. “You always surprise me with your ingenuity. Perhaps I’ll save the rest for later tonight, after council business.”

You nodded, hiding the flicker of unease that stirred within you. “A wise choice, Your Grace. Though I might suggest savoring them slowly. Too much too quickly may result in… an unusually vivid state of relaxation.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean by vivid?”

“Well,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “the body may feel unusually light, as though untethered. Thoughts could take on a dreamlike quality, wandering freely, and the edges of the world may blur in a pleasant haze. It is soothing, but perhaps… a bit distracting if one isn’t expecting it.”

“Ah,” Viserys said, clearly not discouraged. “Then it’s good I’m not on the council floor.” He popped another piece into his mouth.

You curtsied, preparing to take your leave. “If there’s nothing else you require, Your Grace, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”

He waved you off, his attention already fixated on the plate. “Yes, yes, go. You’ve done well as always.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you said, retreating with measured steps. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled quietly, allowing the faint tension in your chest to ease.

If all went as planned, the King would find himself pleasantly unburdened by the time the effects set in. If not… well, the rest of your evening might prove unexpectedly eventful.

Now for the other part of your evening: Aegon.

He’d decided earlier to sneak a bite of one of your experiments, ignoring every warning you gave. And now, if the hurried whispering of the servants was to be believed, the prince was wandering around the library giggling like a fool and marveling at the candles. Typical.

Though he had only taken a bite, there was no way he should be feeling this high this hard. If anything a couple giggles and nothing more.

Making your way through the dimly lit halls, you kept your pace brisk but not rushed. You couldn’t exactly run—not with how stiff your body could get when you overdid it—but the urgency pressed on your shoulders nonetheless. If anyone important caught sight of Aegon in his current state, Otto would no doubt find a way to blame you for corrupting the prince. Again.

By the time you reached the library, it was quiet save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the occasional sound of rustling parchment. You scanned the aisles, listening for any telltale signs of chaos. A soft laugh, almost childlike, drifted from the far corner.

“Aegon,” you called softly, making your way toward the sound. Rounding the last row of shelves, you found him sprawled on the floor, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as though it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

And oh my goodness, his eyes were pink. With one bite? No, they couldn’t have been that strong. God, how would the King react!? He had eaten one whole. You should’ve told him only one.

You were so dead.

“This place is amazing,” he said dreamily, waving a hand at nothing in particular. “All these books… why are there so many? Who’s read them all? Do you think they’ve read all of them?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, sitting up slightly. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’ve never thought this much before. Did you know books smell different at night? Like... like they’re dreaming, too.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Listen to me Aegon, you’re high.”

“Noooo,” he drawled, grinning lazily. “I’m enlightened.”

“Right,” you muttered, crouching down beside him. “Come on, you need to get up before someone sees you like this.”

“But why?” he whined, flopping back against the floor dramatically. “The floor is so cool. And these lights—look at them! They flicker like tiny dragons. Do you think they know they’re dragons?”

You suppressed another sigh, wondering if maybe the library wasn’t the best place. Maybe it wasn’t too late to smuggle him back to his chambers unnoticed. Grabbing his arm, you hauled him up with surprising effort. “You’re lucky Aegon,” you muttered.

“I am lucky,” he said, leaning heavily on you as you guided him toward the exit. “You’re amazing. Like… the best. You’re like a book, but alive. A live book.”

“Just keep walking,” you said, resisting the urge to laugh. The sooner you got him out of here, the better. He kept leaning into you, his body a dead weight against your side as you struggled to keep your balance.

And then you saw it—a flash of movement as his hand reached into his pocket and pulled something out. You froze for half a second, horrified.

“Aegon!” you snapped, glaring at the suspiciously familiar square in his hand. “How many did you eat?”

He blinked at you, as though trying to remember. “Two?” he said after a beat, holding up three fingers.

“Stop! Aegon, no!” You grabbed for the edible, but he stumbled back, clutching it to his chest like it was some sort of sacred treasure.

“They’re mine!” he slurred, grinning mischievously. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I literally am right now,” you hissed, lunging for him again. He dodged with surprising agility—or maybe it was just your body’s stiffness slowing you down. Either way, he darted behind a shelf, giggling like a madman.

“Aegon, I swear—,” you muttered, chasing after him.

“Calm down,” he said, popping the edible into his mouth with theatrical defiance. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll just be… double enlightened!”

“You’re gonna green out Aegon! You’ve never done this before!” you shot back, your frustration mounting. “And then I’ll have to explain to the Queen why her son is drooling on himself in the middle of the library!”

He laughed, a sound that echoed far too loudly in the quiet space. “You worry too much,” he said, swaying as he tried to lean casually against the shelf. It didn’t work; he slid down to the floor in a heap, still grinning.

You crouched in front of him, your hands on your knees as you stared him down. “Alright, listen to me,” you said, your voice low and firm. “You cannot eat any more of these, understand? I don’t care if they taste like heaven itself—you’re done.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glassy but vaguely focused on you. “You’re so serious all the time,” he murmured, poking your arm with a lazy finger. “It’s cute.”

You groaned, standing back up and grabbing his arm. “Come on, Prince Enlightened. Let’s get you to bed before you start philosophizing about candle wax or something equally ridiculous.”

“Candle wax,” he mused as you hauled him to his feet. “Why does it melt? Is it sad? Do you think it misses being a candle when it’s just a puddle?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Let’s just focus on walking,” you said through gritted teeth, dragging him toward the exit. Aegon stumbled along beside you, still muttering half-formed thoughts about the existential plight of candles.

The library’s dim light and solemn silence made his absurdity even more unbearable as Aegon giggled uncontrollably.

“Quiet,” you hissed, glancing around. “Do you want people to see you like this?”

“See me?” he asked, slurring the words. “I’m a prince. They’re lucky to—hic—breathe the same air as me.”

“God help me,” you muttered under your breath. “Keep it together, Aegon. We’re almost there.”

As you rounded a corner, Aegon suddenly stopped, his arm jerking you to a halt. “Wait!” he said, his tone serious for the first time all evening.

“What now?” you asked, exasperated.

He squinted at a tapestry on the wall, his eyes wide with a kind of wonder you hadn’t expected. “Look at it,” he whispered, pointing dramatically.

You glanced at the tapestry—a perfectly ordinary depiction of dragons and knights. “It’s a tapestry,” you said flatly.

“No, it’s more than that,” he insisted, swaying as he stared at it. “The dragons… they’re like… us.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, we are not dragons.”

He turned to you, his expression solemn. “Not with that attitude.”

“Alright, that’s it.” You tightened your grip on his arm and started dragging him again. “We’re leaving before you start a lecture series.”

Aegon laughed as you pulled him along, his steps growing heavier with each passing moment. By the time you reached the hallway leading to his chambers, he was leaning on you entirely, his weight making your arms ache.

“Almost there,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Aegon sighed dramatically, his head lolling onto your shoulder. “You’re so nice,” he mumbled. “Why’re you so nice to me? Nobody else is this nice.”

You paused, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was soft, vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.

“I’m not nice,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter. “I just…” I don’t want to be killed. Is what you wanted to say and what was true, but Aegon in this state…well why not humor him. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Still nice,” he murmured, his words slurring together.

You shook your head, hauling him the last few feet to his door. As you shoved open the door, you couldn’t help but think that this was the closest you’d ever seen to Aegon being truly at peace.

And it had only taken two edibles and a philosophical crisis about candle wax.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, nearly tripping over Aegon as he slumped heavily against you.

“Just sit down,” you muttered, dragging him toward the nearest chaise. He stumbled, flopping onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh, his limbs sprawled in every direction.

“This is great,” he mumbled, running his hands over the fabric. “So soft. Is this new? Feels new.”

“It’s not new, Aegon,” you replied, brushing your hair out of your face as you straightened up. “You’ve been sitting on this chaise for years. Now stay here and don’t—”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out another edible with a sheepish grin.

“Aegon! How many of those do you have?” you snapped, snatching it out of his hand.

“Relax,” he drawled, waving you off. “It’s just one. Or maybe two? Wait… was it three?”

You stared at him, horrified. “Aegon, stop! No more! Do you have any idea what’s in these?”

“Deliciousness,” he replied, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Want one?”

“Yes Aegon, give me all the ones you have.” You watched him pat himself and a pout form on his lips.

“It’s gone.” He mumbled and you sighed. As long as he didn’t have anymore.

“Okay Aegon, go to sleep.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m…” He began giggling. “I swear, I don’t why” Aegon couldn’t finish his sentence as he began to laugh even more. You saw his legs go weak and he was on the floor laughing. You were left standing there in his chambers. “I don't know why I’m laughing. I’m okay!” You watched as Aegon kept trying to stand but he just couldn’t.

Ignoring his antics, you started pacing, glancing toward the door to make sure no one had followed you. “This is a disaster,” you muttered under your breath. “If anyone sees you like this…”

Finally after a while his laughter ceased and he crawled to his bed using it as a pillar to hold on to as he dragged himself up. “See me like what?” Aegon interrupted, throwing his arms wide. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. The picture of princely grace.”

You turned on your heel, fixing him with a glare. “You’re high as a kite and acting like an overgrown child. That’s not fine.”

He blinked at you, then grinned. “You know, you’re cute when you’re mad. And in any case you came to the library to meet me and now we're in my room.” He began to unbuckle his pants. “My dragon is ready.”

“Aegon no.” You rushed to him holding his hands in place as you tried to keep his pants up. He bucked into your hands and tangled his hands in your hair pulling you closer to him.

“You always smell so good.” Aegon inhaled you as you tried to buckle his hands ignoring the obvious…issue he was having. “So good,” he mumbled into your neck, still smelling you. “I wanted to do this for so long, since the first night we danced. You smelled so good back then too. Sweetest thing I’ve ever smelt. You ruined whores f’me.” His words slurred together.

“Aegon, go to sleep.” You pushed him off of your and he landed on his bed.

“I like where this is going.” He smiled as he went to take off his shirt.

“Stay here.” You pointed at him raising a brow while walking away slowly. You can’t be caught in this man’s room while he’s trying to undress. It would be catastrophic for you.

Aegon propped himself up on his elbows, his half-lidded eyes watching you retreat. “You’ll come back?” he asked, his voice carrying a surprising hint of vulnerability.

“Yes, I will… later,” you assured him, forcing a smile. “Pretend to sleep. Count to two hundred, and then backward. That’s when I’ll come back, okay?”

He blinked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded lazily. “Two hundred… backwards. Got it.”

You pressed yourself against the cold stone of the secret door in his chamber, the familiar click sounding as it swung open. You slipped through, casting one last glance over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following.

The moment the door closed behind you, you exhaled a shaky breath. The dark corridors of Maegor’s secret passageways enveloped you in their eerie silence. No matter how many times you traversed these halls, they always felt like something out of a spy’s tale—clandestine and slightly dangerous.

Your steps echoed faintly as you navigated the maze-like tunnels. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dust and old stone, and your fingers grazed the rough walls to keep your bearings. The darkness didn’t faze you anymore; you’d memorized these paths well enough to find your way without hesitation.

As you walked, your thoughts drifted to Aegon’s words. “You’ll come back?” The way he had said it… it was almost childlike, a far cry from his usual bravado. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. There was no time to dwell on Aegon’s fleeting vulnerability when you had your own problems to worry about.

Finally, you reached the hidden entryway to your own chambers. Pressing your ear against the door to ensure no one was nearby, you slipped through the opening and into the safety of your room. With a sigh of relief, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment.

Tomorrow would be another day of maneuvering through the precarious web you’d woven for yourself, but for now, you were content to have avoided yet another disaster.

…

9th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Your apology is well received. I must admit my reaction was excessive. I apologize for my outburst. This subject is as if one is probing at an open wound. For most of my life I have dealt with such claims. I thank you for your honest thoughts and like you, I value our friendship very much. You have shown me things that never in my life I would ever see, and for that I am grateful. Our time spent together in the Red Keep was most amusing and if you had been in better condition, I would’ve given you a proper show around Dragonstone. I have been told you prefer it to the Red Keep. There are many secrets within Dragonstone, and Luke told me you found the architecture most appealing. I was not aware you found such interest in architecture. Perhaps one day in the future when you come visit Dragonstone, I can show you more on the basis that you show another movie. I hope to hear from you soon.

(P.S. I do not know what that means.)

—Jacaerys Velaryon

…

“How many children do you reckon are in that orphanage?” you asked, cracking your knuckles as you leaned back in your chair.

“It’s the smallest one, m’lady. About twenty. I counted myself,” came the reply from a boy no older than ten. He stepped closer as you set down your quill.

“Atta boy. I’m glad you’ve taken to numbers so well.” You reached out to ruffle his hair with a smile, earning a shy grin in return.

“Are you almost finished with the story, m’lady?” He tilted his head, glancing at the parchment on your desk.

“Yes, just now,” you replied with a nod. “Has everyone bathed? And did your sister finish counting the coins?” Turning fully to face him, you withdrew your hand and gestured toward the other side of the room.

“I believe so, m’lady. Will you read us the story?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, darting back to the writing. Recently, they’d all started learning to read, their progress slow but promising. Their handwriting was improving, too—a little shaky, but legible.

“I’ll read it to the orphans while you all distribute the food. You’ll hear it then,” you assured him before standing to let the ink dry. Your gaze shifted to a girl of about fifteen—the eldest of the group.

“How much?” you asked as you approached her.

“209 silver stags, 49 copper stars, and 56 copper pennies,” she replied promptly, holding out the coins in a small pouch.

“Good,” you said, inspecting the contents briefly. “Now, convert it into gold dragons for me.”

“1 gold dragon, 7 silver stags, and 0 copper pennies,” she calculated quickly.

You smiled, reaching into the pouch and pulling out a few coins. “Wonderful. Since you’re the eldest, here’s three silver stags. Use them to buy more sapwood smiles if needed and handle your groceries. Oh, and that old woman I pay rent to—I owe her one silver stag. Make sure she gets it.”

“Yes, m’lady.” She accepted the coins with a small nod.

“Alright then,” you said, turning your attention to the room. “Is everything packed?”

“Yes,” came a quick chorus of voices from the ten or so children bustling about.

“Good. Let’s get moving. One of you will lead the way,” you instructed, glancing at the youngest—a five-year-old clutching a small bundle tightly to his chest. The sight made your chest ache, but you pushed the feeling aside.

There was work to be done.

With everyone ready, you gave the signal, and the children lined up at the door. The eldest girl, clutching her share of coins, stepped forward to lead the group. You hung back for a moment, ensuring nothing had been forgotten. A single misstep—leaving behind even the smallest item—could unravel everything.

“All right, keep close to each other,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “No wandering off.”

“Yes, m’lady,” they chorused, their voices a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The streets were quieter than usual, though the occasional drunkard or suspicious glance reminded you that it was always best to move quickly. The youngest ones clutched their bundles tightly, their wide eyes taking in the night’s shadows.

“Head down, keep moving,” you instructed softly as you walked behind them, your eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

The orphanage wasn’t far, but every step felt heavier under the weight of responsibility. The coins jingling softly in the pouch at your side reminded you of the risk you were taking. Feeding and sheltering this many children wasn’t just a kindness—it was a gamble. One wrong move, one sharp-eyed noble or greedy merchant, and you could lose everything.

As the group approached the orphanage, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows: the matron, a stout woman with a lined face and sharp eyes that softened only for the children.

“You’re late,” she grumbled, though her tone held no real bite.

“I had extra mouths to feed,” you replied, tilting your head toward the children behind you. “Everything’s ready.”

The matron nodded and waved the group inside. “Come on, then. Quickly now.”

You stepped aside, watching as the children filed in, their small forms disappearing into the dimly lit building. The eldest paused at the door, glancing back at you with a questioning look.

“Go on,” you said softly. “I’ll join you soon.”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding and slipping inside.

Once the door closed, you exhaled, allowing yourself a brief moment to relax. This was your second time here in this orphanage. The last time you donated a silver moon, this time you would distribute food. The experiment you had done earlier this week. Pizza. An easy thing to make.

You walked into the large hall watching your own children distribute the pizza. There should be enough for everyone to get, caretakers included. One of your children offered and you shook your head. It was for them.

Finally you took your seat at the head of the hall.

The matron raised an eyebrow as you unrolled the parchment, settling onto the low wooden bench where the children had gathered. “What’s the story this time?”

You smiled faintly, glancing at the eager faces illuminated by the flickering firelight. “A tale of bravery,” you said. “A favorite tale of mine.”

The children murmured excitedly, scooting closer. Even the older ones who often acted aloof leaned in, their curiosity getting the better of them. “In a land far from here. On the greatest the old world had ever seen. On the Great Wall of China…”

…

18th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velaryon,

Thank you for accepting my apology, but I still find myself feeling very guilty, had I known more of your past I would’ve treated you more carefully, however it is still no excuse. In anycase, I am glad you value me as deeply as I value you. Maybe, one day in the future when my standing here in King’s Landing is solidified and I have a chance to simply enjoy life, I can go back to Dragonstone. Though I must say, I will not be going by boat, I get very sick while I’m on the boat. If I may be so bold, I would ask for another ride on Vermax. He was my first dragon riding experience after all. I enjoyed it, as I enjoy many things. My interest in the architecture of Dragonstone is rooted in the similarities that it shares with many old civilizations that I am currently trying to replicate, though no one knows that yet, but you are my friend and I hold no secrets from my friends. As for your request for another movie. I would be most happy to oblige. It has been quite some time since I have been able to just sit down and enjoy a movie like we did. I hope that peaceful times come soon for me. I hope to hear from you as well, I find this very fun. I have never sent any real letters before. I only played it when I was a child and I would ‘send’ them to my parents who lived in that house, so I do not think it really counts. I also like putting it on the bird. Really solidifies the feeling of being ‘old school.’

(P.S. In a letter, "P.S." is an abbreviation for "postscript" or in other words "PS" is used to add a comment, thought, or piece of information after the main message of a letter.)

…

You hummed softly listening to the music in your airpods, which you must say are pleasantly surprised they still work. In any case you had spent a good two hours sitting down revising your proposals, it it was good to stretch your legs. The place was mostly empty, save for the occasional assistant of the Grand Maester shuffling in to retrieve a book. You were tucked away on the second floor, near the window where the light spilled across your desk. It was quiet, and while you appreciated the peace, it left you alone with the nagging frustration simmering in your chest.

Two weeks. That’s all the time you had left before presenting your proposal to the council. It was… fine. Just fine. Average, really, and that wasn’t going to be enough. You had underestimated how much effort this would take—the endless revisions, the careful balancing act. The legal system you needed to make it work didn’t exist, and the proposal couldn’t take shape without it. A maddening little circle you had no way to break.

And then there was the second part of the plan. Bold. Revolutionary. Problematic. The council wouldn’t like it—it was too much, too fast. Change wasn’t something they handled well, not when it challenged their traditions. But you needed this to work. This proposal was your foothold, your insurance for when Rhaenyra took the throne.

Of course, with Rhaenyra came the biggest thorn in your side.

Daemon Targaryen.

The thought of him set your teeth on edge. His smug face, his mocking grin, that damned sword always resting on his side—it was enough to make your blood boil. You stopped pacing, gripping the windowsill as you stared out into the courtyard. Daemon wouldn’t just be an annoyance when Rhaenyra ruled; he’d be a threat. The first thing he’d probably do as King Consort would be to find some creative way to remove you from the picture.

The thought of it made your stomach churn. You could still see him, lounging in court like he had all the time in the world, Dark Sister resting beside him as though it was an extension of his hand. He could take you apart with a look if he wanted to, and he knew it.

“Arrogant bastard,” you muttered under your breath, your grip tightening on the windowsill.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. You couldn’t afford to waste time stewing over Daemon—not when you still hadn’t worked out the finer points of your plan. You pulled your chair closer to the table, shuffling through the stack of parchment filled with half-formed ideas and discarded revisions.

“Two weeks,” you murmured to yourself, like it was some sort of mantra. “Two weeks to figure it out.” You dipped your quill into the inkpot, trying to center your thoughts, but his shadow lingered in the back of your mind. Daemon was a storm waiting to strike, and you’d need more than a clever proposal to keep him at bay.

Your gaze drifted to the side, landing on the smoking pipe resting on the table. Redwood—sturdy and elegant, though a pain to carve. You still remembered the splinters, but it had been worth it. Naturally fire-resistant and perfect for the task. And, as luck would have it, you had some of your stash with you.

To be clear, you hadn’t planned on smoking today. Truly, you hadn’t. But Daemon Targaryen had a way of grating on your nerves like no one else. The man was a living, breathing annoyance, and right now, he was just too much to deal with.

So, like any rational person faced with such frustration, you reached for the pipe.

It had been months since you last indulged, but as the smoke hit the back of your throat, you felt a strange kind of relief. You held it there for a moment before crossing to the window, exhaling slowly into the cool air. The effects wouldn’t take long. They never did—especially not after this much time.

You leaned against the window frame, the redwood pipe resting loosely between your fingers. The breeze from outside carried the remnants of smoke away, dissipating into nothing. It wasn’t long before the familiar warmth began to spread—a slow unraveling of tension, the sharp edges of your irritation softening.

Daemon’s smug face, his insufferable quips, his incessant need to loom over every room he entered—it all seemed… smaller now. Manageable. Almost amusing, if you thought about it the right way. You allowed yourself a small laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Imagine that,” you murmured to no one, “Daemon Targaryen, reduced to a passing annoyance.”

You took another hit as you were inhaling a voice sounded from behind you. “What are you doing?” You began coughing trying to blow away the smoke. It didn’t work. Aegon looked at you with a confused face. Why he was in here, you couldn’t say. Maybe he still had a little thorn on his side when you never returned last week to his chambers. Oh well.

“What was that?” He raised a brow looking at you.

“Nothing.” You shook your head and shrugged playing dumb.

“I saw smoke come from your mouth.”

“No…” You looked around feigning innocence. “No I don’t think so.” You barely had time to compose yourself before Aegon stepped closer to you, his brow furrowed in confusion and mild amusement. His eyes darted between you and the faint wisp of smoke still lingering near the window.

“Definitely saw smoke,” he said, crossing his arms. “Are you… burning something?”

“Of course not,” you replied quickly, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. “Why would I be burning something in a library?”

He squinted, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “You’re lying.”

You straightened, feigning indignation. “I am not lying, Aegon.”

“Then what’s in your hand?”

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the pipe, hidden just out of his view. “My hand is empty.”

“It’s definitely not.” He stepped closer, leaning in as if he could physically pry the truth from your demeanor. “And it doesn’t smell like nothing.”

You sighed, realizing you wouldn’t shake him off easily. “Fine. If you must know, I was testing… aromatics. For medicinal purposes.”

“Aromatics?” His grin spread wide now. “You mean you’re…. smoking something.”

“Not smoking,” you corrected with a pointed look. “Testing. Big difference.”

Aegon chuckled, leaning casually against the table as he tilted his head to scrutinize you. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you? What is it? Something strong? Do I get to try? Is it like whatever I ate last week? Also… you never came back.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “Absolutely not. And for the record, I did come back. You just didn’t wake up.” You gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it wasn’t worth elaborating further.

“Well, first off, you tricked me,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes in mock accusation. “And second, why not? Don’t you trust me?”

“Not even a little,” you deadpanned, turning back toward the window, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “And I didn’t trick you. You just fell asleep like a babe.”

“Because you told me to count! Everyone knows counting puts people to sleep,” he argued, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “In any case, you should share with the First Prince. It’s only fair.”

“No. You’ll choke,” you said flatly, already regretting engaging with him.

“Then teach me,” he pressed, his voice edging on a whine as he reached toward your hand.

“You don’t even know what it does.”

“No, but I want to try it,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Okay… fine.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“No,” you said, voice dry as the desert.

Aegon blinked, realization dawning as he groaned. “You’re not funny.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I think I’m hilarious. But seriously, Aegon, this isn’t for you.”

“Why not? I’m practically an expert after last week,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to the window and taking another drag. The smoke curled lazily in the air as you exhaled, letting the faint buzz settle in. “And you weren’t smoking. You ate an edible. Different effects. Besides, that edible should’ve taken time but you absorbed it like it was nothing and you were trippin’, I don’t think you can handle smoking it.”

Aegon wasn’t giving up. He stepped closer, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s it even like? Is it… calming? Does it make your thoughts clearer? Or fuzzier? I want to know. Also what is…tripping?”

You raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face him. “Smoking is faster, depending on the person. It takes the edge off, which, frankly, you don’t need. You’re already as sharp as a butter knife.” You giggled. “Trippin is the feeling you get when you’re high.” Your smile was ear to ear, like the way it always was when you were high.

He gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “That is cruel, my lady.”

“Is it?” you teased, taking another hit and blowing the smoke lazily in his direction.

Aegon grinned, entirely undeterred. “It is. And who better to share your experiments with than me?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s not an experiment, Aegon. It’s just something I use when things get stressful. You don’t need this. You’ve got wine.”

He clapped his hands together, leaning forward eagerly. “One, please.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “One?”

“One,” he repeated, hands still clasped like a pleading child.

“Just one?”

“Just once,” he said with an exaggerated nod, already reaching for the pipe.

“Okay,” you relented, handing it over with a smirk. He took it, examining it like it was some foreign artifact before glancing back at you.

“What do I do?”

“You don’t know how to smoke?”

“No, we don’t smoke.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then how’d you know what it was called?”

“I saw it smoking, so I asked,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

“So… what do I do?”

“Right. You inhale, hold it for a moment, then exhale. It’s something you’ll get the hang of.”

“Simple enough,” he said, bringing the pipe to his lips. He took a deep inhale, his face immediately turning red as he began to cough violently.

“What the—” he choked out, trying desperately to expel the smoke from his lungs. “Oh, gods—what is this?”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and uncontrollable as you leaned against a nearby table for support.

Aegon scowled through his coughing fit, shoving the pipe back into your hands. “This is vile,” he croaked, clearing his throat.

Still laughing, you waved him off, struggling to catch your breath. “You… you said you wanted to try it!”

“Not like that!” he snapped, shaking his head but unable to suppress a grin of his own.

You took the pipe back, wiping tears from your eyes. “Stick to wine, Aegon.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse as he flopped into a nearby chair. “That’s the last time I trust you with anything.”

“Good choice,” you quipped, smirking as you leaned back toward the window, savoring your small victory.

Eventually, you settled into the chair beside him, your eyes drifting to the scattered papers in front of you. Taking another long draw from the pipe, you exhaled a steady plume of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling.

“It seriously doesn’t burn for you?” he asked, rubbing at his throat.

“You probably did it wrong,” you said, shrugging. “It shouldn’t burn that bad. I messed it up my first time too. After a while, you either get used to it… or figure out a better way.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back and studying you skeptically. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a master of all things questionable.”

“Give it time,” you replied with a grin, tapping ash from the pipe. “You’ll be coughing less if you try again—maybe.”

“I’ll stick to wine,” he shot back, but the faintest trace of curiosity lingered in his voice. You shrugged before a silence overtook you both. You felt the effects coming in, your muscles relaxing and your eyes drooping slightly. The constant feel of gravity over your body. The music through your airpods felt magical. All you needed now was something to eat.

“So what is all this?” He gestured towards the table.

You gave a sigh putting down the pipe. “Just some proposal.” As you spoke, puffs of smoke left you.

“A proposal?” Aegon leaned forward, his curiosity momentarily outweighing his usual apathy. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he glanced over the scattered papers. “What kind of proposal needs that much writing?”

You glanced at Aegon out of the corner of your eye and reached up to pause your music. “Every proposal, Aegon,” you muttered, sinking further into your chair. “I don’t even want to do it. It’s too much work. And it’s due in, what, two weeks?” You let out a laugh, sharp and self-mocking. “Yeah, no. It’s not happening.”

With the music paused and anticipating that Aegon wasn’t going to let the conversation die, you pulled out your AirPods case, idly tucking the buds back inside.

“What are those? I saw them in your bag. They go in your ears?” Aegon asked, eyeing the small white case with curiosity.

“Oh, right. You don’t have these here.” You held up the case, turning it in your hands. “They’re called AirPods. Yeah, they go in your ears so you can listen to music.”

“Music?” he echoed, tilting his head. “How does music come out of that?”

“Well, it doesn’t come from these exactly—it comes from this.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, waving it lightly.

“The box! I saw that too, but it looked different—the front wasn’t lighting up like that.” Aegon leaned closer, intrigued.

“It’s called a phone,” you corrected, smirking at his fascination. “Anyway, the music’s stored on here. It connects to the AirPods through Bluetooth, which basically lets devices communicate using short-range radio waves or... something like that.” You waved your hand vaguely, the effort to explain already feeling monumental in your current state. “It works. That’s all I care about.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, clearly lost. “Right... and you’re not mad I went through your stuff?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly as you cleaned your AirPods case. “Honestly? I don’t feel anything right now.” You chuckled lazily. “But even if I did, I don’t think I’d care. As long as you didn’t break anything, it’s whatever.”

“I think I like you better like this,” Aegon said, grinning. You laughed, handing him the phone.

“What do I do with this... phone?”

“Swipe to the right.”

“Woah, what’s this?” He turned the phone over in his hands, staring at the screen like it might come alive.

“Here, let me see.” Your movements were slow, almost exaggerated as you reached over and took the phone back. “Say ‘cheese.’”

“Cheese?” he echoed, confused, just as you snapped a photo. You turned the phone to show him the image.

“Woah! It’s like a portrait, but... with the eye!”

“Yeah, it’s called a picture,” you explained, amused.

“What else can it do?”

“Well, before I ended up here? A lot of things.” You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “You remember that night we danced, and I said I’d show you the music from where I’m from?”

Aegon nodded eagerly. “You did. You said you’d teach me how to dance, too.”

Aegon grinned, settling comfortably into his chair. “Play something, then. Let’s see what your box can do.”

“Bet.” You smirked, scrolling through your library. “There’s a lot more, but this is all I managed to save before I ended up here, so... we’re working with limited options.” You handed him the phone. “Just press anything that looks interesting.”

A few moments later, a beat filled the air: “Siento aquí tu presencia. La noche de anoche. Y nos ponemos a llorar…” The music was loud. “Kendrick?” You laughed. “On your first song? You chose Kendrick?” You smiled standing up tapping his shoulder while ‘wacced out murals’ played. “I always knew you were something special.” You leaned back against the table.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as the music unfolded. “This is music?”

You nodded, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. “This is a different genre. Hip-Hop. Rap, specifically. Kendrick’s a lyricist—his whole deal is using music to tell stories, share experiences, or make a point. It’s not just something you vibe to; you listen to it.” You smiled faintly, letting the song’s rhythm carry the conversation. “He’s got a lot to say, and he’s real good at saying it.”

Aegon studied you, his expression somewhere between amused and intrigued. “And this... this is what you listen to when you’re stressed?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, taking another draw from your pipe and exhaling slowly. “Depends on the vibe. But Kendrick? He’s a solid choice for any mood. Especially if you’re from California, his music just hits better.”

“California?” Aegon asked, listening to the beat.

You nodded. “He’s from the West Coast. It's the whole thing, East vs West. A whole story.” You took back your phone. “Y’know who else is from the West coast. This’ll give you a better idea of the rivalry.” You scrolled down smiling before pressing on it.

“That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker. West side, Bad Boy killers.” You pointed at him as you spoke while Aegon’s eyes widened at the vulgar words. You let the song play as you took another hit from your pipe.“First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim. Westside when we ride, come equipped with game. You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife” You kept up with the lyrics while smiling watching Aegon’s face. You started laughing letting the song play.

Aegon leaned forward, his brows lifting in shock as the opening lyrics hit him like a slap. “What!?” he exclaimed, his expression teetering between horrified and amused. “They just... say that? Openly?”

You sat on the table moving your head to the beat. “Yup. It’s a diss track. Did numbers in the 90s.” You probably shouldn’t be telling him about all of these things, but at this point, you weren’t really thinking.

“Diss track? 90s?” he echoed, still staring at your phone like it was some kind of enchanted artifact.

“Yeah,” you said, amused by his wide-eyed curiosity. “Think of it like a verbal duel, but with rhythm and a beat. Tupac and Biggie—two legends, two coasts, locked in a rivalry that shook the world of music. This track? ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’ Was the best in my humble opinion.”

“And he fucked his wife?” Aegon smiled listening to the song.

“He fucked his wife.” You confirmed smiling. “Yeah so many things happened and then…well then he was killed.”

“For a song?” Aegon furrowed his brows.

You nodded. “There was more at play but the whole entertainment industry is dark. So many things happen behind the scenes and sometimes people get killed. Also they were involved with gangs and things like that, so…”

“Voilent place.”Aegon said leaning back as the diss track played.

“Real voilent.” You nodded to the beat.

“Fuck you and yo’ motherfucking mama!” Aegon looked over to the phone shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie. Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfuckin' crew. And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too. Chino XL, fuck you too. All you motherfuckers, fuck you too” You laughed as you followed the lyrics while Aegon shook his head as you spoke the lyrics. “My favorite part.”

“How vulgar. If only my mother heard you,” Aegon barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“God, can you imagine? I’d be dead by tomorrow or something.” You chuckled, taking another hit before pausing, realizing you should probably stop. It’d been a while since your last session, and you didn’t want to risk greening out.

Aegon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You want to hear something real vulgar?” you asked, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That was just talking shit. Female rappers these days? They go crazy. Sexxy Red, Ice Spice, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion. Though Nicki Minaj was the original—changed the whole game for female rappers back in the 2010s.”

Aegon squinted, incredulous. “What are these names? Ice Spice? What is that?” His laughter rang out, the disbelief plain on his face. “Sexxy Red? Seriously? Do people actually call themselves that?”

You nodded, grinning at his reaction. “Yup. Those are their stage names. It’s not their real names, obviously, but it’s what everyone knows them by. Think of it like... titles. Like how Aegon the Conqueror wasn’t really called that in day-to-day life—he was Aegon Targaryen. Same idea. It’s about building a persona, making a name that sticks.”

He tilted his head, considering it for a moment, a wry smile on his lips. “So you’re saying Ice Spice is their version of Aegon the Conqueror?”

You smirked. “Basically. You wanna hear one of her songs?”

Aegon glanced around, his eyes scanning the room before walking to the edge of the balcony, checking to make sure the door was closed. When he turned back to you, he gave a quick nod. You smiled, stood up, and made your way over to him. He peered over your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hmmm... Deli? Oh! Look.” You tapped the screen, revealing “Gang Baby” by NLE Choppa. “It’s not Ice Spice, but the women aren’t the only ones speaking here. So, NLE or Ice? Which one do you want?”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, eyeing you. “Which one’s better?”

You shrugged. “Both are good, but NLE is a bit more…explicit. Ice has better beats, in my opinion.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Go with the girl, then.”

You tapped on the song, and the familiar beat started to thump in the background. Aegon furrowed his brows, looking at your phone. “Is that what she looks like?” he asked, eyes glued to the preview of the video that Spotify provided. There she was—Ice Spice, rocking her signature orange wig, booty shorts, and a white tank top.

“Why is her hair like that? And...where are her clothes? She looks good. Nice arse. Bigger than yours.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “The stray!?” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyways, that's a wig. And that’s what we wear—or what we can wear. Short shorts and wife beaters.”

“Wife beaters!?”

“Yeah. It’s just the name they have. It's because that’s what men wear when they beat their wives,” You purse your lips nodding.

Aegon stared at you, wide-eyed while giving a disbelieving laugh.“Beat their wives!?”

“Well obviously it’s not accepted, but it’s another name those shirts have, because it falls in line with the stereotype, but yeah. It’s not funny but…it’s just a name they have. Tank tops or sometimes just undershirts, but I grew up with people calling them wife beaters.” You explained when the song came to an end. “Gang baby?”

Aegon nodded and you pressed play. “Just listen.” As the lyrics began Aegon looked over with another disbelieving smile on his face.

He turned to you, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “You’re mad for liking this.”

“Mad in a good way, though.”

He didn’t answer, letting the beat take over, though his face said enough: curious, entertained, and undeniably hooked. “She told you she celibate, but she told me I can nail her shit.” You mumbled along with the song.

“You’re celibate?” Aegon asked as he continued to listen. You looked up at him before nodding. “Yeah.” Were you? Not with his brother you weren’t.

…

30th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

There is no reason to feel your guilt. I assure you, everything has been forgiven. I do find myself wondering about your statement, about your security in King’s Landing. I am aware that Prince Daemon does not hold favorable feelings towards you however to fear that you are not safe within the Red Keep is a different matter entirely. Are you well? I am more than happy to extend an invitation for your stay here in Dragonstone if you feel your life is in peril, regardless of Prince Daemon’s feelings on the matter. I’m sure my Grandsire will not object to me being your personal escort to Dragonstone on Vermax if you dislike traveling by ship. I also enjoyed the joy ride we took on Vermax and I am more than willing to oblige with your request. Your stay here in Dragonstone would allow your studies to progress and my Grandsire I’m sure approves of this as your knowledge has helped him like no other has been able to. Dragonstone’s architecture has much to offer and is only rivaled by the Wall in the North, and Winterfell both designed by the engineering genius Bran the Builder. There is also the Hightower in Old town or Casterly Rock which is a castle built into a cliff side. There are many places but if you have an interest in the old world more reminiscent of Essos and Valyria Strongholds, Dragonstone is best. I am glad you value me as a friend enough to inform me of your endeavors. If you wish to explore civilizations of old then Old Valyria is best. My grandsire has an intense intrigue with our Valyrian roots. As the name suggests it had been here for many millennia and more and at its peak had over a thousand dragons and held most of Essos and ruled as overlords.

I truly do hope to see you once more here in Dragonstone.

(P.S. For your first letters they are well written and I must say that you are the first person I have ever truly sent letters too. I enjoy watching the birds return knowing that I am receiving a letter from you.)

…

If someone were to ask Alicent what she thought of you, Alicent would say that you were a peculiar girl (prone to sin) and had much potential (Not totally doomed to the Seven hells). Queen Alicent Hightower does not know you. Queen Alicent Hightower sees a desperate girl. Queen Alicent Hightower is not completely opposed to helping you.

However, Queen Alicent Hightower loves her children. Despite her failure with Aegon, she prides herself in her daughter, Helaena Targeyen. Her only daughter. (Even if she too is peculiar, but not your peculiar. Helaena can do no wrong and if she does, Helaena is a mother, mothers are prone to do peculiar things for their children.)

So when Helaena came back muttering sayings with wide eyes after your trip, Queen Alicent Hightower saw you to be a bit more peculiar than she originally had thought.

“A savior, saint, prophet, messiah all names will bear no fruition.” Helaena muttered as she stitched. “History is set.” She continued as Alicent bounced Jaehaerys on her knee. Saints, prophets, saviors, and messiahs. Helaena had never spoken of religion before. For a brief moment it excited Alicent. Something to share with her daughter.

Her excitement would bear no fruition.

If someone asked Alicent Hightower what she thought about you, Alicent wouldn’t know what to say. You simply were, nothing really special, but now you feed the commons and frequent orphanages. She had first learned of this two weeks after you had delivered her the disappointing results that Rhaenrya’s plain featured children were indeed legitimate. (Alicent still had her doubts) Alicent does not know what you spend your time doing (Now she knows you spend your time doing charitable acts) In the first two months, there was never a word of what you did. You stay cooped up in your room working on what Alicent had told you to work on (Treason) and nothing else…or at least that's what you led Alicent to believe. You are a minx—that's what Alicent thinks of you. A minx who had corrupted her daughter and her son. (Maybe if you were around Aegon more, she’d be able to blame you for him too) Helaena seeks you out for ‘popped corn’ and ‘potatoes with salt.’ Her poor daughter had become slightly more plump since encountering you.

Her grandchildren (A part of Alicent mourns that she is a grandmother in her thirties) have also grown plumper and refuse to eat certain foods. All thanks to you of course. Your time in the kitchen has grown exponentially. Now her own husband consumes what you cook, with…well only the gods know the answer.

Lord Beesbury has reported that stops in King’s Landing have improved the local economy. You buy from small stores that seemingly arose from nothing and yet now produce a great amount of coin, as for where you got your coin, Alicent cannot say.

Alicent for the life of her, does not know how you do it, but you now stand in the small council. The very council she once controlled alongside her father before you came along. The very council she fought so hard (waited for so long) to be in, and only three months here, you now stand far too close to Alicent’s position. As a pretty mouth whispering in the King’s ear who now seems more receptive to you more than ever.

“First, I would like to thank each and every one of you for your time today and your willingness to listen to my propositions…”

Alicent’s teeth nearly ground together. The sound of your voice grated at her nerves. How sweetly you spoke, how poised you stood, and—most of all—the audacity of wearing that dress. The emerald green silk had once brought Alicent strength when she needed it most, a gift to herself in the early, lonely days of her queenship. She had offered it to you out of courtesy, a gesture of mentorship to a young woman finding her footing. Now, it felt like you had stolen a piece of her, standing there in her council chamber, in her dress, with her King leaning forward to listen to you.

“…These creators often face a grave injustice: their labor and ingenuity are stolen when others imitate their work without permission or recognition.”

Alicent wanted to scoff aloud. How innocent you made yourself appear. But Alicent knew better. The subtle glances exchanged with Aemond, the whispered laughter between you and Helaena—it wasn’t mere goodwill that brought you here. No, you were something sharper. Something more dangerous.

“To address this issue, I humbly propose the establishment of a patent system…”

Viserys leaned forward, his expression alight with curiosity, and Lord Beesbury murmured his agreement. Alicent gripped the armrest of her chair tightly. Of course they’re enraptured. How could they not be?

“My vision for the patents is a simple promise,” you continued, your voice steady, each word measured. “To the inventor, the patents offer protection for a limited time—during which no one may copy, use, or sell their creation without consent. To society, they offer a legacy. After this period, the invention becomes public knowledge, free for everyone to use and improve upon.”

Your gaze swept across the council, meeting the eyes of each member in turn. Lord Beesbury was nodding slowly, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Ser Otto Hightower, however, remained impassive, his calculating eyes fixed on you as if trying to pierce through to your true intentions.

“Thus, a patent ensures that inventors are rewarded for their efforts,” you pressed on, “while ultimately sharing their knowledge to benefit all.”

Grand Maester Orwyle shifted slightly in his seat, his expression neutral but not hostile—a promising sign, given the usual disdain the Citadel held for unconventional ideas. Across the table, Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood. Whether his amusement stemmed from skepticism or intrigue, you couldn’t yet tell.

And then there was Rhaenyra. The princess leaned back in her chair, a spark of curiosity alight in her violet eyes. You met her gaze briefly, offering a slight, deliberate smile before continuing.

Alicent, however, did not return your glance. Instead, her knuckles whitened against the armrest, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Imagine, if you will, a blacksmith who crafts an entirely new type of plow,” you continued, allowing a moment for the council to visualize. “This plow turns the earth more efficiently, saving farmers hours of labor. Under the current system, another blacksmith could simply copy the design and sell it as their own, reaping the rewards without any of the effort. Why, then, would the first blacksmith ever bother to innovate again?”

A few council members nodded, most notably Lord Beesbury, who leaned forward eagerly.

“With a patent system, however,” you explained, “the original blacksmith would register their invention. This registration would be overseen by a neutral party, perhaps a specialized office within the Citadel or under the King’s authority. Upon approval, the blacksmith would be granted exclusive rights to manufacture and sell their plow for a specified number of years—ten, perhaps, or twenty.”

Viserys stroked his beard thoughtfully. “And what happens after these years are over?”

“At the end of the patent term,” you said, your voice firm and clear, “the invention becomes public knowledge, available for anyone to replicate and build upon. By then, the original inventor would have had ample opportunity to profit from their creation, and society as a whole would benefit from its widespread use.”

“And the process of registering this…patent?” Ser Otto interjected, his tone carefully neutral but his sharp gaze unrelenting. “Would it not be ripe for corruption? Any system can be exploited.”

“Indeed, my lord,” you acknowledged with a slight nod. “That is why the process must be transparent. Inventors would submit detailed descriptions or schematics of their creations, which would be reviewed by a panel of experts—selected for their impartiality and knowledge. If the invention is deemed truly novel and beneficial, the patent would be granted.”

Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, crossing his arms. “And these experts—would they not demand their share of coin for their favorable decisions? Even the most noble men have a price.”

“A valid concern,” you replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “This is why I propose strict penalties for corruption within the system. Any found guilty of such acts would face severe consequences—stripped of rank, fined heavily, or even imprisoned. Fear of reprisal is a potent deterrent.”

A murmur rippled through the council.

“And what of disputes?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked, his deep voice cutting through the room. “What if two inventors claim to have conceived the same idea?”

“A panel would also serve as arbiters in such cases,” you answered. “Evidence would be presented—designs, prototypes, or witnesses to the invention process—and the panel would rule in favor of the one who can most conclusively prove their claim.”

The King nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “A structured system, indeed. But this sounds…complicated. Would it not overwhelm our courts and treasury?”

“It would be an investment, Your Grace,” you said earnestly. “The initial costs of establishing the system would be repaid tenfold through the innovations it encourages. Trade would flourish, industries would thrive, and Westeros would become the envy of the world for its ingenuity.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. Whether it was mocking or not, you couldn’t say. “Ambitious,” she said, leaning forward. “You think the people would accept such a change?”

“I do, Princess,” you said confidently. “Because it benefits them directly. Farmers with better tools, seamstresses with finer needles, sailors with more durable ships—all of this would improve lives. Once they see the results, they will embrace the system.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You think not only of the present but of the future. I find your ideas…intriguing. I would like a detailed proposal drawn up for the council’s further consideration.”

You inclined your head deeply. “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s nails dug into the armrest, her expression inscrutable. Too close. You are far too close.

“And you have a second proposal, yes?” Viserys offered. You nodded and stood straighter, puffing out your chest ever so slightly. You needed to radiate confidence.

“Yes your grace,” you said with a gracious smile before continuing. “My proposal is cut from the same cloth—one that builds upon the foundation of innovation and rewards hard work but seeks to invigorate our economy more broadly.”

The council members exchanged curious glances.

“In Westeros, we have lands rich with resources, craftsmen skilled in their trades, and people eager for opportunities. Yet much of this potential lies dormant, untapped,” you began. “Imagine a system where individuals, no matter their birth, could invest in ventures—merchants funding ships, farmers pooling resources to build mills, or craftsmen working together to establish workshops. With structured investments and shared profits, we could ignite a flame of enterprise that benefits all.”

Lord Beesbury raised a brow. “Shared profits? Are you suggesting some form of communal ventures?”

“Not precisely,” you clarified. “Rather, I propose we encourage what I would call ‘partnership economies.’ Merchants or lords with coin to spare could invest in promising ventures run by skilled individuals who lack the resources to begin on their own. These investors would receive a portion of the profits, but the ventures themselves would remain under the control of the original creators or craftsmen.”

“And how would this differ from a lord simply collecting his taxes or rents?” Ser Tyland Lannister asked, his voice edged with skepticism.

“It differs, my lord, because it incentivizes collaboration,” you said. “Instead of taking from the people what is already theirs, this system allows lords and merchants to grow wealth alongside those they invest in. A baker with better ovens produces more bread; a blacksmith with finer tools forges better weapons. Everyone benefits—not just the few.”

Viserys nodded, his interest clearly piqued. “You mean to say that wealth could be multiplied, rather than merely redistributed?”

“Precisely, Your Grace,” you affirmed. “This approach would encourage cooperation between the classes, foster innovation, and create a thriving middle class—artisans, merchants, and skilled workers who could contribute even more to the kingdom's prosperity.”

“Would this not disrupt the established order?” Ser Otto interjected, his voice sharp. “If smallfolk begin amassing wealth and influence, what need would they have of their lords? Such a system could lead to rebellion, not progress.”

“I understand your concern, Lord Hand,” you replied evenly. “But this system does not undermine the authority of lords; it enhances it. By investing in their people, lords would see greater returns from their lands and more loyal subjects. A smith who prospers thanks to his lord’s patronage will be far more devoted than one who sees his talents squandered.”

Queen Alicent’s lips pursed, her knuckles whitening against the armrest.

“And what would regulate such investments?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked. “To prevent fraud or disputes?”

“Contracts, my lord,” you said. “Binding agreements overseen by the crown or local magistrates. These contracts would clearly define terms—how much is invested, how profits are shared, and for how long the agreement stands. Any disputes would be resolved through the courts, ensuring fairness and transparency.”

Ser Harrold Westerling, who had remained silent thus far, tilted his head. “And what of those who cannot repay their debts? Would this not lead to a rise in indentures or worse?”

“A valid concern, Ser Harrold,” you acknowledged. “This is why investments must be made with care. Only those ventures deemed viable by an impartial body—perhaps a council of merchants or scholars—would qualify. And as for those who fail, there would be no punitive measures that strip them of their dignity. Instead, they might work to repay their debts over time through service or labor.”

“You prepose slavery?” Otto spoke and your confidence cracked and Alicent was there to see it form. “Slavery is a thing of Essos, The Targaryens left their costumes in Essos, are you attempting to bring back such horrid acts?”

You took a deep breath. “No. Slavery is a thing of the past. A flawed system. It breeds resentment, resentment breeds revolts. I have seen first hand the after effects of slavery. I have lived through the after effects of slavery. It takes decades, a century even yet those who originated from slaves are never seen as truly human…there would obviously be a judicial system specifically allocated to deal with such issues.”

“To create these things, these systems…it would take years, decades even.” You knew Otto held back. To say that the realm will go through a big change soon. The death of the King and a possible war for the throne. But he was right, this would take decades to properly input. There are things one simply cannot account for. A trial and error system.

But Rome was not built in a day.

“Great empires were not built in a day.” You turned your attention to King Viserys. “Old Valyria was not built in a day.”

You scanned the council members, gauging their reactions. The room was not as receptive as it had been moments ago.

Lord Beesbury shifted in his seat, his expression troubled. “This… ‘partnership economy,’ as you call it, sounds dangerously unorthodox. Encouraging smallfolk to amass wealth and enter ventures—would this not blur the lines of station? The order of society has always rested on clear boundaries.”

“Indeed,” Lord Jasper Wylde added, his tone stiff. “Such a proposal risks emboldening the commons, giving them ideas above their station. If a blacksmith or merchant prospers too greatly, what stops them from questioning why they bow to their lords at all?”

Ser Tyland Lannister scoffed lightly, crossing his arms. “It seems to me that such a system would only create chaos. Smallfolk lack the discipline and foresight for enterprise. They would squander their investments or worse—turn to deceit to enrich themselves.”

You held your ground, your voice steady. “My lords, I hear your concerns, but this proposal does not seek to abolish the natural order. On the contrary, it strengthens it. A prosperous people serve their lords better, pay their taxes more readily, and maintain peace in the realm. Would you not prefer subjects who thrive under your guidance rather than languish in resentment?”

Ser Otto Hightower, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his words cutting and precise. “A fair argument, but you ask us to overturn centuries of tradition, all based on theories from lands far removed from our own. This is Westeros, not Essos, or wherever it is you come from. Such radical ideas could unsettle the foundations of our society. If smallfolk become too powerful, where does it end? Will they sit among us at this table one day, as you do now?”

The jab was not subtle, and the room bristled with tension. Even Viserys, who had shown enthusiasm moments ago, looked uncertain.

You chose your words carefully, keeping your tone respectful yet firm. “I understand the weight of tradition, Lord Hand, but traditions must evolve to ensure the survival of the realm. This proposal does not hand power to the commons—it channels their efforts into something productive, something that benefits us all. Lords would remain the cornerstone of this system, guiding and overseeing its growth.”

Queen Alicent’s lips tightened, but she did not speak. Her silence felt heavier than any words.

Lord Beesbury frowned deeply. “But how do we ensure control? If these partnerships are mismanaged, or if the commons grow restless, it could lead to unrest. You speak of contracts and fairness, but who enforces this? Who ensures that the lords are not taken advantage of?”

“Precisely!” Lord Wylde snapped. “Who is to say these agreements will not be exploited to undermine noble authority? Contracts are words on parchment, easily manipulated by clever tongues.”

Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the murmurs, calm but commanding. “Is that not the purpose of law? To prevent manipulation and ensure fairness? Or are you suggesting that Westeros lacks the capacity for justice?”

The room stilled, and you glanced at her, grateful for the unexpected support.

“The Princess is correct,” you said, seizing the moment. “This system would be governed by the crown, with contracts overseen by magistrates or councils appointed by the King. Any disputes would be resolved under royal authority, ensuring fairness for all parties. This would not weaken noble power; it would enhance it, showing that lord's care for their people’s welfare and prosperity.”

Ser Tyland narrowed his eyes. “And what of women? Would this system encourage them to step beyond their roles as well? If you aim to give them the same opportunities as men, you will only invite more chaos.”

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to waver. “Women have always contributed to the prosperity of their families and lands, my lord, though their efforts are often overlooked. This system would allow their talents to flourish alongside men’s, to the benefit of all. Prosperity knows no gender.”

Alicent’s voice finally broke the silence. “And yet it is a woman who stands before us, proposing a system that upends the very order of Westeros. Forgive me, but I cannot help but wonder if this is truly for the good of the realm, or for your own ambitions.”

Her words stung, but you inclined your head gracefully. “I seek no personal gain, Your Grace. Only the betterment of this realm I now call home.”

Viserys raised a hand, silencing further objections. His voice was measured, though doubt lingered in his tone. “The proposal is bold, perhaps too bold for many to accept, but it is not without merit. I will consider it further, though I urge caution. Change, if it must come, should come slowly.”

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am grateful for your consideration.”

As you stepped back, the tension in the room was palpable. The lords remained skeptical, their unease plain, but you could see the seeds of curiosity planted in a few of their minds. The road ahead would not be easy, but you had taken the first step. And that, you knew, was how all great changes began.

…

6th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velyarion

I must thank you for your kindness, truly. You need not worry yourself too much, for now at least. I am glad I have the King’s favor or my head would most likely be on spike. You see, other than serving the King, I have no purpose and because I am quite literally ahead of my time, I do not conform with such expectations of women today. Queen Alicent and Lord Otto don’t particularly seem to like that about me, and Prince Daemon doesn’t like me at all, I am unsure where your mother stands on an opinion of me. The only one I have who does favor me is the King and is the sole reason why my head is still atop my shoulders. You must forgive me and I know you are not a personal book of mine to write, but I find it easy to speak to you. It is easy to explain myself to you and my feelings about being here. I am scared. I don’t want to die again. It is a horrible feeling. There's nothing like fighting for something as simple as human breath. I don’t want to know how it feels to have my head cut off or burned alive or something like that.

That was grim. Sorry. In anycase, the King will not live forever and your mother will be Queen. I need to make myself valuable enough for her to decide she does want me around or at the very least not dead. I am very glad for your letters. I have been the library recently searching about the Hightower, Casterly Rock, The Wall, Dragonstone, Old ruins like Summerhall, High Heart (reminds me of Stonehenge), the Isle of Faces (This one is more so because of plain old curiosity and learning about these ‘Old Gods.’) But I think the one that captures my attention the most is Winterfell. Bran the Builder was some Builder. The concept of being built atop a spring is genius. I read that hot water travels through the walls. I want to know how that was done. I want to go to Winterfell. I will go to Winterfell once I get this patent thing off the ground and then I can go ahead with the water system.

(P.S. Thank you so much for the little tip that your Grandsire is obsessed with Old Valyria. Really helped me sell my idea. Also yes, I find it very exciting to wait for your letters. I check consistently, only because no one knows I’m sending letters to you, but if it wasn’t for that, I too would be very excited for your letter—I still am excited for them)

…

“Thank you, Disney,” you muttered, finishing yet another story—this time, Cinderella. It was always a good choice for the orphanages. The kids adored it, and when you ventured out into the city, some people even began to recognize you. Things were going smoothly. Gaining the love of the smallfolk turned out to be surprisingly easy. All it took was treating them like actual people. With your growing reputation, you were starting to build an impressive résumé—one that might even help you gain a foothold in the Faith.

But the Faith alone wasn’t enough. The Citadel had become a necessary stop in your plan. You’d thought it through: there was no way you could overhaul the water system by yourself. You lacked the technical knowledge and the support. You needed scholars—real scholars (hopefully not just philosophers). And you needed them now.

There was no ignoring the challenges ahead. The water system required precise engineering: the slope had to cut through a hill—a massive one. How to achieve a perfect straight line? You had no idea. As for the sewer system? That would practically require dismantling half of King’s Landing. The city’s urban planning—or lack thereof—was abysmal. Chaotic streets, haphazard layouts... Aegon the Conqueror clearly hadn’t been thinking about infrastructure.

You let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in your chair. “Dyana!” you called, and moments later, she appeared.

“Here,” you handed her your finished story. “Take this to my workplace and have someone bring me fruit or food. I’m starving.”

As Dyana left, you turned back to your desk. The parchment before you read: Patent Act of 129 AC. It wasn’t just a set of rules; it was a strategy. This act would require a new position on the Small Council—a role you hoped to fill with someone you trusted, someone who would favor you. Preferably an older person who might conveniently vacate the seat by the time you were of age and had the accomplishments to take it yourself. Longevity—that was the goal. Not just surviving but truly living. Living a fulfilling life, as you would have in your own world.

The only downside? You had to live in King’s Landing. Hot, humid, sticky King’s Landing. You sighed again. Dry heat would’ve been better, or even better still—the North. Somewhere cool, where the air was crisp, and the summers didn’t feel like an oven.

Before you could indulge in your northern fantasies, a knock sounded at the door. A maid entered, carrying a tray with what looked like a meat pie, wine, and a small bowl of grapes. You offered a polite smile as she approached but quickly stopped her as she moved toward your papers.

“Not on top of the documents,” you said sharply, gesturing to the side. She corrected the course and placed the tray on an empty part of the table.

“That’ll be all. Thank you,” you added curtly.

Once the maid had left, you stared at the meat pie with open disgust. You’d managed to avoid eating meat for the past four months, but it was starting to take a toll. The weight loss was noticeable—too noticeable. Energy levels were plummeting, and without proper nutrition, you knew you’d face bigger problems down the line. If you wanted to strengthen your immune system and maintain your health, you couldn’t rely on simple carbs alone. You’d have to face facts: meat might be a necessary evil in this world, and your survival hinged on staying strong.

Grabbing a fork, you poked at the meat pie. The wafting scent of roasted meat invaded your senses, making your stomach churn. You closed your eyes, exhaled sharply, and dropped the fork with a dramatic sigh. For good measure, you mimed choking yourself. God, why? You weren’t even vegetarian, but the lack of cleanliness in this world was unsettling. The mere thought of consuming it made you reconsider your timeline for selling the idea of refrigeration—a plan you’d initially intended to push after passing the Patent Act for maximum profit.

It sucked, truly. You’d hoped to tie it all together: disproving spontaneous generation, advancing sanitation, and introducing better food storage. But if you wanted to maintain a healthy diet in the meantime, you might have to accelerate your plans.

Flexing your hands in irritation, you reluctantly picked up the fork again and sliced off a small piece. “Okay, okay, okay,” you murmured, trying to psych yourself up. On the bright side, if this went terribly and left you with another crippling migraine, at least you’d have an excuse to retreat to Dragonstone for a while.

Lifting the bite to your mouth, a voice cut through the room, stopping you.

“I would not recommend eating that.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered, dropping the fork as your eyes darted to the doorway. There, standing in the shadows, was Aemond. He had apparently figured out how to reach your chambers through Maegor’s secret passageways.

“My grandsire and mother were... displeased with your proposal,” he said, his tone measured, though his eye gleamed with curiosity. “And your growing favor with my father—the King—does not sit well with them. I would refrain from eating anything you did not prepare or see prepared yourself.”

His words hung in the air, cold and heavy.

You sighed, pushing the plate away and opting for the grapes instead. “You can’t do that,” you said, popping one into your mouth.

“Do what?” Aemond asked, settling into a nearby chair with the ease of someone who clearly didn’t care to be chastised.

“Just come in whenever you want. What if I was changing?” you shot back, gesturing vaguely toward yourself.

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Right...” you drawled, rolling your eyes. “And what if I was plotting or something?”

“I have the right to be informed,” he replied evenly, his tone suggesting he genuinely believed this.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. “I like my privacy. And my private plans, thank you very much.”

Aemond studied you, his sharp eye taking in every detail of your face and posture, as if trying to decode a cipher. “You’ve been amassing influence,” he said finally. “Among the smallfolk. Writing laws. Offering ideas that challenge long-held beliefs. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Subtlety is overrated,” you countered, flicking a grape into the air and catching it in your mouth. “I don’t care if people notice. In fact, I’d prefer it—they should see what I’m trying to do. But that doesn’t mean I want you barging in uninvited like you own the place.”

“First, I do own the place. The Red Keep is my home.” Aemond leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Secondly, you’re ambitious. Too ambitious for someone with no name and no family ties.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a challenging look. “What do you suggest I do? Sit here looking pretty until some lord with decent standing finds me attractive enough to overlook my lack of name and origins? Marry him, then wait for years before I can even think about making my moves? Too much time wasted. Unless it’s some Northern lord or someone willing to give me Dragonstone, it’s not happening.”

Aemond’s lips twitched with faint amusement as he leaned back, his sharp gaze never leaving you. “When did you start fantasizing about Northern brutes?”

“First, that’s rude,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Second, I prefer the cold. Ergo, a Northern lord. Though a friend of mine told me there’s more to the North than just freezing winters. Winterfell has caught my attention. I want to go there.”

“For?”

You shrugged, popping another grape into your mouth. “It doesn’t hurt to look at men I might potentially want to marry. As for Winterfell itself… Bran the Builder was an interesting man, intelligent beyond his time. I want to study the blueprints of their stronghold, maybe glean something from their methods. The wall alone is a feat that deserves more attention than it gets.”

Aemond studied you with that familiar intensity, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling back your layers, searching for secrets you hadn’t even admitted to yourself. “You’re bold. But you’d need more than boldness to survive the North. They respect tradition above all else, and you, well…” He let his words trail off, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“And I?” you prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“You would disrupt their traditions just as easily as you disrupt the quiet here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the room.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing,” you replied smoothly. “Times change. You can either let go of the past or be dragged. However, me personally…” You smile at him leaning back in your chair tossing him a grape which he caught. “I’d rather be the one steering the change than a passenger caught in the chaos.”

For a moment, Aemond said nothing, popping the grape in his mouth, his gaze piercing and calculating. Then, he gave a slow nod, as though acknowledging some unspoken truth. “You’re a risk-taker. That much is clear. But risks in this world come with consequences—more often fatal than not.”

“And yet,” you said with a faint smile, “here I am, very much alive.”

“For now,” Aemond countered, standing. He adjusted his tunic, his sharp features set in a contemplative expression. “If you do decide to go to Winterfell, let me know. I’d be curious to see how they handle someone like you.”

You smirked. “What, worried they’ll like me more than you?”

Aemond’s eye glittered with something between amusement and warning. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply curious to see if you’re as unshakable as you pretend to be. The North has a way of testing people, you know.”

“Good,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “I like a challenge.”

Aemond didn’t respond, but the faint smirk on his lips lingered as he turned and left the room. You watched him go, your mind already spinning with plans and possibilities. If Winterfell truly held the knowledge and opportunities you sought, then perhaps the cold North was exactly where you needed to be.

…

14th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

I was not aware of the dangers you faced in the Red Keep. Had I known I would’ve stressed to my mother to let me stay in King’s Landing. However, now that I am here, more now than ever I can offer you a place of solitude. Here I can assure you that your head will not be on a spike and you could simply live life as you deserve. We could watch movies or I can show you more of this world, as strange as it is to say. I’m sure my younger brothers would enjoy watching the movies you once showed me if it would please you. I do not mind if you express your thoughts to me, no matter how grim, I would much rather share your burdens than rather have you face them alone. You are in a strange land vastly different from what you are accustomed to, I would not blame you if you had such thoughts and do not oblige by traditions. Even so I do not doubt that my mother will resonate with you should you have the chance to speak to her.

To continue with your interest in the world of old, had I known you would’ve taken interest in Winterfell rather than Dragonstone, I would not have mentioned it. Of course that is only a jest. I am more than willing to help you in anything you should require. I am glad that my Grandsire has taken your side rather than the Queen. If you would not mind, I would much like to know what Stonehenge is. I have never heard of it. As for the Isle of Faces, it is a sacred island in the middle of the lake called the God's Eye, located in the southeastern riverlands. It is one of the few known locations of weirwoods in the south of Westeros, with most others having been cut down and burned. I do not know much of the religion, Prince Daemon favors the gods of Old Valyria and I know more about them than the Seven or the Old Gods. However, in my youth when I lived in the Red Keep there was a Weirwood tree in the Godswood. I remember the leaves being five-pointed and the sap of weirwoods are blood-red, while the smooth bark on their wide trunks and wood are bone white. They say most weirwoods have faces carved into their trunks and that it was done by the children of the forest in ancient days, and is now done by the free folk as well as other descendants of the First Men, such as followers of the old gods in the Seven Kingdoms praying to heart trees in godswoods. The one in the Red Keep has sap that has collected in the crevices of the carved faces, giving the trees red eyes which have been known to drip sap as if the trees were weeping. A weirwood will live forever if undisturbed—or so it is said.

(P.S. Northerns are very set in their ways. If you go, I would like to accompany you. I have never left the South and I long to explore Westeros. If I am to be King, a King must know his people.)

Note: How do we feel? Anyway after for like ever we have our first mention of Winterfell. Speical thanks to my Beta reader ❤️

Previous I Next I Masterlist

To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

60 notes · View notes

antinous-of-ithaca · 2 days ago

Text

Roleplay Starter: Panic Attack.

Being sober was almost a challenge.. one which he couldn't really acomplish.

Despite everything he had promised not to do, it was becoming increasily hard not to relish the old habits that kept him from losing his mind. Or well, at least lose it within his thoughts, because he would eventually do it either way due to the sea of alcohol he was drowning himself in.

That thought was.. scary. Somehow. But he was not meant to feel that way. Not when he had so many eyes on him, and a great chance to lose.

Maybe he wanted the crown to be important. To have something to cling on if everything went wrong all of a sudden. It had happened before and he was certainly not willing to go through that again, not when things seemed to go.. well, for once in his fucking lifetime.

"Am I really going to get better?"

He asked himself, as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead as thoughts ran through his mind. Though, he would've liked them to enter his right ear and escape out the other, just like they did with everything else; with the advice he rejected and the words of encouragement that didn't mean anything for his stupid brain.

With each question he asked himself, it seemed like things got worse. His own body reacting without consulting his mind first, like it had become independent, somehow.

Antinous' right leg bounced up and down as a result of the new state of anxiousness he found himself in, which was the least of his concerns at the moment. It felt like he couldn't hear anything outside his mind, like the whole world had gone silent under the voices in his head, which became even louder with each second he spent being sober.

Antinous knew this sensation. He knew what it meant, what the consequences were. But, he couldn't really bring himself to ask for help, could he? Not when he was always treating people like trash. Who in their right mind would help him in any way? Definitely not any suitor, since he was just one of them, and therefore many of them saw him as a threat. Not the staff, he had been a jerk ever since he came here, and he was sure they wanted him dead as much as the nobles did.

He was just scum in the side of the road, waiting to be kicked and crashed by someone else's foot.

Tears came out of his eyes at the mere thought. He knew he wasn't any better than the people around him. They knew he wasn't. It was just his mind that was using it as a defense mechanism, which wasn't working at all. Not when sober. Not when he could hear his own thoughts at the absence of sound.

He tried to stop himself, wipe away the tears coming out of his eyes before it could get any worse. But of course that didn't work, nothing did. It felt like he had a river running down his face. He didn't really sob, though. He choked down any sounds that could come out of his damn mouth.

Oh, how many times he could've keep it shut? How many problems could he hace avoided if he thought of doing this sooner?

All the sounds in the background sounded like white noise. Which would've helped earlier, but were now making it worse.

Laugher. He could hear it coming from every damn corner in the palace and, even if he had locked himself in a different room, his head convinced him that it was the world mocking him for every single mistake he made. From being born to thinking he could ever archieve being a king.

What did that stupid crown even mean? That you had power over others? Or that you won in life, somehow? It didn't matter what stupid price he would get if he even got to be king, when all he could think about was how many people he hurt. How he had let himself be dragged by the chains of his own pride like a lowly slave. But, in a sense, he was a slave of his own desires.

Nothing of what he did had made him happy. Not drinking, not mocking others, not eating expensive food that wasn't even his. Nothing. It felt.. weird not to be able to satisfy his greed.

Antinous had seen countless men finding what they wanted. He saw them cheer, laugh and smile. He had too. But there wasn't anything else to it for him. Those people felt happy for days, while he seeked another goal.

He was losing himself. Losing his mind, his friends, his whole life! But he couldn't do much about it. It felt like he could only sit and watch as he built a meaningless wall just to have another one crumple to the ground. He couldn't do it right, he was far too gone, far too cold, far too much for anyone to understand and drag him out of this grave he had digged for himself.

Just then, Antinous felt like the walls closed around him, pressuring every inch of his body. His own clothes became uncomfortable, like they weren't made of fabric, but of ants that were crawling his body and biting onto his now scarred skin.

He tried to scream. Nothing came out of his lips.. no sound but a gasp as he felt a non-existent rope around his throat, tightening with every move he made around the supply closet he had hid himself in.

But yes, he was hiding like a fucking child. He was pathetic enough to think he could hide from himself. To think he could change that and do something for himself.

It would be better if he just could get a bottle of wine and drink himself to death. But even then, who would look for him? Hell, he wasn't sure if he would even get a proper burial.

He didn't deserve any better anyway. Not now or ever. If anything, he deserved the right to live just to continue his cycle until he died of old age or someone ended him for good.

He couldn't take being sober. Not.. now.

Antinous was willing to drink again, die while doing so. But even then, the world laughed at in his face as he tried to stand up, only to fall back to the floor. He felt like an animal who had been injured. Except there was no apparent reason for him to be unable to walk.

He tried again, his knees buckling once again in a response to his almost desperate attempts.

He was going to die here. He just knew it. Everything was spinning around him, his limps numb to any sort of pain that came from the outside, except the growing headache he was getting.

He felt sick. Like his anxiety was actually going to make him throw his guts over the floor. Every rational thought left his body, tears streaming down his face along with sweat as he gasped for air once again, only managining to hiperventilate by trying.

"Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!"

His hands went to his head, trying to distract himself, to snap out of it by pulling on his hair.

Numbness.

Oh, gods, he hated it. And even if he knew it was in vain, he continued, not even noticing he was openly sobbing. That was being too loud.. that if someone passed nearby, he would be heard.

OOC: I saw that rp starters tagged people but I was too nervous to do it. So, sorry to anyone who might be annoyed by this tagging. 😭

@sonofpolybus @the-epic-amphinomus @penelope-is-waiting @thetorturedsuitor @eurydiceofsparta @bright-side-of-the-moon-tele

#epic the musical #epic rp #antinous #epic the ithaca saga #roleplay #send help #the mod is crying #tw: mental health #tw: suicide #tw: panic attack

55 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 1 hour ago

Text

okay, here we go, part 2! (bear with me once again)

Something in his tone must have reached her, because she looked up, her eyes softening, almost as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. “Logan…” she said her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

how are you doing this?? 'cause this is something i would do. i've never had a guy interested in me, other than a casual friend, so i feel like if a guy was sending signals that he wanted more, i just wouldn't notice or believe it.

She bit her lip, looking down, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t see it because… why would I?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he had to lean in to catch the words. “I mean, look at you. You’re… you’re handsome. You could have anyone. And I’m just… me.” She let out a shaky laugh, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m quiet. I’m… awkward. I was rude to you half the time, and the other half I was too shy to even look you in the eye.”

chat this is getting too real

“Not with you,” he replied softly, his voice like a promise. “Never with you.”

ughhh, i love soft logan

“Tell me what you’re thinking, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice a rough murmur. He kept his gaze steady, trying not to let his need show too much. He wanted her—God, he needed her—but he knew better than to rush this.

consent, consent, consent!! that just makes him that much more attractive

The worst of it was a half-written document, clearly meant to be an exposé. She’d been planning to write everything down—publish everything. The paper was titled in bold at the top: The Hidden Faces of War: Secrets Behind Team X. And beneath the title, a line that made his blood run cold: “An unauthorized look into the men behind the missions, and the things they were never meant to remember.”

i knew it! i mean... oh no...

Wade sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, man. I’ll help you,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a note of real sincerity. “I don’t want her getting hurt, either. I’m not a monster. I know what Stryker will do if he gets his hands on her.” He paused, his gaze steady. “She doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you.”

the fact wade knows how much she means to logan is true friendship

“In a heartbeat,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I’d leave it all if it meant keeping you safe. You think I care about Stryker? About Team X? That life’s got nothing for me. Not anymore.”

so cute 😭😭

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her words full of quiet sincerity as she tugged his jeans down his hips. Her eyes roamed over him, taking him in as if he were something precious. Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound rough and unpracticed. “Beautiful?” he echoed, a faint, self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. It was strange hearing that word directed at him—foreign in a way that made him feel both exposed and disarmed. “I’m looking at beautiful, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

ahhhhh

“Gotta say, little brother,” came the low, mocking drawl, “didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

no, not victor 😭

After a long moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a slow smile breaking across his face. “All right, then,” he said, voice low and steady. “Guess I’d better get used to it.” She grinned, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to his lips, her laughter filling the room like sunlight. “Guess you’d better,” she teased, brushing a hand through his hair as she settled back in her chair.

the ending was so cute, and wade coming in at the end?? the three of them are adorable <3

okay but seriously, this was great, i enjoyed reading this so much. it's different from other things i read but still felt like it belonged in the x-men/wolverine universe. thank you for writing this! :)

Sanctuary - Part Two

Logan and Wade are sent by Stryker to find a journalist who has been digging around trying to expose Team X. Logan isn't prepared when he meets an intriguing neighbor causing him to question himself and the mission.

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - team x mission, shy reader, no y/n, she/her pronouns used instead of you, logan's pov, origins wade, awkwardness, guarded feelings, angst, AU, crushes, logan kinda being a stalker, stryker and victor cameos, fighting, cussing, wade being a good friend, reserved logan

apparently this is too long to post in one go so here's part one and here's part two

word count: 40k

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan knew he shouldn’t be jealous, but he couldn’t help it. Jared had started working his way into her life, filling the spaces Logan had been dancing around for weeks. Jared was walking her home after her shifts, casually showing up at the bar to chat with her, and Logan was pretty sure he’d seen him drop flowers off once. Every time he looked, Jared seemed to be there—closing in, leaving little room for Logan.

Wade, of course, was delighted by this turn of events and took every opportunity to dig the knife a little deeper.

"Guess the infamous Jared is busy tonight,” Wade quipped, glancing over to where she was wiping down glasses behind the bar, focused and oblivious to their presence. “Better get your ass over there, lover boy, before he shows up and sweeps her off her feet again.”

Logan shot him a glare, his jaw clenched tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but his eyes drifted back to her. She looked calm, and relaxed, humming to herself as she went about her work. The sight only made his chest ache more.

“Oh, come on,” Wade snickered, taking a sip of his beer. “Just admit it—you’re jealous.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his fists tightened on the table. He hated that Wade was right. The jealousy gnawed at him, a constant, dull ache that made him restless and irritable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her, and he hated that he wasn’t even sure he’d ever had her to begin with.

Before he could second-guess himself, Logan stood up, ignoring Wade’s raised eyebrow as he crossed the bar. She looked up as he approached, a small smile flickering across her lips.

“Hey, Logan,” she greeted him, her tone warm but casual like they were old friends—just friends.

Logan nodded, trying to keep his tone light. “Hey. Just… wanted to check in on you.” He hesitated, then added, “I saw Jared hasn’t been around tonight.”

She shrugged her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Guess he’s busy,” she said lightly, going back to drying the glass in her hands. She didn’t offer anymore, clearly brushing it off, but Logan couldn’t let it go.

“Do you… do you actually like the guy?” he asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

She paused, glancing up at him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “Why do you ask?”

Logan shifted, feeling foolish but unable to drop it. “Just… curious. Seems like he’s been around a lot lately. Walking you home, stopping by during your shifts…”

She let out a sigh, setting the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “Logan, what’s it to you?” she asked, a touch of frustration slipping into her voice. “I mean, I don’t ask about the women in your life.”

The remark stung, and Logan took a breath, struggling to keep his frustration in check. “I just don’t think he’s good enough for you,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not good enough? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure how to explain the knot of jealousy and protectiveness he felt without sounding… ridiculous. “I just don’t like the way he acts around you. Like he’s… entitled to your time.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation in her gaze. “Logan, he’s just a friend. If he wants to walk me home or drop by the bar, that’s his choice. It’s not… some grand conspiracy.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, growing increasingly frustrated. “Yeah, well, he’s not doing it just to be nice.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable, then let out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Why do you even care so much? I don’t get it.” She paused, searching his face with a look of confusion. “Why are you acting like this? You’ve always been… protective, but this is different. I don’t understand.”

Logan felt his heart sink, a cold realization settling over him. She didn’t see it. She didn’t see him the way he saw her—didn’t even consider the possibility that he might want to be more than just a friend. Or maybe she just… couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine him as someone she could be with.

“Why am I acting like this?” he echoed, his voice low, bitter. He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching her eyes for any glimmer of understanding, but her expression was still clouded with confusion. “You really don’t know?”

She blinked, her brow furrowing, then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Logan, I…thought you were…you’re my friend. I mean, that’s what you’ve been, right? I don’t—” She broke off, biting her lip as if she didn’t know how to finish the thought.

Logan felt his chest tighten. There it was, plain as day. He’d been standing here, trying to protect her, trying to be someone she could rely on, someone she’d choose. But she couldn’t even see him like that. He was just Logan—the guy who watched out for her, the guy she talked to when she needed someone to listen. Nothing more.

“Right,” he said, his voice rough, barely masking the bitterness that threatened to spill over. “Just your friend.”

He shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

Her eyes searched his face, a flicker of something close to regret passing over her expression. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again, her shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to… hurt your feelings,” she murmured. “I just didn’t know. I thought—”

Logan took a step back, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a stone. “It’s fine,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Forget I said anything.”

He turned, feeling her eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back. He didn’t want to see the pity in her gaze, the confusion, or worse—the faint flicker of understanding that came too late. He walked away, his chest tight. It was too late for that now. She’d seen him as a friend from the start, and no amount of jealous glances or awkward conversations was going to change that.

Logan pushed through the bar doors, letting the cool night air hit him like a slap. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him, the mix of frustration and hurt that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d thought he could handle her not seeing him that way, but hearing her say it out loud—just my friend—had cut deeper than he’d expected.

He barely made it a few steps when he heard her voice behind him.

“Logan, wait.”

He stopped, surprised, turning slowly. He hadn’t expected her to follow. She stood there in the doorway, her face lit by the neon bar sign, eyes wide and uncertain like she was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. She took a tentative step forward, wrapping her arms around herself, the vulnerability in her posture catching him off guard.

“Why did you…?” she began, then hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Logan let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Say what? That I see you as more than just a friend? That every time I saw you with that guy, it felt like I was watching you slip away?” He shook his head, his voice rough. “I tried, but… you just didn’t see it.”

Logan felt his chest tighten as he took in her words. He stepped closer, his voice gentle, almost pleading. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why.”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, confusion etched in her face.

“Look,” he continued, struggling to put into words everything he’d been feeling. “You’re real. You’re not trying to be anyone else, not putting on a show. You’re just… you. And yeah, you’re quiet, and maybe a little guarded, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s honest. You don’t let people in easily, and for some reason, that made me want to break through even more.”

She stared at him, her eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears. He could see her struggling to hold them back, her fingers twisting anxiously at her sides.

“And when you let your guard down,” Logan continued, his voice softer now, “even for just a second… I see this side of you that’s so… warm. You’re thoughtful. Kind. Stronger than you give yourself credit for.” He took a breath, gathering the courage to say the rest. “You make me want to be better, just by being yourself.”

She blinked, her face crumpling slightly as a tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly, as if embarrassed, but more tears followed, spilling over in silent streams.

“I… I didn’t know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think anyone… saw me like that.”

He took another step forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, his gaze fixed on her face. “I see you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And not just the version of you from tonight, or the one from work. All of you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment she looked away as if trying to collect herself. Then, with a shaky exhale, she looked back at him, her gaze softer, more open than he’d ever seen it.

“Logan…” Her voice broke, and she let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh, a mix of relief and release. She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming. “I didn’t… I never thought…”

Before she could finish, Logan reached out, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, her body melting into his as she let herself be held, her arms slipping around his waist. He felt her relax against him, her head resting against his chest, her shoulders shaking as she allowed herself to cry freely.

Logan tightened his hold, one hand gently cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped securely around her back. He felt her tears soak into his shirt, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of her in his arms, the way she fit against him, like she’d belonged there all along.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let it out.”

She nodded against his chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as she cried. It wasn’t a sad cry—it was something deeper like she was finally letting go of something she’d held inside for too long. Logan stood there, holding her, letting her know with his presence that she didn’t have to be alone in it anymore.

After a while, her tears slowed, her breathing evening out as she relaxed in his arms. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him, her eyes still wet but filled with quiet gratitude, a kind of wonder that took his breath away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw but steady. “For… seeing me. I don’t know how to explain it, but… no one’s ever really done that before.”

Logan’s gaze softened, and he brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to explain it,” he said gently.

They stood there, close enough to feel each other’s breath, a fragile understanding settling between them. She didn’t look away, her gaze steady and unguarded, and for the first time, he felt like he was truly seeing her—no walls, no defenses, just her.

“Logan…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as if the weight of the moment had stolen her words. Her eyes searched his face, hesitant yet drawn in, and after a heartbeat, she lifted her hand, her fingers brushing softly against his cheek. The touch was tentative but unshakably real, grounding him, rooting him in the quiet intimacy between them.

Logan’s breath caught, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving hers. Her fingertips were warm against his skin, tracing over the rough edges of his jaw, gentle but sure, like she was memorizing him. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat loud and insistent as if to remind him that this—she—was real.

“I see you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but he felt the words settle over him, softening something in him he hadn’t realized was so tightly wound. “I see all of you.”

Logan nodded, his voice thick. “I know, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze flicking down as her hand trailed lower, her fingers grazing his cheekbone, then drifting to trace the outline of his bottom lip. His breath hitched, his skin electrified under her touch, and he found himself leaning closer, drawn in like a magnet. Her fingers lingered at the edge of his mouth, her touch featherlight, and for a moment he was utterly still, letting her explore this unguarded part of him.

A soft laugh escaped her, a quiet, wondrous sound as if seeing him this vulnerable under her touch was something she hadn’t quite expected. Her thumb brushed over his lip, and he felt the faintest tremble in her hand like she was as caught up in this as he was.

“Logan… I didn’t know…” she murmured, her voice trailing off, her eyes full of something like wonder. “I didn’t know you could be… like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice a low rasp, barely able to keep his focus as her fingers traced along his jaw.

“Soft,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his with a quiet, almost fragile honesty. “You’re always so… strong. Untouchable. But right now…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing, and he could see the vulnerability in her expression, the way she was opening up to him, bit by bit.

“Not with you,” he replied softly, his voice like a promise. “Never with you.”

He lifted his hand, covering hers against his cheek, pressing it gently, letting her know without words that he wanted her there—that he was letting her see this part of him because it was her. She wasn’t just any woman to him; she was the woman, the one who had slipped under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain.

Slowly, she moved closer, her breath mingling with his, her gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips like she was still wrapping her head around the idea that he could be hers, that he was this vulnerable for her alone.

“I…” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath as she leaned in, her lips brushing softly against his jaw. Her fingers still rested against his cheek, her touch featherlight, hesitant.

Logan’s heart pounded, every instinct urging him to close the distance, to kiss her and pull her into his arms. But he held back, waiting, sensing there was something she needed to say.

She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her as she leaned her forehead against his, her breath warm against his skin. “I want…” she started, her voice catching. She let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his. “I want you to hold me.”

Her words were quiet, almost shy, and he felt something shift in his chest, a tenderness he hadn’t known he could feel. She looked down, almost apologetic, her cheeks flushed as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m… sorry if that’s not what you wanted,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady. “I just… I’m not ready for more.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gently lifted her chin, meeting her eyes with a look of understanding. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice steady and warm. “You don’t have to apologize. I can wait.”

She blinked, her eyes filling with gratitude, a quiet vulnerability that made his heartache. “Really?” she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.

He smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch. “Really,” he replied, his tone gentle but sure. “As long as it takes. Just… let me be here with you.”

She let out a shaky breath, and he could feel the tension ease from her shoulders as she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body pressed against his.

They stood like that in the quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her. He could feel her relax in his embrace, letting go of the hesitation, the fear as if she’d finally found a place she could just… be.

“Thank you, Logan,” she whispered against his shirt, her voice muffled but filled with emotion. “For… for understanding.”

He held her a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, a promise in the gentle touch. “Always,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

It was late, and the apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of floorboards settling. Logan had just settled on the couch, nursing a beer and trying to ignore Wade’s relentless teasing, when there was a soft knock at the door.

Logan’s brow furrowed. It was nearly midnight, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He stood up, crossing the small space and opening the door—only to find her standing there, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and uncertain.

For a second, they just stared at each other, and he could see the faint blush rising to her cheeks, the way she looked away, biting her lip as if second-guessing why she’d even come.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry, it’s… so late.”

Logan’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No problem,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, but he could tell she was nervous—more nervous than usual, even. Her gaze darted from his face to the floor, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater as she shifted from one foot to the other. “I, um… I just…” She took a breath, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “I was wondering if… maybe you could come over? Just for a bit?”

Logan’s smile grew, and he nodded, his voice gentle. “Of course. Let me grab my jacket.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Wade, who was watching the scene unfold with a smirk, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “Finally got the girl to come to you, huh?” Wade drawled, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “About damn time.”

Logan rolled his eyes, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “Yeah, well, took me long enough,” he muttered.

Wade gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. “Is the big tough guy over here admitting I was right?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Logan grumbled, but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes as he closed the door behind him, leaving Wade’s laughter echoing down the hall.

When they reached her apartment, she opened the door and led him inside, glancing back at him nervously as if checking to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Her place was warm and inviting, the faint scent of vanilla in the air, and he could see a blanket draped over the back of her couch, and a book lying open on the coffee table. It felt like stepping into another world—a quiet sanctuary that was all hers.

She hesitated, looking back at him with a shy smile. “Sorry if this is… weird. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

Logan shook his head, his expression gentle. “Not weird at all,” he assured her. “I’m glad you asked.”

They settled onto the couch, her curled up at one end with a blanket wrapped around her, and Logan at the other, trying to ignore the subtle ache in his chest that urged him to reach out, to pull her close. Instead, he let her take the lead, watching as she relaxed, her guard slowly lowering in the quiet warmth of her apartment.

After a few minutes, she glanced over at him, her face softening. “You know, I don’t let a lot of people in here. It’s kind of… my space. Where I go when I need to recharge.”

Logan nodded, understanding more than she probably realized. “I figured,” he murmured. “Need a little peace and quiet to get your energy back.”

She laughed softly, tucking her legs up under herself. “Exactly. Sometimes I think people don’t get that. They think I’m being rude or closed off, but it’s not… It’s just how I am.”

Logan smiled, leaning back against the couch, feeling more comfortable here than he had in a long time. “Trust me, I know the feeling. People have been making assumptions about me my whole life.” He looked down, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

She seemed to absorb his words, her expression softening, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the quiet of the room settling over them like a warm blanket. Finally, she shifted a little closer, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket as if gathering the courage to say something.

“Could you… would you mind just holding me?” she asked softly, almost shyly. “I know it’s silly, but…”

“It’s not silly,” he interrupted gently, already reaching out to pull her closer. She settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her body fitting perfectly against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her securely, feeling the soft warmth of her breath against his neck.

They sat like that in comfortable silence, her fingers tracing small, absent patterns on his arm, and he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known he was missing. After a while, he noticed her glancing at the book on the coffee table, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small, embarrassed smile.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the book.

She chuckled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s… just an old favorite,” she said, her fingers brushing over the cover as if the book itself were a comfort. “I’ve read it a hundred times, but I keep coming back to it. I guess it’s like… a safe place, you know?”

Logan reached over, picking up the book, letting the pages fall open naturally to a passage she’d read often. His eyes skimmed the words, noticing they were carefully underlined in places, with faint notes scrawled in the margins. Some of the words jumped out at him—truth, deception, uncover. The kind of words that carried a weight he couldn’t quite place.

“You make notes in it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his thumb tracing over one of the handwritten lines in the margin.

She hesitated, her fingers nervously twisting on the edge of the blanket. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I… I tend to analyze things. Sometimes I think too much, but…” She shrugged, glancing up at him with a shy smile. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he flipped through a few more pages, noticing more annotations, small questions scribbled in her neat handwriting: What’s being hidden here? What’s the real story? It wasn’t the kind of casual note-taking he’d expect from someone reading for comfort. It felt… meticulous. Intentional.

“You really dig into things, huh?” he asked his tone light but laced with curiosity.

She let out a small, nervous laugh, looking down as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess so. I like… knowing things. Figuring out what’s beneath the surface. Sometimes I think it’s the only way I can make sense of the world.”

Logan’s smile faded slightly, an odd sense of familiarity tugging at him. Her words echoed something he’d heard Stryker say about the journalist they were after—a person who couldn’t leave things alone, who kept digging and prodding, pulling threads no one else had noticed until the whole web of secrets started to unravel. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. No, he thought. That’s ridiculous.

Still, he couldn’t shake a strange feeling, a quiet tension building in the back of his mind. He watched her as she curled up against him, her face soft and relaxed, so different from the hardened profile of a tenacious journalist. And yet…

“So,” he said slowly, turning the conversation a bit, “you said you’ve been working at the bar for… how long now?”

She looked up, blinking as if she hadn’t expected the question. “A few months,” she replied, her voice casual. “Needed a change of pace. City life, you know?”

He nodded, but something about her answer felt practiced. “What did you do before that?”

Her smile wavered, and she glanced away, tugging the blanket a little tighter around herself. “I, um… I did some freelance work. Writing, mostly. Articles, essays, that sort of thing.”

Logan felt his chest tighten, the pieces shifting uncomfortably into place. Freelance writing. It could mean anything… or it could mean everything. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, unwilling to let his suspicions show.

“Writing, huh?” he said, his voice carefully steady. “You must have a knack for it if you’re making a living off it.”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands, her voice softening. “I like to dig into things. Tell stories that don’t get told. Sometimes people don’t appreciate that.” She glanced up at him, a small, frown tugging at her lips. “Guess I’ve made a few enemies along the way.”

Logan’s stomach twisted, his mind racing. He’d been chasing this journalist for weeks, tracking down scraps of information, hearing bits and pieces about someone who wouldn’t quit, who kept pushing no matter the consequences. And here she was, right in front of him, leaning against him with that soft, trusting smile. He felt a pang of guilt mixed with something he couldn’t quite name—something like dread, or realization.

“Guess you don’t mind getting into trouble, huh?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, almost teasing.

She laughed, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I try not to, but… I don’t know. I just can’t let things go when I feel like there’s more to the story.” She looked up at him, her gaze holding his with a quiet intensity. “You get that, don’t you?”

He nodded, throat suddenly tight. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low. “I get that.”

They fell into silence, and she nestled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, unaware of the storm swirling in his mind. Logan tightened his arm around her, holding her close, feeling the weight of her trust in the way she settled against him. He wanted to shake off his suspicions, to tell himself he was reading too much into things. But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces clicked into place.

He looked down at her, his gaze softening despite his racing thoughts. He could feel the warmth of her, her breath steady against his chest, her body relaxed and trusting in his arms. She was right here, with him, no walls, no defenses.

Maybe she was the person he’d been looking for all along.

She had fallen asleep against him, her head nestled on his shoulder, her breathing soft and steady. Logan’s arm was still wrapped around her, but his mind was far from the peaceful quiet of the moment. His thoughts churned, circling back to everything Stryker had told him—and more importantly, everything Stryker hadn’t told him.

For weeks, they’d been tracking down whispers about a journalist who was digging too deep, getting too close to things they had no business knowing. Stryker had been vague about the details, only dropping hints about classified information being exposed, and names being uncovered. Hell, now that Logan thought about it, he realized Stryker hadn’t even specified if their target was a man or a woman. They’d just assumed.

A cold knot of dread formed in his stomach. Could it be her? he wondered, glancing down at her peaceful face, so trusting, so vulnerable in sleep. She’d let him into her world tonight, let him see the quiet, guarded person behind her walls. He’d felt closer to her than he had to anyone in years. But now… now he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been blind, missing clues that were right in front of him.

Silently, he cursed, gently easing her off him and onto the couch. She murmured something in her sleep, shifting slightly, but didn’t wake, sinking deeper into the cushions. Logan took a steadying breath, watching her for a moment, his heart aching with the conflict tearing him apart. What am I doing? he asked himself. But he knew he had to see this through.

His eyes scanned the room, his gaze landing on a small desk tucked in the corner by the window. He moved quietly, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the heater as he made his way over. The desk was neat, but he noticed a few loose papers sticking out of one of the drawers as if she’d shoved them in hurriedly, almost like she’d meant to hide them.

He hesitated, glancing back at her sleeping form, guilt gnawing at him. Just leave it alone, a part of him whispered. You know she’d never forgive you. But the doubt was too strong, the questions too sharp, cutting through his resolve. Slowly, he pulled open the drawer, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached inside.

What he found stopped him cold.

Stacks of papers, notes scribbled in her handwriting, clippings from newspapers, and—his heart dropped—classified documents. Some were marked with the distinct insignia of military intelligence, others with the unmistakable logo of Team X. He sifted through them, his pulse racing as he took in the details. There were notes on most of the members of the team, pieces of their pasts pieced together like puzzle fragments. He found Stryker’s name circled in red ink, question marks, and hastily written notes scrawled next to it: Experimentation? Corruption? The truth?

Logan’s stomach twisted, the betrayal sinking deep as he pieced it together. She knew about Team X. She’d known this entire time. All the while, she’d kept him close, drawn him in, let him think he was getting to know her, that he was helping her let her guard down. But maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe she’d been watching him, studying him.

No, he told himself, gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself. That’s not her. It can’t be. He thought of the way she’d looked at him tonight, the way she’d opened up, let him see her vulnerability. She wasn’t faking that… was she?

He closed his eyes, a wave of regret and anger washing over him. He wanted to believe her, to believe that she hadn’t known who he was, that she hadn’t been playing him. But the evidence was here, right in front of him. She’d been planning to expose them—him—for God knows how long.

A soft sound made him look up. She was stirring on the couch, shifting under the blanket, her brow furrowing as if she could feel the tension radiating off him even in sleep. He shut the drawer quietly, his hands still shaking, and turned away, trying to pull himself together before she woke.

It was too late. Her eyes fluttered open, a soft, sleepy smile on her face as she blinked at him in the dim light. “Logan?” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. “What… what’re you doing over there?”

He forced a smile, his heart a mess of anger and sorrow as he looked at her, standing in her cozy apartment that had, just minutes ago, felt like home. Now it felt like a stranger’s room, filled with shadows and secrets. “Just… looking around,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair, the gentle smile fading as she noticed the tension in his expression. “Is everything okay?”

He stared at her, searching her face for any hint of deception, any sign that she was lying to him. But all he saw was concern, confusion, and that same vulnerability that had drawn him to her in the first place. And suddenly, he felt like he was the one who was breaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a low whisper, barely containing the hurt beneath it.

Her face went pale, her eyes widening. “What… what are you talking about?”

“Team X,” he said, the words heavy, almost accusing. “The documents. The notes. I saw them.” He gestured vaguely toward the desk, unable to stop the edge in his tone. “You’ve known about us this whole time, haven’t you?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Logan, I…” She took a shaky breath, her hands twisting together. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was… I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

“Tell me?” he repeated, his voice a harsh whisper. “Tell me that you’re planning to expose everything? Stryker, Team X… me?”

She looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her voice trembling. “It’s not like that,” she whispered. “I didn’t…wasn’t doing it to hurt you. I wanted… I wanted people to know the truth. About what Stryker was making you do, making all of you do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the betrayal sinking in, heavy and painful. “So that’s it? You’ve just been studying me this whole time? Waiting to get enough dirt to make a story out of it?”

“No!” She shook her head, her voice breaking. “Logan, I… I didn’t plan any of this. Meeting you, being with you… it wasn’t part of the story. That’s real. You have to believe me.”

Logan felt himself falter, his anger wavering as he looked into her eyes. They were wide and glassy, filled with a desperate sincerity that made his chest ache. “How am I supposed to believe you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, her voice raw, trembling. “I know… I know how it looks. But please, Logan, you have to understand—I never wanted to hurt you. Or anyone else.” Her voice cracked, and she looked down, clutching her hands together. “I gave up the story before you even came here. Some guy threatened me at work—when I was still working at the newspaper. Said I was poking around in places I didn’t belong.” She let out a shaky breath. “I got scared. Decided to quit and… and disappear.”

Logan closed his eyes, the ache in his chest tightening, almost unbearable. Part of him wanted to turn around, to walk away and never look back, to spare himself the mess of feelings clawing their way through him. But another part—the part that had been drawn to her since the beginning, the part that had found something like peace in her arms—couldn’t let go. Not yet.

He opened his eyes, studying her, searching for any hint of deception. “So you ran,” he said quietly, his voice edged with disbelief. “You just… left it all behind?”

She nodded, her gaze distant, as if caught in the memory. “I thought if I hid, maybe they’d forget about me. But I knew…” She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “I knew someone would come eventually. I couldn’t outrun it forever. I knew that… that I knew too much, even if I never published the story.”

She paused, then slowly rose to her feet, taking a step closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. “So when you and Wade showed up… I thought maybe that was it. That you were here to… finish the job.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and Logan saw the flash of fear in her eyes, the quiet acceptance beneath it that shook him to his core. “I accepted that.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a fresh wave of anger and confusion washing over him. “You thought we were here to kill you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “And you… you just accepted it?”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to hold herself together. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t go to anyone. I couldn’t trust anyone. Not after the threats… after the people who went quiet when I tried to ask questions.” Her gaze dropped, and he could see her fighting to keep her composure. “But then you started hovering around me. I thought you knew right from the start and was just toying with me but then I got to know you. And I started hoping that maybe… maybe it didn’t have to end that way.”

Logan felt his anger dissolve, replaced by a deep, painful empathy he hadn’t expected. He could see it now, all of it—the fear she must have lived with, the constant worry that she’d made a mistake she couldn’t take back. She’d been alone, hiding, looking over her shoulder… and yet she’d let him in, despite all of it.

“But you still didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now, laced with hurt. “You let me get close to you, you let me… fall for you, and you didn’t think I deserved to know the truth?”

Her face crumpled, another tear slipping down her cheek. “I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I thought… I thought if I told you, you’d leave. Or worse—that you’d confirm what I’d been afraid of. That you were here to… end things.”

He swallowed, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. “So you kept it hidden. Just like you’ve kept everything else.”

She took a step closer, reaching out tentatively, her hand hovering between them. “Logan, please,” she murmured, her eyes searching his, filled with raw, unguarded vulnerability. “I was scared. I’ve been scared this whole time. And then you came into my life, and for the first time… I didn’t feel alone.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought maybe I’d finally found someone I could trust.”

He looked down at her hand, so close yet hesitant, and he felt the weight of her words settle over him, tugging at something deep inside. She hadn’t just been hiding; she’d been surviving, barely holding on, and he could see the toll it had taken on her—the guardedness, the fear, the way she’d kept everyone at arm’s length.

Slowly, he reached out, closing the distance between them, his fingers brushing hers. Her hand was cold, trembling slightly, and he felt a surge of protectiveness rise in him, stronger than the hurt, stronger than the anger. He looked into her eyes, searching for any trace of deception, but all he saw was a woman standing on the edge, hoping someone would finally reach out and pull her back.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise. “Not of me.”

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky laugh, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to hear that,” she whispered. She took another step closer, her hand slipping into his, her grip tentative but real. “I’m so sorry, Logan… for everything. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I just… I didn’t know how to stop being afraid.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, feeling the way she melted against him, finally letting herself be vulnerable, finally allowing herself to trust. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her hair. “You don’t have to explain.”

She clung to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his chest as if she were afraid to let go. He could feel her shaking, the quiet release of all the fear and tension she’d been holding for so long.

After a moment, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her gaze filled with a fragile kind of hope. “Do you… do you think you could ever forgive me?”

Logan looked down at her, his thumb brushing away the last of her tears. “I already have,” he said quietly. “But I need you to be honest with me. No more secrets. No more hiding.”

She nodded a new determination settling in her eyes. “No more secrets,” she promised. “I’ll tell you everything. Whatever you want to know.”

He felt the weight of her words, the sincerity woven through every syllable. She was laying it all bare, trusting him with the truth she’d kept hidden for so long. But he knew this wouldn’t be easy—that there was still so much they’d have to face. Stryker wouldn’t let something like this go. Logan knew him too well; once Stryker had a target, he didn’t back off. And as much as he trusted Wade on a good day, there was a flicker of doubt nagging at him. Wade might be unpredictable, even reckless, but loyalty to Stryker ran deep. Logan wasn’t sure he’d want to risk involving him in this… not yet.

He looked down at her, taking in the way she leaned into him, her fingers trembling slightly as they entwined with his. She was strong, maybe stronger than he’d given her credit for, but there was a fragility to her now, a vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the mess he knew was waiting for them on the other side of this door.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low promise, rough but steady. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. I swear it.”

She nodded, her gaze steady on his, a glimmer of trust in her eyes mixed with the fear she couldn’t quite shake. Slowly, she leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his chest as if anchoring herself to him. Her fingers tightened around his, and he felt her take a shaky breath, steadying herself.

In the back of his mind, he knew the reality they’d soon have to face. Stryker wouldn’t back down, and the second he realized Logan was no longer his loyal soldier, he’d come after both of them with everything he had. Logan would have to be smart, and careful—because this wasn’t just his fight anymore. He was protecting her, and he’d go through hell before he let Stryker get his hands on her.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan reluctantly left her apartment in the early morning light, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He hadn’t slept, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her, how to find a way out of this mess. It had been two months since he and Wade had first arrived in this city, sent by Stryker on what had felt like a routine assignment. But now, everything was different. He wasn’t just hunting down a journalist anymore. He was trying to protect her, and the stakes felt higher than they’d ever been.

He walked down the hall to his apartment, already tense as he thought about facing Wade. Wade wasn’t stupid; he’d been watching Logan grow more distracted, more distant. Sooner or later, Wade would start asking questions.

Logan opened the door, expecting to find Wade sprawled on the couch in his usual state of early-morning oblivion. But instead, he froze in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

Wade was sitting upright, his expression oddly tight, watching as Stryker stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. And next to Stryker, like some silent shadow, was Victor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a feral smile playing on his lips.

Logan’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t a casual check-in. Stryker and Victor didn’t just drop by without a reason. And the fact that they were here, together, sent a clear message: Stryker was losing patience.

“There he is. The big guy,” Wade said with a forced smile, his eyes flicking over to Logan. “Been wondering where you got off to.”

Logan shot him a hard look, cutting off any more commentary. “Been following a lead,” he said, his tone clipped, hoping Wade would understand the warning. “Another dead end.”

Stryker turned, his gaze sharp and assessing, a faint smirk on his face as if he could see right through Logan’s words. “Seems like you’ve been running into a lot of those lately, Logan,” he said, voice cold and controlled. “It’s almost as if you’re not taking this mission seriously.”

Logan clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re the one who sent us out here with nothing but scraps to go on,” he replied, his voice edged with frustration. “If you want results, maybe you should’ve given us more than vague orders and a damn ghost to chase.”

Stryker’s smirk widened, but his eyes were steel. “Funny. I thought I gave two of my best men an easy task. Thought you’d be able to handle a simple journalist.” He let the word linger, his gaze narrowing. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Beside him, Victor let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound crawling up Logan’s spine. “Guess little brother’s gone soft,” Victor said, his grin sharp and predatory. “Maybe you need a little help… cleaning things up.”

Logan tensed, feeling the familiar pulse of anger at Victor’s taunt, but he held himself in check. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now. “We don’t need your help,” he said flatly, his eyes locked on Stryker. “We’re close. Just need a little more time.”

Stryker raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Logan to Wade, lingering just long enough that Logan felt a flicker of unease. “Close?” he repeated, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Interesting, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re stalled. Distracted, even.”

Logan forced himself to stay calm, but he could feel the weight of Stryker’s scrutiny, the way his gaze seemed to strip away the layers, looking for cracks. He could only hope that his face betrayed nothing.

Stryker continued, his voice low, almost a murmur. “You know, I’ve heard some… interesting things about this journalist. Reserved. Guarded. Not the type to let things go. The kind who might blend in, fly under the radar.”

Logan’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive, refusing to give anything away. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wade’s expression shift slightly, a glimmer of realization in his gaze. Logan felt a jolt of alarm as he saw Wade put two and two together. But to his relief, Wade stayed quiet, his face carefully neutral.

Stryker’s gaze sharpened. “So, let me be clear. I don’t care how ‘close’ you think you are. If I don’t see results soon, I’ll send someone else to finish the job. Someone with… fewer sentimental attachments.”

Victor’s grin widened, his gaze fixed on Logan like a predator sizing up its prey. “Wouldn’t mind a shot at this mystery journalist myself,” he drawled, his tone laced with menace. “I’ve got a knack for finding people who don’t want to be found. And once I find them…” He flexed his fingers, his claws slipping out, gleaming under the dim light. “Well, let’s just say they don’t stay hidden for long.”

Logan forced himself to stay steady, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. He knew exactly what Victor was capable of, and the thought of Victor tracking her down, getting his claws anywhere near her, made his stomach turn. He wanted to tear into Victor, to tell Stryker to back off, but he knew he couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not now. Not with her life on the line.

“Give us another week,” Logan said, his voice steady but laced with an edge of warning. “We’ll find them. You have my word.”

Stryker tilted his head, considering him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. Then he gave a slow, cold smile. “Two days,” he said, holding Logan’s gaze with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t offering any second chances. “After that… well, let’s just say I don’t think Victor will have much trouble picking up where you left off.”

Logan gave a tight nod, refusing to look at Victor as he spoke. “Understood.”

Stryker’s smile widened, satisfied. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” He turned, gesturing for Victor to follow, but paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. “And Logan? Make sure your priorities are… clear. I’d hate to think you were letting personal feelings get in the way of your work.”

With that, he strode out, Victor trailing behind him with one last lingering look that sent a shiver down Logan’s spine.

The door closed, leaving Logan and Wade alone in heavy silence. Wade sat back, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied Logan.

“So,” Wade said slowly, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “The journalist. Guarded, quiet… maybe someone who likes books, keeps to herself. Ring any bells?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, refusing to meet Wade’s gaze. “Drop it.”

Wade didn’t. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Look, Logan, I get it. But if you’re gonna do this, you’d better be sure, because if Stryker finds out…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Logan closed his eyes for a brief second, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I know the risks,” he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’m not letting them touch her.”

Wade studied him for a long moment, and Logan could see the gears turning in his mind, the flicker of understanding mixed with reluctant respect. Finally, Wade leaned back, letting out a low sigh.

“Then we’d better make this convincing,” Wade muttered, his voice low, wary. “Because if Stryker or Victor get even a whiff of what’s going on, it’s over.”

Logan nodded, feeling his resolve harden into something sharp and unyielding. He knew what was at stake, knew the dangers that lurked in every step they took from here on out. Stryker had given him a week, but Logan didn’t trust him to keep that promise—not when he’d seen the glint in Victor’s eyes, the barely restrained hunger. Victor would do it in a heartbeat if he thought it’d get him back in Stryker’s good graces. Logan could practically feel the weight of the clock ticking down, and he knew he had to move fast.

“She didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade. “She just… she wanted to expose the system. Stryker. Everything he’s done to us.” His voice caught, the frustration and regret boiling beneath the surface. “She didn’t deserve this.”

Wade studied him quietly, a strange seriousness in his gaze. “Yeah, well, maybe she didn’t,” he replied, almost reluctantly. “You think I’m okay with half the things we’ve done? Or with the shit Stryker’s made us do? Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about getting out myself if I thought there was a real chance.”

Logan looked at him, surprised. Wade rarely let his guard down, especially when it came to their line of work. This was a side of him Logan hadn’t seen before—raw, unguarded.

Logan swallowed, the weight of Wade’s words settling over him like a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loud might shatter the fragile trust hanging between them.

Wade’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If we’re gonna keep her out of Stryker’s sights, we’re gonna need to make this whole thing look legit,” he said, his tone calculating. “Stryker thinks we’re fumbling around because we don’t have any real leads. What if we… create a lead?”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “You mean fake it? Give Stryker something to chase?”

“Exactly,” Wade replied, his lips curving into a sly grin. “We leak a location, a name—hell, we can even plant some fake documents somewhere. Make him think she skipped town, got scared, and ran. If he’s chasing a ghost, he won’t have time to look too closely at what’s right under his nose.”

Logan felt a surge of hope, a sliver of light cutting through the tension. “You think he’ll buy it?”

Wade shrugged. “Stryker’s not as sharp as he likes to think he is. He’ll buy it if we sell it right.” He paused, a hint of doubt flickering in his eyes. “But you have to be careful. We make this move, and it’ll have to be airtight. Stryker doesn’t give second chances, especially not to his own men.”

Logan clenched his jaw, the gravity of Wade’s plan sinking in. It was risky. If Stryker suspected even for a second that they were feeding him false information, he’d come down on both of them—hard. But if it worked… it could buy them the time they needed.

“All right,” Logan said, his voice resolute. “We do this. We give him a trail to follow, keep him looking in the wrong places.”

Wade nodded, his expression grim but determined. “We’ll need to make it convincing. A name, maybe a fake contact, some breadcrumbs leading Stryker out of town.” He hesitated, then added, “And we’ll have to act like nothing’s changed. Like we’re still hunting her down.”

Logan felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He hated the idea of lying to her, of making her think he was still on Stryker’s leash. But he knew there was no other way. Stryker had eyes everywhere, and the slightest slip could put her life in even greater danger.

“We can’t tell her,” Logan murmured, more to himself than to Wade. “She can’t know we’re setting this up.”

Wade’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of sympathy in his usually sardonic eyes. “She doesn’t need to know,” he agreed. “Sometimes it’s better that way. Protects her, keeps her out of the crossfire.” He gave Logan a measured look. “Just… make sure she knows she can trust you. Because if she doesn’t, this whole thing falls apart.”

Logan nodded, steeling himself. “She’ll trust me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I won’t let her down.”

A tense silence fell over them, each of them lost in thought, running through the plan in their minds. Finally, Wade broke the quiet, his voice barely more than a murmur. “One more thing,” he said, his gaze flickering toward the door as if expecting Stryker or Victor to barge back in at any moment. “Victor’s already suspicious. I saw the way he was looking at you like he knew something was off. If he gets even a hint of what we’re doing…”

Logan’s face hardened a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ll handle Victor.”

Wade studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. Then we’re doing this.” He clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, his tone a mix of seriousness and forced humor. “Look at us, playing the heroes. Who would’ve thought?”

Logan managed a tight smile, but his mind was already racing with what had to happen next. He’d have to lie to her, to keep her in the dark while they set up the fake trail. He’d have to act like nothing had changed like he was still hunting her down—even as he worked to protect her.

“Thanks, Wade,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

Wade shrugged, giving him a faint smirk. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s get through this first.” He glanced over his shoulder, his expression turning grim again. “And let’s hope Stryker buys what we’re selling. Otherwise… this could get messy. Real fast.”

Logan nodded the weight of the plan settling on his shoulders. They had one shot to pull this off, to create a believable enough story to keep Stryker and Victor off her trail. He knew it was a gamble, but it was the only chance he had to protect her—to keep her out of Stryker’s reach.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan’s mind churned with the details Wade had suggested, the lies they’d need to tell to sell this deception. He’d be walking a razor-thin line, but he was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her. But as he made his way down the hall to her apartment, a faint sense of unease prickled in his chest, like he was already too late.

He paused at her door, listening, making sure the hallway was empty before he knocked. A few seconds passed, and then the door cracked open, her wary eyes peeking through. Relief softened her face when she saw him.

“Oh, hey,” she said quietly, pulling the door open wider to let him in.

Logan stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him and turning the lock, his eyes immediately scanning her small living space—a habit he’d developed since deciding to keep her safe. But something was different. There was an energy in the room, a tension he couldn’t quite place… until he noticed the duffle bag sitting on her couch, half-filled with clothes, a few books, and a stack of papers she’d been hastily shoving inside.

He froze, his stomach twisting. “Going somewhere?” he asked, trying to keep his tone steady.

She glanced at him, her expression conflicted. “Logan…” she started, her voice a mixture of determination and regret. She dropped another shirt into the bag, then zipped it up, her hands lingering on the worn fabric for a moment. “I have to go. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Logan’s chest tightened. Part of him wanted to be proud of her for being so smart, so aware of the danger circling them. But a much larger part of him was panicking, scrambling for a way to keep her here, to keep her safe. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “You don’t have to run.”

She shook her head, letting out a shaky breath as she straightened, her eyes meeting his with a fierce resolve. “Yes, I do, Logan. You know it as well as I do. You’re not the only one they’ll send after me. If you’re not going to… finish the job, someone else will.”

He clenched his fists, frustration, and fear tightening his throat. She was right, of course, and it made him want to tear down the entire system that had brought them to this point. But he couldn’t just let her walk away. “You think I can’t protect you?” he asked, his voice rough, almost a growl.

She softened, stepping closer to him, reaching up to place a gentle hand on his cheek. “I know you can,” she murmured. “If there’s anyone in this world I’d trust with my life, it’s you. But that’s exactly why I have to go. I can’t let you risk everything for me.”

Logan swallowed hard, his heart pounding at her touch, at the weight of her words. “I don’t care about the risks,” he whispered fiercely, covering her hand with his. “I’m not letting them touch you. Not Stryker, not Victor… no one.”

Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability beneath her determination, the quiet fear she’d been trying so hard to hide. But she shook her head, pulling her hand back. “I won’t be the reason something happens to you. I won’t be responsible for that.”

“You’re not responsible for anything except staying safe,” he countered, his voice barely controlled. “I’ve got a plan. Wade and I, we’re gonna mislead Stryker, make him think you’re gone, that you’ve disappeared.”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering with hope before it dimmed again. “That’ll only work for so long. Sooner or later, Stryker will figure it out, and he’ll send someone else to hunt me down. You know that.”

Logan gritted his teeth, fighting the frustration boiling under his skin. “Then I’ll deal with it when that happens,” he said, his tone fierce, final. “I’m not letting you throw yourself out there, just waiting for them to find you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her voice trembling. “Logan, do you hear yourself? You’re talking about going up against Stryker, against Victor, against all of them. They’ll come after you, too. They’ll kill you. And I… I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Then don’t,” he shot back, taking a step closer, his gaze burning into hers. “Don’t put this all on you. I’m choosing this, understand? This isn’t about guilt or responsibility. It’s about me protecting the one good thing I’ve found in a long, damn time. And I’m not walking away from that. Not now.”

Her breath caught, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to touch his face again, her fingers trembling. “Logan… I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t want you to get involved, to risk everything for me.”

“Too late,” he murmured, his voice softer now, filled with a raw honesty that he couldn’t hide. “I’m already involved. I’m not walking away.”

She stared at him, torn, her gaze searching his face as if looking for some reassurance, some certainty. Slowly, she lowered her hand, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Logan… if I stay, it’ll only make things worse. You and Wade might be able to mislead them for a little while, but eventually… eventually, they’ll catch up. And I can’t keep hiding, knowing that every second, you’re risking your life just to keep me safe.”

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep himself steady. He understood her fear, her need to run. But he couldn’t let her go. Not when he knew exactly what would happen if she faced Stryker’s men on her own. “Then let me come with you,” he said quietly. “We’ll disappear together. Start fresh somewhere. Somewhere they can’t find us.”

She looked at him, surprised, her eyes widening. “You’d… you’d leave everything behind?”

Finally, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “If you do this… there’s no going back.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He took her hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles. “But if it means keeping you safe, keeping you with me… then it’s worth it.”

After a moment, she squeezed his hand, nodding slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet resolve.

Logan pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly, as if he could shield her from every danger waiting outside her door. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, steady and warm, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Just trust me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but fierce. He needed her to believe him, to know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She nodded against his chest, her face buried against him, her hands moving up and down his back in gentle, comforting circles. For a while, they stood there in silence, wrapped in each other, until she looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with something that went beyond fear—something softer, deeper.

“Logan,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She hesitated, searching his face. “Would you… kiss me?”

Her voice was fragile like she was afraid the question might break something between them. He looked down at her, taking in the delicate curve of her lips, the way they parted slightly as she spoke. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze open and vulnerable in a way that hit him like a punch to the gut.

He swallowed, his thumb brushing over her cheek, unsure if she truly wanted this or if it was just the adrenaline, the danger, that was pushing her toward him. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Is this… because of what’s happening? Or do you—”

But she silenced him by leaning in, her lips brushing softly against his. Her fingers slipped up to tangle in his hair. She kissed him like she was gathering her courage, like every fear, every doubt, was melting away with that one simple touch.

When she pulled back, her eyes met his, and he saw the truth there, raw and honest. “I’ve wanted this for a while,” she murmured, her voice steady, no hesitation left. “Hell, probably since that night at the club… but I was scared. Scared of what you might see if I let you in. Scared of getting close, because… because I thought I’d lose you, too.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I’m not scared anymore.”

Logan felt his defenses crumble, the walls he’d built around himself falling away under the weight of her words. She wasn’t running, wasn’t hiding behind excuses or fear. She was standing there, bare and unguarded, and trusting him with her heart. His chest tightened, an ache spreading through him as he realized just how much he needed this—needed her.

He leaned down slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t move. Her gaze held his, steady and waiting, and he closed the remaining space between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, he felt the intensity build, something raw and desperate spilling over between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips parting against his, and he deepened the kiss, pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into it. She tasted like warmth and hope and everything he’d thought he couldn’t have, everything he’d thought he’d lost. He held her close, his hands splaying across her back, anchoring her to him as if letting go wasn’t even an option.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and fierce. “Not while I’m here.”

She smiled, her gaze soft yet intense, and he felt her hands drift to his chest, coming to rest just over his heart. Her touch was light but grounding, a steady warmth that seemed to settle him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “I know,” she whispered, her voice carrying a quiet certainty that made his heartache.

Her fingers moved slowly, almost reverently, tracing the lines of his chest before they dipped down to the hem of his shirt. She hesitated, looking up at him for permission, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and need. Logan felt his breath hitch as she tugged gently at the fabric, her silent invitation hanging in the air between them.

For a moment, he froze, an instinctive caution holding him back. This was dangerous, selfish even. He knew he should be focusing on getting her to safety, on keeping his guard up. But with her here, looking at him like he was something more than a weapon, something worth risking everything for… he felt his resolve crumble. If this was the only chance they’d have to be together, then he couldn’t bring himself to turn it away. He needed her, needed this moment—something real and honest before everything went dark again.

With a quiet exhale, he lifted his arms, helping her pull his shirt over his head. Her fingers trailed against his skin as the fabric slipped away, leaving a faint trail of warmth in their wake. He could see the way she looked at him, her gaze softening as she took him in, the faint scars across his chest, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing under her touch.

Before he could say anything, she leaned up, pulling him into another kiss. This one was deeper, bolder, a raw edge of longing slipping into the gentle rhythm. Her hands moved up his chest, exploring the contours of his body with a quiet reverence that made him shiver. He wrapped his arms around her, guiding her backward, his hands steady on her waist as they sank onto the couch together.

They moved slowly, unhurried, as if savoring each touch, each shared breath. Her hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing the lines of muscle like she was memorizing him, piece by piece. There was a tenderness in her touch, a quiet understanding that made him feel seen, not just as Logan the soldier, the protector, but as something more—a man who had carried his pain, his regrets, and was finally allowing someone else in.

Her lips brushed along his jaw, down his neck, each touch light but deliberate, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, her breath warm against his skin, and the weight of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the quiet intimacy between them.

She pulled him closer, her fingers tracing along his shoulders. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, steady and sure, grounding him in the moment. Every touch, every kiss was filled with a quiet urgency, an unspoken understanding that this might be all they had—a single, stolen night in a world that didn’t want them to exist together.

Her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, her fingertips trailing softly over his skin, and Logan shuddered under her touch. It wasn’t something he was used to—being touched like this, with care, with reverence—but he leaned into it, letting her pull him closer. His own hands moved instinctively, gliding down the curve of her back, mapping every line, every delicate angle as if trying to commit her to memory.

Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound rough and unpracticed. “Beautiful?” he echoed, a faint, self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. It was strange hearing that word directed at him—foreign in a way that made him feel both exposed and disarmed. “I’m looking at beautiful, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

She shook her head, a gentle smile softening her features. “You don’t see it, do you?” she said, her gaze steady and unwavering, as though daring him to believe her. Before he could respond, she leaned down, brushing her lips against his, silencing his doubts. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, and Logan felt the world narrow until it was just her—her hands, her lips, her warmth against him.

His hands moved to undress her in return, his touch deliberate and steady. He didn’t rush, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin, every sigh and soft laugh that escaped her lips as their barriers fell away, one by one, until there was nothing left between them.

Her body fit against his like it had always been meant to, her warmth grounding him as they moved together, finding a rhythm that felt both new and ancient, as if they’d known each other in a thousand lifetimes before this one. Logan let himself get lost in her—her touch, her scent, the quiet, breathless way she said his name like it was something sacred. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself feel fully present, fully alive.

When it was over, they lay tangled together in silence for a while, the room dark and still, their own private world created in the quiet spaces between breaths. Her head rested against his chest, her breath warm and steady, rising and falling in time with his. Logan ran his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, marveling at the softness of it, at how natural it felt to hold her like this. He felt her fingertips tracing lazy patterns along his side, as if she couldn’t bear to let go of him entirely. He wanted to say something, to tell her that he’d protect her, that he’d find a way to keep her safe no matter what. But he knew that promises like that were fragile, easily broken.

Instead, he pulled her a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “No matter what happens tomorrow… tonight was real,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “This—us—it’s real.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with a quiet strength. “I know,” she whispered, her fingers tracing gentle circles on his chest. “You deserve this, Logan. You deserve to be seen…and to be loved.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word, but she didn’t look away.

Those words hit harder than he’d ever admit. He swallowed thickly, his throat tight. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that he wasn’t worth all this. But the way she looked at him—steady, unflinching—made it impossible. She meant it. She saw all the broken, jagged pieces of him, and she wasn’t afraid of them.

He nodded once, unable to speak, and pulled her back down into his arms. She settled against him, her body curling naturally into his, and he let his hand trace down her back again, slow and deliberate. He closed his eyes, resting his chin against the top of her head.

The apartment settled into quiet stillness, a fragile peace settling over them. They both knew the danger waiting just outside these walls, the fight that lay ahead was far from over. However, Logan knew he’d fight a thousand battles to keep this feeling, this moment.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

A loud banging jolted Logan awake, dragging him out of a restless sleep. He shot upright, disoriented, the harsh sound echoing through the quiet apartment. In his confusion, he rolled off the couch, hitting the floor hard. He cursed under his breath, fumbling to pull on his jeans when a sick feeling settled in his gut.

She was gone.

His eyes darted around the room, his heart pounding as he took in the emptiness around him. Her coat was missing from the hook by the door, and the books and papers she’d been packing away last night were gone. The duffle bag she’d packed was gone.

He rushed through the apartment, searching—her bedroom, the bathroom, every small corner where she might have left something behind. But it was empty.

No, no, no, he thought, his chest tightening with a fierce, helpless frustration. She’d left without a word, without so much as a note. After everything they’d shared, after he’d sworn he’d keep her safe… she’d still chosen to leave.

The banging on the door grew louder, more insistent, accompanied by a voice muffled through the thin walls. “Logan! Open the damn door!” It was Wade, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t pull himself out of the numb shock settling over him. She was gone, and he didn’t know where. His promise to protect her felt hollow, empty.

He stood in the middle of her apartment, his eyes scanning the space as if hoping for some clue, something she’d left behind that would help him understand why she’d run. But there was nothing. Just the quiet, heavy emptiness where she’d been.

The banging turned into a relentless pounding. “Logan! For god’s sake, open up!” Wade’s voice was growing louder, more urgent.

Logan clenched his jaw, swallowing the knot in his throat. He headed toward the door with a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. When he opened it, Wade practically stumbled inside, his expression unusually serious.

“Finally,” Wade muttered, glancing over Logan’s shoulder as if expecting to see her. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been pounding on this door for ten minutes.”

Logan’s gaze was hard, distant. “She’s gone, Wade,” he said, his voice rough. “I woke up, and… she was just gone.”

Wade’s face twisted in a grimace, and he ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I figured. She came by the apartment earlier. Banged on our door like her life depended on it. Woke me up.” He gave Logan a look that was half sympathy, half irritation. “She told me to tell you… she was sorry.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface. Sorry. She’d left him with nothing but an apology after he’d risked everything to protect her. After he’d trusted her, let her in… after he’d started to think they could build something together.

“Did she say anything else?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “Anything about where she was going?”

Wade shook his head, his expression darkening. “No. I’m sorry but it’s smart she got out of here.” He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “We’ve got a problem. I think Stryker’s onto us. He’s been sniffing around. I caught Victor hanging around across the street.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him. Of course, Stryker knew something was up. He should have expected this. The plan had always been risky, a desperate attempt to mislead a man who saw through lies like smoke. And now, with her gone, the whole thing was falling apart.

Wade leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. “Look, we need to move fast. Whatever you’re planning, we gotta do it now. If Stryker’s catching on, it’s only a matter of time before he comes after her for real. And if he finds her…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Logan’s heart hammered as he forced himself to focus, trying to pull his mind back from the raw edge of loss and anger. “She thinks she’s protecting me,” he said bitterly, more to himself than to Wade. “Running because she thinks I’ll be safer if she’s not here.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant sympathy. “Sounds like she’s smarter than the both of us. Hell, I’d run too if I thought it would keep me off Victor’s radar.”

Logan shot him a hard look, his fists clenching tighter. “She doesn’t know what she’s up against.”

“Maybe not,” Wade agreed, his tone unusually serious. “But she’s doing what she thinks is right. And for what it’s worth, I respect that. She’s not sitting around, waiting to be rescued. She’s trying to keep you out of this mess, and that’s… something.”

Logan felt a surge of frustration, the helplessness gnawing at him. “I don’t care what she thinks she’s doing. I’m not letting her face Stryker and Victor on her own.” His voice hardened, his resolve solidifying into something fierce and unbreakable. “I told her I’d protect her. And I damn well meant it.”

Wade looked at him, his gaze steady. “Then we’re gonna need to be smart about this,” he said, his voice low. “If she’s already on the move, there’s a good chance Stryker’s got eyes out for her. You need to get to her first before they do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he considered their options. “We can use the plan. Fake her trail, lead Stryker in the wrong direction. But if he’s already suspicious…”

Wade shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Then we make him more suspicious. Feed him a lead so juicy he won’t be able to resist it. We throw everything we’ve got into it. Make it big, make it messy. Enough to keep him off her back while we get her out of here for good.”

Logan nodded slowly, a grim determination settling over him. It was risky, and it would take every bit of their combined skills to pull it off. But if it meant keeping her safe—if it meant giving her a chance to disappear, to live her life free of Stryker’s shadow—then he’d do whatever it took.

“All right,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let’s get moving.”

Wade nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, his gaze sharp and focused. “You find her, I’ll handle the rest. Give me a few hours, and I’ll have Stryker running in circles.”

Logan looked at him, the unspoken gratitude clear in his eyes. “Thanks, Wade.”

Wade gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Just don’t get yourself killed, all right? I’m not doing this solo.”

Logan managed a faint smirk, but his mind was already racing, already focused on one thing: finding her, convincing her that she didn’t have to run, that they could face this together.

He’d promised to protect her. No matter the cost, he was going to keep that promise.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan followed her scent for miles, his truck tearing down winding backroads, kicking up dust as he pushed it to the limit. Her trail was faint but steady, and he clung to it like a lifeline, refusing to let himself consider what would happen if he lost it. By the time he’d driven nearly thirty miles out of town, the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the dense trees that lined the road. He pulled into a tiny, near-deserted town nestled against the edge of a sprawling forest. It was the kind of place you could disappear in, where strangers barely looked at each other and the silence was thick, almost eerie.

He parked his truck just outside a rundown motel, the scent of pine and damp earth mixing with her faint trace. She was close—he could feel it. A flicker of relief spread through him, mingling with the desperation he’d been fighting back since he’d found her apartment empty. He started toward the motel, his mind racing with what he’d say to her, how he’d convince her to stop running, to trust him one last time.

Just as he stepped onto the gravel path, he felt it—a familiar, chilling presence. A dark shadow in the periphery, slipping out from behind the trees like a predator closing in on its prey.

Logan stopped, every muscle tensing. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Gotta say, little brother,” came the low, mocking drawl, “didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

Logan clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Victor’s hulking figure. Victor leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, that twisted grin on his face, eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

“You really shouldn’t be here, Victor,” Logan said, his voice a low, deadly warning. “Walk away. This doesn’t concern you.”

Victor let out a harsh laugh, pushing himself off the tree and stepping closer, his gaze sharp, predatory. “Oh, but it does concern me,” he sneered. “Stryker sent me to clean up your mess, seeing as you’ve gone all soft on us. Figured if you weren’t gonna take care of business, I’d handle it myself.”

Logan felt a surge of rage, his hands flexing at his sides. “You’re not touching her,” he growled. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

Victor smirked, cocking his head as he looked Logan up and down, clearly enjoying the fire in his brother’s eyes. “Funny. That’s not what she thought a few months ago.” He took another step closer, his gaze cold and unfeeling. “Didn’t tell you, did she? I was the one who had a little chat with her back then. Warned her to stay out of Stryker’s business. But she didn’t listen. Thought she could just run off and hide.” He shrugged a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Should’ve put her down right then and there.”

Logan’s heart pounded as the pieces finally snapped into place. It had been Victor all along. Victor was the one who’d made her life hell, who’d driven her to run, who’d forced her into the shadows with a constant, gnawing fear that never left her. And now he was here, ready to finish what he’d started.

“You threatened her,” Logan growled, his voice dangerously low, each word laced with barely controlled fury. “That’s why she left her job. Why she has been looking over her shoulder this whole time? You’re the reason she’s running.”

Victor chuckled, a dark, twisted sound that only fueled Logan’s rage. “Yeah, she needed a little lesson in minding her own business,” he sneered, taking a slow, taunting step closer. “She was asking too many damn questions, poking her nose where it didn’t belong. Someone had to remind her there are places you don’t go unless you want trouble.” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “And now, here you are, risking your neck for some nosy little journalist who should’ve known better. Makes me wonder if you’ve forgotten who you really are.”

Logan’s fists clenched, the muscles in his arms coiling like springs ready to snap. His knuckles were bone-white, barely containing the rage building inside him. “You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he spat, his voice cold, lethal.

Victor’s grin widened, his satisfaction evident in the cruel spark in his eyes. “Oh, I know enough. Enough to see she’s turned you soft.” He let the word hang, taunting. “The Logan I knew wouldn’t be wasting his time on some pathetic little tagalong. The Logan I knew would’ve put a claw through her throat the second she got too close.” He shook his head in mock disappointment, his voice dripping with venom. “But now? Now you’re just a lovesick fool.”

Logan took a step forward, his chest heaving, the air around him almost vibrating with barely restrained violence. His voice was low, and steady, each word sharp as a blade. “Call it whatever you want. But you lay one finger on her, and I’ll rip you apart.”

Victor’s expression darkened, his twisted smirk fading as he squared up to Logan, rolling his shoulders, his fists clenching in anticipation. “You really think you can protect her from me? From us?” he sneered. “She’s a loose end, and I don’t leave loose ends.”

Logan felt a familiar, white-hot fury boiling up inside him. It was all starting to make sense now—Stryker’s vague orders, the lack of intel. Stryker hadn’t known the journalist’s identity at first. He’d been kept in the dark, fed just enough information to justify sending Logan and Wade on this mission. Meanwhile, Victor, arrogant and reckless, had dismissed her as a minor annoyance… until Stryker finally connected the dots and ordered her elimination.

Now, with Stryker’s orders confirmed, Victor was out for blood. He didn’t just see her as a target—he saw her as a loose end he should have handled himself long ago. And in Victor’s world, there was no forgiveness for those kinds of mistakes.

Logan knew he should keep a clear head, and should think strategically. But hearing Victor talk about her like that—as if she were nothing as if she didn’t matter—sent a roar of anger through his veins, drowning out any restraint he’d managed to hold onto.

Logan bared his teeth, the raw anger coiled tight within him. “Let Stryker try,” he snarled. “I’ll take him down myself if I have to. And you? You’re gonna regret coming here.”

Victor let out a low, menacing laugh, shaking his head. “Always so dramatic.” He glanced toward the motel, a twisted gleam in his eyes. “You think she’s safe in there? Right now, hiding, waiting for you to come sweep her off her feet? She’s already dead, Logan. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Logan lunged forward, fists flying as he swung at Victor with everything he had. But Victor was ready, sidestepping and delivering a brutal punch to Logan’s ribs, sending him staggering back. Pain flared up his side, but Logan didn’t back down. He launched himself at Victor again, his claws slipping out.

They clashed in a blur of movement, snarling, claws slashing, each one trying to gain the upper hand. The forest echoed with the sounds of their struggle, leaves crunching underfoot as they grappled, neither willing to give an inch. Logan could feel the bruises forming, the sting of cuts across his skin, but he pushed it aside, focusing only on one thing: keeping Victor away from her.

Victor laughed, a cruel sound that grated against Logan’s ears. “You’re wasting your time, little brother,” he taunted, dodging another swing. “You can’t protect her from this. You’re only dragging it out, making it harder for her in the end.”

Logan’s vision blurred with rage, his mind flashing to her face, the way she’d looked at him last night with such trust, such faith. “I’ll protect her from you, from Stryker, from anyone who tries to hurt her,” he spat. “She’s not just some target.”

Victor’s grin faded, something dark flickering in his eyes as he lunged forward, their faces inches apart. “Then you’re as good as dead,” he whispered, his voice filled with cold certainty. “Because if you don’t kill her, I will.”

The words sliced through Logan, sharp and vicious, and he knew—this wasn’t just about her. This was about everything Victor and Stryker had made him into, everything he’d spent his life running from. And now, standing in the middle of this empty forest, he had a choice.

He drew back, chest heaving, glaring at Victor with a look of pure determination. “Not this time,” he growled. “You don’t get to take this from me.”

Victor smirked, but there was something wary in his gaze now. “We were supposed to stay by each other.”

Before Logan could respond, Victor backed away, his eyes never leaving Logan’s, a silent promise of the bloodshed to come. Logan watched him disappear into the trees, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breath. He knew Victor would be back. He knew Stryker wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

Logan understood why she’d run. He hated it, but he understood. He’d brought Victor here, right to her doorstep, and now she was in danger all over again. He felt a surge of frustration at himself, at the whole damn situation, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

He looked up at the rundown motel in front of him, its paint peeling and windows grimy, blending into the shadows of the forest like it had something to hide. Part of him knew he should keep his distance, and avoid drawing attention to her last known location. But he couldn’t just walk away, not without making sure she was okay.

Following her scent, he made his way down the narrow row of rooms until he stopped in front of one of the doors, his pulse pounding in his ears. Her scent lingered here, strong but fading. He knocked softly, hoping she was inside, praying she’d throw open the door and let him tell her that they could figure this out, that she didn’t have to run.

But there was only silence. The door creaked open under his touch, swinging inward with a quiet groan. Logan’s heart sank, dread clawing at him as he stepped inside. The room was empty.

Panic flared up in his chest, and for a split second, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. What if Victor had gotten here first? What if he’d taken her? Logan forced himself to breathe, to push the thought down. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

He took a few steps deeper into the room, eyes scanning every corner. Her scent was everywhere—lingering in the air, clinging to the worn bedspread, the nightstand, the small chair by the window. But she was gone, vanished like a ghost.

A wave of relief washed over him, mixed with an aching sense of loss. She’d left before Victor could get to her, no doubt trying to throw him off her trail. She was smarter than he’d ever given her credit for, brave enough to stay one step ahead. But that didn’t stop the hollow feeling settling in his chest as he realized she was truly gone.

Logan’s gaze drifted to the nightstand beside the bed, where the drawer was pulled slightly open. Something about it caught his eye, and he felt a strange, uneasy pull as he reached for the handle. He slid the drawer open, his heart pounding, and found a folded piece of paper inside.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the messy, hurried handwriting that was unmistakably hers.

Logan,

If you’re reading this, it means you found me. Or at least, you came close. I don’t know what I expected, thinking I could slip away from you. You’ve always been relentless, and maybe that’s part of why I…

He paused, his heart clenching as he read the next words, written in smaller, more delicate script.

…why I fell in love with you.

That’s exactly why I can’t stay. I know you’d do anything to protect me, but it’s too dangerous. You’ve already risked so much, and the last thing I want is to be the reason something happens to you. You have your own battles to fight, your own ghosts to face. I can’t be one more burden for you to carry.

I’m sorry for all of this. For dragging you into my mess, for making you feel like you had to choose between protecting me and yourself. You don’t deserve that.

This… us… it’s better this way. I’ll find a way to keep myself safe, and maybe someday, we’ll meet again under different circumstances. But for now, I need you to let me go.

I’ll always remember you, Logan. The way you looked at me, the way you made me feel like I mattered in a world that had tried so hard to erase me. You gave me something I didn’t know I was missing, and I’ll be grateful for that, always.

Logan’s hand shook as he held the note, his breath catching in his throat. He read the words again, letting each one sink in like a dagger, twisting deeper with every line. She loved him. She loved him enough to let him go, to believe that leaving was the only way to protect him.

A raw ache spread through his chest, mingling with a fierce anger that he couldn’t direct at anyone but himself. She thought she was doing what was best, though she was sparing him somehow. But didn’t she understand? There was no protecting him from this. There was no way he could just let her walk out of his life.

Logan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He could practically hear her voice in those words, feel her resolve, her heartbreak. She was trying to be strong, to be brave. But she was wrong if she thought he’d let her face this alone.

Logan stared down at the note, his hand shaking as he folded it carefully, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his grip. Her words echoed in his mind, each line a quiet, devastating goodbye as if she thought he could just let her walk away and disappear without a fight. She didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—that there was no version of this world where he’d ever be able to let her go.

He slipped the note into his pocket, the weight of it settling against his heart like a brand, and took a final look around the empty motel room. The faded bedspread, the cracked mirror, the soft imprint of where she’d sat on the edge of the bed—it all seemed to echo with her presence, taunting him with the memory of how close she’d been, how real it had all felt. But now the silence was heavy, a hollow reminder of everything he’d lost, and the anger simmering inside him began to burn hotter.

His jaw tightened, a new determination hardening his features as he spoke softly into the empty room. “Sorry, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough, laced with a dark promise. “But you don’t get to decide that for me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his footsteps heavy and sure. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, filling his lungs and sharpening his focus. The quiet town was bathed in moonlight, casting shadows across the deserted streets, and at that moment, Logan knew exactly what he had to do.

He couldn’t keep playing defense, couldn’t keep letting Stryker and Victor call the shots. If he wanted to protect her, to end this once and for all, he’d have to confront the very men who had made him into a weapon. And if they wanted him to be the monster, the animal they’d tried to create… then that’s exactly what he’d show them.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan made it back to the apartment just as dawn was breaking, the pale light casting long shadows across the empty streets. He hadn’t slept and hadn’t stopped moving since he’d left the motel. His mind was on a relentless loop, thinking of her, of Stryker, of the promises he’d made to protect her. But now, as he approached the bar’s entrance, he saw Wade waiting outside, slouched against the wall, a grim expression on his bruised face.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, taking in the fresh cuts and swelling around Wade’s left eye, the blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles were raw, split open like he’d been in a hell of a fight. Logan’s stomach twisted.

“What the hell happened?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade glanced up, managing a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Victor happened. Thought he could beat the crap out of me,” he replied, wiping a smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “I showed him, though. Stabbed him a few times.” He raised one of his katanas, the blade slick with blood that hadn’t yet dried.

Logan’s jaw clenched, his fists curling as he processed what this meant. “Victor was here?” he asked, barely controlling the fury simmering beneath his words.

Wade gave a tight nod, his expression turning serious. “Yeah. Came looking for answers shortly after you left. Seems he figured something was up, and started sniffing around. When I didn’t give him what he wanted, he got… persuasive.” Wade gestured to his bruised face, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t talk, but he knew enough to put two and two together.”

Logan cursed under his breath, pacing in a tight circle as he tried to keep his rage in check. “Did he go back to Stryker?” he demanded.

Wade nodded, wincing as he stretched a bruised shoulder. “Didn’t stick around long enough to ask him, but he took off right after he was done using me as a punching bag. If I had to guess, he’s already reported back to Stryker.”

The implications sank in like a stone. Stryker knew. They’d blown their cover, and it was only a matter of time before Stryker sent everything he had to hunt her down.

“Do you have any idea where they went?” Logan asked, his voice tight, barely controlled. He could feel the urgency gnawing at him, clawing up his spine, urging him to move, to find her before it was too late.

Wade shook his head, his expression frustrated. “No idea. But I did catch him muttering something about an island before he stormed off. Could be nothing… or it could be where Stryker’s holed up.”

“An island?” Logan’s mind raced, trying to connect the pieces. Stryker had always preferred remote locations, places that were hard to reach, and easy to defend. An island would be perfect for him, isolated and far from prying eyes. It would give him every advantage if he was planning to lay a trap.

Wade nodded, his gaze sharp. “Yeah. He didn’t say which one, but I did some digging after he left. There’s an old military facility about twenty miles off the coast. Rumor has it, Stryker’s been using it as a base for… whatever twisted shit he’s been up to lately.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, the pieces falling into place. “If Victor’s told him everything, Stryker will go straight for her. He’ll want answers, want to know how much she knows about Team X.” He didn’t say what they both knew Stryker would do to get those answers. Torture, interrogation… if Stryker got his hands on her, it wouldn’t end until she was broken.

Wade met his gaze, the usual sarcasm gone from his eyes. “Then we’d better move. If we’re gonna catch them, we can’t waste any more time.”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling the fire of determination settle into something ice-cold, something unbreakable. “You’re right. We get to that island, we take out Stryker, and we bring her back.”

Wade gave a grim nod, sheathing his katana with a sharp click. “Finally, something exciting,” he muttered, managing a smirk despite the bruises. “I was getting real tired of this babysitting gig. Let’s go cause some damage.”

Logan didn’t bother responding. His mind was already miles away, focused entirely on the mission ahead. He wouldn’t let Stryker get his hands on her. Not now, not ever. Stryker had taken enough from him, twisted enough lives. This was where it ended.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan and Wade moved through the dense jungle in silence, each step sinking into the thick, damp earth. Shadows clung to them, swallowing their movements in darkness, but Logan’s senses were sharp, honed. The night air was heavy with the scent of pine and saltwater, the distant crash of waves muted by the thick canopy above. Overhead, the moon cast a pale, silver glow, but it barely touched the ground through the dense branches, leaving them in near-total darkness.

They’d anchored the boat a mile offshore, slipping onto the island undetected, and now the fortress loomed ahead—a grim, sprawling structure hidden on the far edge of the island. Tall walls surrounded it, topped with barbed wire that glinted under the floodlights, which swung in sweeping arcs across the perimeter. The place was built like a prison, and somewhere inside, she was trapped.

Wade glanced over, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a focused, steely expression. “So,” he whispered, barely audible over the rustling leaves, “we going in loud, or are we keeping it quiet? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m itching to blow this place to hell.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the fortress. “We ambush them,” he said, his voice low and hard. “Stay together unless they try to split us up. If Stryker tries to run, he’s yours. I’m going for Victor.”

Wade nodded, his eyes gleaming with a hint of wild excitement. “Copy that, boss. But just so we’re clear—if Stryker so much as breathes in my direction, he’s getting a bullet between the eyes.”

They crept to the edge of the outer fence, crouching low as they scanned the patrols circling the perimeter. Wade pulled a pair of wire cutters from his pack and looked at Logan, waiting for the signal. Logan gave a sharp nod, and Wade moved swiftly, slicing through the fence just enough for them to slip through. Together, they moved like shadows, weaving between patrols and ducking under cameras, their every movement silent and precise. They reached the main building, slipping inside just as a guard passed by, oblivious to the intruders in the night.

Inside, the facility was cold and dimly lit, a maze of concrete corridors that smelled of metal and stale air. The hum of machinery vibrated through the walls, punctuated by the distant footsteps of guards. Logan’s senses were on high alert, his every nerve tuned to the sounds around him. And then he heard it—a faint, familiar voice echoing somewhere deep in the building.

His heart twisted, his blood running cold. It was her.

He signaled to Wade, and they moved swiftly through the winding hallways, following the faint sounds of conversation and the occasional clang of metal. They passed locked rooms and sterile, empty cells, their shadows stretching long under the flickering fluorescent lights. Finally, they rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with a heavy metal door at the end of a narrow corridor. There, standing guard with his back to them, was one of Stryker’s men.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guard’s jaw before the man could react. The guard crumpled to the ground with a muffled grunt, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

Wade grinned, crouching down to pick up the guard’s keycard. “See? I told you we make a good team.” He swiped the card against the reader, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

They slipped inside, weapons ready, and moved down a long, dimly lit hallway. At the end of it was a small room, and inside, Stryker waited.

He turned as they entered, a smug smile curling across his lips as if he’d been expecting them all along. His gaze flicked between Logan and Wade, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “Ah, Logan,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mock warmth. “Right on time. I figured you’d come running. It’s almost… predictable.”

Logan’s fists clenched, his claws sliding out with a grinding schlikt. “Where is she?” he growled, his voice low, dangerous.

Stryker chuckled, his tone filled with cold amusement. “So protective. You know, I have to wonder—why are you so attached to this girl, Logan? Don’t tell me you actually care.”

Logan took a step forward, his gaze like steel. “Last chance, Stryker. Where. Is. She?”

Stryker held his ground, his expression unruffled. “You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, crossing his arms. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.” He tilted his head, studying Logan with a look of cold calculation. “Deep down, you knew exactly who she was from the moment you met her. Don’t try to deny it. Your instincts—the animal in you—knew she was the target. That’s why you found her so… intriguing.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his eyes locked on Stryker with a deadly intensity.

Stryker smirked, his voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “You’re just a weapon, Logan. A soldier. You may think you care about her, but let’s be honest—you’re only here because she was the job. It’s what you’re made for.”

The words twisted something inside Logan, old wounds reopening under Stryker’s taunts. But he forced himself to keep breathing, to keep control. Stryker was baiting him, trying to push him over the edge.

“Don’t pretend you’re anything more than the animal you are,” Stryker continued, his tone cold, dismissive. “She’s just a loose end, and you—well, you’re just the fool who thought he could be more.”

Logan’s vision went red. He surged forward, slamming Stryker against the wall, his claws hovering just inches from Stryker’s throat. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he snarled, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage.

Stryker laughed, even as Logan’s claws pressed dangerously close. “Go on, then. Prove me right. Kill me. Show me you’re exactly what I made you.”

For a moment, Logan’s grip tightened, his muscles coiled, every instinct screaming for him to end this, to make Stryker pay for every life he’d ruined. But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Wade step forward.

“Logan,” Wade said quietly, his voice surprisingly calm. “He’s not worth it.”

Logan hesitated, the haze of rage clearing just enough for him to hear Wade’s words. Before he could react, Wade stepped forward, swinging the butt of his gun into Stryker’s temple. Stryker crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his mocking smile finally silenced.

Wade glanced at Logan, giving him a knowing look. “You don’t need to dirty your claws on him. Go find her.”

Logan took a steadying breath, his hands still trembling, his heart still pounding with fury. He forced himself to pull back, his gaze shifting away from Stryker and toward the door at the end of the hallway. He could feel her presence somewhere beyond it, faint but steady like a beacon pulling him forward.

“Go,” Wade repeated, nodding toward the door. “I’ll make sure this asshole doesn’t get back up.”

Logan nodded, giving Wade a look of gratitude. Without another glance at Stryker, he turned and strode down the hallway, his steps quickening as he neared the door. He pushed it open, his every sense alert, his every instinct focused on one thing: finding her, getting her out, and putting an end to this nightmare.

As he moved deeper into the facility, the walls seemed to close in around him, the smell of metal and cold concrete sharp in the air. But he didn’t stop. He could feel her, close now, her heartbeat faint but steady, guiding him through the darkness.

He reached the final door and Logan knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t leave this island without her.

Logan pushed open the door and slipped inside, his movements fluid and silent. The room was dim, lit by a single harsh light overhead, casting long shadows across the cold concrete floor. There, tied to a chair in the center of the room, was her—face bruised, her wrists bound, her gaze defiant despite the fear lingering in her eyes.

Victor stood beside her, one hand gripping her shoulder, his claws extended just enough to graze her skin. He was watching her with a twisted, mocking smile, completely oblivious to Logan’s presence.

Logan’s chest heaved, the sight of her—wounded, terrified, but still holding her ground—igniting something fierce and uncontrollable inside him.

Victor chuckled, still oblivious, his voice dripping with disdain. “You thought you could get away, didn’t you? Thought someone was gonna save you?” He leaned in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I hope he gets here in time, sweetheart.”

Logan took a single, slow step forward, his voice a low, menacing growl that filled the room. “Let her go.”

Victor froze, his body going tense before he slowly turned to face Logan. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by that familiar, twisted grin. “There you are, little brother. Took you long enough.”

Logan’s claws slid out with a grinding schlikt, the sound sharp in the stillness. “You wanted me here. Well, here I am.”

Victor laughed, a cold, mocking sound. “You know, you’re just proving my point, Logan. She’s made you weak. Look at you, risking everything for this pathetic little journalist.”

Logan’s gaze flickered to her for a moment, her eyes meeting his, wide and filled with relief. He felt the fury simmering inside him sharpen, and solidify. “Call it whatever you want. I’m done talking.”

Victor’s smirk faded, replaced with a cold, calculating look. “Oh, little brother,” he said, releasing her and stepping forward, flexing his own claws. “But let’s be honest—you’re not gonna win this fight.”

For a split second, something flickered in Victor’s expression, something almost… conflicted. It was as if he was wrestling with a thought, a shadow of doubt crossing his face before his jaw tightened, and the hardness returned to his eyes.

Victor glanced back at her, and for a moment, Logan thought he might waver, might change his mind. But then Victor’s face twisted into a sneer, and he shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t leave loose ends. Not for anyone.”

With that, he lunged.

They clashed in a blur of movement, claws flashing, each strike more vicious than the last. Logan’s world narrowed to the raw, brutal fight in front of him, the air filled with the sound of claws slicing through flesh, the impact of fists and bodies against concrete. Victor fought with a brutal edge, his strikes fueled by years of resentment, rivalry, of a twisted sense of superiority.

Logan had something Victor didn’t—a reason to fight beyond pride. He had someone to protect, someone whose life mattered more than his own. That gave him strength, an unbreakable resolve that kept him going even when the pain threatened to pull him under.

At some point during the fight, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was watching, her gaze locked on him, her lips parted in a silent plea. It was all he needed.

With a roar, Logan tackled Victor to the ground, pinning him with one knee against his chest, his claws poised at Victor’s throat. “You’re done,” Logan growled, his voice filled with a quiet, deadly finality. “You’re done trying to control my life.”

Victor sneered up at him, defiant even in defeat. “You really think this changes anything? Stryker will come for her. And when he does, you won’t be there to protect her.”

Logan pressed his claws just a little closer, his voice a low, furious whisper. “Then he’ll get the same welcome you did.”

Victor’s eyes flashed with fear or the faintest glimmer of respect—but before he could respond, Logan brought his fist down, slamming Victor’s head against the concrete. Victor’s body went slack, unconscious, and Logan wasted no time turning back to her.

She was still in the chair, her hands bound, her face pale but determined. He crossed the room in two quick strides, his hands already working on the ropes around her wrists.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle.

She nodded, her gaze steady as she looked up at him. “I am now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, relief flooding through him. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a familiar voice. Wade slipped into the room, grinning as he wiped blood from his knuckles. “Stryker’s not gonna be a problem. Let’s just say he and I had a little… conversation.”

Logan nodded, his hand slipping into hers as he helped her to her feet. “Good. Then let’s get off this damn island.”

They moved quickly, with Wade leading the way back through the facility, every step taking them further from the nightmare they’d escaped. As they reached the edge of the island, the boat waiting for them on the shore, Logan held her close, his hand never leaving hers.

This time, he promised himself, he’d keep her safe—for good.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light across the little cabin nestled at the edge of the forest. Birds chattered in the trees, and the steady murmur of a nearby creek filled the air with a peaceful hum. It was a quiet spot, secluded and off the grid, miles away from the life they’d left behind. And that was exactly how Logan liked it.

Inside the cabin, Logan was standing at the kitchen counter, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to peel potatoes with a knife far too sharp for the job. His large hands weren’t exactly suited to delicate work, and he muttered under his breath as the potato slipped from his grip for the third time.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him with a soft smile tugging at her lips. It had been months since they’d escaped Stryker’s grasp, since that night on the island, and she still wasn’t used to seeing Logan like this—shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from a shower, wrestling with a kitchen task like he was facing down an enemy.

“Need some help, chef?” she teased, crossing the room and taking the knife from him before he could protest.

He grunted, folding his arms and pretending to look annoyed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You think you can do better?” he asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes, deftly peeling the potato with a few smooth strokes. “I’m just saying, I’m trying to avoid a trip to the hospital. With the way you were holding that knife, I’d have to stitch you up by dinnertime.”

He let out a low chuckle, watching her with a look that was almost… awestruck. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe she was here, in this cabin they’d built together, her laughter filling the air, her hands moving with easy familiarity in their shared kitchen.

She finished peeling the potato and handed it to him with a little flourish, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smile. “There. Now maybe I’ll let you handle the boiling part. Think you can manage that?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Keep talkin’, and I might just make you do all the work tonight.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Fine. I’ll let you cook… if you can keep that smart mouth of yours quiet for five minutes.”

She laughed, the sound filling the cabin, and Logan felt something settle in his chest, a quiet contentment he hadn’t known he could feel. She nudged him with her elbow and turned back to the counter, slicing the potatoes with practiced ease, her hair falling softly over her shoulder.

Logan watched her, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He’d never thought he could have this—a life so normal, so simple, filled with nothing but quiet, ordinary moments. It was strange, the way he felt more himself here, peeling potatoes and teasing her over burnt toast, than he ever had in all the years he’d spent fighting, running, surviving.

He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She looked up, surprised by the softness in his gaze.

“What?”

He shook his head, his thumb lingering on her cheek for a moment longer than necessary. “Nothing. Just… I’m glad you’re here.” His voice was low, almost rough, like he wasn’t used to saying things like this out loud.

Her face softened, her hand coming up to rest over his, her fingers warm and gentle. “Me too,” she said quietly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

They stood there for a moment, her hand resting on his, the world around them fading into a warm, comfortable silence. Then, with a little smirk, she nudged his hand away and turned back to the potatoes.

“Now,” she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes, “unless you’re planning on staring at me all evening, maybe you could make yourself useful and grab the salt.”

Logan huffed, grumbling under his breath, but he moved to grab the salt shaker from the cupboard, fighting the smile that kept creeping onto his face. He handed it to her, and she gave him a playful wink, her fingers brushing his as she took it.

They worked side by side in the kitchen, moving around each other with a practiced ease, like they’d been doing this for years. Now and then, their hands would brush, or she’d catch him watching her out of the corner of his eye, and he’d look away, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

Later, as they sat down at the little table by the window, the last light of the sunset spilling across the room, she reached across the table and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Logan looked down at their joined hands, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his chest, a quiet happiness he still wasn’t used to.

She caught his eye, smiling softly, a playful spark in her gaze. “Logan… I love you, but you’ve gotta stop staring at me like that. You’re making me blush.”

Logan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as if memorizing the feel of her hand in his. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost hesitant. “I keep thinking… this is all a dream. Like I’m gonna wake up, and you’ll be gone, and I’ll be right back where I started.”

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the little touches she’d added—a vase of wildflowers on the windowsill, her favorite books stacked messily on the coffee table, a soft throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. The cabin felt like a home now, filled with reminders of her presence, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

She squeezed his hand, her fingers steady and warm. “Logan,” she whispered, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked back at her, his expression softening as he let her words sink in. “You promise?”

She smiled, a warmth in her eyes that made his heart feel like it might break, just from the sheer vulnerability of it all. “I promise,” she said, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, and he felt some of the tension he’d been holding finally release. “Good,” he said, his voice thick, barely more than a whisper. “Because I don’t think I’d know what to do without you now.”

She tilted her head, studying him with that soft, patient look that always seemed to cut right through his defenses. “You don’t have to worry, Logan.”

He didn’t respond right away, just nodded, letting her words settle over him like a blanket, warm and reassuring. It was such a simple promise, but it held a weight he hadn’t known he needed. She was here, with him, and for the first time, he actually believed she would be—today, tomorrow, as long as he could hold onto her.

After a long moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a slow smile breaking across his face. “All right, then,” he said, voice low and steady. “Guess I’d better get used to it.”

She grinned, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to his lips, her laughter filling the room like sunlight. “Guess you’d better,” she teased, brushing a hand through his hair as she settled back in her chair.

Bonus Scene

Inside, the cabin was cozy and warm, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Logan sat at the small kitchen table, a newspaper spread out in front of him, though he wasn’t reading it. His eyes kept drifting over to her, watching as she moved around the kitchen, humming softly to herself. She was cooking breakfast—eggs sizzling in the pan, a pot of tea steeping on the counter. It was a simple morning, ordinary in every way, and that was what made it so perfect.

Logan leaned back, a rare, soft smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace.

Then, a loud, obnoxious honk shattered the quiet, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing look with him. Only one person would make that kind of entrance in the middle of nowhere.

“Great,” Logan muttered, pushing himself up from the table. “Just when things were getting quiet.”

He opened the cabin door, stepping outside just as a beat-up old pickup truck pulled up, kicking up a cloud of dust. Wade grinned from the driver’s seat, his sunglasses crooked, his arm slung casually out the window. He looked as out of place in the peaceful setting as a wolf in a field of lambs.

“Logan!” Wade called, climbing out of the truck and stretching his arms overhead like he’d just driven across the country. “Nice little place you got here. Very… rustic.” He looked around, taking in the trees and the clear blue sky. “I see you’ve gone full mountain man.”

Logan folded his arms, fighting the urge to smile. “What are you doing here, Wade?”

Wade shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite grumpy Canadian in the middle of nowhere? I was in the neighborhood.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “The nearest town is fifty miles away.”

Wade shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, well, I heard there was good coffee around here. And maybe I missed the two of you. But don’t go getting all sentimental on me. It’s just a temporary lapse.”

She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and smiling despite herself. “Hi, Wade. You hungry?”

Wade’s face lit up, his gaze flicking from her to the warm, inviting cabin. “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said, grinning. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside. “Logan’s been chopping enough firewood to heat the whole forest, so I think we’ll be warm enough.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Wade said as he stepped inside, glancing around the cozy cabin with a touch of surprise. “This guy’s a softie at heart. First, it’s firewood and breakfast in bed. Next thing you know, he’s knitting sweaters and taking up bird-watching.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. He shut the door behind them, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, watching Wade settle in as if he belonged there. Despite the sarcasm and theatrics, Logan could see it in Wade’s eyes—the genuine relief that they were all still standing, that the worst was behind them.

“So,” Wade said, taking a seat at the table and eyeing the spread of food appreciatively. “How’s life in the woods treating you two? Getting used to all this fresh air?”

She chuckled, pouring coffee into a mug and setting it in front of him. “It’s… peaceful,” she said, glancing at Logan with a soft smile. “Exactly what we needed.”

Wade’s expression softened for a moment, his usual sarcasm slipping away. “Yeah, I bet. You two deserve it. God knows you’ve been through enough.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as they sat around the table, eating breakfast and enjoying the warmth of the cabin. Wade filled them in on the latest gossip from town, spinning tales of bar fights and questionable characters that made her laugh, and even Logan couldn’t hide a smirk or two. It was like a glimpse of the world they’d left behind but without any of the darkness or danger that had once haunted them.

Finally, as they finished eating, Wade leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, this was nice. A little slice of domestic bliss.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at Logan. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Logan snorted, his tone dry. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t,” Wade said, but there was a glint of something softer in his eyes as he looked between them. “I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to your wilderness honeymoon.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she gathered the plates. “Thanks for stopping by, Wade. Really.”

He got up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Anytime. Someone’s gotta check in on you two, make sure you’re not turning into total recluses.” He paused, looking at Logan with a hint of something unspoken. “Take care of each other, yeah?”

Logan gave a curt nod, but his expression softened, and he clasped Wade’s shoulder, a rare show of gratitude. “You know we will.”

Wade grinned, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Good. And hey, don’t be strangers. You know where to find me.”

With one last nod, Wade stepped out of the cabin, heading back to his truck. They watched as he climbed inside, giving a quick wave before driving off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

As the truck disappeared down the dirt road, she turned to Logan, slipping her hand into his. They stood together in the doorway, watching the dust settle, feeling the quiet of the woods close in around them once more.

Logan looked down at her, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. “Guess we’re really out here now,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice.

She smiled, leaning into him, her gaze soft. “Yeah. Just us.”

#fic recs ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #logan howlett x reader

102 notes · View notes