#it might be something I think about forever

[carolxdanvers]

This is also something I believed when I was in my 20s and I have amazing news: it's not the case.

You will spend so much of your time feeling this way, and then you'll be 32 and you'll realize that you actually really like the way you look in this blouse, and you'll realize that people are genuinely interested in the things you talk about, and you'll find someone who loves it when you pause a show you're watching to ramble about the least cool thing in the world, simply because you were reminded of some trivia you saw somewhere. And you'll think back to the way you felt for years, for decades, and you'll wonder when things changed. There might be times when you still feel a pang of insecurity from the younger you, but those times will be less frequent, and you'll find that you don't identify with them as strongly when they appear.

It won't last forever. I have cptsd from the things I went through in middle school, and I am here to assure you that this post is all wrong. OP, you'll find it one day too.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

[thesecretaryy]

MDNI

Nerd!Choso who can’t stop thinking about you. The way you walk, the way you talk — even the way you smell. You’ve taken over his mind, playing on an endless loop, day and night.

You’ve shared classes with him for what feels like forever. It was only a matter of time before his quiet admiration started to show.

You don’t notice a thing. You go about your day, heading to class as usual, completely unaware that you’ve got a pair of eyes fixed on you almost every second. Well, you start noticing that you have an admirer when you start receiving your favourite milk chocolate, perfectly wrapped in pretty pink paper in your locker every week. It’s always the same chocolate, no note or anything. At first, you just think that it’s your friends playing a prank on you, I mean, you have been whining about needing some attention.

It's been going on for a while now, almost three months, and by this point, you know it’s not just your friends pulling some harmless prank. You actually have an admirer. The knowledge of someone knowing the code to your locker and slipping that same chocolate inside week after week, has you feeling slightly...disturbed, but also happy in a way. More often than not, the attention you get is from one of the guys on the football team sending you a dm late at night about hooking up, but this show of affection? It seems like this mystery guy might actually like you. Because why else would he go through the trouble of getting you that expensive chocolate that you love?

Choso would always try to be in the hallway at the time when you would open your locker and see the gift. He noticed the way your eyes lit up every time you received one of his presents; he had even heard you talk about them to your friends in class.

The knowledge that you appreciated his efforts only fueled his confidence. Slowly, the chocolates stopped arriving alone. Neatly folded notes began appearing with them — some filled with compliments, others with questions, even though he knew he’d never get an answer.

But lately, his boldness has grown. This time, there was no note, just the chocolate and tucked beneath it, a photo, one taken by an actual camera. It was high in quality and taken in a dark room. The picture showed the guy, well, not his face, but his abs. He was holding your favourite chocolate in front of his abs. When you received the photo, you were more than surprised; these gifts had now been taken to another level.

One day, you end up staying at school later than usual, all thanks to your idiot teacher, who decided to give you detention for scrolling through Pinterest instead of working on your assignment. Tired and slightly irritated, you finally head to your locker to get your chemistry book. Because, of course, your teacher didn't only give you detention, but also extra homework.

To your surprise, the hallway wasn't empty when you got there. There was someone there, right in front of your locker.

And that’s when everything clicked.

The person in front of your locker had to be him, your mystery admirer. He moved slowly, carefully pressing in the code to your lock, like he had all the time in the world, completely unaware that anyone was watching. He must have thought the hallway was empty.

When the blue locker finally opened, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out that same pink-wrapped package. Only this time, it looked different, it was thicker and bigger, like a box. Maybe he had stepped up his game and given you something else. 

He placed the package neatly inside and then reached further inside your locker. You were confused. What was he reaching for? You heard something being moved slightly inside your locker, only for him to then pull out a small bag where you kept some spare clothes in case anything ever happened. You could see that he was looking inside the bag, reaching inside to then pull out a pair of your spare panties.

You had to physically hold yourself back from gasping as you realized what he was holding. He looked at them for a little while before he stuffed them inside his pocket.

You waited impatiently behind the rounded corner of the hallway for him to turn around, and when he did, you were even more stunned. It was Choso, the quiet guy from your chemistry, math, and graphic design classes, in other words, all your nerd classes.

He was wearing a black zip-up hoodie, baggy light blue ripped jeans, and a worn Star Wars t-shirt peeking out from underneath. Up until the moment he turned around, you’d been almost certain it had to be one of the guys from the basketball team, simply because of how big he was. Had he always been that tall? Had he grown taller since the last class you had with him or what? Maybe you just hadn’t noticed before.

His eyes flicked around the hallway, scanning for anyone, completely unaware that you’d been standing there the whole time, watching. Then he walked out the main exit at the end of the hallway. The second the door swung shut behind him, you rushed to your locker, hands moving almost frantically as you worked the lock open to find the package inside.

As you thought, it was a box under that pink wrapping, the box was a dark but saturated purple color. Slowly, you pushed the top part off to reveal a white silk bag inside. As you saw the shape of what was inside the bag, you felt a shiver go through you. You untied the white strings at the top of the bag and moved the fabric down the object hesitantly. You stared at the light pink vibrator in your hands. It was big, it had to be about 7 inches or more. It was so detailed, the slight curve upwards, the veins. It almost seemed as if it was a replica of a real dick.

On the base, there was something small engraved; a closer look made it obvious that it said "Use me."

After a little while, you snapped out of your shocked trance and quickly put it back in the box, hesitating only for a second before you pushed the purple box into your bag. Too shocked to notice that when you pushed the box down into your bag, it had sounded like there was something else in the box too.

You rushed home. You weren't even sure what to do.

Choso had always seemed kind, gentle, and quite innocent. He always sat at the back and rarely spoke to anyone, besides his brother Yuuji, who was a few years younger than you. Seriously, you had never once interacted with this guy.

You sat down on the hard floor of your room, hesitantly pulling out the box again, setting it down in front of you. You stared at the box for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and peeling the top part of it once again to reveal the box's insides. You grabbed the smooth silk bag and placed it in front of you, and now you saw that there wasn't only the vibrator in there but something else too.

It was a small sort of old iPhone with a note attached to it.

"Film yourself, then send it to the saved number on this phone, and I'll see it. I promise I'll return the favour."

Your heart was pounding loudly, so loud you could hear it speed up. Your gaze dropped from the phone to the silk bag. Why were you even considering this? You asked yourself as you reached into the silk bag. There was something so disturbing about this that made it so exciting. There was a small part of you that now, when you knew that it was choso all along, felt willing to do this, felt so willing to do this to see him send something like that back.

[returnofeternity]

college professor lottie who's like lowk OBSESSED with you and you're crushing on her too 😵‍💫 that's it that's the post

· · 𐂂 · ·

of course, she's pretty, so it's no surprise that you develop a crush on her the first day of class.. with you, it takes a bit of time before you're fully obsessed, but with her, it's immediate. the second you walk in, asking if this is the right room, she's hooked. you're one of the first few people in class on the first day, and she's kind of disappointed when you pick a seat in the back and just nod and smile at her attempts to make conversation. but you're just nervous! you're on ur settings app pretending to do something just so she'll think ur busy because holy shit you might actually stutter so bad if she asks more than your name 😭😭

lottie who doodles on your work when she gives your assignments back... or lottie who finishes ur doodles and you find yourself kicking your feet over it 😭 esp when she puts "cute art :)" in parentheses. she's def the type to bring up how talented you are and asks if she can see more of your work, going as far as framing one of your works in the classroom. teacher's pet for real.

finding her staring at you during lectures. like when she's talking about whatever, she's always looking into your eyes as she explains. she'll look around at everyone else for a few moments just so you don't get suspicious, but they always float back to you when you look back at the projector to write down notes. taking pictures of the slides because it's too much to write and she has to get through these slides, and getting her in a picture.... feeling like a perv when you find yourself zooming in, and you take forever to delete it from ur phone.

professor lottie who told you that your body looked amazing in those jeans of yours once.

tfem prof lottie 😁 staring at her bulge during class and having to get up to go to the bathroom because you just cannot pay attention to anything else.. maybe it's break when you get back so the classroom is partly empty when you return. sitting in your seat and putting ur earphones in and scrolling thru ur socials for a bit, lottie walking up behind and just watching for as long as she can without seeming suspicious. she calls out your name but obv you don't hear, so she puts her hand on your shoulder, holding it down almost forcefully when you jump. awkwardly laughing while taking out ur earphones because you didn't even notice her and, fuck, how long was she watching you on ur phone...lottie who asks if everything's alright, that you seemed a little "off" earlier and she just wants to make sure you're okay. you're practically face to face w her bulge while sitting and you can't even answer. and ofc she knows why you're off...she's smug. almost letting out a whimper when she raises her brows and lifts your chin, telling you that you can say whatever's on your mind.

prof lottie who's so obsessed that she gets jealous when you talk to your classmates. god forbid you mention your other professors too.... she likes to think you only have her.. that you're hers.

meetings with lottie in her office but you're actually fucking 😊 even better if you have to wait until she's done with her class and walk in while she's helping one last student, smiling at how clear it is that she's impatient and already worked up as she tries to get out early 😭 calling her "professor matthews" to tease her too. she loves it.

"professor matthews, we have that meeting, remember?" you say innocently, smiling to yourself as you look at her ass, watching her help this student. she turns back to you and gives you a stern look.

"i remember." lottie rolls her eyes at the student asking more and more questions which makes you chuckle. "why don't you just send me an email, hm? i have a meeting with a student i need to attend." she smiles and pats the student's shoulder as she gets up, rushing out before they can say anything.

you follow her out the door and walk by her side to her office.

"i'm packing by the way." you whisper into her ear as you squeeze close to her to avoid bumping into students in the hall.

[calamity-crows]

Title: I don't want to talk about this.

"I'm asexual."

"I don't like talking about my sexuality. Not in the no one will understand me woe is me way. I mean there's truth in that most won't relate. But mostly it's just inconvenient. I guess I should feel lucky because my family tends to leave it alone. They're more concerned with unmarried cousins who are almost thirty. I still get all the classic comments about 'giving it time' and 'being young. As if I wouldn't know by now. It doesn't help that everyone reminds me that I look far younger than I am. I am a sexless being to them, which is fine by me. Except sexless isn't the word I would use to describe my experience with asexuality. I don't like talking about this... because I don't know how to feel about this facet of myself. Or what it means for my future. The unknown is uncomfortable..."

"First, let's get the clinical shit out of the way. There are a lot of misconceptions about asexuality. Mainly that asexuals don't have sex, or that we don't want it ever. While this can be true, asexuality exists on a spectrum within a spectrum, meaning you can be gay, straight, bi etc. and also be asexual. Asexual simply means that an individual experiences little to no sexual attraction. This is also separate from Aromanticism, which is the same thing, but with romantic attraction. It is possible to be one without the other. For most, sex and romance are tied together but they aren't inherently combined but that's a whole other thing. I personally experience elements of both but don't bother with micro labels for my own sanity. I've wasted too much time on labels. So, in laymans terms, asexuals do not feel the attraction part of sex or it is at least very rare but this does not equate to not wanting sex at all. The best way I can think to explain it is the analogy of eating cake. Asexual people do not 'crave cake' but eating it can still be enjoyable, some asexual people might be neutral to it- like a take it or leave it situation- while some might outright dislike it. The nuance of asexuality is often hard to describe. For instance, Demisexuality (one facet of acespec) describes only feeling attraction after forming a strong emotional connection. This sometimes confuses people because it is normal to only have sex with those you connect with. The core of this misconception lies in the distinction between sex and sexual attraction. Asexuality describes the lack of sexual attraction, not the amount of sex an individual has."

"I grew up in a 'heteronormative queer' household. I acknowledge the contradiction. But I don't have a better way to articulate it. My childhood was split between two households; One queer, one straight, both nuclear. From a young age, I had outwardly queer friends. I was aware of the social stigma against queer people, but to me, queerness didn't feel much different from any other relationship. In that respect, I led a sheltered life."

"Entering middle school brought an abrupt change in house sex was presented to me. No longer was it this vague concept, but rather it became something rapidly tangible. For the first time there was pressure to understand, to enjoy sexual content. To participate. With the internet at my disposal I went from knowing nothing to being exposed to hardcore pornography. To say I was uninterested would be a lie, but I noticed my own curiosity did not line up with my friend's interest. I was simply emulating their behavior in a vain attempt to justify my standing in the group. Through it all, I felt isolated. As if I was on some other island entirely."

"I have since made several friends that happened to share similar experiences to mine. I did not seek them out, but I am forever grateful I found them. Still our society is built around the idea of a nuclear family structure and a part of me still yearns to fulfil that in some way. The idea that I will end up alone haunts me."

"See, here's the thing, I love romance as a genre. I love the feeling of reading a really good romance novel. Or watching a great romcom. But then, after I am left with this hollow feeling inside. Reminding me that I will never experience this. Forced to live vicariously through this fantasy. But this idealized form of love isn't real for anyone. And that soothes something in me. I don't know if I'll ever have even half of that. Logically I know this is okay. But it doesn't feel okay.... whatever. I'm tired of this edgy ass conversation..."

[End]

a comic about my experience with asexuality

[moonlitstoriess]

Could I request an angst to fluff fic for Cassian? The plot can be whatever you want, I can’t think rn

Make It Right- Cassian x fem!reader oneshot

Summary: On Y/N’s birthday, Cassian forgets the special day, caught up in the chaos of the world around them. Hurt and disappointed, Y/N tries to hide her feelings, but Cassian soon realizes his mistake. What follows is a heartfelt apology, and a love that reminds them both that sometimes, making things right takes more than just words.

A/N: Tomorrow is my birthday, yay!! 🥳 This is a little early birthday post I'm sending your way, hoping that you will enjoy it<3 Thank you for the request anon!

See masterlist

Warnings: Angst at first, cassian being an idiot

Y/N woke with a soft stretch, the warmth of sunlight streaming through the window and brushing her face. Today was the day—her birthday. She had woken up with a fluttering excitement in her chest, a smile already forming as she thought of the plans, the laughter, the quiet moments she might share with Cassian.

Her fingers brushed against the empty side of the bed.

Furrowing her brow, Y/N glanced at the space beside her. Cassian wasn't there, and for a moment, she wondered if he had gotten up early for training. But no, that didn't seem right. It wasn’t like him to leave without a word.

Her gaze wandered to the small table beside the bed, where a piece of parchment caught her eye. Cassian’s familiar handwriting sprawled across it, and her heart fluttered. Maybe he was just up to something… maybe it was a surprise.

With a little smile, she reached for the letter and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the words.

My Love, I’ve gone up to the Illyrian camps for a few hours to speak with the warriors about some new strategies we need to implement. You know how it goes—these things are never quick. But I’ll be back before you know it. I know you’re probably still sleeping, so I’ll let you get your rest and will see you soon. I love you more than words can say. I can’t wait to see you later.

Yours forever, Cassian

Y/N blinked at the letter. There was no mention of her birthday. Not a single word about the day that should’ve meant something special between them. Her heart sank just a little, the fluttering excitement slowly replaced with an unfamiliar heaviness. She sat there for a moment, staring at the letter, wondering if she'd missed something, if she was misreading it.

But no, there it was in black ink—nothing about today.

Sighing quietly, she set the letter back down and ran a hand through her hair. Maybe he had something planned. Maybe he was just working on a surprise. Cassian always had a way of doing things in his own time, in his own way. He wouldn’t forget, right?

It was only a few hours, after all. He’d come back, and they’d spend the day together. Maybe he was just setting up something grand for later. Maybe he was waiting to make the moment perfect.

She took a deep breath, pushing the little pang of disappointment aside. He loves me, she reminded herself. He always does.

With that, Y/N stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her clothes and moving toward the window. She still had hope. Cassian was always full of surprises, and she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t let today slip by without showing her just how much she meant to him.

Right?

The morning passed in a blur of warm wishes and gentle laughter, but still, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Inner Circle had been kind—so kind—and she was deeply grateful for their love and friendship. Rhys and Feyre had, without hesitation, invited everyone to the River House for a breakfast celebration in her honor. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, and it made her heart swell with affection. The beauty of their bond—of how they all looked out for one another—was something she cherished deeply.

When she’d arrived at the River House, she was greeted with warm smiles, hugs, and laughter. Nesta, for all her quietness, gave her a genuine hug, and even smiled at her, a rare moment that made Y/N’s chest tighten with appreciation. Amren had actually let out a small compliment—something about Y/N’s hair looking especially “charming today,” which made Y/N laugh.

The table was filled with an array of foods, a spread fit for royalty, and there was an undeniable sense of warmth in the air. Feyre had gone out of her way to make sure everything was perfect—her usual artistic flair evident in the way the food was arranged, the flowers placed just so on the table.

But even as the smiles and laughter surrounded her, as they all joked and ate together, there was an ache within her that refused to fade. She couldn’t help but feel a little hollow without Cassian by her side, his absence growing more pronounced as the day wore on. She couldn’t push the thought from her mind—why hadn’t he been here to wish her a happy birthday? Why wasn’t he here now?

Her eyes kept drifting over to the window, the soft breeze moving the curtains gently as though calling her attention to the world outside. She had expected him to show up at any moment, maybe swooping down from the skies in his usual fashion, grinning like a fool and pulling her into his arms, apologizing for being late with a cocky smirk. But no. He hadn’t come. And worse yet, he hadn’t even checked in through their bond, hadn’t sent even a whisper of a thought to her. It was unlike him, and it stung more than she cared to admit.

She tried to focus on the joy of the moment. She really did. She was surrounded by people who loved her. Her friends, her family—each one of them expressing their joy for her in their own unique ways. Nesta had even offered her a gift, something she’d made herself—woven from fine, shimmering strands of thread—and Y/N had been touched beyond measure. Amren’s usual sharp smile seemed more genuine today, her eyes glinting with something softer than usual. And Feyre, as always, had a way of making her feel special—her quiet words of gratitude and love making Y/N’s heart swell.

Azriel, ever the quiet and observant one, had given her a rare smile when he raised his glass to her. His dark eyes held a warmth that she didn’t often see, his gruff exterior slipping just a little in the presence of the people he cared about. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort from the shadowsinger, his support steady and unspoken, as always.

Elain, with her gentle kindness, had hugged her tightly when they first arrived, speaking softly about how much she admired her strength and how happy she was to be a part of the day. The warm sincerity in Elain’s words had made Y/N’s heart ache—she could always rely on her to brighten any room with her peaceful presence.

And then there was Mor. A force of nature in her own right, the bright, bold smile on Mor’s face never seemed to fade. She’d given Y/N a gift, a beautiful piece of jewelry that shimmered with a kind of magic. Mor’s exuberance was infectious, pulling everyone into her orbit, filling the space with laughter and light. She had gone out of her way to make Y/N feel like a queen today, fussing over every detail and making sure Y/N knew just how much she meant to the entire Court.

Each one of them had done their best to make today feel special. They were all here, surrounding her with love and light, and yet... Cassian’s absence loomed over it all, a shadow she couldn’t shake.

She reached for her glass, taking a sip, but her thoughts kept drifting. Maybe he’ll come back soon. She told herself again and again, trying to quell the disappointment. But the longer she sat there, the more she realized something: He wasn’t here. And he wasn’t even thinking about her. The bond between them was silent. No whispers, no gentle pull on her heart. She kept waiting for a flicker of warmth, some kind of connection—but there was nothing.

She pushed the thoughts aside for a moment when Mor raised her glass, calling everyone’s attention to make another toast in her honor. The cheerful clink of glasses around her made her smile, and she tried to focus on the love and laughter in the room. He’s not here right now, she thought, forcing herself to believe it. But I’m still loved. I am loved.

Azriel’s low voice cut through her thoughts, his words aimed at her but spoken with that quiet intensity only he could manage. “Don’t let today be overshadowed by his absence. You’re not alone, Y/N. We’re all here.”

Y/N met his gaze, his deep, steady eyes holding hers. She felt a little lighter, the weight of her worries lifting just slightly. You’re right, she thought, her heart grateful for his reminder. And yet… her mind couldn’t help but wonder, Why wasn’t Cassian here to remind me himself?

As the morning wore on, the atmosphere in the River House felt warm and alive with chatter, music, and the clinking of glasses. Y/N continued to do her best to push away the dull ache that kept settling in her chest, trying to enjoy the celebration for what it was. It wasn’t as though she didn’t appreciate everything her friends were doing for her. They had all been kind and thoughtful, their efforts unmistakable.

But still, she couldn’t quiet the little voice in the back of her mind. Cassian’s absence. The unanswered questions.

It was when Rhys approached her, a gift in hand, that her thoughts were interrupted. He gave her a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming with that familiar warmth. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” he said softly, offering her the small, beautifully wrapped package.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she replied, her smile sincere as she accepted the gift. She’d always adored Rhys’ sense of humor and his ability to bring light into any room, but today… her mind wasn’t fully there. She carefully unwrapped the present, revealing a small, intricate bracelet—crafted from what appeared to be moonstone, its pale light catching the sunlight in a way that made it shimmer like stars. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Rhys smiled, watching her with a quiet kind of affection. “I thought it might remind you that even when it feels like someone’s missing, you’re still a part of something bigger. The stars will always be there, just like us.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words. “Thank you, Rhys.”

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I’m sure Cassian is preparing something extraordinary for you today. Don’t let the silence fool you. He’s up to something.”

Hope bloomed in her chest, delicate at first, like a fragile flower testing the air for warmth. “It wasn’t you who sent him to the Illyrian camps, was it?”

Rhys chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, definitely not. Why would I send him away knowingly on the day of his mate’s birthday?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened. Could it be that there had been a misunderstanding? Had Cassian been caught up in something unexpected? That seemed likely, didn’t it?

Rhys continued, his smile shifting to something more teasing. “He told me that the Illyrian camps had requested him—one of the commanders asked him personally. And I’m sure you know how those requests work. You don’t just say no to an Illyrian commander, especially when they come with an urgent matter. He also told me that he didn’t want Azriel to go since he already has too much on his plate.” Rhys paused, giving her a pointed look. “You know how it is. The more people you have, the more work piles up.”

Y/N nodded, still uncertain but feeling a spark of relief. So it wasn’t Rhys...

“But that’s not the only thing,” Rhys continued, his tone taking on a more knowing edge. “You know as well as I do that when you go up into the camps, you can’t come back before atleast a full day because of all that is going on there. He told me he’d be back by late afternoon. And trust me, he’s never one to be late when it comes to something important. Especially when it involves you. He’ll be here, Y/N. I’m sure of it.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as she processed his words. Cassian wouldn’t miss today. He wouldn’t let me down, not like this...

She looked up at Rhys, who was watching her with an intensity that told her he understood her internal struggle. “I know it’s hard, Y/N. But you have to know this: he’s coming back. I’m sure he’s planning something incredible for you, just like he has every year since you have been mates. It’s just not the way you expected it.”

Her thoughts swirled. I should trust him. I should trust that Cassian loves me enough not to forget today... But her mind kept circling back to the letter. Maybe he really is just caught up in something. Maybe he’s doing everything he can to get back to me.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she whispered, feeling a little lighter. She hoped he was right, hoped that Cassian would return with the grand gesture she was waiting for.

Rhys gave her a wink. “Anytime, Y/N. You deserve all the love in the world. Don’t let today slip by with doubts.”

As Rhys moved back to join the others, Y/N let the words linger in her mind. He’s coming back… he has to be.

But still, a part of her remained uncertain. What if there was more to this than just a simple delay? What if he’s forgotten entirely?

For now, though, she’d wait. She’d trust in the love they shared, in the bond that had always connected them, even when the distance felt unbearable.

As the hours passed, the River House buzzed with life and laughter. Y/N tried her best to keep her smile in place, to enjoy the company of those around her, but it was hard to ignore the absence of the one person she had been waiting for all day.

The birthday breakfast had come and gone, and now the afternoon stretched out before her, warm and full of promise—yet empty without Cassian’s presence. She was surrounded by friends, all of them who cared for her deeply, but somehow, it all felt incomplete.

Azriel and Mor had spent the afternoon lounging outside, talking quietly about their latest missions, their voices low and private. Nesta had wandered off for a while, clearly needing some time alone, but she’d made sure to hug Y/N tightly before slipping away. Feyre had suggested a walk through the gardens, a calm, peaceful escape that allowed them to chat more privately, and Y/N was grateful for the distraction. They’d discussed everything and nothing—how Feyre was adjusting to being a mother, how Y/N had been feeling about the latest changes in the Night Court—but the whole time, her thoughts kept drifting back to the empty space beside her.

Her eyes had lingered on the door, half-expecting to see Cassian come striding through it, his laughter booming in that familiar way, his arms wide to pull her into his embrace. But each time, her hope was met with nothing but the quiet hum of the house.

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip toward evening, Y/N had retreated to a corner of the house, seated in a comfortable chair by the window, looking out at the vast expanse of the world beyond. The river glittered in the fading sunlight, the gentle lapping of the water against the bank providing a quiet soundtrack to her restless thoughts.

She absentmindedly fiddled with the bracelet Rhys had given her, tracing her fingers over the smooth, cool surface. It was a beautiful gift—something she’d treasure forever—but right now, it felt like a reminder of how little she truly had today. She had expected so much more.

She was no stranger to the chaos of Cassian’s life, to the unpredictability of his role as General. She knew that sometimes, his responsibilities pulled him away from her. She’d always understood that. But today… today felt different. Today felt like it should’ve been the day—the one where he set aside everything else to focus on her. To remind her how much she meant to him.

Her thoughts drifted again to that damn letter from the morning. She could still picture the simple words, how they hadn’t even mentioned the significance of the day. Was he really too busy? Was it just bad timing?

A soft, familiar presence appeared at the edge of her thoughts, and she felt the lightest flutter through their bond—a tiny whisper, like a fleeting breath in the back of her mind. It was just a brush, a flicker. But it was enough to make her heart race, enough to make her wonder if perhaps Cassian was finally reaching out.

But no. It was gone almost as quickly as it came.

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice broke through her reverie, and Y/N turned to find her standing at the edge of the room, watching her with gentle concern in her eyes. “You okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Y/N forced a smile. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Feyre stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the windowsill beside her. “I know it’s hard, waiting for Cassian. But you have to know he’s going to be here soon. He wouldn’t miss today for the world."

Y/N nodded, but the words felt hollow. She appreciated Feyre’s attempt at reassurance, but it didn’t change the emptiness that had settled into her bones.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Y/N murmured, looking down at her hands, where the bracelet rested against her wrist. “I just… I expected more today, you know? More of him. It’s hard not to feel like I’m being forgotten.”

Feyre reached over, gently squeezing Y/N’s hand in hers. “Cassian doesn’t forget. Not about you, not about your worth. I know you know that, deep down. But his responsibilities… they take over sometimes.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, but her heart felt heavy with the truth of Feyre’s words. She knew this. She had always known how demanding Cassian’s work was. Yet, in this moment, none of that seemed to ease the ache in her chest.

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet of the room thick between them.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Feyre said after a beat, “Rhys and I were talking earlier. He’s certain Cassian is planning something spectacular. He wouldn’t let this day go by without making it up to you, I promise.”

Y/N gave a small, shaky smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Feyre patted her hand. “Come on, let’s go join the others. The day’s not over yet, and I’m sure Cassian has something up his sleeve. Just you wait.”

Y/N nodded again, standing with Feyre and following her back toward the main part of the house, though her heart still felt heavy. She tried to lose herself in conversation with the others as they discussed plans for the evening, but every time the door creaked open or a breeze brushed past, her hope flickered once again.

Cassian would come, wouldn’t he?

-----

Cassian stood at the edge of the Illyrian camp, his eyes scanning the horizon, watching as his warriors trained, sparred, and carried out their duties. It was the sort of day he dreaded—endless, relentless, and filled with the tension of an impending conflict that threatened to boil over at any moment.

It had all started about a month ago, when he’d received the urgent message from one of the northern commanders. At the time, Cassian delayed coming over himself, choosing to send his trusted men instead. It was also because the communication had come at the worst possible time—just as he was looking forward to a few days of peace, maybe even a quiet evening with Y/N.

However, everyday the commander had kept asking for Casian himself, being very clear: the camps were on the brink of full-scale warfare, and they needed someone who could keep things in order before the situation got worse. And so, Cassian had packed up quickly, his mind focused only on getting things under control. The sooner he got in, the sooner he could return. He had promised himself that it would only be a few hours—perhaps a day at most. After all, how bad could it be?

But of course, as it always did, the situation had escalated.

In the last month, every plan he’d tried to set in motion had been thwarted by a new complication. A new leader from one of the factions had challenged his authority, a skirmish had broken out on the eastern border, and just when Cassian thought things were settling down, word came that another territory was in dispute.

Now, here he was, surrounded by the sounds of clashing metal and the low hum of warriors calling orders, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword as he surveyed the chaos. His mind was elsewhere, though—not with the men around him or the reports he was reading—but with her. Y/N.

He hadn’t forgotten her—he could never forget her. She was always in his thoughts, even now as he stood in the midst of battle preparations. But the more he thought of her, the more his frustration built. Damn it all, he thought to himself, running a hand through his dark hair. He was supposed to be with her, not stuck here in this endless mess. He had no idea how things had gotten so far out of hand, but there was no turning back now.

He’d hoped the day would be simple. He’d figured, a few hours at most, handle the worst of it, and then be back with her. Maybe they could have a quiet dinner, talk about the quiet things. But now, that hope seemed like a distant memory.

His mind drifted back to the report he’d just received. The situation with the northern factions had worsened. They were demanding reinforcements, and not just a few. This was the kind of situation where Cassian’s presence was absolutelynecessary. He couldn’t just leave it to the others; he had to see it through. The men under his command needed him.

But what about her?

A growl rumbled low in his throat, his frustration turning into a simmering rage. Cassian had thought that after a quick intervention, he’d be back to his mate, back to the woman who kept him grounded and whole. But that had been a naive thought, one that now felt like a cruel joke.

“General,” one of his commanders approached, his voice low and serious. “It’s not just the northern borders. We’ve got problems in the southern territories too. The peace talks fell apart. We’ll need to send someone there immediately.”

Cassian gritted his teeth. Three days. At least three days now. What the hell was he supposed to do? There was no way he could leave things in this state—not when things were this precarious.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, pacing away from the group. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak to the commander again; his thoughts were too clouded, his anger too sharp. The worst part? No one here seemed to understand. They were all too focused on the battle, on the logistics of war, to see the way his heart was breaking with every passing second.

Cassian growled under his breath, his frustration boiling over. He had to stay for the next few days. There was no other option.

But Y/N would understand. Right?

----

Y/N did not, in fact, understand.

When she saw Rhys leave and come back with a letter in his hand, his expression serious and slightly sorrowful as he headed straight for Azriel, she knew something was wrong.

Feyre and Elain were beside her, their soft laughter and conversation swirling around like a gentle breeze, but Y/N barely heard any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the two males standing by the doorway, voices hushed but movements tight with frustration. Rhys’ brow was furrowed as he handed the note to Azriel, and Az ran a hand through his hair as he read it, wings twitching slightly behind him.

Her stomach sank.

It was the way Azriel’s jaw clenched. The way Rhys’ hand dropped to his side, fingers curling into a fist. The kind of body language that meant bad news. And neither of them had looked her way.

Feyre nudged her gently, drawing her back. “Y/N? You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh—sorry,” Y/N murmured, blinking and trying to force a smile. “I’m listening.”

But she wasn’t. Not really. Because now Azriel had started speaking, fast and low, and Rhys wasn’t looking at him—he was looking at her.

That told her everything she needed to know.

She stood slowly, the movement enough to draw the attention of both males. Azriel glanced down at the note in his hand, then up at her, his expression unreadable. Rhys looked like he was preparing himself for something—his lips pressed together, a crease forming between his brows.

Y/N didn’t wait for them to come to her.

She crossed the room silently, her heart pounding louder with each step. She kept her voice steady when she stopped in front of them, even though it felt like her lungs had been replaced by lead.

“What is it?”

Rhys hesitated. Azriel looked to him, clearly unsure if he should speak, but then Rhys sighed quietly and extended the letter to her. “It’s from Cassian.”

She took it with slow fingers. The seal wasn’t the one he usually used for her—no wax in her favorite color, no scribbled heart in the corner like he sometimes added when he was feeling particularly smug or sweet. Just plain parchment, a rushed signature.

Her throat tightened before she even unfolded it.

It wasn’t long. A few brief sentences. A quick explanation. He’d been pulled deeper into the situation than expected. The camps were at each other’s throats. He couldn’t leave—not yet. Not for another few days. I will send news soon. Take care of Y/N for me.

No mention of what today was. Not even a line.

She didn’t realize how tightly her fingers were gripping the paper until Rhys gently reached out, his hand brushing her elbow. “Y/N—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, folding the letter with practiced calm. “He’s needed there. I get it.”

Neither Rhys nor Azriel looked convinced.

Feyre and Elain had gone quiet behind her. She could feel their concern, the heaviness in the room like a sudden shift in air pressure.

Y/N took a slow breath and looked out the window, blinking back the sting in her eyes. She had waited. All day. Told herself he was coming. That this wasn’t like him.

And maybe it wasn’t.

But the letter in her hand said otherwise.

Because it didn’t even say happy birthday.

And no matter how many times she told herself that Cassian loved her—that his duties were important, that Illyria needed him—there was a sharp, echoing silence in her chest where he should have been today.

Where his voice should’ve whispered through the bond, where his arms should’ve wrapped around her, where his presence should’ve reminded her that she mattered.

She swallowed tightly and turned away, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she murmured. “I think I’ll head home.”

“I don’t understand. How could he forget?” Rhys practically growled, pacing in the center of the room now. “Cassian has never—not once—missed her birthday. Every godsdamned year, he’s gone all out. The male made her a sunrise flight over the Sidra last year because she said she liked the color of the sky in the morning—”

“He always remembers,” Azriel cut in, his voice dark and tight with frustration. “He’s never been like this. Not with her.” His shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, restless and tense.

Feyre, standing near the window, arms folded, nodded slowly. “It’s not like him. Something’s not right. And even if he’s overwhelmed, even if Illyria is falling apart, there’s no way he doesn’t know what today is.”

“I’ll go to him,” Azriel said abruptly, already half-turned toward the door, his voice quiet but deadly. “I’ll tell him myself. I’ll show him that fucking letter and—”

“That idiot,” Mor muttered, appearing from the hallway with a sharp look in her golden eyes. “That idiot. She waited all day, Az. He should’ve been here. At least a godsdamned message.”

“I will make him listen,” Azriel continued, shadows snapping around his fists. “I’ll fly to him right now and—”

“Stop.”

Y/N’s voice was quiet, strained—but no one heard her. Or maybe they didn’t listen. The air was thick with indignation, protective fury, confusion.

“Stop,” she said again, a little louder, stepping further into the room. Still nothing.

Rhys was muttering about how he should’ve known, how he should’ve sent someone else to the camps. Feyre was pacing now. Even Elain, sweet Elain, had a worried furrow in her brow.

“Stop!”

The word cracked through the space like thunder.

Everyone froze.

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N stood in the middle of the room now, chin high, fists clenched at her sides. Her breathing was steady, but the tremble in her fingers betrayed the storm inside her.

“No one,” she said, voice low but unyielding. “No one is going to say a word to him.”

Rhys opened his mouth to protest.

Y/N’s gaze cut to him with sharp precision, a warning that stopped him cold.

“I mean it,” she said firmly, looking at each of them in turn. “He needs to realize this himself. If any of you go running to tell him, if you scold him or guilt him or push him into some half-hearted apology… it won’t mean anything. He has to see it. He has to feel it. Not because you reminded him. Not because someone handed him the truth. Because he looked around, realized something was missing, and knew it was me.”

Azriel stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Y/N, he loves you. He would never—”

“I know he loves me,” she said, gentler this time. “But love doesn’t excuse neglect. Love doesn’t mean never making mistakes. And I’m not mad that he’s busy. I understand his duty. But today? Today he forgot me. Not just the celebration—me.”

Elain opened her mouth, but closed it again with a sympathetic frown.

Y/N took a slow breath. “Please. It’s my birthday. And this is my wish. That none of you mention this to him. Let him come home on his own. Let him see the damage on his own. Let him fix it on his own.”

The silence returned, heavier now. And then, after a long pause, Rhys finally let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I will give him a few days to realize his mistake. But.” His violet eyes locked on hers. “There is no way in any world that I am letting you spend your birthday alone.”

Y/N’s lips parted, already forming a protest. “Rhys, really, I—”

“But nothing,” Feyre cut in, already taking Y/N’s hand. “We listened to you. Now you listen to us.”

“We’re your family too,” Elain said softly, stepping up on Y/N’s other side. “And you don’t deserve to sit in silence when there’s still joy to be found today.”

“The others will be back soon,” she added, already moving toward the doors leading to the terrace. “And we are not letting this day end with you hiding in a corner feeling forgotten.”

Before she could argue further, Feyre gave her hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go outside. Breathe. Laugh a little. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure she could laugh—not right now—but the way they looked at her, all of them, she knew they wouldn’t let her fall apart alone.

So she let them lead her toward the open doors and into the golden light of the setting sun, the scent of flowers on the breeze and the soft murmur of the Sidra below.

And even as she smiled for them, even as she tried to be present, there was still that hollow space inside her where he should’ve been.

Where Cassian should have been.

She didn’t even notice the tears at first. They came suddenly, soundless, slipping down her cheeks like they’d always belonged there. She was seated on a bench between Elain and Feyre, hands curled tightly in her lap, when it hit her again.

She didn’t speak. She just cried.

And neither sister said a word. Feyre looped an arm gently around her shoulders, drawing her into the curve of her body while Elain wrapped both hands around hers. They didn’t offer empty reassurances or tell her to cheer up. They didn’t need to. They simply sat with her, and that was enough.

Later, as the garden lights blinked to life and the air cooled, Nesta returned from Valkyrie mission—sharper than usual, but her expression softened the moment she saw Y/N. No questions. No demands. Just a nod of acknowledgment as she took the seat across from her and quietly passed over a little parcel wrapped in silver cloth. A gift she’d made herself—something small, personal, and thoughtful.

Amren appeared not long after, her hair swept back in a polished twist, the edges of her black coat fluttering around her like shadows. She sat beside Nesta with a huff, muttering about “tedious Court matters” and “being dragged into babysitting lesser fae politics,” but even she leaned over to ruffle Y/N’s hair with an uncharacteristically soft, “Happy birthday, girl. Don’t let the bat’s absence ruin it.”

And just when Y/N thought the night was over, Elain insisted they all follow her inside.

There, on the kitchen table, sat a cake.

Beautiful and slightly lopsided, covered in sugared wildflowers and soft frosting that shimmered faintly under the faelight. Elain had made it herself—had spent the past two nights sneaking time in the kitchens, hiding it from even Feyre. “I wanted to do something just for you,” she said shyly, and Y/N had nearly cried all over again

The rest of the day passed like a slow, strange dream.

They dined together after that. A warm, chaotic, makeshift dinner, thrown together by a dozen helping hands. Everyone gathered—those who had come and gone through the day returning for the final hours. They drank and toasted and teased one another with ridiculous, affectionate banter. Rhys told a story from centuries ago involving Cassian and a very unfortunate tree, and even Y/N had laughed until her ribs ached.

There were moments—fleeting ones—where she forgot the ache in her chest. Where the comfort of those around her dulled the sting enough that she could pretend everything was okay.

But only for a moment.

Because the ache always returned. It pulsed behind every laugh, every sip of wine, every flicker of candlelight.

Cassian hadn’t come. He hadn’t sent a message. He hadn’t said happy birthday. He had completely forgotten.

And no matter how kind the others were, how hard they tried to lift her up, his absence sat heavy on her chest like a stone.

Eventually, under Rhys and Feyre’s gentle insistence, she agreed to stay the night. They wouldn’t let her go home alone. Not like this. “Just take the guest room,” Feyre said softly. “Sleep. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N agreed.

She closed the door behind her as quietly as she could. The room was warm, cozy, with soft throws and a little vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand—typical Feyre. Thoughtful to the end. She changed into the clothes someone had folded at the foot of the bed, washed her face slowly, and went through the motions of settling in.

She told herself not to cry again.

She had cried enough.

She folded her dirty clothes. Brushed out her hair. Lit a small candle with a flick of faelight. Tidied a nightstand that didn’t even belong to her.

She did everything except lie down.

But eventually, her limbs couldn’t carry her anymore.

Y/N slipped beneath the covers, curled onto her side, and stared out the window. The moon hung low and silver, casting light across the bed in quiet streaks.

And that was when her heart finally gave in.

The tears came again, thick and silent, slipping down her cheeks and into the pillow as she clutched it tighter to her chest. Her throat burned. Her ribs ached. She didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound—but the pain was all-consuming.

How had he forgotten her?

How had the one person who knew her better than anyone not felt how much this would break her?

She thought of his arms. His scent. His laugh. The way he always kissed her temple before bed. The way he used to whisper goodnight into her soul through the bond.

Tonight, there was nothing.

No whisper. No warmth.

Only the sound of her own quiet, broken breathing.

--------

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, muscles aching, exhaustion carved deep into every inch of his body. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days—not with the Illyrian warbands breathing fire down each other’s throats. He’d been everywhere. Breaking up fights. Mediating screaming matches. Holding war councils that felt more like babysitting sessions for ancient, prideful warriors who couldn’t see past their own egos.

The tensions weren’t just high—they were explosive.

What had started as a two-camp territorial squabble had now grown into something far more dangerous. Old rivalries, wounded egos, unspoken grudges—everything was bubbling to the surface. Cassian had tried, Gods he had tried, to get ahead of it. But every solution he carved out only gave birth to two more problems. Every ceasefire threatened to collapse under the weight of centuries-old hate.

Still, he pressed on.

He was the General of the Night Court. This was his job. His burden.

And yet…

He had thought about her. Hundreds of times.

Y/N’s smile. Her laugh. The way she scrunched her nose when she read something she disagreed with. The way she always tucked herself into his side like she belonged there—because she did. Her warmth, her scent, the quiet weight of her in his arms every night.

But now, that warmth felt so far away. And worse, she was… closed off.

He had reached for her through the bond multiple times since arriving in the camps. And every time, it was like pressing his hand against a locked door. Her walls were up, impenetrable in a way they hadn’t been since the earliest days of their bond.

That had set something cold and uneasy in his chest.

So, he had reached out to Rhys.

“Is she alright?” he’d asked through their mental link, concern thick in his tone.

Rhys’ response had come slower than usual. Clipped. “She’s fine. She’s staying with us.”

That was it.

No warmth. No elaboration.

Cassian had tried to rationalize it. Maybe Rhys was just busy. Maybe Y/N was tired. Maybe she didn’t want to worry him. But it gnawed at him—sharp and growing. She hadn’t answered any of his letters, either. He’d written three. All of them long, thoughtful—pouring out everything he couldn’t say across the distance. And still… nothing.

He frowned now, standing just outside the camp’s central tent, the icy wind biting at his skin despite the thick armor.

He didn’t understand. What was going on?

What was he missing?

He didn’t have the chance to spiral further—because a voice cut through the wind behind him.

“The Shadowsinger is here.”

Cassian blinked, turning immediately, his brow furrowing. “What?”

The young Illyrian warrior bowed slightly. “He arrived moments ago. He’s waiting for you near the ridge.”

Azriel? Here?

Cassian was already moving, striding across the frostbitten field toward the overlook, confusion swirling in his chest. What in the Mother’s name is Az doing here? He would’ve known if something had gone wrong at the River House. Rhys would’ve said something—surely.

And then he saw him.

Azriel stood with his arms folded, his expression unreadable, shadows curling languidly around his form as he stared out over the mountains.

“Az,” Cassian called as he approached. “What the hell are you doing here? Did Rhys send you?”

Azriel didn’t turn. “I came on my own.”

That wasn’t normal. Not with Azriel.

Cassian stopped a few feet away, arms outstretched in disbelief. “Okay, what is going on? Rhys is cold with me, Y/N’s got her walls up so high I can’t even feel her, and now you show up like death himself—what did I do? Did I commit a fucking massacre and forget about it?”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, but his voice was cool as ice. “You might as well have.”

Cassian’s stomach dropped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Azriel finally turned to face him, his gaze hard. “You’ve been so wrapped up in this godsdamned chaos that you didn’t even realize what day it was.”

Cassian blinked. “What?”

Azriel shook his head, sighing harshly. “Go back. I’ll take over from here.”

“What—? Why?” Cassian stepped in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Does Rhys need me? Did something happen—?”

Azriel shrugged his hand off with practiced ease, brushing past him without another word.

But as he walked away, his voice drifted over his shoulder.

“Your mate needs you.”

Cassian stilled.

The words hit him like a punch to the ribs.

Y/N.

Something snapped into place—something instinctual, primal. Protective.

His body straightened, his heart roaring in his chest as dread crashed over him like a tidal wave. His wings flared, already preparing to launch him into the skies.

Something had happened.

She was hurting.

And he hadn’t known.

Didn’t feel it.

His mate needed him—and he was not there.

Cassian didn’t waste another second. He turned on his heel, barked a few quick orders to the nearest commander, and took off into the sky, wind slicing around him like blades.

What happened to her?

My wife needs me.

The sky was clear, painted in soft shades of spring blue with faint wisps of clouds drifting lazily across it. The garden smelled like lavender and sun-warmed stone, and a gentle breeze tugged playfully at Y/N’s hair. It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day.

She barely noticed.

Feyre sat beside her on a picnic blanket spread out over the grass, barefoot, a smudge of green paint on her cheek as she carefully filled in the petals of a wildflower on her canvas. She looked peaceful, serene even—and Y/N had tried, Gods she’d tried, to match that energy. To find something resembling calm.

Feyre had said painting would help. That it had always helped her.

A good distraction.

And maybe it was. For the first few minutes, dipping her brush in soft hues, dragging color across blank canvas, she’d managed to escape the haze of disappointment clinging to her.

But the relief never lasted long.

Three days.

It had been three entire days since her birthday. Since that night she’d cried herself to sleep in a guest room that wasn’t hers. Since the cake Elain had made. Since the weight of it all settled into her bones like something permanent.

Cassian still hadn’t realized.

Not even a whisper through the bond, though she wouldn’t have heard it if he had tried—because she hadn’t opened herself to him. Not once. She couldn’t. Not when every second of silence felt like proof that he had simply... forgotten.

She hadn’t even touched his letters. They sat in her nightstand unopened, their presence mocking her more with each day that passed. She told herself that if she read them, it would mean she was ready to forgive him.

And she wasn’t.

A shaky breath escaped her as she dipped her brush again—only to knock over the small pot of blue paint beside her. It spilled onto the grass, soaking into the roots like a spreading bruise.

“Oops,” she mumbled, reaching for a cloth.

Feyre chuckled softly beside her. “That was my favorite shade too.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, but it was empty. “Of course it was.”

Feyre leaned back on her hands, eyes soft. “You’ve been quiet again.”

Y/N kept blotting at the grass. “I’m trying not to ruin your peaceful moment.”

“Y/N…” Feyre’s voice lowered, all teasing gone. “You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore,” she muttered, finally sitting back. “It’s like—I’m angry. I’m sad. I miss him so much it physically hurts, but then I remember he still doesn’t even realize what he’s done and—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. “It makes everything worse.”

Feyre reached over, brushing a bit of paint off Y/N’s arm. “He’ll figure it out.”

Y/N shook her head slowly. “And what if he doesn’t? What if this is just who he is now?”

Before Feyre could answer, a voice shattered the moment like glass against stone.

“Y/N!”

Y/N’s entire body went rigid.

The brush dropped from her fingers.

That voice. That voice that lived in her soul, in her every memory, every dream—rough and deep and warm like a storm in the distance. She turned slowly, heart thudding so loud she could barely hear anything else.

And there he was.

Cassian.

Striding toward her from the River House doors, wind-blown and armor-clad, broad shoulders moving with frantic urgency. Behind him, Rhysand stood, arms crossed, mouth pressed in a line, expression unreadable. Feyre had frozen beside her, eyes wide.

But Y/N couldn’t stop staring.

Gods, he looked the same and yet... not. Exhausted, eyes bloodshot, hair wind-tangled. But his face—his face lit up the second their eyes met.

Her Cassian, this was her Cassian.

“Y/N,” he breathed again, and then he was in front of her.

Cassian dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping around her tightly, protectively, one hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed his face into her neck.

“Thank the Mother,” he whispered, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her temple. “I thought—I thought something happened to you. I couldn’t feel you, you weren’t answering, and Rhys wouldn’t tell me anything and—”

Y/N was frozen in his arms.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed his scent. His warmth. How much she’d been craving the weight of his embrace, his voice breaking apart with relief.

But then she looked up.

Feyre was staring in wide-eyed shock. Rhys was watching coldly, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

And suddenly the pain returned.

Y/N pushed against Cassian’s chest, slowly at first—then more firmly.

He pulled back, blinking, confusion flickering across his handsome face.

“Y/N?” he said softly, voice catching.

She stood, brushing off her skirt, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Go back to your job, Cassian,” she said, her voice quiet but sharp. “It’s far more important anyway.”

The hurt that flashed across his face nearly undid her.

He turned toward Rhys, clearly seeking answers, but Rhys just shrugged—cool and unapologetic.

Feyre opened her mouth, stepping forward, about to say something—

But Rhys gently nudged her back with a warning look, stopping her mid-breath.

And Y/N didn’t wait.

She pushed past Cassian, her heart hammering, vision blurring as she made her way down the garden path without looking back.

Behind her, she heard Cassian curse softly—and then the sound of footsteps as he ran after her.

“Y/N—” Cassian’s voice rang behind her, hurried footsteps following as she stormed back into the River House.

She didn’t stop.

He cursed behind her—something muffled and sharp as he bumped into a low table near the hallway. She heard the crash of something ceramic hitting the floor.

“Y/N, please—wait, just—talk to me—”

She marched deeper into the house, hands trembling, her vision hazy from the heat of unshed tears. Her name kept falling from his lips like a prayer, desperate and confused. But she wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Not until he caught up and grabbed her arm.

Not harshly. Just enough to pull her to a stop.

“Y/N—”

She spun around, wrenching her arm from his grasp with more force than necessary, her breath ragged as she shouted, “What?”

The hallway echoed with her voice, the sharpness of it slicing through the air like a blade.

Cassian took a step back, blinking at her, stunned. “I—why are you acting like this? What is going on?”

She let out a humorless, choked laugh, folding her arms as her eyes flashed. “Oh, I don’t know, Cassian. Maybe I’m just a little emotional. Maybe I’ve just lost my mind.”

His brow furrowed. “Y/N, don’t—”

“No, you don’t!” she snapped, pointing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to walk in here after three days like everything’s normal, like you haven’t been ghosting me while I’ve been drowning in confusion and—hurt.”

Cassian’s wings flared, frustration bleeding into his voice. “I haven’t been ghosting you! I’ve been at the camps! I tried reaching you, you had your walls up and Rhys wouldn’t tell me anything and I—Mother above, Y/N! What?!” His voice rose to a thunderous echo, his hands thrown up. “What is it?! Why have you been acting this way?! What the hell has gotten into you?!”

Y/N stared at him, her lip trembling as the words tore out of her like a storm breaking loose.

“IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY!”

The world seemed to stop.

Cassian’s mouth parted, eyes widening as her voice echoed down the hallway. He stood frozen in place—watching her like he didn’t understand what he’d just heard. Like it didn’t make sense.

She saw the realization dawn on his face slowly. The shift in his eyes. The disbelief. The guilt.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and fast, as she went on, her voice shaking with fury and grief.

“It was my birthday, and you left. You forgot. You didn’t send a letter. You didn’t say anything. No note. No kiss. Not even a godsdamned Happy Birthday, Cassian!”

She laughed bitterly, choking on her own tears. “Forget gifts or celebrations. I would’ve taken one sentence through the bond. One single thought. But there was nothing. You left me behind like I was—nothing.”

He opened his mouth, eyes already glossing with tears, but she kept going.

“And I waited,” she hissed, voice cracking. “I waited all day thinking maybe—just maybe—you were going to surprise me. I made excuses for you. Told myself it wasn’t your fault. But it’s been three days. You never realized. You didn’t even remember me.”

Her voice dropped then, just a whisper.

“Do I even mean something to you anymore?”

Cassian’s face crumpled.

“Do you even love me?”

A tear slid down his cheek.

“Y/N…” he whispered, stepping forward, voice raw. “*My love—*of course I love you. Of course I do. You are my everything. My soul is bound to yours—how could I ever stop loving you?”

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, jaw clenching as he cursed himself under his breath. “I’m an idiot. I’m the worst kind of bastard. I should’ve remembered—I should’ve—Mother, I hate myself for this.”

He tried to reach for her again, but she stepped back.

“No,” she said sharply, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t. I can’t—not right now.”

“Y/N, please—”

“I think it’s best,” she said, quieter now, broken. “If we stay apart for a while.”

His face twisted. “No, you don’t mean that—”

“I do,” she whispered, shaking her head, more tears falling. “I don’t think I want to see you right now.”

“Just let me explain—”

She turned away.

Cassian took a desperate step toward her, but stopped when she didn’t pause, didn’t look back.

And with one final breathless, shattering beat between them, Y/N climbed the stairs—leaving him standing there, alone in the hallway, heart split wide open.

-------

Cassian sat hunched over on the plush River House couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He didn’t move. He barely breathed. The only thing keeping him grounded was the faint buzz of his own heartbeat in his ears, and the way his eyes were locked on the floor—unblinking, like if he just stared hard enough, he could turn back time.

The silence was tense. Suffocating.

And then—

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Rhys snapped, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

Cassian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even lift his head.

Rhys paced in front of him like a caged beast, his power a rolling storm beneath his skin, his violet eyes sparking with fury. “You forgot. You forgot her birthday, Cassian. The one day that’s about her. The one day she deserved your whole world without question—and you gave her silence.”

Cassian remained motionless.

“She cried for hours,” Rhys went on, each word like a dagger. “She didn’t even open your letters. Do you know how fucking heartbroken she had to be, to shut off your bond like that?”

“I tried to reach her,” Cassian rasped.

Rhys didn’t let up. “Not hard enough.”

Feyre, from where she stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest, said quietly, “Rhys…”

But Rhys was too far gone.

“She waited for you. Defended you. Hoped. While we all sat there trying to keep her smiling, trying to fill the space you left behind.”

“I should have gone to the camps myself,” he seethed, starting to pace again. “Azriel shouldn’t be there, either. I’m the High Lord. I should’ve handled it. Godsdammit, I should have known this would happen. I knew something was off with her and I—”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Feyre cut in gently, but even she sounded like the weight of it was pressing too heavy.

Cassian still hadn’t moved.

Not until, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, he said, “I hate myself.”

That stopped everything.

Rhys stilled. Feyre’s breath caught. The room went deathly quiet.

Cassian slowly lifted his head, eyes glassy but burning. His voice was louder now, rough with barely restrained emotion. “I hate myself for what I’ve done to her.”

His fingers curled into fists against his knees.

“I keep thinking about her face,” he growled. “When she turned around and shouted at me. When she looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I didn’t even know her anymore.”

He looked up at them, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rhys’s face was unreadable. “She didn’t allow us to,” he said quietly. “She wanted you to realize it yourself. Said it had to be you.”

Cassian let out a low, agonized sound and collapsed back into the couch, throwing his head against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. “Of course she did,” he muttered. “Because she’s better than me. Because she deserved someone who would’ve remembered without being told.”

Feyre crossed the room and gently sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Cassian,” she said softly, “you messed up. But this… this doesn’t have to be the end of everything. She’s hurt, yes. But she’s still your mate. You can fix this—but not with words. Not with apologies. With actions.”

Rhys added from the corner, his voice calm but firm now, “Sitting here sulking won’t do you any good. The damage is done. The only question now is: what are you going to do about it?”

Cassian sat up slowly, his chest rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath. His eyes still glistened—but now, there was something steely behind them. Something solid.

“You’re right,” he said, voice low, determined.

He stood, cracking his knuckles, the gears in his mind already turning.

“I’m going to prove to her just how much I love her. I’m going to make this right, no matter how long it takes. I’ll grovel. I’ll bleed for her. I’ll get on my fucking knees if that’s what she wants.”

He looked between them, eyes fierce.

She’s my mate. My heart. My everything. And I will not lose her over this. Not without fighting like hell for her.

And as he stormed out of the room, the weight of his promise followed him like wings in flight.

--------

The moment Y/N had turned her back on him, the realization hit Cassian with the force of a war hammer. The words she’d thrown at him — the tear-filled accusations — echoed in his mind. It wasn’t just her birthday that he’d missed, but the very core of their bond. The trust that had always been between them, the connection that held them together, had been shattered.

For hours, he sat in the silence of the House of Wind, a pit of guilt consuming him. The only thing he could do was write.

The first letter was simple.

“Y/N, I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I didn’t deserve the trust you gave me, and I failed you. I’ve failed us both. I hope, one day, you’ll let me try again. Yours, always, Cassian”

He left it at her door with a small gift--a basket of her favourite flowers--, knowing she wouldn’t open it, but hoping the gesture would be enough. He left, retreating to the gardens to stand in the silence, his thoughts only of her.

Every morning after that, Cassian woke up before the sun, writing a letter. And then, as he left it at her door, he went back to his watch over the House, always close, but never too close. Each letter was more desperate, more vulnerable than the last, with a gift beside it.

“Y/N, Do you remember when we first met? I was a fool. I didn’t know then that it was you who would change everything. I didn’t know that one day, I would come to love you in a way I never thought possible. But I should have remembered you — every day, always. And I failed you. Please, don’t shut me out forever. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. With all the love I have, Cassian”

The gift next to this letter was a set of the books she wanted to buy for a while.

And the next.

“Y/N, I remember your laugh — it was always the highlight of my day. Every time I heard it, I thought I had everything I ever needed. But that laugh is silenced now, and I know it’s because of me. I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it until you’re tired of hearing it. But I will keep saying it. Yours, in regret, Cassian”

The gift was an exciting array of her favourite sweets from the bakery nearby.

But still, nothing. Not even a glance in his direction. He kept his distance, his heart heavier each day, knowing that he had done this to himself.

A week had passed since Y/N’s birthday. The house was quiet, the laughter from before now distant and hollow. Cassian had spent every minute of those days trying to find a way to fix this, to make it right.

But he knew what he had to do.

The night before, he worked — with the help of Elain for the food, Feyre for the decorations, and Amren for the music — to set up the garden. He had been there before, countless times, but this time it felt different. The air, the atmosphere, the quiet, heavy regret weighing down his every step.

It wasn’t perfect. The cake was a little lopsided, the candles not quite the right height, the wine too sweet, but it was the effort he’d put into it.

Cassian stood under the arch of flowers, staring out into the empty garden, waiting for Y/N.

And he waited.

But she never came.

Well, that was expected. Time to grovel some more.

Each day, he wrote more. His words were no longer just apologies, but reflections of the bond he had with her, a bond he could never again take for granted.

The next letter arrived, tucked neatly under her door.

“Y/N, I thought I knew what love was before I met you. I thought it was strength, something built on the battlefield. But love with you — it’s quiet moments, tender glances, it’s all the things I never knew I needed. I won’t ever stop fighting for you. Not until you know just how much you mean to me. Cassian”

the gift beside the letter was a beautiful ruby glass heart container that stored a small vial of perfume, infused with the essence of the lavender blooms from the cliffs of Velaris — a scent that reminded him of Y/N’s laughter, the way her presence filled any room with warmth and joy.

The days dragged on as Cassian poured every ounce of his focus into making up for his mistakes. Each day, he sat in his favorite spot by the window, gazing out at the skies, thinking about the next moment he could make it right. He knew he couldn’t fix the damage he’d done with mere words — it would take action, sincerity, and time.

On the sixth day since the argument, Cassian finally gathered the courage to present the gift he had so carefully crafted. It had been almost impossible to get any sleep these past few days, his guilt and love driving him to the brink. He had even considered getting down on his knees to beg for forgiveness, but he knew it wasn’t enough to simply ask for her love — he had to show her.

Cassian stood in the heart of Velaris' gardens, a place where he and Y/N had spent so many peaceful moments together—under the sprawling canopy of ancient trees, surrounded by blooming flowers that burst with vibrant colors. He had chosen this spot on purpose. He knew that their love had always been nurtured here, where the earth seemed to echo the beauty of their bond, and the breeze carried whispers of memories.

He hadn’t expected her to come. After everything that had happened, he had resigned himself to the idea that Y/N might never forgive him. The ache in his chest was unbearable as he stared at the perfect arrangement he had created—a table set for two, draped with a soft, silk cloth that shimmered in the light of the setting sun. Candles flickered in delicate holders, casting a warm glow, while the scent of jasmine and lavender filled the air—flowers Y/N had once told him reminded her of serenity.

He wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive him, but he had to try. He had to show her that he had learned. That he was worthy of her love.

The gift he had chosen for her sat at the center of the table on a velvet cloth, a small, intricately carved box.

Inside it lay something special: a silver locket. A locket that held a tiny, hand-painted picture of Y/N, done in beautiful detail, her smile captured perfectly by the artist who had worked tirelessly to get every little detail right. The locket was attached to a delicate silver chain, with intricate swirls of magic carved into the edges. Inside, it also held a piece of stardust—a glowing reminder of their bond, a symbol of the magic that connected them, no matter how far apart they might be.

The locket was something personal, something Cassian knew would mean the world to her. He hoped she could see it as more than just a gift, but as a promise—of his love, his regret, and his dedication to never again make her feel forgotten.

He wasn’t sure if she’d come. The hours passed, the sun beginning to set, casting everything in a golden light that felt both beautiful and heavy with the weight of his regrets.

But then, just as he had almost resigned himself to the fact that she might never return, the soft sound of footsteps echoed through the garden.

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. He turned around slowly, his heart pounding as he saw Y/N standing in the entrance, her eyes cautious but filled with something he could not yet name. She wore a soft, flowing gown that shimmered in the fading light. The sight of her took his breath away, but the sadness in her eyes made it impossible to smile.

She stood there, frozen for a long moment, her gaze lingering on the table and the gift. Cassian felt his chest tighten. Was she here to yell at him again? To push him away? Or was there a chance, a small hope, that she might forgive him?

"Y/N..." His voice was a low rasp as he took a step toward her, his heart beating painfully fast.

She still didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the gift and the flowers. The moment stretched, the silence heavy and filled with everything unspoken.

“Cassian,” she whispered, her voice so small, so unsure.

Cassian stepped closer, as if compelled by an invisible force, his arms trembling as he slowly reached for the small velvet box, his heart in his throat. He placed it in her hands, his voice barely a whisper. “I know I’ve hurt you… and I can never take that back. But this is for you. To show you how much you mean to me. Please, Y/N. Please just let me try.”

Y/N stared at the box in her hands for a moment, the tension between them palpable, before she carefully opened it, revealing the silver locket inside. Her breath caught, and Cassian watched the flicker of emotion pass across her face—surprise, confusion, and something softer that made him ache.

He’d prepared himself for rejection, for anger, but the quiet sorrow in her eyes cut deeper than any of that.

She gently ran her fingers over the locket, her touch reverent, as if she was trying to make sense of it. The garden around them seemed to hold its breath in that moment, the flowers swaying in the soft breeze as if waiting for her words.

“Cassian…” Her voice was a mere whisper, fragile like glass, and it sent a ripple of pain through his chest. He watched her carefully, wanting to hold her, but knowing she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix this. I…” He trailed off, his own words failing him. What could he say to make her understand the depth of his regret? The weight of the mistakes he had made? “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. And I—I know I’ve failed you. I’ve hurt you in a way I never should have. But please, just know that I would never, ever do it again especially not knowingly. I would burn the world down for you, Y/N.”

Her eyes flickered with emotion, her lips trembling as she finally looked up from the locket, meeting his gaze. “I know you love me, Cassian.” The words were quiet, but they were enough to shatter some of the walls around his heart. “I know you do. But love isn’t just in the words. It’s in the actions. It’s in showing up when it matters the most. And when you didn’t even think of me on my birthday—when you didn’t even check in—I felt... invisible. Forgotten. Like I didn’t matter to you.”

The pain in her voice stung, and he took a step closer, his own voice strained as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could have been there for you. But I didn’t—”

“No.” She shook her head, cutting him off. “It wasn’t just that you weren’t there. It was that you didn’t even remember. It wasn’t about the gifts or the gestures. It was about you—the one person I thought would never forget, never let me feel alone.” She swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears. “I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

The words were a dagger to his chest, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. But Y/N… I’m here now. And I’ll spend every single day making up for it. You mean the world to me. I’m nothing without you. You’re my heart. My mate. My everything.”

Her gaze softened, but the hurt was still there, lingering like a shadow between them. She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the locket as she held it close to her heart. “I was so angry, Cassian. I didn’t even know if I could forgive you. I couldn’t understand how you could forget me like that. But...” She paused, her breath shaky as she wiped away a tear. “But I love you. And I can’t just hold on to that anger. I don’t want to. I want to forgive you. I need to forgive you.”

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. “Y/N… you mean it?”

She nodded, her tears now falling freely as she took a step closer to him, her voice soft but unwavering. “I mean it. You’re my mate, Cassian. And I know we’ve been through worse. I can’t lose you over this.”

Before he could say anything more, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. Cassian’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close as if he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her, the feel of her against him filling the empty space in his soul.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for making you feel like that. I never want to hurt you again. You’re everything to me.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes still glistening with tears, but the softness in her gaze was undeniable. “Don’t do that again. Please.” She punched him lightly in the chest, her laugh shaky but genuine. “Don’t you dare forget me like that again. Not on something so important.”

Cassian chuckled softly, the sound like music to his ears after the storm they had just weathered. “I swear to you, I’ll never forget again. You’re my heart, Y/N. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Better. Now, let’s sit down and eat. I’m starving.”

Cassian grinned and, with a gentle but firm hand on her back, guided her to the table he had prepared. The soft flicker of candlelight illuminated their faces as they sat down together, the world around them quiet and peaceful. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the candles, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, and the occasional clink of silverware.

He smiled at her, that same playful grin she loved so much, and poured her a glass of wine. “You sure you’re not just hungry for an excuse to avoid the subject of my deeply regrettable failure?” He teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Maybe. But you’re lucky I love you, idiot.” She picked up her glass, clinking it gently against his. “To us, Cassian. To love. To second chances.”

“To second chances,” he echoed, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back and saying softly, “I’ll spend my entire life proving to you that I’m worthy of the love you’ve given me. I promise.”

They spent the evening together in the garden, talking, laughing, and simply being with each other. The night was soft and full of promise, and though the pain of the past few days still lingered in the corners of their minds, it was no longer all-consuming. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Cassian felt peace settle in his heart. He had his mate back. And that was all that mattered.

As the stars twinkled overhead, Cassian knew one thing for certain: he would never let her down again.

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

[bruisedboys]

girl your finnick fics are so good!! Could you maybe write something about victor!reader and the games just ending and finnick comforting her? ❤️

hii honey! this is another veryyy old request and has been in my drafts forever but I’m posting it anyway yolo

finnick odair x victor!reader

You wake with a hand in yours. It’s heavy and warm. Familiar. The name of it’s owner is on your tongue before you’ve even thought it.

“Finnick?”

Movement to your left. You blink your eyes open, sluggish. Your eyelids feel so, so heavy, like they’ve been glued down while you’ve been out. A cloud of soft white light is the first thing you see, and then Finnick’s face comes into view.

He’s smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are swimming with a cloudy sort of worry. “Hey. Hi, sweetheart. Don’t move, just— take it easy, okay? You’ve been out for a while.”

He’s telling you not to move, but you desperately want to move anyway. You’re dying to hug him, to feel him just to make sure he’s real and you’re not dead or dreaming or just plain going crazy. You dig your fingers into his wrist, forgetting to be gentle.

“Finnick,” you say again. Your voice is so shaky. You’ve been out for a while, he’d said. How long is a while?

“You’re okay,” Finnick says quickly. He leans over you and takes your face in his hands, swiping at tears that you didn’t know were there. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re out, honey. You made it out.”

Out? You blink up at him, feeling half blinded. It takes you a moment, but finally you realise, with a bizarre mix of dread and relief, what he’s saying. You’re out of the arena. You’ve won.

You can’t quite bring yourself to be pleased, though. Not when so many awful things happened to you in the arena. They swarm you like flies suddenly, pinching at your skin, your heart, until it’s all you can do to not start hyperventilating. Your bottom lip wobbles.

“Finnick—“ you cut yourself off with a half sob. Your chest feels clogged with something sticky and hot and thick, like fresh tar has been poured down your throat. It sits and gurgles right over your heart.

Finnick doesn’t waste a second to console you.

“C’mere,” he says softly, and scoops you into the safety of his chest.

You thread your arms under his and cling to him. You feel like you might shatter into a million tiny pieces — there’s an awful sort of ringing in your ears and your heart’s going a mile a minute. You try to focus on your breathing as Finnick rubs your back, careful to avoid your left shoulder blade. It hurts, you realise very suddenly. What happened to your shoulder? You can’t remember. You don’t want to remember.

You remain in the safety of Finnick’s arms for as long as it takes you to breathe normally again. Finnick presses his mouth to your good shoulder in a long, soft kiss. You feel his warmth through the starchy fabric of your hospital gown. You think he might be shaking as badly as you. Suddenly, you’re less worried about yourself and more about him.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, barely a whisper. You’re hurting, but it’s clear that he is, too. It’s what you do, you and him. You take care of each other.

Finnick draws back. “Me? Sweetheart.” He’s almost exasperated as he pushes a strand of hair from your forehead with his thumb. He ticks it carefully behind you ear, gentle as ever. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m so proud of you. You were really brave.”

You appreciate that he doesn’t congratulate you. You don’t think you could take that. You tug at him until he’s got you in his arms again, your hands greedy where they covet the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You’ll surely thank him a million times over in the coming days. It’s his doing that you’re alive right now. If it weren’t for him you’d’ve been dead within the first ten minutes.

Finnick stays silent as he kisses the side of your head. Is as much of a you’re welcome as he can manage, you think.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[dingodad]

ok it's the next day so i am going to summarise my thoughts on that update which i felt at the time were really obvious but which i might not have effectively articulated in my posts LOL

one - yes Jane and Jake's appearance on the ship is "a retcon". this is why Calliope and Karkat agree that retcons "are a little amateurish" and are then shaken from their seats by some strange cosmic phenomenon which changes things about reality. this is something called irony. YE'D BEST START BELIEVIN' IN IT.

we can tell this is what's going on - and that Vriska is in some way involved - because Jane and Jake aren't the only things that are now different about the story: the planet Deltritus, which was previously blue, suddenly turns pink in a flash of Hell Tier powers. the surface of Deltritus was already pink, so the orbital image has been retroactively changed to a colour that makes more sense. again, Roach clearly winks at this in the Monthly Check-In, saying that they are "taking the story and characters in a slightly different direction, while still hitting some of the key points laid out for us." the aim here was to change things about the previous version of the story that didn't work without it coming across like the cheap rewrites Karkat refers to (and which a lot of fans had been asking for, for some reason).

the problems people have this fact are:

1a - they still think a "retcon" makes the previous version of the story pointless and irrelevant. Homestuck already did a whole arc about why this isn't true so if you still genuinely feel this way in your heart idk. page 666 even did a whole bit about the importance of another Jane out there in the multiverse being able to live a better life. you are just gonna have to grin and bear it sorry bro

1b - they can only think of a "retcon" as the thing John does. the concept of retroactive continuity and the word "retcon" existed long before Caliborn's juju and they will continue to exist forever after, and I think this addendum also makes it pretty clear that no, this is a different new thing. John's letters disappearing and Deltritus changing colour are clearly demonstrations of a new power, so we should be smart and assume Jane and Jake reappearing is a new thing as well. and obviously it has to be, because

two - no, Jane and Jake being "retconned" back into the story does not mean the Catnapped arc has just been abandoned. I should think the intention for Catnapped to stay canon was made pretty clear by first Jasprose's appearance on page 666 but then also her appearance literally IN this addendum... this is another reason these new "retcons" are clearly a new thing and not just John's existing ability to alter past story events. like Vriska, Jane and Jake have been through their therapy quest, and are now apparently living new lives having incorporated the lessons they learnt during that therapy quest. remember Vriska's purgatory literally involved dying and being reborn to live her life all over again every time she failed to make progress; it's really not difficult to imagine that, once they had learned their lessons, Jane and Jake were offered the option to do basically the same thing. obviously this isn't EXACTLY the same as what happened to Vriska, and we're still yet to see just how much of their therapy Jane and Jake actually remember... but like come on guys. this is new territory. be patient and things will be revealed to you LOL

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty three - somethin’ stupid

at first, when you thought he wanted to drive you somewhere. you hesitated. but once you looked, actually looked, you realized the twinkie was the date.

the side door creaked open, revealing the blankets and pillows scattered across the floor in that messy, endearing way only jj could manage. warm fairy lights looped lazily through the ceiling. a bowl of popcorn sat between a pile of candy bags, like he’d cleaned out an entire gas station just for you.

“what is this?” you asked, taking a few steps closer to get a better view.

you looked at him, and couldn’t help but let the butterflies and warmth rise to your face, breaking out in a smile.

“welcome to the twinkie cinema, where you can watch any movie you want as long as it isn’t the notebook.” jj grins, then waves his arm to usher you inside, throwing himself in and closing the door behind you.

you remembered that time he told you sarah made all their friends sit down and watch the notebook. jj said he’d been traumatized from it, couldn’t stop crying for an hour.

“do you like it?” he asked. he met your eyes for a second, before turning behind him and grabbing a bag of sour patch kids, tearing the bag open.

“love it.” you couldn’t even try to hide the swoon, you were pretty sure it was painted all over your face.

you'd only been watching to all the boys i've loved before for maybe, maybe twenty minutes when jj cut in.

"we should take tips from this, you know, to make our relationship more convincing."

you turned to him, shaking your head as you smiled. "you think so?"

"i mean, the back pocket thing is genius. and i can start writing you little notes. they might be really hard to read 'cause i got shit handwriting, but i'll do it."

"no, we need something that's just for us." you let out a breathy laugh, then shifted to get more comfortable. both of you picked up on the inch closer you were.

us. us. the word made jj's vision go blurry. he wanted to laugh at himself on how easily he got worked up when you did the simpliest things, of what had become of jj maybank, pogue, bad news, playboy.

your smile lingered, soft and easy. you glanced back at him, brows raised when you saw the look on his face. “you okay? you’re doing that thing again.”

jj blinked. “what thing?”

you shrugged, "that spaced out look, like you're not all here."

he let out a soft laugh. but it was shaky, strained "yea, something like that."

because what was he supposed to say? that the twinkle lights hitting your shoulders made him want to forget his name? that your laugh had lodged itself somewhere permanent in his chest? that every single thing you did, every look, every word, made him want things he had no business wanting?

fake. that’s what this was supposed to be. there was nothing fake about this. nothing fake about the way you were looking at him right now, letting all your thoughts cloud in your eyes.

“seriously,” you add, your hand coming to his bare arm and rub it reassuringly, “is something on your mind or—”

he couldnt do it anymore, couldn't hold back and tell himself not to do something stupid. partically, because he couldnt find a reason to not do what he was about to do, even if there were hundreds.

he leaned in, surrendering, letting it finally take over. no more thinking. no more hesitation. just you.

the first press to your lips was soft at first, testing.

you froze for a heartbeat, like the world had stilled. and then you kissed him back, one hand coming up to the side of his neck and braiding itself into his hair.

jj had kissed before, hell, jj had done much more than kiss before. but this one burned. it was warm and a little shaky, full of all the things you weren’t saying.

it was stupid. and risky. and he already knew it was going to wreck him, but he didn’t stop.

he kissed you like he’d been waiting all summer, all year, forever. he pulled you into him like it was life or death.

each moment was sweet and unhurried, filled with giggles that lingered between your lips. smiles that whispered against each other, thumbs brushing softly across cheeks and necks and collarbones.

when he finally pulled away from you, you sighed. "was that to make our story more convincing?"

he smiled, "nah, that was for me." then dipped back down to you.

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ynstjohn: date night!

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↳ jjmaybank: it’s banned in yn and i’s household

jjmaybank: i’m still not over u eating all the red sour patch kids 😐

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↳ jjmaybank: i like u more

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↳ jjmaybank: i’m a romantic now get used to it

her phone

his phone

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[auroralwriting]

𝓊𝓈.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: does he regret the secret of you?

warnings: no warnings for this story

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

gracie abrams songfic challenge

You meet Finnick by the shore, always.

The sun's barely peeking over the horizon, the waves hush against the sand, and the air still smells like salt and promise. It’s early enough that the rest of the district is asleep or pretending to be, which gives you these precious minutes alone, just you and Finnick. Just the two of you, before the world wakes up and remembers who he is.

You’re sitting on the rocks, legs pulled up to your chest, when he comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. A comforting feeling, something you only trusted him to do.

“You’re late,” you tease.

“I brought breakfast.” He holds up a paper bag with two flaky pastries, slightly squished from his run over. “Peace offering?”

You turn your head slightly so your nose brushes his. “Depends. Did you get the sweet one?”

He kisses your cheek. “Always.”

You take the bag and tug him down beside you. The world is still golden and quiet and yours.

Everyone in the district knows Finnick Odair. Of course they do. He’s the Capitol’s golden boy, the youngest victor in history, a name whispered with awe and fear and a tinge of envy. But you know him differently. You know him when he’s not trying to be charming, when he forgets the way he’s supposed to carry himself like a weapon. You know him when he’s barefoot and laughing, when he cries in your arms, when he dreams out loud about a future that might never come. When you’re swimming in the sea and running barefoot down the stony pathways of four.

And somehow, against all odds, you’re his. In secret. Not because you’re ashamed. Because it’s safer that way.

If the Capitol knew—if Snow knew—he would destroy you just to remind Finnick who he belonged to. So instead, your love lives in the spaces between. Glances across the square. Notes tucked into fishing nets. A second pair of footsteps behind the cliffs. And mornings like this one, where time bends just enough to make room for you both.

“You’re staring,” Finnick says, and when you look over, he’s grinning at you with one brow raised.

“Can’t help it,” you say, leaning into him. “You’re prettier in the morning light.”

He laughs, the sound warm and real. “You’re the only person alive who says that to me like it means something.”

You thread your fingers through his, fitting together with practiced ease. “That’s ‘cause when I say it, it does.”

The waves crash louder, a seagull swoops above, and Finnick watches you like you’re the only constant in a life full of chaos. “You ever think about running away?” he asks quietly, like he’s not supposed to even speak the thought out loud.

“All the time,” you reply. “But I don’t think we’d make it past the district border.”

He nods. “I know. I just… I think about it more now. About you and me and a little boat and no one knowing our names.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “I like the sound of that.”

He turns to face you, suddenly serious. “If I ever get the chance to go, I’ll take it. And I’ll come back for you. I swear it.”

You blink at him, stunned. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he says. “I don’t want this life forever. I don’t want to keep pretending. I want us.”

Your heart pounds so loud you’re scared he’ll hear it. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “Then I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait.”

The months go by like pages turning too fast.

Your love is all little things. Late-night walks on the pier. Pressed flowers in your pockets. Hidden kisses behind nets and market stalls. He braids tiny shells into your hair and says you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and you tell him he talks too much, but you kiss him like you believe it.

And then.. everything changed.

When they announced the Quarter Quell, your heart dropped before his name was even drawn. You knew. You knew Snow would never let him go. Not after all he’d endured. Not when Finnick’s smile was still the Capitol’s favorite currency.

You had braced yourself for goodbye. But instead, miraculously, inexplicably, they came for you. District 13.

President Coin said it was for your safety. Someone had told them of Finnick Odair's secret lover and how he needed her--you. But you weren’t stupid. You knew the truth: it was to keep him tethered. To keep him sane. To remind him what he was still fighting for.

Finnick didn’t know you’d been brought to District 13, not at first. You were underground, in hiding, protected and silenced and surrounded by strangers in gray. But when he stumbled out of the hovercraft after being rescued from the arena, bleeding and trembling and half-alive, they let him see you.

They didn’t expect him to fall to his knees when he did.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like you were a ghost, hands trembling as they hovered inches from your face. Like he was scared you’d disappear again. That he’d imagined you like he had so many nights in the Capitol, when loneliness felt like it would kill him before Snow ever could.

You took his hands and pressed them to your cheeks, kneeling in front of him slowly, like he was some wounded animal. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

He sobbed into your neck. And from that moment on, you didn’t hide anymore.

In District 13, you sleep in the same bed. It’s not like before, no ocean breeze or tangled nets or kisses by moonlight, but it’s real. It’s a borrowed bunk in a metal room, and still, somehow, it feels like a palace. Because it’s yours. Because he’s yours.

He wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, breathing hard, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt. You don’t ask what he’s dreaming of. You already know. So you curl around him, press your lips to the side of his neck, and hold him until his shaking stops.

He always says the same thing: “You’re my only safe place.”

Sometimes, he says it with tears still drying on his cheeks. Sometimes, it’s whispered against your shoulder like a prayer. And you believe him. Because you feel the same way.

In District 13, people glance sideways at you in the beginning. You don’t care. Let them stare. Let them wonder if you’re scared out of your minds. Let them wonder who had possibly caught Finnick Odair's attention. It didn't matter, because it was finally real to you.

But there’s nothing fake about the way Finnick pulls you into him during the middle of strategy meetings, resting his chin on your shoulder like he’s bored out of his mind but perfectly content as long as you’re there. There’s nothing fabricated about the way he holds your hand in the cafeteria line, like you’ll disappear if he lets go. You could be grabbing bread and water and he’s still brushing his thumb over your knuckles like you’re made of something divine.

You catch people smiling sometimes. Not the cold, calculating kind. The soft kind. The kind that says: oh, this is real.

He kisses you in the hallways. He steals kisses like he used to, quick and sly, like you’re both teenagers again, but now it’s in full view. You’ll be talking to Gale or Katniss, and Finnick will just walk by, press a kiss to the side of your mouth like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and keep walking like it didn’t leave you flushed and dazed.

“You’re insufferable,” you tell him once, when he does it in front of a crowded room.

“You love it,” he grins, hands already slipping around your waist.

“I do,” you admit, letting him press his forehead to yours. “God help me.”

He kisses you like the world has already been saved.

When the war ends, and the world opens back up, Finnick refuses to go anywhere without you. It’s not a protective thing, it’s a need thing. A love thing.

You rebuild a life together near the coast, in a village that smells like freedom. You sleep tangled up like driftwood, limbs always brushing. You wake up to his lips on your cheek, his voice murmuring some half-sung melody he’s writing in his head. And when you leave the house, together, always together, people don’t bat an eye when he threads your fingers together like it's second nature.

Because it is.

You go to markets and he picks out your favorite fruit without asking. You read on the beach and he lies with his head in your lap, humming under his breath. You take walks along the shoreline, and he insists on skipping rocks even though he’s absolutely terrible at it. He’ll pretend to pout until you kiss him. It works every time.

He kisses you so often it becomes a rhythm. A punctuation. A language.

And he loves being yours publicly. After years of being forced to wear a mask in the Capitol, after years of fake smiles and someone else’s hands, you are his truth. You are the thing he never had to fake.

He tells people stories about you, often unsolicited.

“She makes the best tea,” he says to a wide-eyed kid in town. “Once she brewed a cup that knocked me out for eight hours straight. Slept like a baby. Woke up drooling on her shoulder.”

He grins at you like you hung the stars.

You roll your eyes. “It was chamomile, Finnick.”

He shrugs. “Magic.”

Sometimes you find yourselves just watching each other.

You’ll glance across the room and find his eyes already on you. Like he’s always checking, just to make sure this is still real. You’re sitting on the dock one evening, feet in the water, his arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders.

“Remember how we used to hide behind that net stall?” he murmurs, pointing down the shoreline.

You smile. “We got caught so many times.”

He laughs, tipping his head back. “That one time your braid got tangled in the ropes—”

“—and you tried to play it off like we were just admiring the craftsmanship.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offended. “It was a fine net.”

You laugh until your sides hurt. And then you lean into him, quiet, hearts beating in sync. “We don’t have to hide anymore,” you say softly.

He kisses the side of your head. “We never will again.”

“Do you regret it? The secret of us?” You asked.

Finnick shook his head, “I never regret any of our moments together.”

You’re the kind of couple people talk about in stories now. Not because of the war. Not because of the Capitol. But because of how good your love is. How whole. How loud and soft and lasting. They see the way Finnick looks at you like you’re his whole world. The way he tucks flowers behind your ear and doesn’t care who’s watching. The way you press kisses to the corner of his mouth every time you say goodbye—even if it’s only for a five-minute errand.

They say love in Panem never lasts. But you and Finnick? You’re the exception. You’re always touching. Always close. Always choosing each other. Not just in secret. Not just in private. But in every room. Every day. Every lifetime you’re lucky enough to share. And gods, are you lucky.

[rocknroll7575]

X-men

Marvel rivals

Jaune’s character interactions part 2 please

You asked, and here it is! Enjoy!

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jaune: Should I be worried that you're up to something, Loki?

Loki: You have nothing to fear from me, for now we are on the same side until we can figure out who's responsible for this mess

Jaune: Alright, but keep the tricks to a minium and we'll get along just fine

Loki: I make no promises

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Thor: Ah! Arc! It's good to have a fellow warrior at my side!

Jaune: Thanks, Thor... Glad to know you're not angry at me for what happened with Hela

Thor: I do not blame you, She corrupted you and tricked your mind.

Jaune: Still... I can't forgive myself for what happened

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jaune: Namor ain't giving you trouble, is he?

T'challa: He and I have come to an understanding, there is no need to worry

Jaune: Sorry, but Namor's personality is what worries me, it's his way or the highway... or I guess in his case the fishway

T'challa: You have been spending too much time with Spider-Man

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Namor: Why the hostility, Arc?

Jaune: The last time we met, you attacked Wakanda, and nearly killed Scott and me

Namor: That was in the past, I have changed

Jaune: You never change Namor, you just make everyone believe you have

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Hela: Oh, why the long face Jaune? Aren't you happy to see me?

Jaune: No, I'm not... you messed with my mind Hela, you tricked me, you're lucky I don't try and kill you

Hela: Oh, come now, we had some fun didn't we when you were my knight in shining armor

Jaune: I... That was a mistake...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Peter: I heard about Rogue... I'm sorry Jaune

Jaune: Thanks Peter, I... It's been hard on all of us, especially Wanda and the kids, they miss her the most.

Peter: And what about you?

Jaune: I... I miss her every minute of my life.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jaune: How are you two holding up with everything?

Cloak: We're doing fine, but I'm a bit worried we might not be able to fix this

Jaune: Don't worry, I'm sure Tony, Strange, and Reed have something in mind to fix this whole mess

Dagger: Hopefully, or else we're all in danger

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jaune: Any ideas on how to fix everything?

Reed: I'm still working on a plan, but don't worry, we'll get this figured out, Jaune.

Jaune: I hope so, Wanda and I are worried about the kids, we can't leave them alone forever

Reed: I know how you feel, Su and I are worried about Franklin and Valeria as well

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Tony: Have you thought about coming back to Avengers?

Jaune: And live in the city? No way, upstate is where I belong, besides, Wanda would kill me if we moved the kids away from the other's

Tony: Ah, alright, but if you need upgrades you know who to call

Jaune: Haha! Thanks, Tony

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Star-Lord: The Rusted Knight? What kind of superhero name is that, Jaune?

Jaune: Really Quill? This coming from the guy calling himself Star-Lord?

Star-Lord: Hey! It's a cool name!

Jaune: Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Luna: The Rusted Knight! It's so good to finally meet you!

Jaune: Oh wow! You're Seol Hee! My daughters love your music! You mind of I get an Autograph for them!?

Luna: Aw, of course! Anything for the fans!

Jaune: Oh wow! Thank you! Mags and Anna are going to explode with Joy when they get these!

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Storm: Otto's growing up so quick, before you know it, he'll be training to be an X-Men

Jaune: Heh, don't let Wanda hear you say that, she wants him to stay her baby boy for a little longer

Storm: Can you blame her? He's the cutest little thing since the girls were born

Jaune: I'm sure Otto would love to hear that Auntie Ororo thinks he's cute

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

No More Arguing | DK

Requested by: @reiofsuns2001

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x GF!Reader

Synopsis: Seokmin has a major argument with his girlfriend and comes to realize he hates arguing with her. Using prompt 07 from my tumblr birthday prompts: “Arguing with you is horrible and I don’t ever want to live life without you.” 

Genre: Angst, fluff, slice of life

Word count: 556

Warnings: Argument. Threat of break-up. Ends with fluff.

Requests: Closed until May or June

DK Masterlist | SEVENTEEN Masterlist | Taglist Sign-Up

His fight with Y/N was eating away at Seokmin. They've had their fair share of arguments in their relationship, mostly playful banter, the occasional serious one but none of them were to this extent. They would make up within in minutes, both apologizing even if just one of them was in the wrong. But this was different.  

It had been hours since he walked out after she threatened to end their relationship. He didn't get far before the guilt started gnawing at him. He spent the next few hours sitting on one of the park benches outside their apartment building. 

Seokmin leaned back against the cool metal of the bench, staring up at the afternoon sky. All he could think about was Y/N's hurt expression when he walked out. It felt like a weight pressing down on his chest. He knows that they both have strong personalities and that their more serious arguments can get heated, but this time felt different. The thought of losing Y/N makes his stomach churn. 

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sends her a quick text after getting an idea. 'I'm sorry. Let's go for a walk and talk this through.' he texts before sending through another one with a simple 'please.' 

He waits a few minutes for her to reply and when she doesn't, he tries calling her. As he waits for her to answer, she approaches him. "I'm here," she says getting his attention. 

The sight of her sent a rush of relief through him, but he could also see her own lingering hurt mixed with guilt and unsureness in her eyes. He quickly stands up, turning his body to face her. “Arguing with you is horrible and I don’t ever want to live life without you.”   

"I hate arguing with you too. I'm sorry as well," she says, sniffling. "I didn't mean it when I said we should break up." 

Seokmin’s heart swelled with relief at her words. “Really?' he asks the tension between dissipating just a little. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

"I love you too much to let you go," Y/N nods stepping closer to him and wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.  

"I love you too," he feels a rush of warmth as he embraced her, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away again. “I don’t want to argue anymore, not like that,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “Can we promise each other that?” 

Y/N nodded, her expression softening, "I promise, and I also promise I won't threaten to break up with you again." 

He smiles and leans down to press his lips softly against hers. "And I promise not to walk out on you again." 

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’re a team, and we can work through anything together.” She took a step back, still holding onto one of his hands. "Should we go for that walk? Maybe stop by our favourite place and get something to eat?' 

“That sounds perfect,” he replied, the big smile she fell in love with when they met breaking across his face. The tension that had wrapped around them like a heavy blanket began to lift as they walked side by side, fingers intertwined. 

©️2025 dancinglikebutterflywings - Do not copy. modify and/or repost anywhere.

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[flymetothexmoon]

Glasses + Oversized Sweaters

Warnings: Cigarette smoking. Swearing. Nothing too wild in this one.

Authors Note: request from the lovely @smellingyellow as they wanted a Nervous Boi Seunghyun x Reader. hopefully it lives up and it is an enjoyable read <'3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Choi Seunghyun was a lot of things. He was BigBang's lead dancer, was an active art collector in the industry, and he knew a thing or two about what cuisine to pair certain wine with.

However, Choi Seunghyun was the only member in his band that would struggle to find real love; the kind of love that would make him want to question it all and realize he did not want to hide forever in the shell he'd crafted with his own two hands. People would ship him all the time with his best friend, but the moment he posed with any woman, or filmed something with a woman, the voices around him were sometimes louder than the ones in his own head.

It was exhausting.

Seunghyun did not want to be alone forever, but he was starting to think that maybe he did, and maybe the people around him were right and his standards were too high. The lead dancer would often make jokes and say the best way to find true love is to turn your phone off for a long period of time and ignore them, and he once even said that it would be easier to find a boyfriend because he is around managers all day.

Not all of it were the kind of jokes you'd openly laugh at, though, and he knew that. Somewhere in the deeper part of his soul he knew it was very much not a laughing matter.

The night was still young when Seunghyun and his bandmates finished their final interview of the day. One by one, the men would discreetly leave the backdoor for the building they were just in. Each memeber had a specific routine of what they would do after exiting an interview. Ji-yong would brain rot on Instagram, Daesung call his mother, Taeyang would Facetime his longer term partner, and Seunghyun would light a cigarette.

Tonight was no exception for each of the men and the different sounds were all becoming a little too much for the oldest Hyung as his eyes tightly shut, trying to imagine a world where everyone was quiet.

"Hyung, did you really mean what you said back there? About how you believe the key to a happy relationship is to ignore your partner and turn off your phone for days?"

Daesung.

Seunghyun slowly opened his eyes, making eye contact with the most innocent out of all the men. He wanted to lie, he wanted to tell Daesung that it was suppose to be funny, but both of the men knew Seunghyun would be lying.

He thought about what to say for a moment, bringing the cigarette to his lips, two of his fingers massaging into the paper wrapping and his lips curling at the kick of the menthol, bringing him back to reality as he narrowed his eyes slightly, inhaling deeply.

"I meant it."

All Daesung could do was nod in response, a low hum escaping his vocal cords as he watched the oldest member take another drag of his cigarette. Daesung knew Seunghyun better than the two would ever lead on, and while he knew his Hyung was not lying about meaning it, he also knew that it was something deeper than that; something so deep that he was sure the older man might fall to his knees once it happens.

"Love is beautiful, Hyung. I would hate to see you miss out because you were afraid..." for a moment, Seunghyun thought about Daesung's words, his own hand stopping just before the cigarette touched his lips, and all he could do was nod in response. "I'm okay,"

The younger one opened his mouth to speak, but it was like he could no longer verbalize how he really felt, so all he could do was place his hand on Seunghyun's shoulder. His shoulder was oddly cold from the wind but warm from the jacket he chose to wear that night as a pair of headlights caught both of them off guard. Daesung quickly removed his hand from his Hyung's shoulder, waving to the person behind the driver seat as he made eye contact with the oldest member, silently asking if he needed transportation.

And for the first time that night, Seunghyun smiled, shaking his head in the process as he lifted his cigarette, signaling he wanted to finish that first before he called for anyone. The two men made eye contact once more as Seunghyun watched the last of his band mates leave, leaving him alone finally.

A low, almost sensual sigh escaped the man's lips as he felt the release of finally being alone. He loved his band mates, he loved them more than he loved himself, but he craved being alone like it was a drug and he was the addict. The cigarette he was smoking was fighting for its life at how frequent he was taking puffs. Seunghyun's eyes were looking above him at the moon, admiring, wondering how it would feel to represent Korea in a mission to space.

"Excuse me. Do you... Can you... help me with my lighter? I have bad hands and I think mine is jammed," Seunghyun could have swore his heart left his body when he heard the quiet voice coming from behind him. His whole body shifted, standing straighter than he before as he turned around to face where the noise was coming from, and that was where you stood.

A small, timid smile spread across your tinted lips like you were scared to death to ask for help and Seunghyun loved that. The waves in your hair were delicately tied up behind your ears as you wore a gold decal necklace that came down just enough on your neck that it would clasp around you if he moved his hand just right, and the sweater you were wearing... God, the oversized sweater you had on fit you perfect and was the perfect color of off white to balance with your skin.

The noise he would make next was so quiet that it could startle a mouse, but it was definitely there, as the taller man made his way over to you, the color of his own lighter could be seen in his hand as he made his way over to you, returning the small smile.

"I, uh. I can let you use mine, or I could... help you light it if your hands hurt?"

Seunghyun mentally slapped himself, moving the glasses he was wearing higher on the bridge of his nose as he hated the fact he'd stuttered so hard just then. Your smile widened a little, just enough so your teeth could shine against the moonlight. You masked his nervousness by nodding your head, fairly new to the idea of smoking in general, you handed him the cigarette you wanted lit.

"Thank you. I had an accident when I was younger and in my rebellious teen years so now it hurts sometimes to do really silly things. It hurts to even write for too long, which is kind of a bummer because that's my job... to hand write and translate each interview that happens in the studio. But it's okay because I meet so many cool people. Oh my gosh... Am I rambling? I'm sorry..."

The man in front of you could not help but chuckle at your story, his laugh feeling the same way it did when you'd open your first piece of Halloween candy as a kid as he handed the cigarette back to you, unlit.

"Let me help you instead. I can show you a really easy way to light them so you don't apply too much pressure on your actual hand. Is it both of them or just one?" You smiled again, and Seunghyun swore to whatever religion he could think of, that if you smiled one more time, he'd be on his knees thanking whoever was up there. "It's usually only my right one, but whenever it's cold, they both hurt sometimes,"

Seunghyun nodded, listening to your words carefully as they came out of your mouth. Moving even closer to you, he watched as you brought the cigarette back between your fingers, your hand tremmering slightly; the sleeves to your oversized sweater almost covering your hand all together. You looked way too innocent to be smoking a cigarette, and Seunghyun almost did not want to help you because he loved how innocent you looked in the moonlight, but he also loved the idea of being your knight in shining armor.

You two had not even exchanged names yet and this man already knew the thing made you the most vulnerable to the outside world. He was closer than before and the way his cologne mixed with the menthol from his own cigarette was enough to make any girl, including you, want him close to you all the time.

Seunghyun looked at you carefully, as if he was asking for your consent to touch you and be so close. All you could do was nod when you felt his hands wrap around yours, your hands much smaller than his, as he brought the cigarette to your lips, which you happily parted for him and the flick of the lighter made you jump a little, a soft murmur escaping his lips.

"Relax. I've got you."

And he did.

Your hand still slightly trenmering as you held onto the wrapped paper, bringing it to your lips and inhaling deeply as you let the contents attack your lungs as you exhaled, making sure you politely blew the smoke in the opposite direction of Seunghyun.

"Thank you. That was very nice of you. Do you work here too? I've never seen you before. Unless you just started... that could explain why I've never seen you?" You were rambling again, and Seunghyun could feel his knees bucking at the idea of you having no idea who he was.

"Um... I do not work there. I actually– I actually was in there earlier, and was one of the people being interviewed, so you... you probably had to translate everything my band and I talked about in there. So, like, I'm sorry if we ended up making your hand hurt worse... We were in there for a while..."

Seunghyun was adjusting his glasses again as his eyes continued to rest on you. Even if he'd wanted to, he could not look away from the way your lips would part each time you took a hit of the cigarette. The taller man found himself shifting slightly on his feet, thankful that he was here with you, but also kicking himself in the shin for feeling so goddamn nervous around you.

Silence loomed over you two as you were watching him too. Your free hand not holding the cigarette was covered by the sheer size of the oversized sweater you wearing. It all clicked to you now on who he was the moment he mentioned him and his band being there for a while– you were actually in the process of translating what they talked about before you came outside for a smoke break. It was indeed a long interview, and the comment Seunghyun mentioned about love was like a lightning storm erupting inside of you.

Seunghyun was nervous and you were without a doubt full of anxiety yourself as the two of you stood quietly in each other's presence, neither of introducing yourselves or bothering to make small talk.

"We could... break the ice with a high five?" Seunghyun's comment caught you off guard, and by the time he'd mustered up the courage to speak again, you were just about to hit your cigarette again as you giggled softly, raising a single eyebrow in the process.

"High five? Sounds to me like you just want an excuse to have my hand against yours again..."

Unable to control the redness in his cheeks, the taller man quickly turned his attention from you in the opposite direction, hoping you would not notice as he removed his glasses, feeling a small patch of sweat on his forehead as his sleeve wiped the moisture away. His posture attempted to loosen as he turned back over to face you, a small smirk spreading across his lips as the nervousness still raced through his veins but the shift was definitely noticeable.

"Isn't that a thing? Where women love to see how small their hands are against ours?"

You tossed the cigarette to the ground as the heel of your boot crushed the remaining flame, stepping closer to him as you spoke and your voice dropping in octane.

"Only if the girl thinks the boy is cute,"

"Do you think I'm cute?"

Seunghyun stepped closer now as well, the two of you still not sharing names but instead sharing feelings– raw, unfiltered, and honestly the kind of sexy slow burn you'd only read about feelings.

"You're okay. At least a seven out of ten... maybe an eight if you were a good kisser..."

Either the two of you were flirting or it was the best mind game you'd ever shared with someone as the taller man got even closer to you now, his lips barely touching you as he spoke again, matching the quiet volume.

"Wanna find out?"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Tag List: @breakmeoff @loveesiren @wcnderlnds @berfgrimm @ldydeath @emmiesoverthemoon @infinetlyforgotten @cupidsonly @djarindroid @szonyix6277 @nerdydoll-com

If I forgot anyone pls bare with me as it is my first time doing a tag list. If you'd like to be permanently added for future works, let me know~ ❣️

[etherealeowyn]

"Like Real People Do" - Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Fluff

Word Count: 770

Just because Joel and Y/n don't have the ranch they've been dreaming about, that doesn't mean they can't share sweet moments together like the world hasn't fallen into complete chaos.

Y/n’s fingers flipped through the stack of vinyl records, her eyes scanning every single one, trying to find the perfect one to slow dance to. The woman had never danced with anyone before, and when she told Joel that it had always been her dream to slow dance with someone in the kitchen, he ultimately agreed.

Y/n wasn’t sure at first if he would, but little did she know, a piece of Joel’s heart had been yearning to experience soft and sweet moments like that with the woman he loved.

Before falling asleep, they’d share their dream about the ranch they’d live on together, and the quiet life they’d spend with one another. Even though they didn’t have the ranch, Y/n would still come up with ideas about what she and Joel could do to experience a small part of their dream.

“I found the perfect song!” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing the record and hugging it against her chest excitedly.

“Which one did you pick?” Joel asked, getting up from the couch and following her into the kitchen.

“Like Real People Do by Hozier, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this song,” the woman giggled, as she took the record out of the sleeve and placed it delicately on the record player, placing the needle between the edge of the record and the first groove.

“I like that one too,” Joel responded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, before the woman found a place between his arms.

Once the music began playing, her arms draped around the man’s neck, and his hands rested on the small of her back. Neither one of them said a word; rather, they just looked into each other’s eyes and studied all the emotions behind them.

Joel’s eyes were brighter than usual, and Y/n could tell that he was genuinely happy. It wasn’t the kind of fleeting happiness that came and passed with the blink of an eye, it was the kind of moment that would be forever etched in their memories. The one thing they’d always think about when they needed to cheer up or escape from the incessant tragedies of the infected world.

The soft yellow glow emitted from the light fixture in the kitchen fell upon Y/n’s features, and Joel couldn’t help but notice the way it made the whole situation feel like a dream. As if the woman he was holding on to was too good to be true.

She was one of the only people he knew who could see the good in every situation and make the most out of small moments of joy. Before her, he never would’ve pictured slow dancing in the dilapidated kitchen of his piece of shit apartment in the Boston QZ, it sounded ridiculous. But now, he would never be able to look at the small room without being reminded of Y/n and how it felt to hold her in his arms.

Almost every area that used to torture him to look at was revitalized by her presence, and he would never truly be able to express just how much he appreciates Y/n for changing his life for the better. Though that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t try.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my life?” Joel spoke; his words were slightly louder than a whisper.

“Joel, my love, you tell me that every day,” Y/n replied with a bit of a laugh, causing him to smile down at the woman.

“Hey, I’m just making sure you know how special you are, especially to me,” he said, the edges of his eyes crinkling from the smile that spread across his whole face.

“Don’t worry, I already know,” she responded, blushing at his comment. “And I hope I do a good job making sure you know just how special you are to me.”

“You do a great job, honey,” Joel started, pausing for a second before saying, “In fact, you do such a great job that for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m worth something.”

“You’ve always been worth something, you might not have recognized it, but you were. You just needed someone to show you. Luckily, or unluckily for you, I’m the one you’re stuck with that’ll be the one to show you,” Y/n chuckled, tilting her head slightly as she did so.

“I’m lucky that it’s you,” he said, his body halting all movement as the music faded into nothing. “And I’ll always be lucky that you decided to take a chance on me.”

[marixrose]

Can you do yandere jinwoo headcannons?

Yessss you don’t know how happy I am to have a request! It’s been a few years since someone’s requested something, I am so so happy!

𝐉𝐢𝐧-𝐖𝐨𝐨 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 + 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 [EXTRA!]

One-Shot pt2 is NSFW so 18+ ONLY

1. Silent but deadly obsession:

Jinwoo isn’t the loud, chaotic type of yandere. He’s quiet, methodical—his obsession with you builds slowly and dangerously, until you’re the only thing he thinks about. You’d never even know until it’s too late.

2. Shadows everywhere:

He always knows where you are. Always. There’s a shadow following you every second of the day, even if you can’t see it. If anyone gets too close to you, that shadow reports back to Jinwoo—and depending on who it is, that person might not be around much longer.

3. Cold to everyone else:

Jinwoo barely acknowledges other people anymore. You’re the only one who gets to see his softer side—his smirks, the way his gaze lingers, how his tone lowers just for you. Everyone else gets the cold, calculated Hunter. While you get the soft, loving, possessive side of him.

4. Manipulative protector:

He frames everything as “protecting you.” That friend you used to text late at night? “Too suspicious.” Your job that keeps you late? “Too dangerous.” He’ll find a way to get you fired, isolated, and fully dependent on him—and you’ll never be able to prove he did it.

5. Possessive touch:

He’s subtle with PDA—hand on your lower back when others are near, standing a little too close when you talk to someone else. His presence alone is a warning to anyone daring enough to look at you the wrong way.

6. You're his greatest weakness:

For all his power, Jinwoo’s terrified of losing you. If you ever tried to run, he’d search the entire world for you. He’d burn cities if he had to. He can’t let you go—not now, not ever.

But it is almost certain that he will catch you even before you try to run. He knows all and sees all so don’t even try to run away. If you do, there will be consequences.

7. Sweet in private, terrifying in public:

Behind closed doors, he’ll cradle you in his arms, whisper promises that sound like vows and threats all at once. But in public? No one dares touch what’s his. Not after what happened to the last guy who tried.

8. “If I can’t have you…”

It’s not said out loud, but the threat is always there. He doesn’t even need to say it. The possessiveness in his eyes, the way his shadows shift when you talk about leaving—it’s clear. You’re his. Forever.

𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓!

𝐉𝐢𝐧-𝐖𝐨𝐨 | 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐨

Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Reader | Y/N’s POV | Slightly NSFW / Obsessive, possessive, soft-dark vibes

I knew he’d find me.

The door clicks shut behind me. My breath is sharp in my lungs, the silence too still—like the moment before a predator pounces. I press my back to the wall, praying to a god I no longer believe in. And then… I feel it.

The shadows shift.

Creep across the floor. Curl around my ankle like a leash.

“You knew I’d find you.”

His voice. Low. Controlled. Drenched in that terrifying calm he wears like a second skin.

I can’t move. Can’t even look at him when he steps out of the dark, dressed in black like the reaper he is. I can feel the weight of his stare—hot and possessive—like hands on my skin.

“You said I was free,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady.

“I lied.”

Of course he did.

He moves closer. I stay frozen. My legs would betray me if I tried anything now anyway. He’s always been gentle with me—dangerous, yes, but gentle—and that’s what scares me most. He doesn’t need to scream. He doesn't need to threaten.

He just needs to look at me like that.

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” I try again. It’s not a defense. It’s a plea.

“I know,” he murmurs, almost like he’s proud. “You’ve always been good for me.”

His hand lifts. Fingers trail down my cheek, soft, reverent. Like I’m precious. Like he owns me.

“You just forgot,” Jinwoo whispers, “who you belong to.”

My heart stops.

Then restarts under his thumb—now brushing lightly over my lips.

I should say something. I should scream or slap him or run.

But I don’t.

Because part of me missed him.

Because part of me wants this.

“Say it,” he breathes, stepping closer. His hand slides down to my throat—not tight, just enough to remind me he could. “Tell me who owns you.”

God help me.

“You,” I whisper. “You do.”

His eyes flash. Like that’s all he ever needed.

He kisses me then. Deep. Claiming. And I melt into it, my fingers curling into his shirt before I even think to stop myself. His shadows crawl up around me—wrapping, coiling, *binding*—and I don’t resist. How can I, when part of me was already his?

“You can run,” he says against my lips, his voice hoarse. “But I’ll always find you.”

He lifts me like I weigh nothing. Carries me toward the bed like he’s done it a thousand times. And I don’t fight him.

Not because I can’t.

But because I don’t want to.

Because no matter how far I run, some twisted, broken part of me will always want to be tangled up in his darkness.

And Jinwoo knows it.

Alright—this is where things get *intense*. You're in Y/N’s POV, wrapped in shadows, trapped under the man who says you belong to him. It’s possessive, slow-burn, and toeing the line between dark obsession and deep desire.

𝐉𝐢𝐧-𝐖𝐨𝐨 | 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐨 𝐏𝐓 2

Explicit content. Obsessive love. Soft but intense dom Jinwoo. Slight dubcon due to emotional manipulation/control.

His mouth never leaves mine as he lays me back on the bed—slow, deliberate, like he has all the time in the world. His hands explore like he’s relearning a body he’s memorized in dreams. Every brush of his fingers sends shivers through me.

I hate how much I feel like I’m sinking. Like I want to drown in him.

“I should punish you,” he murmurs against my throat, his lips dragging heat down my skin. “But I missed you too much.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at me—his eyes dark, burning, hungry.

“I waited,” he says, almost like he’s blaming me. “You were gone for four days. Do you know what that did to me?”

I try to look away, but his fingers grip my chin.

“No hiding,” Jinwoo says softly. “You ran. You knew what that meant.”

His hand trails down my neck, across my collarbone. My shirt disappears—literally—his shadows unraveling the fabric like smoke, leaving my skin bare under his gaze.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his mouth brushing over my breast, tongue flicking slow circles around my nipple until I gasp. “Say it again.”

I arch into him, both from the heat and the command laced in his voice.

“I’m yours,” I whisper, and he groans like he’s finally home.

His mouth travels lower, kissing over my stomach, teeth grazing my hip. He drags my thighs apart slowly, reverently. Shadows curl around my wrists—not restraining, just reminding. He doesn’t need to chain me.

He knows I’m not going anywhere now.

His lips press against the inside of my thigh. “You don’t run from me again,” he says, voice low and lethal. “Or I’ll keep you locked away where no one can even look at you.”

And then he devours me.

His tongue is relentless, patient and punishing at once. Every flick, every swirl—he knows exactly what he’s doing. I’m gasping, moaning, trembling under him. The pleasure is overwhelming, hot and dizzying.

I come undone under his mouth, and when I cry out his name, he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking, until my thighs are twitching and my voice is hoarse.

Only then does he pull back—eyes full of obsession and pride.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “So sweet when you remember who you belong to.”

Then he’s kissing me again, deep and rough, and I taste myself on his lips. His clothes vanish in shadows, and I feel the heat of him against me—hard, ready, unrelenting.

And when he enters me, it’s not rushed. It’s not angry. It’s possessive. Every thrust is slow and deep, like he’s staking a claim. Like this is a warning to the universe.

She’s mine.

My fingers claw into his back, my name a whisper against his ear, and I feel him everywhere. His shadows curl tighter, holding me open, keeping me still while he drives into me again and again, making sure I feel it in my bones.

“I’ll never let you go,” Jinwoo groans against my neck. “Even if you beg.”

I believe him.

God, I believe him.

And when I come again, he follows—his name ragged in my ear, his teeth in my skin, his body pressed tight to mine like he could fuse us together.

When it’s over, he doesn’t let go.

He wraps himself around me, fingers in my hair, lips on my shoulder, voice a broken whisper.

“No more running.”

And I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know if I want to.

[i-just-wanna-write-fanfic]

Hey there. Do you still take requests. Can I get a yandere Pete DiNunzio x reader? But I want it with the yandere alphabet

HELL YEAH!!

YAN!PETE DINUNZIO X READER

Lets go! I love yandere requests! cw: f-slur used once or twice

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He could be pretty physically affectionate, but most of the time it reads as sexual. He's not very needy or smother-y, but he can be annoying when he wants it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not at first; a rough fight here, broken limb there, but after sometime he's willing to get bit more bloody

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

A little bit, but it's just light teasing. He does somewhat want you to like him. He'll mostly treat you like a room mate(that he's keeping prisoner), just a bit more affectionate.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Likely touch you, but if we're talking epilogue Pete it could get worse.

I'm not writing that, use your imagination.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Little to none. You'll only get scraps if you beg and prod reallllllyyyy hard.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Annoyed. Miffed. But overall doesn't care. He saw this coming, and he's more prepared than he thought he'd be for it.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

A little bit, he enjoys seeing it that way but does often take it seriously.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Possibly the kidnapping. Or if you're unfortunate lucky, when he'd kill your best friend because you guys were acting 'all faggy', or whatever he said. You kinda zoned out..

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He's not really thinking future, just wants making him happy in the now. If asked, he'd just shrug and tell you that's a dumb question.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Sure he does! Mostly takes it out on others, but over time, he'll eventually start taking it out on you.. he'll apologize most of the time, but sometimes he can't bring himself to do it..

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He's surprisingly chill, a little affectionate, but overall it's much better from how he is without you

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He'll try and ask you out, but no matter if it fails or works, you're not waking up in your own bed tomorrow morning. Whatever happened the day before decides where you are and how you're treated.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really, but if he already has you or is pinning after you, then he's much snappier around others, more uninterested. He seems more absentminded, but he's a lot more calm and focused when he's with you (and when you're behaving how he wants).

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

The first few times he might hit you or something, but sometimes it just isn't enough.

At a certain point, he can't just let you walk around like you own the place. Or at all. Especially if it's come to this point.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

As many as he can! It's his world babe, and you're just living in it!

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can be pretty patient at times, but don't expect it often.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Hell no! He's going to find you. You can't run forever!

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. He doesn't really give a fuck.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Jeez, that's a bit of a soft spot.

(cough cough his dad cough cough)

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Mildly annoyed. He knows you'll let up eventually.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He's more uncaring, crude, and violent. Even if he does love you, he's gotta be tough sometimes.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Depends; If it's younger Pete, likely family issues, school, or club stuff. If it's epilogue Pete, you can try and leave while he's at work.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yeah. Sometimes a slap on the wrist or a tough talking-to doesn't get the point across.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Hell no! Jeez, he's no fag!

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Around a month or two. He's not very good at holding himself back from you, not like he was even trying in the first place.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Oh, 100%. He feels a bit bad at first, but doesn't after a little while. No one said he'd be nice!

[electricneonvalkyrie]

The quiet ways Abby says I care about you.

"Hey, kid."

And then she softly eavesdrops, while paying close attention to the dangers outside, immediately kneeling to pick up Lev's bow the second he says, "I want to leave" and not a moment sooner. Gets me every time.

Abby and Lev years into living on Catalina Island? That one gets me.

I imagine they live in a home tucked near the tree line, close enough to hear the waves but sheltered from wind. It's all salvaged steel and weathered wood and the door creaks when it opens. Never from disrepair but from being lived in.

Abby's weights sit in the corner, not for transformation anymore, but for ritual. Something to ground her when she can't shut out the noise.

Lev meets a girl and desperately wants to be strong for her. Abby catches him flipping the old leather chair in their living room, trying to copy a martial arts move. It shatters into shrapnel. He mumbles sorry and she doesn't hear it because she's laughing so hard she nearly cries.

She knew it was a bad idea bringing that portable DVD player around. But she wanted him to feel how big the world is, bigger than the scary stuff they've known all their lives.

The batteries will die eventually but she hopes the dreams he weaves will live on forever.

Morning sun filters through curtains Lev dyed with traded pigment because it reminds him of his sister. There's a windowsill cluttered with seashells because Abby doesn't know how to go for a walk without filling her pockets with them.

Lev usually lights candles before bed so Abby can read and he can fletch arrows, but lately, he's coming home later.

Abby knows why.

On the nights she's alone, she slips Owen's Firefly dog tags from the wooden box she keeps stored under her bed. Runs the pad of her thumb over the rough edges. She pretends not to linger at the kitchen window, watching Lev pick flowers for his friend.

She thinks about how it might be nice to try letting someone in of her own.

Abby takes a boat from the dock one night, when the sky is clear and the stars are turning the inky ocean freckled. She paddles far enough out to muffle the sounds from shore and has one last conversation with the first person she ever loved.

She doesn't toss his dog tags into the water, she drags them along the surface first. Goodbyes are hard.

And then she lets go.

When she makes it back to shore, her cheeks are chilly and damp but the tears have stopped spilling. Her chest is lighter and she can catch a full breath. Abby tethers the boat to the dock and as she sees you walking by, she thinks maybe tomorrow is the day.

Tomorrow is the day she lets herself be loved again.

(spent 10 minutes writing this blurb only to make myself sad... wtf. I love them so much.)