#might chill with death occasionally

[tairneanaich]

Needs a „both“ option

Very curious if this is a common experience (only answer skeleton if the first 3 don't apply)

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ climax 2.0 ] | sylus

— summary: he takes you to a safe house. reasoned it was the safest option while his men tied up whatever loose ends remained from your mission. you get the feeling there’s more to his words than what floats at surface level. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, profanity, sexual tension, minor character deaths, mentions of blood & violence, terms of endearment, self-deprecating thoughts, a sprinkle of romance, self-indulgent, unhinged moment, mdni — notes: special thanks to @alfredosaws for helping me write this. thank you so much for reading! — now playing: i follow rivers - lykke li

Silly woman. Getting your hopes up for nothing. Still...

He’s yet to set you down—Sylus. Your enigma of a boss, cradling you in his arms like an offering to be bestowed on an altar. Long fingers crooked under your knees, a possessive arm swept under your back.

You’re not hurt—he saw to that when he safely lured you to the ground with his Evol. So why does he insist on carrying you like you are?

You try not to get caught up in how he smells—petrichor during the spring. The leftover carbon of spent bullets. Suede and the freshly-broken skin of a clementine. 

How he feels—strong yet firm, honed from years of boxing and a past you know little of. Tender despite the violence he’s capable of. Big and comforting, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer on the coldest days of the season. 

How he breathes—even, as his heart thrums a steady tempo against your chest. Soothing like ocean waves rolling over your feet, lulling you into tranquility. 

Tch. Since when did you become so poetic?

You’ve long since traded the cacophony of bullets ricocheting off his Evol—of Nikolai’s men shouting obscenities, bleeding malice and vitriol as they spit orders—for the serenity of the night.

Passersby mill about on the moon-laden streets. Couples laugh, bundling together to ward off the night’s chill. An occasional drunkard stumbles down the sidewalk. Sylus effortlessly sidesteps them, refusing to let you walk on your own despite the perturbed looks he garners. You try not to dig too deep into things. And yet…

He’s carried you like this for at least a mile through the city’s heart. Past historic buildings jaded by time, under twinkling string lights, hung over shopping centers and outdoor cafes bordering the street. 

It’s something of a dream. Something like a romantic film, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be its star.

He’s made no move to set you down. You’ve also made no effort to untwine your arms from around his neck. Instead, you study the flexing tendons in his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple when he chuckles something murky and guttural after he catches you staring. You look away with bashfulness creeping beneath your skin, only to repeat the ritual all over again. 

It feels like old times—a memory far off when he carried you like this once before after you led him on a hunt through the docks. After you took down one of the most prominent human trafficking rings in the underworld, and after he thought he would lose you forever. 

You’re sure you were heavy then—he spent most of the night searching for you, reducing anyone who got in his way to ash and bone. He was exhausted, violet bags hanging beneath his eyes, blood speckling his collar. Yet he still held you so tenderly. Walked you towards the horizon, clutching you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. 

You’re sure you’re heavy now.

And he shouldn’t be holding you like this. Despite how delightful it feels, a voice admonishes you from the deepest regions of your mind for getting too comfortable. 

He’s not yours. This isn’t right. 

She might be gone, swept up in the mountains playing escort, but you can’t help feeling like you’re betraying the hunter. You’ve already crossed her so many times in your mind before. 

You squirm a bit. His gaze slides to you. Scarlet eyes gleam beneath the tawny lights like multifaceted rubies. His brows lift slightly, and the beginnings of a smile prod his lips. 

You clear the phlegm from your throat, tamping down the hot flush rising from your chest to stain your neck and cheeks. He’s effortlessly beautiful, like something spawned from a Rembrandt painting. 

“You can put me down now,” you urge, your voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

He looks forward, wearing a full-bodied smile. “I know.” He continues walking like you didn’t speak, making no effort to let you go. 

You give him a deadpan look. Try again, a little more insistent this time. “Sylus.”

“Yes?” he returns, humored, patient. 

“I said you can put me down.”

“I know.”

You sigh, exasperated after a few moments spent glaring at his side profile. His devastatingly attractive profile. That sloped nose. Those heart-shaped lips. Those pretty, grey-fringed lashes. 

“Aren’t you afraid of someone seeing us like this?” You gesture to your conjoined bodies with a nod. “People might get the wrong idea.” 

You might get the wrong idea.

He huffs a laugh like you’ve said the most absurd thing. “When have I ever been concerned with how others perceive me?” Those softened eyes flick back to you, something cold prickling low in your belly at the weight they carry. At how his voice dips like he’s drawing you into a secret. “Since when have you?”

Your lips twitch. He poses a fair argument. You’ve never cared much about how people view you, save for Sylus and the twins. More recently, Ms. Hunter. 

Guilt twists in your throat. Burns like ash. “Sylus…”

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’d be happy to set you down.” There’s a beguiled edge to his voice. A challenge. A plea. Almost like he wants you to say, ‘No.’

Surely, you’re being delusional.

Regardless, you blanch. And it’s comical how quickly you shake your head, eliciting a thick, low purl of laughter from your savior. Your argument dies in the back of your throat. The drape of your arms around his shoulders slackens. But you still don’t let go. You don’t want to let go. 

You decide she’ll have to be upset with you—Ms. Hunter. Decide to be a little selfish, but only for a little while. You’re growing too comfortable with the sharp click of his heels against the cobblestone. With how he lightly jostles you in his arms after each measured step. You could fall asleep like this, ushered to dreamland by the source of your fantasies and suffering. 

After some time spent wordless, Sylus slows to a stop. When you glance at him, he nods at something ahead, finally setting you down. You’re bereft of the warmth and safety his body provides as he helps steady you. Smoothing out your dress, you take in your new surroundings. 

A structure stretches before you, much like the ones you passed before, only the upkeep is better. Three stories of dark, historic brick and an awning dotted with sepia-toned lights loom overhead. The building's name scrolls on a marquee sign in its center, blaring through the frosty haze of the night. It reminds you of an old movie theater, repurposed for something more upscale. 

You turn quizzical eyes to Sylus. “A restaurant?” Come to think of it, you are a little famished. Murder always manages to stir your appetite. 

Sylus pushes back the tails of his suit jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets. Exhales slow. The spotlights highlight his smile as he looks between you and the entrance. “Not hungry?”

“Yeah, but…it’s a little short notice, isn’t it? Don’t you normally need a reservation to get into places like this? Will they even let us in?”

With a huff caught in his throat, Sylus brushes past you, bounding up the few steps to tug the door open. A swell of noise spills outside, the soft stroke of piano keys, the clatter of cutlery against plates. The savory scent of cooked meat and sautéed vegetables assaults your senses. Your stomach growls. You pat it placatingly, casting Sylus a wary look.

“They should,” he says with a shrug, patiently waiting for you to enter. “I own the place.” His eyes shine with playfulness, posture lax.

You scoff. Of course. He owns half the city. It makes him more attractive, knowing he can buy anything at the drop of a hat. 

“Wow. That’s awfully Bruce Wayne of you, don’t you think?” you mock, stepping up into the restaurant, guided by your fingers wrapped around his forearm.

“Wait,” you start, inadvertently tucking into his side. “Why are you hungry? I’m the one who did all the heavy lifting.”

Sylus shrugs again, feigning innocence as you clear the restaurant's entryway. “Watching you work always makes me peckish.”

You whack his broad chest, rolling your eyes. Can’t help smiling. Giggling. Letting your defenses waver.

The air between you feels lighter, reminiscent of times spent carelessly flirting when the line between employer and subordinate blurred beyond recognition.

—

It’s lively inside, but not overwhelmingly so. 

Colorful conversation brightens the atmosphere around you. Patrons of new and old money, dressed in designer clothing, sip expensive wine. Prattle on about their reckless ventures, about fickle things you can’t be bothered to entertain. 

It’s a high-brow restaurant, with the gentle croon of live music and light fixtures dangling overhead to simulate candlelight. The interior is Art Deco inspired. Jaw-droppingly beautiful. You’ve found yourself eyeing the bar more than once, impressed by the expansive shelves housing vintage wine and spirits, stretching towards a yawning, stained-glass ceiling. 

Had you not known better, you would’ve thought you were on a date and not lying low while ornery men tore the city apart looking for you. But that’s not the case. 

At least, you don’t think it is. 

You bite down on your fork, bleeding warmth, ignoring the scarlet eyes boring into your face for the umpteenth time.

You’re tucked away in one of the restaurant's corners with your boss, seated at a booth, shying away from the spotlight. Away from the prying eyes of the other patrons, though that doesn’t stop the occasional gaze from wandering over you. Curious clients raise their wine glasses at you with tense smiles, scrutinizing the pair of you as if you’re celebrities. 

You do stand out, still donned in your attire from the banquet. And Sylus commands attention wherever he goes, standing a good foot over most of the populous, his hair a riotous shock of white. 

Also more perplexing is that he hasn’t booked the place out. He prefers solitude, the comfortable quiet. And yet, he’s brought you here, surrounded by people, treating you like something to be shown off, and you're lightheaded from the whiplash he’s giving you.

He’s been nothing short of a gentleman. Pulled your chair out for you, ordered on your behalf, ensnared you in idle conversation. Kept your champagne glass full when your waiter was out of earshot, even lauded you for another successful kill. It’s all so uncharacteristic of him, and you can’t help feeling like he’s building up to something big. 

It’s grown quiet between you since your meals arrived, and your thoughts have crept in, robbing you of any bliss you began to experience. 

You’ve caught your boss watching you several times. And he’s never appeared guilty, shamelessly peering into your eyes, smiling, slowly ticking away at your resolve. 

Your skin prickles with warmth as you push around the vegetables on your plate. The meal is lovely. Savory, but your appetite’s abandoned you. Something’s off. You’ve sensed it for the better part of the night. Sylus is being more attentive than usual, and it’s unsettling. 

What’s his angle? Have you offended him? Is he keeping an eye on you, afraid you’ll run away? Will tonight be the night he lays you off?

You decide to confront him, having had enough of this ambiguity. This farce he’s put up. You clear your throat, smoothing out the napkin on your lap. Set your fork down, gaze hesitantly sliding to him across the table as you attempt to make light of your situation.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?”

Sylus’ eyes crinkle with a quiet mirth. A soft youthfulness as he props his elbows on the table, twining his long fingers together. A grin blooms behind his fists. You hold your breath.

“Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are while you eat?”

You choke on your spittle. Violently pat your chest to dislodge it, reaching for your flute of champagne to wet your throat as tears form. Adorable isn’t something you’d use to describe yourself. And adorable isn’t something you’d ever imagine Sylus classifying you as, either.   

“Maybe you should lay off the champagne,” you cough, the burn in your esophagus subsiding. 

He isn’t much of a drinker, so you suspect he’s spewing nonsense because he’s tipsy. You set your glass down, snatching the bottle of bubbly from the table’s center. It’ll be safer on your side, out of reach, where your boss can’t use it as an excuse to utter more absurd things. 

Sylus’ brows knit, mock hurt descending onto his face. “What? Am I not allowed to compliment you?”

You cough again, bringing the bottle to your lips. Drink straight from the source, crisp liquid drizzling down the sides of your mouth. How ladylike.

Maybe you should stop drinking. You’re starting to hear things, your daydreams coming to fruition. This isn’t happening. Your boss isn’t pouting at you like a child, calling you cute, and making you feel things that should be buried beneath the Earth’s crust. He’s typically stingy with his compliments unless given to a specific person. So why suddenly aim them at you? 

The bubbly’s got your head a little fuzzy. That, coupled with the adrenaline slowly seeping into your veins, emboldens you to get to the heart of his strangeness. You decide to poke the proverbial bear. 

“What’s your problem?” you prod, setting the bottle down with a definitive thunk. You fix him with a look, one of tight lips and furrowed brows. 

Sylus chuckles, seemingly in disbelief at your brazenness. He’s fucking with you. He has to be. Maybe he’s trying to get a rise out of you, sensing how vulnerable you’ve felt throughout the night. How vulnerable you’ve been the past few months. 

“Whatever do you mean, sweetheart?”

You ignore how the term of endearment tingles in your skin. It feels more weighted than usual tonight. Everything’s heavier tonight. 

You sigh, looking at your lap with a forlorn smile. Toy with a loose thread on your napkin, steeling yourself for this unavoidable conversation.

The champagne’s got your tongue a little loose, and the people surrounding you give you a boost of courage—witnesses in case Sylus decides to kill you. 

“You’ve been really nice to me all night.” You sound mousy, contrasting the crass asshole you were moments ago. “It’s kind of…weird.”

A silver brow lifts. Sylus adjusts in his chair, leaning closer to hear you better, the faint note of his cologne wafting off his skin. Threatening to derail you. To change your mind.

“Have I not been kind to you before?” He momentarily scrutinizes the lacquered wood of the tabletop, seemingly lost in thought. Gazes back at you, inspecting your face.

You swallow against the sandy grit of your throat, powering past your nerves, an anxious titter on your tongue. You toy with your necklace, dizzy. “No. No, you have. Just…not like this.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Sylus wordlessly encourages you to continue, watching your mouth, your eyes.

“I mean, the gala. Rescuing me from Nikolai’s goons. Carrying me. Dinner. The compliments. I don’t get you, Sylus. One minute, you’re pushing me away. You’re ignoring me, and then the next, you’re…confusing the hell out of me.”

The words are out before you can contain them. Silence stretches between you, stiff like a bowstring drawn back. You can’t look at him now, feeling so small and stupid beneath the blistering weight of his stare. 

You’re disbelieving that he could be so kind. Romantic. Considerate, treating you like something closer than a subordinate. Like he doesn’t have someone else occupying his mind, and you’re wondering if he’s playing some twisted game with your emotions tonight, using you to fill the gap the hunter left while out saving the world. 

“Am I truly that difficult to understand?” he replies, his voice gritty yet soft. 

Something pinches in your chest at the fragility of his tone. You want nothing more than for the world to open up and swallow you whole. 

You flinch when the flat sides of his nails graze your temple. He briefly stops before tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. Then, his fingertips blister down your cheek. He tilts your head back, cupping your chin, coaxing you to look at him. And you do, reluctantly, a warm film of something wet washing over your sight. 

He studies you with a reverence you don’t deserve. A look you haven’t been subjected to in a very long time, yet it still manages to constrict your heart. Still makes your stomach jump like you’re descending downhill, and your lips part slightly, quivering. 

Time slows to a crawl around you, the world seemingly carving out a pocket of space for only the two of you to exist. The sights and sounds of the restaurant fade into obscurity. You’re focused solely on the scarlet wash of his eyes, how they shift back and forth, studying your features, searching. Seeking answers your mouth refuses to utter. 

“If I’ve made myself anything less than transparent, I apologize.” The sincerity there, the quiet vulnerability, it makes you sick because you’re undeserving of it. You feel like you’re taking part in a naughty secret. Witnessing a side of him usually reserved for the hunter. “But I assure you, I’m not as mysterious as you think.”

You snort despite the moment. Despite your pulse thudding in your eardrums, a trickle of optimism seeping through you like molten liquid. You don that arrogant, playful front as if rolling over and showing him your belly will be viewed as a sign of weakness. He could still very well be screwing with you. Getting your hopes up to shatter them like waves breaking against the rocks.

“Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of England,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

Sylus shrugs, resigned. Still, he doesn’t relinquish your gaze, the soft curl of his fingers around your face. Instead, he grows more tender, his irises twinkling a youthful shade beneath the ambient lighting as he leans closer. His voice is wispy like he’s murmuring something confidential. 

“You don’t have to believe me. But I am no liar, sweetheart. You know that.”

With that, he releases your chin, fingers slowly dragging over your face, leaving a searing path in their wake. You breathe again, unaware you weren’t, as if released from a spell. You watch him take up his champagne flute, slender fingers curling around its stem, and he stirs its fizzy contents. 

You’re jealous of that damn glass, still feeling those ruinous digits burning themselves into your skin.

He decides to shift gears. You’re thankful because you need time to process things. To get your heart rate down from the sky. 

“Besides, you looked like you could use a break. I figured tonight would be a good time for some morale boosting.”

You snort again, sipping from your own flute to assuage a flare of anger. “Me? A break? Morale boost? Yeah, sure.” 

Taking a breather with your boss, playing around on a date like you didn’t just murder someone? Was he serious? And is that all this was? A figurative pizza party to say, ‘Thank you’ for being an obedient little pet? 

You knew you were an idiot, getting your hopes up for nothing. 

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m not as much of a slave driver as you think,” he says, parting the tumultuous sea of your thoughts.

“Really? Luke and Kieran might say otherwise.” There’s more vitriol in your voice than you intend to let out. But you’re deflecting, protecting yourself. 

Your chest tightens when Sylus looks down, idly twisting the glass stem between his fingers. His gaze softens, and something in his voice shifts. “Can’t I just spend some time alone with you? Show you how much I appreciate you for being loyal to me all these years?” 

You stiffen, feeling like someone’s thrust a knife into your gut and twisted it. You must not have heard him right. For a moment, he sounded exposed. Wounded. And for a moment, you feel bad for doubting his intentions. 

You’re about to pursue it when your waiter reappears. He’s all smiles and professionalism as he sets two martini glasses on your table, crystalline liquid swirling ominously inside.

You look up at him with quirked brows. He stands in good form, folding his hands together behind his back. 

“Courtesy of the couple over there,” says your waiter, gesturing over his shoulder with a nod. 

You peer behind him. A middle-aged man and a younger-looking woman dressed in eccentric textures smile and wave enthusiastically at you. You lift your glass to them in a quiet toast, pasting on a smile. The gesture is sweet, but what’s the occasion?

“They said, drinks for the lovely couple, and congratulations on celebrating your anniversary.”

You sputter, sending drops of your martini flying every which way. 

Sylus laughs at your plight, taking up a glass for himself and lifting it in appreciation towards the couple. You glare at him as he sips. 

“Happy Anniversary, darling,” Sylus teases. Winks for added effect. He laughs a wealthy man’s laugh while you choke. 

You contemplate correcting the generous couple, but the martini is delicious. And Sylus doesn’t seem affected by it. 

And maybe it feels good pretending that, just for a moment, he’s yours and yours alone.

—

Someone had a sweet tooth following dinner.

That someone, of course, being you. 

The dessert menu at the restaurant looked appetizing. But you had a craving for something cold. Soft-serve. Besides, you were growing uncomfortable the more that couple ordered you drinks. At one point, they’d been so bold as to stop by your table on their way out. 

They kept ogling you. Winking, laughing drunkenly, spewing out their hotel room number upstairs. When they left, you leaned over the table, cupping your hand around your mouth.

“I think they’re swingers,” you whispered to Sylus. 

He laughed, sitting back. Raised his glass to you, a brow tilting up to match the cant of his lips. “Wanna go find out?”

“Hell no! I’m a one-partner kinda gal.”

You didn’t miss how his gaze shifted. Darkened into something you couldn’t quite place. 

You find yourselves in a 1950s-inspired diner— a modest hole-in-the-wall joint with retro decor and bright lights. Only a couple of other diners inhabit the restaurant. You’re nursing a milkshake, courtesy of your boss, buzzing like a child who’s gotten everything they wanted. 

He teased you about your cravings—only you’d want ice cream when it’s cold out. But he didn’t put up much of a fight, humoring you after you wore him down with those puppy eyes and your fingers buried in his sleeves.

He entertained you further by playing the claw machine in the corner at your behest. Watching a man so big, feared, and elusive fiddle with such a garish machine—you felt honored.

You cheered him on, the sleeves of his jacket draped over your shoulders, puddling around your elbows. After several attempts, he was successful, sheepishly shoving a purple koala bear into your hands. Your face burned hot, and your cheeks ached from smiling and laughing. 

It feels like a dream. The ideal date. And for a moment, you forget that Sylus is your boss. That he could never be yours and that you’re anything but a killer. 

You fiddle with the jukebox, earning curious glances from the diner’s other customers. They’re whispering things, eyeing you warily. You ignore them, queuing up a song. And you’re dancing, silly at first, but muscle memory kicks in. Soon, you’re moving your hips, smoothing over the contours of your body, spurred by Sylus observing you from his place atop a stool. 

You wish he would smile more—an authentic smile, unhindered by sarcasm or smugness. He’s much more handsome like this. 

You think about all the times he’s smiled this way for the hunter, and you stumble in your steps. You flash him a smile when it looks like he’ll get up to help you. Carry on dancing, doing one of the things you do best.

You pretend you’re at Lux, and he makes you feel like you’re on a stage just for him, your nerves flaring at his attention. There’s a gleam in his eyes as he leans back on the countertop on his elbow, watching you with muted appreciation. How long has it been since you’ve danced for him?

So swept up by the music, you hardly register the diner slowly emptying. Not even the servers seem to be bustling about anymore. You get an ominous prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the fine hairs there standing stiff. You stop. 

You exchange a look with Sylus. He raises a brow, tapping his temple. “Keep going,” he rasps, doting, coaxing. Entranced.

He has whatever’s about to transpire under control. You trust him fully. The Bonnie to his Clyde. 

The wispy tendrils of his Evol materialize around the diner’s interior to form a barrier, tossing the restaurant into a misty haze of red and black. It’s reminiscent of hellfire, and you feel like Lilith taking part in a sacrilegious waltz. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, attentive as you continue to dance. And you smile, putting on a damn good show as Nikolai’s men funnel in, their cries of agony tempered by the music spilling from the jukebox and your laughter coloring the air as Sylus rends flesh from bone with his Evol. 

—

He takes you to a safe house as the night reaches its peak. 

He reasoned it was the safest option while his men tied up whatever loose ends remained from your mission. Like dining and holding hands out in public didn’t warrant an ambush. 

Someone snitched. Saw that familiar riot of white, those brawny shoulders. Heard that gritty voice mixed with your distinct laughter and sent Nikolai’s men to finish you off. Sylus picked them off while you danced unhindered, but there was no telling how many stragglers were left, ducking into the shadows, creeping along the historic brick walls. 

Again, he insists on carrying you as you break through the door of a quaint, quiet home perched on a hilltop. Secured by his biometrics. Bordered by evergreens and the calming symphony of the forest. Isolated, like him. Hidden from invasive questions, from prying eyes. 

You’re tired. The night’s adrenaline sloughed off, leaving you tenuous and agreeable, which is why you don’t put up much of a fight as Sylus walks you through the foyer, smiling down at you like you’re his precious bounty. It’s infectious. Your lips tug, too, though a little less enthused. You blink slowly. Breathe evenly, lulled by the mollifying thump of his heart against your cheek. 

He drops your stilettos on the hardwood floor halfway to the living room. Deposits you on a dark leather settee, fixing your dress over your legs and his jacket around your shoulders. Draws back. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what hits you when your fingers close around the pleated sleeve of his button-up, eyes beseeching when he looks at you from over his shoulder. 

You don’t say anything. Don’t have to.

Don’t leave. Stay.

You don’t want the dream to end. Not yet.

He chuckles low, all smooth like whisky poured into a glass. Softened, scarlet eyes pan in through the low light, his silhouette haloed by amber. He lifts your legs to settle onto the upholstery beside you. Pulls your feet onto his lap. They’re irritated. Rubbed raw from being strapped to too-tall heels all night, running and gunning like you had no limitations.

He sensed your discomfort. Always such a gentleman.

Large, sweltering hands close around your feet, kneading through pressure and knots of tension. Knuckles at the balls of your feet. You exhale slowly, pleased. Thankful. The attention’s nice. There’s a small voice wading through the murky sea of your mind, telling you this is wrong. That you don’t deserve it, his tenderness. 

You’re getting pretty fucking sick of your conscience. It’s just a foot rub. It’s not like you’re kissing him. 

“You’re good at this,” you note offhandedly. 

“My hands are more useful than you think.”

Something dark threads through his voice. Something cheeky. You ignore how your stomach flips, your mind sparkling with impure ideas. 

Drowsiness sweeps in around the corners, bordering your vision like a vignette. He’s masterful with his hands. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the king of the underworld. You doze off, shepherded through the inkiness by the faraway tick of a clock. By trees rustling beyond the massive window, the moon dragging itself to the center of the sky, cloth moving as Sylus rubs over your calves. 

You stir when he shifts. When he moves to get up and lay your legs on the couch. That feeling returns. That ache. The call of loneliness. Your sleepiness abandons you, making way for cold fright. You stumble from the settee. Rush to stand at full height, gripping his shirt at the crooks of his elbows, halting him.

Your mouth opens. Heart thundering. You don’t know what to say—what you were thinking. His gaze is unyielding, studying your face like the slow flicker of a flame. Silver brows knot. Peach lips fall slightly open. He’s waiting for something. Asking for something. 

You’re on autopilot when you cautiously angle yourself closer. Your gaze falls to his mouth, and he mirrors you, cradling your elbows as if he’s afraid to break you. You’ll blame it on the bubbly you consumed later. On the spell he somehow cast over the night, enthralling you with his chivalry. 

You tug, and he meets you halfway. Not like you have to put in much effort. He’s already leaning down. Eyes already half-moons, breath already shaky. 

He tenses when your lips meet. Shoulders drop once the initial shock peters, and then he’s kissing you with those full, molten lips. He draws you closer, hands splayed possessively at the small of your back. Thumbs cruising over the meat of your hips. Up and down your sides. Wherever he touches, you burn.

You exhale through your nose, and your arms snake around his neck. Fingers sift through the fine hairs at his nape.

He teases your mouth open with his tongue. Sighs something anguished when you grant him entry, licking into your mouth. Pulls you impossibly closer. He’s rigid and warm against you. Gathers your cheek in his palm, angling your head back. He kisses greedy. Selfish. Plunders your mouth, milking the sweetest little sounds from your body. Sounds you didn’t think yourself capable of making.

You kiss and kiss until your lips are chaffed. And even then, you don’t stop. He’s ravenous, moving against you like he’s waited eons to do this. Like he’s fought a war with himself and lost. You’re his Gettysburg. His Kryptonite.

You’ll feel sorry for yourself tomorrow. Blame it on the air, charged with something heady, your inhibitions and common sense thrown to the wolves.

It’s just a kiss. He’s your boss. And tonight, he’s been something of a friend. A dream. Friends kiss all the time, right?

So why do you feel so guilty?

— tags: @emneedshelp, @reiofsuns2001, @crazy-ink-artist, @vonev, @subliminalwish, @ikiru-wa, @inkonparchment, @regandoesthings, @szired, @alyyylog, @leekingsman, @beewilko, @an-ever-angry-bi, @abbylee0710, @sunnyf4lls, @himiko-omikami, @midiplier, @ari-shipping-stuff, @karespocketboyfriends, @glamouroki, @babygirl-panda19, @im-in-different-universe, @sillyfreakfanparty, @lunebulous, @vilehrs-blog (sorry if i missed anyone.)

climax | masterlist | falling action

[kermdoeswriting]

Tell Him

"You'll have to tell him at some point, you know."

Danny watched as Alfred stirred his tea with his favorite spoon before neatly placing it onto the napkin beside him.

He didn't look up once to see if Danny was even paying attention. He just continued to speak, as if he already knew that Danny was.

"It'd be awfully unfair of you not to do so. Knowing how much he trusts you with his own secrets."

Danny hums before taking another sip of his own tea that Alfred had prepared for him earlier. It wasn't as if he had never thought of telling Tim what he was, but the idea of rejection made him awfully nervous.

Dealing with the supernatural was one thing.

Dealing with a manifestation of a concept placed into a human body is another.

It was a hard thing for humans to deal with. When they finally knew who or really what he was.

"I was hoping maybe he'd catch on with context clues." Danny replies eventually, sounding meek as he shrunk into himself.

Alfred chuckled as a response.

"I'm afraid context clues might not be enough for him, Lord Hades."

Danny shrugged off his title, refusing to meet Alfred's eyes as he stirred his tea over and over again. The sugar dissolved ages ago, but he can't stop stirring anyway.

The repetitive motion calmed him from thinking of the inevitable.

"I can still hope, Alfred." He pouted eventually, breaking their silence. Alfred laughed at him.

"Hoping is foolish, but your yearning is even worse for us both."

Danny looked over at the older man, wisdom leaking from his bones after all of his years untouched by his very presence. While Alfred had bristled with death in the past, he had never quite got that singular touched mark until Danny came along.

"How so?"

"You know how," Alfred tutted at him knowingly, eyes back on his tea before taking another sip.

"You are delaying the inevitable by keeping me here. All to keep seeing him."

Danny's silent, the words trapped in his throat for a moment before he speaks.

"Is that such a bad thing? To want to live longer?"

"It is when you've lived all the life you're supposed to live."

The two go silent again. Danny finishes his tea.

"Tonight... after the gala..." He hesitates when he sees Alfred's eyes on him again, looking away towards the Wayne Garden roses next to him. "After I tell him, we'll go."

Alfred hums, sounding unconvinced. He finishes his tea as well after a long moment.

"If you insist."

_ _ _

"You know Danny?"

Tim started off as he walked on top of the cement barrier, Danny walking beside him. The garden was cold tonight, making Tim have goosebumps.

Danny seemed unphased by the chill. Like he always was.

"You never really told us how you're related to Alfred."

Danny hummed in response, already knowing Tim was not done with his train of thought. His hands were shoved into his suit pants, and he was hunched as he walked.

In a way, Tim found it attractive.

"It's just odd. Alfred's never really told us much about his family, except for the occasional offhand thing. And then you're just here. No prior mention or anything!"

At that, Tim watched Danny smile at the floor as if expecting Tim to question such a thing before shaking his head in defeat.

"That's because we're not closely related at all." Danny confirms, finally taking a moment to look up at Tim.

Tim stops abrupt at the admission and stares at him as well. He can't stop the stray, sudden thought that Danny looked so pretty under the Gotham moon.

Danny just continues to stare at him with a small amount of light in his eyes, waiting for some kind of reaction from him but Tim doesn't give him one. "We're actually far from it."

"Who are you then?"

Tim could only really hear the crickets chirping the longer they stood there. Behind him gala guests were chattering away and glasses were clinking together.

Still, despite being so close, it all sounded so far away with the way his ears were drumming.

"I think you know who."

The two just continued to stare at each other, Tim unable to really look away.

"Death...?"

Danny looked even softer, all knowingly even, up at him and didn't answer.

But even then Tim knew he was right. And all he felt was his stomach aching with butterflies as shaking chills changed from the cold, into fear.

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

Or basically

Danny is Death / The Grim Reaper, and he's been sent to the Waynes to collect Alfreds soul. The only problem is that he fell in love with Alfreds grandson, Tim, at first sight, and has been delaying the inevitable because of it.

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 4

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 13.9k

As you stepped into the freezing wind, snow immediately began to cling to your coat and hair, but you didn’t care. You were determined, your steps purposeful as you marched into the storm. The icy air burned your lungs, but it didn’t slow you.

Behind you, the sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the snow broke through the howling wind.

“YN, wait!” Azriel’s voice rang out, desperate and strained.

You ignored him, your jaw clenched as you pushed forward.

“YN, stop!” Rhysand called, his tone sharper, but still layered with concern.

You felt the flicker of his magic against your mind, a gentle attempt to tether you, but you shoved it away with all the force of your fury. “Don’t you dare!” you shouted over your shoulder. “If you’re going to stop me, do it outright! Don’t use your tricks on me, Rhysand.”

Azriel’s wings flared behind you as he caught up, his breath visible in the frigid air. He grabbed your arm, not forcefully, but enough to make you stop. “YN, please,” he begged, his eyes pleading. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let us come with you.”

You wrenched your arm free, glaring at him. “You had your chance to help, Azriel. Now stay out of my way.”

Rhysand appeared at your other side, his face pale and drawn. “You’re not going out there alone, YN. That’s not happening. You can hate us all you want, but we’re coming with you.”

Your fury wavered for just a moment as you saw the raw fear in both of their expressions, but you shoved it down. “Fine,” you snapped. “But keep up, or I’ll leave you behind.”

Azriel exchanged a look with Rhysand, a silent conversation passing between them, before they both nodded.

The three of you pressed on into the storm, the snow whipping around you in fierce gusts. Azriel’s shadows darted out ahead, scouting through the white expanse, while Rhysand kept his magic spread wide, searching for any sign of Kaia.

The storm was relentless, the wind screaming through the trees as snow lashed against your face. Your boots crunched through the deep drifts, the icy chill seeping through your coat, but you didn’t care. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes darted desperately over the landscape.

“Kaia!” you called, your voice raw and hoarse. The wind carried it away almost as soon as the words left your lips, but you didn’t stop. “Kaia!”

Azriel’s shadows darted around you, slithering across the snow and disappearing into the storm. He kept close, his eyes scanning the ground, his wings tucked tightly against his back to shield him from the biting cold. Every now and then, he would whisper her name, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.

Rhysand was on your other side, his magic rippling outward in a steady pulse. He moved with purpose, though his face was pale and his lips pressed into a thin line. Occasionally, he would glance at you, concern flickering in his violet eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

You reached a clearing, the snow shallower here but no less treacherous. The wind swirled violently, and you paused for a moment, your breath heaving as you tried to decide where to go next. “She’s close,” you whispered to yourself, clutching the bond between you and Azriel like a lifeline. “She has to be.”

Azriel stepped forward, his shadows coiling around him protectively. “YN,” he began softly, but you cut him off.

“No,” you snapped, your voice shaking. “Don’t try to stop me. Don’t tell me to rest or wait or anything else.” You gestured toward the storm. “She’s out there, Azriel. Alone. Scared. I won’t stop until I find her.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded, stepping back to let you lead.

You moved forward again, your eyes scanning every snowdrift, every shadow. You strained to listen past the roar of the wind, praying for some sound—anything—to guide you.

“Kaia!” Rhysand called, his voice strong despite the storm. “It’s Uncle Rhys! Sweetheart, we’re here! Call out for us!”

Nothing but the howl of the wind answered.

You stumbled over a hidden root, catching yourself against a tree, and for a moment, you let out a choked sob. But you couldn’t give in to despair. Gritting your teeth, you pushed forward, your fingers brushing against the rough bark of the trees as you searched.

As you climbed a small hill, your foot caught on something beneath the snow. You crouched down, frantically brushing it away, only to find a small toy—a teddy Kaia had been clutching earlier.

“She was here,” you whispered, your heart lurching. “She was here.”

Azriel was at your side in an instant, his hands steadying you as he looked down at the toy. His face crumpled, and he pressed his lips together tightly. “She can’t be far,” he said, his voice low but determined.

Rhysand placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm. “We’ll find her, YN,” he said, though the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss. “We won’t stop.”

You nodded, clutching the toy tightly in your hand as you pressed on, calling her name into the endless storm.

The hours dragged on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The storm seemed to grow more violent with every passing minute, the snow swirling around you like an endless sea of white. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you called out for Kaia, your voice strained and hoarse, but the only answer was the howl of the wind.

Your heart ached with every inch you covered, your mind racing with worry and guilt. Each snow-covered tree, every shadow, every crevice was scrutinized, but there was no sign of her. Nothing.

You could feel the chill settling deep in your bones, the cold seeping past your layers and gnawing at you. You were freezing, numb, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. Not when your daughter was out there, somewhere in this cruel storm.

Azriel’s shadows had been everywhere, searching in places the eye could not, but there was still no sign of Kaia. His voice was almost lost to the wind, but you could still hear him calling her name, his tone strained with worry.

Rhysand, though his eyes were filled with sorrow, didn’t stop either. He was using his magic to try and sense her, but it was futile against the wild winds and the snow that blocked everything from his view. His power pulsed with growing desperation, but it wasn’t enough.

Cassian had been beside you the entire time ever since he flew back from day, his wings tucked to shield him from the worst of the storm, his face lined with frustration. Even he, usually so strong and unshaken, was showing signs of wear. His eyes flicked over every inch of snow, every shadow, every movement, but it was the same. Nothing.

After three hours of searching, your body was exhausted, your movements sluggish, and the hope you clung to was beginning to feel more like a fading dream. You wanted to scream, to tear at the sky for its cruelty, but you just... couldn't anymore.

Finally, Rhysand’s voice broke through your fog of determination. “YN, we have to go back. It’s too dangerous to keep going.” His hand on your arm was gentle but firm. “You’re too cold. You need to rest.”

You shook your head violently, refusing to give in. “No. I can’t. I won’t stop until I find her.”

Cassian’s voice was softer now, but there was a firmness to it. “You’re not helping her if you freeze, YN. You know that.”

Azriel stood behind you, his face grim. “We’ll keep searching, YN. But we need to go back for now. We need to regroup, to think this through. This storm... it’s too much.”

The words pierced through you, but you didn���t want to admit they were right. Your body screamed for rest, but your heart wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Yet, when you saw the concern in their eyes, the worry in their voices, something inside you broke. You were too tired to fight anymore, to push through the storm. With a final glance at the empty, snow-covered landscape, you gave in.

They led you back to the cabin, your steps slow and heavy as you let them guide you. Your mind was numb with the weight of everything, your heart still aching with the fear of what might happen if Kaia wasn’t found soon.

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the cabin hit you like a wave, but it did nothing to ease the coldness in your chest. Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian exchanged a glance, their faces drawn with exhaustion and worry. They had been as close to losing their resolve as you had been.

Azriel stepped toward you, his voice low. “We’ll find her, YN. We will.”

You nodded, though you didn’t believe it. It was hard to. With every minute that passed, the chance of finding her seemed more and more impossible. But as you sank into the warmth of the cabin, you closed your eyes, too exhausted to think, to fight.

For the first time in hours, you allowed yourself to slip into the fragile embrace of sleep, praying that when you woke, Kaia would be safe in your arms again.

-----

Kaia shivered, her small form trembling in the dim, cramped space beneath the desk. The cold air scraped at her skin as she tried to curl into herself, her wings aching with every movement. The hooded figure, whose presence loomed over her like a dark cloud, grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, yanking her out of her fragile hiding spot.

"You're going to be worth a lot, little one," the figure croaked, the voice raspy and laced with malice. "Those wings of yours will fetch a great price."

Kaia whimpered, her tiny hands reaching for the figure’s cloak, her mind fuzzy with confusion and fear. "Mama... dada... wanna go home," she muttered, her words slurred in her toddler speech as she struggled to free herself. The desperation in her voice was clear, but the figure’s grip on her was unrelenting.

The cold fingers wrapped around her wings next, pulling at them sharply. The pain sent a cry bubbling up from her throat, but the figure paid it no mind. “So fragile,” they sneered, tugging harder. “You’ll be worth a fortune once I’m done with you."

Kaia’s sobs echoed through the small, dark room as the figure dragged her, completely unaware of the devastation they were about to unleash. "Mama... please," she cried, reaching out for someone—anyone. But there was no one to hear her.

The figure grinned under the hood, their fingers twisting in her wings again, causing Kaia to flinch, her face scrunching up in pain. “They’ll pay so much for these,” the figure muttered, focused entirely on their cruel intentions.

Kaia could barely hold back the tears, her small body shaking as the cold pressed against her skin. "Dada..." she whimpered again, trying to curl into herself, her wings twitching with pain as they were handled so roughly. "I wanna go home..."

But there was no home in this moment. Only the cruel grip of the figure, and the darkness closing in on her.

-----

The grand meeting room of the Day Court was bathed in sunlight, golden rays streaming through the tall arched windows. The High Lords sat around the gleaming marble table, each adorned in the symbols of their respective courts. Despite the grandeur of the setting, the tension in the room was palpable, an undercurrent of unease rippling through the air.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his usual calm demeanour stretched thin. His violet eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his jaw set tight as he addressed the gathering. Cassian stood to his right, his massive frame tense, and his hazel eyes filled with barely restrained fury. Morrigan stood to Rhysand’s left, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

Helion, seated closest to Rhysand, leaned forward, his sharp gaze flicking between the others as he clasped his hands. Thesan’s calm, analytical expression did little to hide the concern in his soft eyes. Tarquin sat upright, his brow furrowed in quiet contemplation, while Kallias and Viviane exchanged uneasy glances. Tamlin’s expression was unreadable, though his presence alone carried the weight of tension from years of strained alliances. And Eris, with his trademark smirk, lounged lazily in his chair, a mocking gleam in his amber eyes.

“I appreciate you all coming on such short notice,” Rhysand began, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority. “I wouldn’t have called this meeting unless it was of the utmost importance.”

Eris raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “No Azriel here to lurk in the shadows? And where’s your sister, Rhysand? Surely, the infamous beauty wouldn’t miss a meeting like this.”

Cassian’s fist slammed onto the table with enough force to rattle the glasses of water set before them. The room fell silent as every gaze turned to him. His hazel eyes blazed with fury as he leaned toward Eris, his voice a dangerous growl. “Watch your mouth, Vanserra.”

Eris merely chuckled, unfazed. “Touchy, aren’t we? I was only asking.”

Rhysand lifted a hand to silence Cassian, though his gaze was a razor-sharp warning to Eris. “They aren’t here because they are both dealing with something far more important. My niece—Azriel and my sister’s daughter—has gone missing.”

The smirk dropped from Eris’s face instantly. The room grew heavy with shock as Rhysand continued, his voice breaking slightly, though he masked it with a carefully controlled tone. “She disappeared in the Illyrian forests. Given the terrain, the weather, and the search efforts already made, it’s clear she is no longer there. That leaves us with the terrifying possibility that she could be anywhere—any court. She’s two years old, defenceless, and vulnerable.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Eris’s usual mockery was absent as he processed the gravity of the situation. Tarquin’s blue eyes widened in alarm, and Kallias’s hands clenched the arms of his chair. Helion’s golden eyes darkened with uncharacteristic solemnity, while Thesan leaned forward, his voice soft but firm.

“Rhysand, you have our full cooperation,” Thesan said. “Anything we can do to aid in finding her, we will do without hesitation.”

Viviane nodded in agreement. “Anything. Just tell us where to start.”

Tarquin placed a hand on the table, his expression grim. “I’ll have my soldiers begin searching the coastline immediately.”

Helion spoke next, his voice rich and serious. “I’ve already informed my spies to keep their eyes and ears open. If she’s anywhere in the Day Court, we’ll find her.”

Tamlin, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his deep voice steady. “The Spring Court will join the search. No child should ever be taken like this.”

Eris’s tone was unusually sombre as he added, “The Autumn Court will assist as well. If she’s crossed into my territory, I’ll know.”

Rhysand inclined his head, his voice heavy with gratitude. “Thank you. She means everything to us—everything to her parents. Time is of the essence. If anyone hears anything, no matter how small, inform me immediately.”

The meeting shifted into focused strategizing, the High Lords leaning forward as they poured over the possibilities. A map of Prythian was unrolled across the table, detailing borders, territories, and the regions closest to the Illyrian wilderness where Kaia had gone missing. Rhysand tapped a finger against the eastern forests, his violet eyes scanning the map with methodical precision.

“She couldn’t have wandered far on her own. Someone took her,” Rhys began, his voice sharp and unyielding. “It’s not a question of if, but who.”

Helion leaned forward, his golden robes catching the light as he studied the map. “The borders between the Day Court and the Night Court are vast, with countless unpatrolled areas. If the culprit is clever, they could easily slip through undetected. But transporting a child—especially one as unique as Kaia—will leave a trail. Someone must have seen something.”

Thesan nodded, his brow furrowed. “I’ll send word to my sentinels to question travellers passing through. If anyone saw a figure with a child, we’ll know. They’ll be watching the skies for anyone attempting to fly, as well.”

Tarquin gestured to the southern coastline on the map. “If they’ve headed toward the sea, my ships will intercept them. No one leaves my waters without my permission. I’ll send my fastest messengers to my fleet commanders.”

Kallias traced a gloved finger along the northern borders of his court, his icy blue eyes narrowing. “If they’re heading north, the frigid weather will slow them down, but it also means Kaia is at greater risk. Viviane and I will deploy scouts to comb through the areas closest to our border with Autumn.”

Eris’s amber eyes lingered on the section of the map marking his court. “If they’ve crossed into Autumn, I’ll know. My patrols are ruthless, and no one enters my forests without me hearing about it. But this wasn’t random.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone calculating. “Whoever took her must have known what they were doing. She wasn’t just stolen by accident—they had a plan.”

Cassian growled low in his throat, his wings flexing as he loomed over the table. “Whoever they are, they’ll wish they never laid eyes on her.”

Rhysand shot him a look, silencing him with a subtle gesture. “He’s right, though. This wasn’t a random act. Kaia’s unique heritage makes her a target. She’s an Illyrian child with the blood of a High Lord running through her veins—there’s power in that, even if she’s still too young to wield it.”

Viviane’s voice was soft but steady. “Do you think it could be someone targeting your family specifically? Perhaps someone from the Illyrian war camps?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, his voice cold. “If that’s the case, they’ll regret it. But we can’t rule out other courts—or even forces outside Prythian. We’ve made enemies over the centuries.”

Helion drummed his fingers on the table, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been at peace with Hybern’s remnants since the war ended, but there are always factions that resist. Rebels who would see chaos sown by taking someone as valuable as Kaia.”

Tamlin, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. “Have you considered the possibility that this could be the work of fae traffickers? Children like her would fetch a high price in certain circles—especially with her wings.”

Cassian’s fist clenched, and the table creaked ominously. Rhysand’s face darkened, his power swirling faintly around him. “We’ll explore every possibility. No matter who it is, no matter where they’ve taken her, we’ll find her.”

Morrigan’s voice cut through the tension, clear and resolute. “I’ll winnow to Velaris and send out more of our spies. If anyone hears even a whisper of where she might be, we’ll know.”

Thesan tilted his head, his calm demeanour masking a sharp intellect. “If this is organized, they may already be moving her between locations. We need to act fast and be ready to strike as soon as we have any lead.”

Rhysand nodded, his eyes blazing with determination. “I need all of you to coordinate with your courts and keep your networks on high alert. We don’t rest until Kaia is home. Whatever resources you need, I’ll provide.”

The High Lords murmured their agreements, each of them committing their forces to the search. As they continued analysing the map, discussing potential routes and weak points in the borders, the storm outside the Day Court raged on, mirroring the fury and fear driving the meeting within.

-----

The silence of the house felt deafening, an unnatural stillness that made every creak of the floorboards and sigh of the wind outside seem louder. You sat on the floor of Kaia’s room, surrounded by the small, delicate reminders of her—the tiny bed with its soft blankets, the colourful stack of books she loved to make you read again and again, the wooden blocks still scattered from the last time she played. The faint scent of her still lingered, sweet and innocent, like lavender and the fresh breeze she always brought with her.

In your trembling hands was her favourite teddy, the one Azriel had given her when she was barely a few days old. The well-worn plush was soft from constant hugs and carried the faintest trace of her baby powder and warmth. You clutched it to your chest like it was your lifeline, your body shaking with silent, heaving sobs that wracked your frame.

You didn’t even try to muffle them anymore. The walls had already heard your grief for days now, and the house had absorbed the weight of your despair like a sponge. Your tears soaked into the teddy’s fur as your fingers curled tightly around it, desperate for something—anything—that could bridge the widening void in your chest.

"Kaia," you whispered brokenly, your voice cracking as fresh tears streamed down your face. The sound of her name was both a balm and a dagger. "Oh, my baby... where are you?"

You couldn’t stop the flood of memories that rushed in—her tiny laugh as she chased after bubbles in the garden, the way she’d reach her arms up to you and call for “Mama” in her sweet, high-pitched voice, the warmth of her little hands tugging at your hair. You pressed the teddy closer to your face, inhaling deeply as though you could still capture some remnant of her presence.

Azriel’s absence weighed heavily, too. He was out searching again, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he dropped from exhaustion. But even his unyielding determination hadn’t been enough to bring her back. You felt the bond between you two faintly, muted by his distance, and you knew he was feeling the same crushing guilt, the same helplessness that had been suffocating you for two weeks.

A knock on the door broke through the haze of your grief, soft and hesitant. You didn’t even bother to look up as it creaked open, revealing Rhysand. His usual composure was gone, replaced by a raw, haunted expression that mirrored your own.

He hesitated for a moment, as though unsure if he should intrude, but then he crossed the room and knelt beside you. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him. You didn’t resist.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with his own sorrow. "I—if I could take all this pain away, I would. If I could trade places with her, I—"

"Stop," you croaked, cutting him off. Your voice was barely a whisper. "Just... stop. This isn’t your fault."

But it felt like everyone’s fault. Yours for not being there. His for not protecting her. Azriel’s for trusting anyone else to care for her. The guilt swirled endlessly, eating away at all of you.

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take," you admitted, burying your face in the teddy again. "It’s been two weeks, Rhys. Two weeks, and we’ve found nothing. Nothing!"

He tightened his hold on you, resting his chin atop your head. "We’ll find her," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your sobs consume you again, your grief pouring out into the small, empty room that no longer felt like the sanctuary it once was.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your tear-streaked face with trembling fingers. The silence hung heavy between you and Rhys as the weight of your grief pressed down on your chest, suffocating. When you finally spoke, your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it carried years of buried pain.

“I feel... exactly like I did the night Mom and Kaia were killed, I knew I'd name my daughter after our sister straight away,” you choked out, gripping Kaia’s teddy so tightly it felt like the seams might burst. “That same... hollow, hopeless feeling. Like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

Rhys stiffened beside you, his breath catching audibly in his throat. You knew he remembered that night as vividly as you did—he’d been there. He’d seen the blood, the chaos, the heartbreak. And he’d seen you, broken and battered, left wingless and shattered in ways no one could ever truly fix.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice strained, pleading. “Don’t go back there. Please.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, your voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “This... this is the same, Rhys. That same crushing helplessness. The same... loss. I wasn’t enough to save them, and now I wasn’t enough to protect Kaia. My own daughter.”

“Stop it,” Rhys said firmly, his hands gripping your shoulders now, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes were glassy, full of guilt and anguish, but they burned with a desperate determination. “Don’t do this to yourself. You didn’t fail Kaia. And you didn’t fail Mom or our sister. You fought for them. You fought harder than anyone could have asked.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “But I lost them anyway. I lost them, Rhys. And now it’s happening again. I don’t... I don’t know if I can survive this a second time. I can’t lose Kaia. I can’t.”

Rhys’s face crumpled at your words, his composure slipping as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could without hurting you. “You’re not going to lose her,” he said, his voice raw. “We’ll find her. We will. I promise you that.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “You don’t know that,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder. “You can’t promise me that.”

He didn’t respond, because you were right. No one could promise anything anymore. But he held you anyway, his embrace a silent vow that he would do everything in his power to bring her back.

The sobs wracked your body before you could stop them, your chest heaving as you clung to Rhys. Your hands balled into fists, gripping the fabric of his tunic like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, soaking into his shoulder as you buried your face against him.

“I can’t do this, Rhys,” you choked out between sobs. “I can’t. She’s just a baby—my baby. She must be so scared, so cold, and I’m just sitting here, doing nothing. I—”

Your words broke off into a guttural cry, your voice hoarse from days of screaming and sobbing. Rhys’s arms wrapped tighter around you, his hand smoothing over your hair in slow, calming strokes, but it did nothing to quell the storm raging inside you.

“You’re not doing nothing,” he murmured, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You’re here. You’re fighting for her, even if it doesn’t feel like it. We’re going to find her.”

But his words felt hollow, and your sobs only grew louder, more desperate. “It’s been two weeks, Rhys! Two weeks! What if—what if she’s gone? What if I never see her again?”

“Don’t,” Rhys said sharply, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His violet eyes met yours, filled with both sorrow and determination. “Don’t let yourself go there. She’s out there, and we’re going to find her. We will. I swear it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over as you collapsed against him again, your body trembling with the weight of your grief. “I feel like I’ve already lost her,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And I don’t know how to survive that, Rhys. I don’t.”

Rhys’s arms tightened around you, his own breath hitching as he rested his chin on top of your head. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly. “You’ve got me, and Cass, and Feyre, and Az. We’re all in this together. And we’re not going to stop until she’s home.”

His words settled over you like a fragile thread of hope, barely enough to hold on to, but you clung to it anyway. Because you had to. Because the thought of Kaia out there, alone and afraid, was unbearable. And if hope was all you had left, you would hold on to it with everything you had.

Your body felt like it was shutting down, the weight of exhaustion finally overpowering the adrenaline and grief that had kept you awake for days. Your sobs slowed, your breathing evening out as Rhys's steady presence soothed you into a reluctant calm. Your head rested against his chest, your limbs growing heavier by the second, the emotional storm leaving you utterly drained.

“You need sleep,” Rhys murmured gently, his hand still stroking your hair. “You can’t keep going like this.”

You mumbled something incoherent, too tired to argue, too tired to do anything but let the weight pull you further into darkness. Rhys felt it—the way your body grew slack against him, the way your breaths deepened, the tension in your frame slowly unravelling.

Carefully, he shifted, sliding his arms under you and lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you through the silent house, his footsteps soft and deliberate, not wanting to stir you even the slightest bit. The familiar scent of home surrounded you, but you didn’t stir as he pushed open the door to your and Azriel’s room.

The room was quiet, untouched since you’d last been there together. Rhys laid you down gently on the bed, his movements careful as if afraid you might shatter under his touch. He straightened the blankets around you, tucking them in snugly, and hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling on the teddy bear you had been clutching earlier.

Reaching over to the chair where he had set it, Rhys placed the soft, worn toy in your arms, arranging it so your fingers naturally curled around it. The sight of you holding it, even in sleep, made his chest ache.

Rhys stood there for a moment longer, watching you breathe. Your face, though tear-streaked and weary, had finally softened in the grasp of much-needed rest. “We’ll find her,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he said the words aloud, as much a promise to himself as to you.

With one last look, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. For the first time in days, you slept, Kaia’s teddy tucked tightly in your arms, as Rhys carried the weight of your grief with him into the silence of the house.

-----

Azriel stood in the training room of the House of Wind, the silence only broken by the dull thud of his fists against the punching bag. His knuckles were raw, his movements relentless. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Two weeks. Two weeks of searching. Two weeks of nothing. No tracks, no scents, no shadows whispering a single clue about where his daughter had been taken. He was fraying at the seams—rage and despair warring within him, eating him alive. His mind was a loop of dark thoughts: I failed her. I failed my mate. I’ve failed everyone.

He hadn’t spoken to you in days. Not since you’d screamed at him, not since you told him how disappointed you were in him. The memory of your words was another blade twisting in his chest, a constant reminder of how deeply he had let you down. He deserved it.

The door to the training room creaked open, but Azriel didn’t stop. His fists connected with the bag again and again, the sound reverberating in the empty space.

“Az,” Cassian’s voice broke through, steady but cautious.

Azriel didn’t acknowledge him, his focus fixed on the bag, each punch harder than the last.

Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “Az, you’re going to tear your hands apart if you keep this up.”

“Good,” Azriel muttered darkly, his voice low and hoarse.

Cassian frowned, his wings shifting behind him. “You need to let it out. Really let it out. And beating that bag into dust isn’t going to help.”

Azriel paused for a moment, his hands falling to his sides as he panted, his shoulders heaving with every breath. He didn’t look at Cassian, his gaze fixed on the ground. “What do you want me to do, Cass? Sit here and pretend I’m not losing my mind? Pretend I’m not—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head.

“No one’s asking you to pretend,” Cassian said softly, stepping closer. “But this... This isn’t going to help you. You need to get it out. Properly.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his shadows curling tightly around him.

“Come on,” Cassian pressed, grabbing a pair of sparring swords from the rack and tossing one to him. Azriel caught it reflexively, glaring at his brother.

Cassian smirked faintly, a poor imitation of his usual grin. “Let it out on me. You look like you need to hit someone.”

Azriel stared at the sword in his hand, his grip tightening around the hilt. For a moment, he said nothing, but then he finally looked up, his hazel eyes burning with a mix of fury and anguish.

“Fine,” he growled, stepping onto the sparring mat.

Cassian mirrored him, adjusting his stance. “Good. Don’t think, just fight.”

Azriel’s first strike came hard and fast, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing through the room. Cassian barely blocked it, grunting at the force.

“Damn, Az,” he muttered. “Not holding back at all, huh?”

“Don’t ask for it if you can’t take it,” Azriel snarled, his movements sharp and precise, his sword an extension of his rage.

Cassian met him blow for blow, the sparring turning into a brutal dance of strikes and parries. Azriel fought like a man possessed, every swing of his blade fuelled by the storm raging inside him.

“You’re angry. Good. Use it,” Cassian encouraged, his own movements growing faster to keep up with Azriel’s relentless assault.

“I’m not angry,” Azriel snapped, his voice raw. “I’m fucking—” His words broke off as he lunged forward, the clash of their swords sparking in the dim light.

“Furious. Heartbroken. Lost.” Cassian finished for him, blocking another strike. “I know, Az. I know.”

Azriel let out a guttural sound, a mix between a growl and a cry, as he pushed harder, his strikes wild yet calculated. Cassian absorbed the blows, giving as good as he got, but never aiming to truly hurt. This wasn’t about winning.

The sparring ended abruptly when Azriel dropped his sword, falling to his knees on the mat. His chest heaved, and his hands trembled as he stared at the ground, his shadows writhing chaotically around him.

Cassian crouched in front of him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just stayed there, offering his silent support.

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “I just want her back, Cass. I just want my daughter back.”

Cassian’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “We’ll find her, Az. I swear to you, we’ll find her.”

“Alright,” Cassian said, rising to his full height, his voice calm but firm. “Enough with the swords. You need to fight. Really fight. No weapons. Just fists.”

Azriel didn’t look up, his hands pressing into the mat as his breath came out in ragged gasps.

Cassian stepped closer, crossing his arms. “Az. Get up.”

Azriel slowly raised his head, his hazel eyes bloodshot and brimming with pain. “What’s the point?” he muttered, his voice hollow.

“The point,” Cassian said sharply, “is that you’re going to explode if you don’t let this out. And I’m not letting you fall apart. So, get up, brother. Hit me, like you always threaten me you will.”

Azriel stared at him for a long moment, the war within him playing out across his face. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he pushed himself to his feet. His movements were slow, his body heavy with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a spark reignited by Cassian’s challenge.

“You want me to hit you?” Azriel asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Cassian spread his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m asking you to stop holding back. Stop punishing yourself. Take it out on me instead, it's my fault anyway.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his shadows curling tighter around his body like a second skin. Without another word, he squared his stance, his hands curling into fists.

“Good,” Cassian said, stepping onto the mat and raising his fists. “No thinking, no holding back. Just fight.”

Azriel moved first, his fist cutting through the air like lightning. Cassian dodged, narrowly avoiding the punch, but Azriel followed up with a swift jab that connected with his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Cassian said, grinning despite the impact. “Come on, Az. You can do better than that.”

Azriel’s next swing was faster, harder. Cassian blocked it, countering with a punch of his own that Azriel deflected. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, the fight turning into a brutal rhythm.

Each hit was a release—each swing a way for Azriel to vent the storm raging inside him. His movements were precise, controlled, but there was a ferocity behind them that Cassian had rarely seen.

“You think this is your fault?” Cassian growled as he dodged a hook. “You think you failed her?”

Azriel’s fist slammed into Cassian’s ribs, and he grunted, stumbling back. “I know I failed her,” Azriel snapped, his voice cracking.

“No, you didn’t!” Cassian shouted, stepping forward and landing a hit to Azriel’s side. “You’re her father, Az. You’ve done everything—everything—to find her! Me and Rhys lost her not you!”

“Not enough,” Azriel spat, his punches coming faster now. “It’s never enough. She’s out there, Cass. She’s out there, and I—”

Cassian ducked under a wild swing, grabbing Azriel’s arm and twisting it just enough to stop him without causing harm. “And we’re going to find her. But you killing yourself over this? That’s not going to help her.”

Azriel wrenched his arm free, shoving Cassian back. “What do you know?” he hissed, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child! You don't know how it feels to leave your precious little girl with the only two men you trust just so they could lose her!”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Cassian’s expression softened, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. But I know what it’s like to lose a brother. And I’m not losing you, Az. Not like this.”

Azriel’s fists trembled at his sides, his chest heaving as he struggled to hold himself together.

Cassian stepped closer, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to break. But you don’t get to give up. Not on her. Not on yourself.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as the weight of Cassian’s words settled over him. His knees buckled, and Cassian caught him before he could fall, holding him up with a steady grip.

“You’re not alone in this, Az,” Cassian said quietly, his voice steady. “We’ll find her. Together.”

Azriel didn’t respond, but the tension in his body slowly eased as he leaned into Cassian’s support, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath.

Cassian sat beside Azriel on the training room floor, his breathing still heavy from their fight. Azriel’s knuckles were raw, bloodied from the hits he’d thrown, and his face was a mix of exhaustion and despair. Cassian studied his brother for a moment before speaking, his voice quieter now, softer.

“Az,” Cassian began, his tone laced with both authority and care. “You need to go to her.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. His hazel eyes stared blankly ahead, shadows still curling faintly around him. “She’s better off without me right now,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “I can’t… I can’t look her in the eye. Not after this.”

Cassian frowned, shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t reply.

“Rhys told me,” Cassian continued, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “He said she’s been crying nonstop. That she hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten properly. She’s falling apart, Az. And you know what? She misses you.”

Azriel’s head dropped into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair as if trying to ground himself.

“She needs you, brother,” Cassian pressed, his voice firm but compassionate. “You think you’re the only one suffering here? She’s your mate. She’s feeling every ounce of your pain, your guilt, your anger. And she’s carrying it all on top of her own grief.”

Azriel’s breath hitched, his shoulders trembling slightly.

“You’re a team,” Cassian said, placing a heavy hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “And she loves you. More than anything. Don’t push her away because you’re drowning in your own guilt. Go to her, Az. Let her remind you why you’re fighting so damn hard.”

Azriel finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Cassian’s. “I don’t know what to say to her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do I look at her and tell her I’ve failed her? That I’ve failed our daughter?”

Cassian squeezed his shoulder, his expression both understanding and unyielding. “You don’t have to have the answers, Az. Just be there. Hold her. Let her hold you. That’s all she needs right now.”

For a long moment, Azriel said nothing, the weight of Cassian’s words settling over him. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he nodded.

Cassian stood, holding out a hand to help Azriel up. “Go,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Before I have to drag your stubborn ass to her myself.”

Azriel managed a faint, humorless chuckle as he took Cassian’s hand and stood. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Cassian nodded, watching as Azriel made his way toward the door. As the shadowsinger disappeared from view, Cassian let out a long breath, hoping his brother would find the strength he needed in the arms of the one person who could truly ground him.

-----

Azriel winnowed directly into the quiet of the living room, the familiar scent of home hitting him like a blow to the chest. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, but it was the figure hunched over the map table that immediately caught his attention.

Rhysand didn’t look up right away. His shoulders were tense, his hair dishevelled as he stared down at yet another map spread across the table, lines and markings indicating potential search areas. He looked as exhausted as Azriel felt—worn thin by the weight of guilt and desperation.

“I knew you’d show up eventually,” Rhys said without preamble, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Azriel didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stepped further into the room. His eyes flicked to the maps, the endless marks, and notes that Rhys had likely been pouring over for hours. The High Lord finally straightened, turning to face him.

“You’re a coward for staying away this long,” Rhys said bluntly, though there was no malice in his tone—just weariness. “But I guess you already know that.”

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around him, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Where is she?” he asked, his voice strained, almost hesitant.

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I carried her to your room not long ago,” he said. “She finally passed out after days of crying and screaming herself hoarse. I’ve never seen her like that, Az. And I’ve never been so angry at you for not being here when she needed you most.”

Azriel flinched, the words hitting their mark. He didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t.

Rhys stepped closer, his violet eyes sharp and unforgiving. “You think you’ve failed her? You think you’ve failed Kaia? You’re not the only one carrying that guilt, brother. But staying away only made it worse. For her. For all of us.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. “I didn’t know how to face her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys softened slightly, though his expression remained stern. “You’re here now,” he said. “That’s what matters. Go to her, Azriel. She needs you.”

Azriel nodded stiffly, his shadows flickering as he turned toward the hallway leading to their room. Rhys watched him go, his own exhaustion etched deeply into his features. Once Azriel was out of sight, Rhys turned back to the maps, his jaw tightening as he resumed the relentless task of trying to bring his niece home.

Azriel stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, the familiar scent of lavender and you enveloping him like a long-lost comfort. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if the very air around him carried the weight of his guilt and exhaustion.

There you were, curled up on your side in the massive bed you once shared so easily. Now it felt like a chasm had opened between you. Your face was turned toward the door, cheeks streaked with dried tears, your lashes still damp. In your arms, you clutched one of Kaia’s favourite teddies, holding it as if it could somehow tether you to her.

The sight nearly broke him.

His heart clenched painfully as he took in how fragile you looked, how drained. It wasn’t just the sleepless nights; it was the ache of a mother separated from her child, compounded by the distance he had forced between you. He had done this—added to your suffering when he should have been your anchor.

Azriel approached slowly, careful not to wake you. His shadows coiled around him like silent sentries, sensing the heavy turmoil in his heart. He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze drinking in every detail of you. The way your fingers were knotted around the teddy, the way your breathing hitched slightly even in sleep, as though the pain lingered even in your dreams.

He sank down onto the mattress beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out but stopped short of touching you. He didn’t deserve to. Not after everything. But gods, he wanted to.

The soft glow of the bedside candle flickered, casting shadows across the room, and for a moment, he let himself imagine Kaia curled up in the bed with you, her tiny wings tucked in as she clutched that same teddy. The thought nearly undid him.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. The words were meant for you, for Kaia, for the version of himself he didn’t know how to forgive.

His head bowed, his hands gripping his knees as he sat there, keeping vigil by your side.

You stirred, groggy and disoriented, the remnants of an uneasy sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog. The dim light of the room filtered through your lashes as you blinked, trying to clear the haze from your mind. Your arms instinctively tightened around the soft teddy you had been clutching, the faintest trace of Kaia's scent still lingering on it, a bittersweet comfort.

As your eyes fluttered open fully, you felt the presence before you saw him. You turned your head slowly and froze when you saw Azriel sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. His siphons caught the faint light, but it was the exhaustion etched into his face that stopped your breath.

“Azriel?” Your voice was a rasp, raw from days of crying and lack of sleep.

His head lifted at the sound of your voice, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The weight of his guilt and anguish was unmistakable, almost unbearable to look at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible.

You sat up slowly, the teddy still clutched in your lap, as the memories of the past weeks came rushing back. The empty space in your arms where Kaia should have been. The suffocating silence that had stretched between you and Azriel. The raw ache of hope slipping further from your grasp with every passing day.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended, though it carried the undertone of your pain.

“I had to see you,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t—” He stopped, his hands running through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “I know I’ve failed you. I’ve failed her. But I—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice trembling as fresh tears pricked your eyes. “Don’t sit there and tell me things I already know, Azriel.”

The words came out harsher than you intended, but the dam holding back your emotions had cracked wide open. He flinched, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he clasped his hands together tightly, as if trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix us.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence in the room as heavy as the grief you both carried. Then, slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. His head snapped up at the touch, and you saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“We can’t fix this,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “Not until we find her. Until she’s home.”

Azriel nodded, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “We will. I swear to you, we will.”

Azriel didn’t say anything else. Instead, he moved closer, closing the distance between you. Slowly, cautiously, as if he feared you’d push him away, he reached out and pulled you into his arms. His hands trembled slightly as they slid around your back, drawing you against his chest.

Your face pressed against the familiar curve of his shoulder, and you breathed in his scent—a mixture of shadows, cedar, and something uniquely him that had always made you feel safe. A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, spilling silently as you clung to him.

His wings unfolded, draping around you like a protective cocoon, shutting out the world beyond the two of you. The warmth they provided was immediate, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you’d been feeling for weeks. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only with the sound of your shaky breaths and his steady heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice cracking as his arms tightened around you. “For everything. For not being enough. For not protecting her. For letting you carry this alone.”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face deeper into his neck, your tears soaking into his skin. “Azriel,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him. “I can’t do this without her. I can’t.”

“You won’t have to,” he whispered fiercely, his wings pressing closer, holding you as if he could shield you from the unbearable pain. “I’ll bring her back. I’ll find her. I swear it, Y/N. I won’t stop until I do.”

His voice broke, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the weight of his own grief, his own torment, as he held you. You tightened your grip on him, the bond between you trembling but unyielding, even in the face of your shared despair.

For now, in the safety of his arms and the shelter of his wings, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

Rhys’s knock on the door was sharp and purposeful, and you pulled back from Azriel with a soft sniffle as he gave you a moment’s space. Your eyes were still swollen from crying, and your throat ached with the weight of the grief you had been carrying for the past two weeks.

Azriel stood as you slowly wiped your face, his wings folding behind him, his jaw clenched tightly. Neither of you spoke as Rhys’s voice came through the door, his usual calmness tinged with urgency.

“Azriel, Y/N,” Rhys called from the other side. “Lucien and Eris have arrived. They have information. We need to talk.”

You looked at Azriel, his gaze steady but full of unresolved pain, before he nodded at you to stay close. Without a word, you followed him as he opened the door.

Lucien and Eris stood just beyond the threshold, their presence filling the room. Lucien’s amber eyes flicked to you briefly, but he quickly turned his attention to Azriel, who had stepped in front of you protectively, his posture rigid with barely contained tension.

“Azriel,” Lucien began, his voice low, “Eris has been tracking some unusual movement around the area. We believe there’s been some trafficking—human and other species—passing through. If Eris’s calculations are right, more might be coming through soon.”

Eris stood with his arms crossed, looking as unbothered as ever, though his golden eyes flickered with a seriousness that wasn’t typical for him. He didn’t speak, letting Lucien handle the exchange.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “Traffickers.” His voice was low, guttural, the word like a growl in his throat. “They could be the ones responsible.”

“They’re likely the ones who have Kaia,” Lucien added, his voice steady but carrying the weight of grim certainty. “There’s been some chatter about the wings, Azriel. We’ve heard whispers about a deal, something involving rare wings... and I suspect your daughter’s are of interest to them.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the mention of Kaia’s wings. She was so young, so small. The thought of anyone wanting to exploit her, to harm her, made your stomach churn in a way that felt like it was splitting you apart.

Azriel’s face hardened into a mask of resolve, but his eyes betrayed the barely contained fury and anguish he was struggling with. “Where are they?” His voice was nearly a whisper, but the command was undeniable.

Eris finally spoke, his voice low but sharp. “The traffickers are known to have a base somewhere in the Autumn Court. We need to move quickly before they disperse again. If we’re too slow, we might lose them.”

Rhys stepped forward then, his hands resting on his hips as he addressed Azriel. “We need to act fast. We can’t let them slip through our fingers.”

You felt Azriel’s entire body tense, but it wasn’t just from the raw anger that coursed through him. He was terrified. You could feel it. Terrified of failing her again.

“We leave now,” Azriel finally said, his voice hard and unwavering. “Tell the courts to prepare. We’ll go immediately.”

Lucien and Eris nodded in sync, and though their faces were etched with grim determination, you could see the concern in their eyes for both of you.

Azriel reached for you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice rough, like he had to force the words out. “We’ll get her back. I promise.”

You nodded, clenching your jaw as you fought the tears that still threatened to spill. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so instead, you simply took his hand. The urgency of the situation loomed over all of you now, and there was no time for more words. You had to move, and you had to do it quickly.

Azriel gave you one last look before turning toward Lucien and Eris, his wings unfurling as they made their way to the front of the house. Rhys followed, his presence a constant weight of support at your back as you prepared to head into the unknown once more, your heart racing with a renewed sense of purpose.

This time, you weren’t going to let anything stop you from bringing your daughter home.

-----

Kaia sat curled up in the tiny cage beneath the desk, her small body trembling from both fear and the chill that had seeped into her bones. Her little wings were pressed uncomfortably against the bars, and her cheeks were streaked with tears as she whimpered softly, clutching at the tiny threadbare blanket the hooded figure had thrown at her earlier. It did little to keep her warm or comfort her.

“Dada,” she whispered, her tiny voice barely audible. “Mama… wanna go home…”

The hooded figure loomed nearby, rummaging through a chest filled with ominous-looking tools and trinkets. The room was dark and cramped, the faint light from a single lantern casting eerie shadows across the walls. The air smelled of damp wood and iron, making it hard for her to breathe without sobbing.

When her quiet whimpering grew louder, the figure spun around, their voice a sharp, angry rasp. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Kaia flinched, her tiny body jerking back against the cold metal bars of the cage. She sniffled, biting her trembling lip to try to stay quiet, but she couldn’t help the small, frightened hiccup that escaped.

The figure stormed over, grabbing the edge of the cage and shaking it roughly. “I said, shut up!” they snarled. Without warning, they reached in and grabbed one of her fragile wings, tugging it sharply. Kaia let out a high-pitched scream of pain, her sobs growing louder as she struggled against the hold.

“Hurts!” she cried, her words barely understandable through her sobs. “Hurts! No! Stop! Wanna go home! Dada, Mama, help!”

The hooded figure yanked harder, inspecting the delicate membrane of her wings as if assessing their value. “These’ll fetch me a fortune,” they muttered to themselves, ignoring her cries entirely. “Rare Illyrian wings like these... perfect for what I need.”

Kaia thrashed weakly, her small hands pushing at the bars of the cage as she tried to wriggle free. “No! Stop!” she wailed, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Dada, where are you? Mama, come get me!”

The figure shoved her back into the cage roughly, her head bumping against the bars as she collapsed into a heap of tears and cries. “Cry all you want,” they hissed. “No one’s coming for you.”

Kaia’s sobs turned into quiet, hiccupping whimpers as she curled into herself, clutching at her tiny blanket again. “Mama... Dada… pwease…” she murmured, her voice fading into tired whispers as exhaustion finally began to pull at her small body.

But even as her cries quieted, her tears continued to fall. She didn’t understand why her mama and dada weren’t there yet. She didn’t understand why this person was so mean. All she wanted was to be safe in her mama’s arms and feel her dada’s wings wrapped around her again.

-----

It had been three agonizing days since the High Lords' meeting, three days since Azriel had returned home to you, and three more days of utter silence about Kaia’s whereabouts. Every corner of the forests had been searched. The mountains, the rivers, the camps—nothing. No trace of Kaia. No whisper of the traffickers. No signs of hope.

You and Azriel had stayed in Velaris, though the weight of the empty nursery upstairs felt unbearable. The curtains remained drawn, casting shadows over the house, as though the absence of light could somehow ease the absence of your daughter. But it didn’t. Nothing did.

Azriel hadn’t spoken much over the last few days, his grief and guilt suffocating him like a heavy shroud. He spent hours pouring over maps, speaking in clipped tones to Rhys through their bond or sharpening his already pristine blades in the living room, the repetitive scrape of steel against whetstone filling the silence. He refused to eat unless you practically forced him to, and the sight of his haunted, hollow expression shattered you every time you looked at him.

You hadn’t fared much better. The raw ache in your chest only seemed to deepen with each passing day. Kaia’s laugh, her tiny feet pattering on the floor, her bright, curious eyes—those memories were an unbearable torment now. You clung to the tattered hope that she was still alive somewhere, waiting for you to find her. But the longer the search dragged on, the harder it became to keep that hope alive.

“Three days,” you whispered to yourself as you sat by the fire in the living room, clutching one of Kaia’s favourite blankets. It still smelled faintly of her, and you held it close, trying to ignore the sting of tears that blurred your vision. “Three days and nothing…”

Rhys sat across from you, his face drawn and pale. He had been orchestrating search parties day and night, rarely sleeping, barely eating. He looked older, wearier, as though the weight of his failures as High Lord—and as an uncle—was bearing down on him. “We’re not giving up,” he said softly, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “We’ll keep looking. We’ll—”

“She could be anywhere!” you snapped, the grief in your voice turning sharp. “It’s been almost four weeks now, Rhys. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to her in that time? She's out there because of you being a fool!” Your hands trembled as you clutched the blanket tighter. “She’s just a baby…”

Rhys flinched at your words but didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Azriel, who stood silently by the window, staring out at the city below, didn’t react either. His shoulders were rigid, his wings tucked tightly behind him as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Cassian burst through the front door, shaking snow off his boots. His face was grim, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “Still nothing,” he said, his voice rough. “The snowstorm last night erased any tracks. If they were moving her—”

“Stop,” Azriel said suddenly, his voice low and raw. He turned from the window, his hazel eyes blazing with grief and fury. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s alive. We’ll find her.”

Cassian nodded, but his expression gave away his doubt. “We’re doing everything we can, Az. But we need more—”

“We need her back,” Azriel interrupted, his voice breaking. He sank into a nearby chair, running a hand through his hair. “Every day we don’t find her… I—”

You moved to his side, kneeling beside him as tears slid silently down your cheeks. “We’ll find her,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. You had to believe it, even if it felt like the words were losing their meaning.

-----

The air in the Autumn Court woods was sharp and biting, the trees looming tall and ancient, their bare branches reaching out like skeletal hands. Snow crunched beneath heavy boots as Eris led the search party, his face set in a mask of determination. Beside him, Lucien walked silently, his single russet eye scanning the dense forest with precision, the other hidden behind a leather patch.

Around them, Eris's twelve shadow hounds prowled the perimeter, their sleek black forms blending almost seamlessly with the darkened undergrowth. The hounds moved with eerie grace, their noses low to the ground, sniffing for any trace of the traffickers or the missing child.

Eris broke the silence first, his tone clipped but not unkind. "We’re wasting daylight. If they moved through here, it would’ve been under cover of night, and the snowstorm two days ago would’ve wiped out any tracks.”

Lucien tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenching. “The traffickers don’t care about the weather. If they’re desperate enough, they’d push through.” His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it—a simmering rage that had been building since the meeting with the High Lords.

One of the shadow hounds let out a low growl, its head snapping toward a cluster of dense brush. The other hounds froze in unison, their ears perking up, noses twitching as they picked up something—something faint but unmistakable.

Eris raised a hand, signalling the guards to stop. “What is it?” he murmured, his sharp golden eyes narrowing as he followed the hounds’ movements.

The largest of the hounds, a beast nearly the size of a horse, nosed its way into the brush, its growl deepening. A moment later, it emerged, carrying a torn scrap of cloth in its powerful jaws. The fabric was small, delicate, and unmistakably child-sized. Eris’s breath hitched, and he took the scrap from the hound, holding it up for Lucien to see.

Lucien’s face darkened. “That’s from Velaris,” he said grimly. “One of hers.”

Eris’s lips pressed into a thin line as he handed the cloth to one of the guards. “Send this to Rhysand immediately. He’ll want to confirm it.”

The guard nodded and disappeared into the trees, his magic crackling faintly as he prepared to winnow. Eris turned back to Lucien, his voice low. “If this is hers, then they were here recently. The hounds wouldn’t have picked up the scent otherwise.”

Lucien nodded, his fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to draw his blade. “We press on. If we’re close, we can’t afford to stop now.”

Eris didn’t argue. He whistled sharply, and the shadow hounds took off again, their forms disappearing into the forest like living shadows. The guards followed closely behind, their weapons drawn and senses on high alert.

The woods grew darker as they pressed deeper, the canopy overhead blocking out what little light filtered through the overcast sky. The air felt colder here, heavier, as though the forest itself held its breath.

Lucien glanced at Eris, his voice tense. “If we find her—when we find her—what do you plan to do to the bastards who took her?”

Eris’s golden eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light. “They’ll wish they’d never been born.” His tone was calm, but the promise of violence in his words was unmistakable.

Lucien didn’t respond, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.

He didn't know if this was due to respect that Eris has gained as High Lord or that his brother still has feelings for you.

They moved in silence after that, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the occasional growl of the hounds.

If the traffickers were still in these woods, they wouldn’t remain hidden for long.

-----

The cloaked figure loomed over the tiny cage, their form illuminated by the dim, flickering light of a single lantern. Kaia whimpered, clutching her small arms around her trembling body as the figure’s gnarled, scaly fingers reached for the latch. Their breathing was laboured and raspy, a sinister sound that filled the cramped, decrepit house wagon.

The latch clicked open with a sharp metallic sound, and the figure reached in, grabbing Kaia roughly by her wings. She let out a high-pitched squeal of pain, her tiny voice trembling with fear.

“Stop... hurts! Wan’ Mama, Dada!” Kaia sobbed, kicking her little legs as the figure dragged her out of the cage and plopped her onto a rickety wooden table.

The cloaked figure threw back their hood, revealing a nearly bald head with a few wisps of grey, brittle hair clinging to a sickly, patchy scalp. Their face was gaunt and sallow, their eyes beady and sunken into their face, glinting with malice. Scales mottled their skin, covering their twisted fingers as they moved with eerie precision.

“Quiet,” the figure hissed in a voice as dry and brittle as their appearance. They shoved Kaia down, pinning her small body against the cold surface of the table. “Squirm all you want. It won’t save you.”

Kaia’s sobs turned into wails as she thrashed weakly beneath the figure’s grip, her toddler instincts kicking in to escape. “No, no, no!” she cried, her baby words muddled with desperate hiccups. “Mama... Dada... scared! Wanna go home!”

The figure ignored her, their movements methodical as they pulled out a wickedly sharp blade, its serrated edge catching the faint lantern light. They muttered to themselves, their cracked lips curling into something like a grin. “These will fetch a fine price... such pristine, little wings. Rare, so rare.”

Kaia’s little chest heaved as she tried to wriggle free, her wings twitching painfully under the figure’s iron grip. Her cries grew louder, her baby voice desperate. “No! No cut! Dada save Kaia! Dada!”

The figure snorted, mocking her cries. “Your Dada isn’t coming, child. No one’s coming for you.”

They raised the blade, its cruel edge poised over the base of one delicate wing. Kaia screamed, her tiny hands reaching out as if grasping for the parents she desperately wished were there. “Mama! Dada! Rhysie!”

The blade began to descend, and Kaia’s sobs filled the air, piercing and heart-wrenching, her tiny voice begging, pleading in her toddler way for someone to save her.

-----

Eris and Lucien moved swiftly through the dense forest, their sharp senses on high alert. The shadow hounds sniffed and growled, leading them deeper into the woods. The faint scent of blood and decay lingered in the air, setting their nerves on edge.

Ahead, a decrepit wagon house stood crookedly on the forest floor, its wooden exterior rotting and overgrown with moss. Smoke wafted lazily from a broken chimney, and a faint light flickered through the cracked windows. Eris raised a hand to halt the group, his eyes narrowing.

"Something's off," Lucien murmured, his gaze flicking to the hounds, which were growling lowly, their hackles raised. "It reeks of foul magic."

Without hesitation, Eris strode forward and pounded on the warped wooden door, the force of his knock making the entire structure shake. "Open up!" he barked, his voice carrying the authority of a High Lord’s heir.

There was a rustling sound inside, followed by hurried footsteps. A few tense moments passed before the door creaked open slightly, revealing a hunched figure with a weathered face and wild eyes. The witch’s tangled hair hung in greasy strands, and her bony fingers clutched the edge of the door like claws.

"What do you want?" she croaked, her voice sharp and defensive. "I’ve done nothing to warrant a visit from you prissy princelings."

Eris stepped closer, his golden eyes blazing. "We’re searching for someone—a child, my old friends child actually. Have you seen anything unusual around here?"

The witch’s eyes darted to the side for the briefest moment before she sneered. "What would I want with a child? I live alone. Nothing here but me and my potions." She moved to close the door, but Lucien caught it with a gloved hand.

"Mind if we take a look around?" Lucien asked, his tone deceptively calm but his posture tense. "You wouldn’t want us to think you’re hiding something."

The witch’s lips curled back, revealing yellowed teeth. "I don’t answer to you. Be gone!" Shutting the door.

Inside the wagon, Kaia’s heart raced as she struggled against the rough ropes binding her tiny hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whimpered softly, the gag in her mouth muffling her cries. The witch stormed back toward her, muttering curses under her breath. She snatched Kaia up roughly, her bony hands tugging at the ropes around the toddler’s wings.

“Quiet, brat,” she hissed, shoving Kaia into the cramped cage beneath the table. Kaia’s wings scraped against the cold metal bars as the witch yanked a heavy cloth over the cage, concealing it from view.

The witch spun around, her expression twisted with irritation as she returned to the door. "See? Nothing here but an old woman trying to mind her business. Now get out before I curse your fancy boots!"

Lucien glanced over her shoulder, his mechanical eye whirring as it scanned the dim interior. Eris’s jaw tightened, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. He gestured to the guards to spread out and inspect the area around the wagon.

“Perhaps we’ll stay a little longer,” Eris said, his tone cold and unyielding. "Just in case."

The witch’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing into slits. "You’ve got no right!" she spat, trying to slam the door shut, but Lucien shoved it open. The witch hissed.

Lucien’s patience snapped as the witch tried to block his path. “Enough of this,” he growled, his voice like a blade slicing through the tension. He grabbed the witch by her bony arm, ignoring her screeches and protests, and yanked her out of the wagon with startling force. She stumbled onto the ground, her tattered cloak flying behind her.

"Stay there," Lucien ordered, his mechanical eye glowing as he fixed her with a sharp glare. The witch glared back, her mouth opening to spew another curse, but the pack of shadow hounds surrounded her, their low growls silencing her immediately. She shrank back, clutching her cloak around her.

Inside the wagon, Eris moved with a predator's grace, his golden eyes scanning the dim interior. The place reeked of damp wood, spoiled herbs, and something else—something metallic and sour. The furniture was sparse and crude, and strange jars filled with unidentifiable substances lined the shelves. His gaze swept over the rickety table, the uneven floorboards, and the assortment of clutter strewn about.

Something wasn't right.

Eris paused, his sharp ears catching the faintest sound—a muffled whimper. His gaze zeroed in on the table in the centre of the room, its legs uneven and its surface covered in a filthy cloth. He stepped closer, his instincts prickling.

Pulling the cloth aside in one swift motion, he froze.

There, under the table, was a small cage, and inside it, curled up and trembling, was Kaia. Her tiny body was bound with rough ropes, and her wings were pressed awkwardly against the cage bars. Her tear-streaked face peeked out from the gag that had been forced into her mouth, her wide eyes filled with terror.

“Kaia,” Eris whispered, his voice softer than anyone would have expected. His hands reached out, careful not to startle her, as he crouched down. “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you.”

Outside, Lucien’s head snapped up as he heard Eris’s voice. “Eris?” he called, stepping toward the wagon. The witch, realizing what they had found, let out an ear-piercing shriek and lunged forward, only to be intercepted by two of the shadow hounds. They snarled, forcing her back into the dirt.

Eris didn’t bother acknowledging the commotion outside. His focus was entirely on Kaia. He reached for the cage door, his hands trembling as he undid the crude latch. When it creaked open, Kaia flinched, pressing herself against the corner of the cage.

“It’s okay,” Eris said again, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re safe now.”

Lucien appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Is that—” His voice broke off, his chest tightening as he saw the state of Azriel’s daughter.

“It’s her,” Eris confirmed, his jaw tight with restrained fury. He carefully lifted Kaia from the cage, his movements deliberate and slow. She whimpered, her little body stiff with fear, but when she felt his arms around her, she clung to him, her tiny hands gripping his tunic.

“Dada…” Kaia whimpered, her voice muffled by the gag.

Eris’s throat tightened, but he kept his composure. “We’re taking you home,” he murmured, cradling her close.

As Eris held Kaia carefully in his arms, his golden eyes swept over her trembling body, his gaze landing on her delicate wings. His breath caught in his throat. Blood stained the edges of her tiny, soft the crimson stark against the white and silver of her wings.

The deep gash at the base of one wing was impossible to ignore, the cut jagged and cruel, as if done with no regard for her fragile form. Blood trickled from the wound, soaking into her clothing and dripping onto Eris’s hands.

Lucien, standing just behind him, froze at the sight. “Mother above…” he murmured, his voice filled with horror. His mechanical eye whirred as he scanned the injury, the details burning into his memory.

Kaia whimpered weakly, her little hands clinging to Eris’s tunic as if she was afraid to let go. Her tiny voice, muffled and broken, whimpered through the gag still tied around her face. "H-hurt… Dada... Mama..."

Eris’s jaw clenched tightly, his fury barely restrained. “Lucien, get me a cloth. Now,” he ordered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lucien moved quickly, his hands rummaging through the scattered contents of the witch’s wagon. He grabbed a relatively clean strip of cloth and rushed back to Eris, his movements purposeful despite the rage simmering beneath his usually calm exterior.

Eris gently adjusted Kaia in his arms, careful not to jostle her injured wings further. “I know, little one,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.”

Lucien handed him the cloth, and Eris pressed it gently against the base of her wings, trying to stem the bleeding. Kaia flinched and let out a soft cry of pain, her face scrunching up as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Eris soothed, his voice quieter now. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His hands moved carefully, ensuring the pressure was just enough to slow the bleeding without causing her more pain.

Lucien knelt beside him, his face dark with anger and worry. “We need to get her out of here now,” he said firmly. “She needs a healer. Immediately.”

Eris nodded, his expression grim. He glanced down at Kaia, her face pale and streaked with tears, her wings trembling slightly as he held her. “We’re going home,” he promised her, his voice unwavering. “No one will hurt you ever again.”

Kaia went limp in Eris's arms, her small body sagging against him as her shallow breaths barely stirred. Her tiny wings, bloodied and trembling moments before, now hung unnaturally still. Eris felt a cold dread settle deep in his chest, his heart pounding violently against his ribs.

“No, no, no, Kaia,” Eris murmured, his voice shaking, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanour. “Stay with me, little one.” His golden eyes darted to her pale face, her tears drying in streaks on her cheeks. Panic surged in him as he realized how cold she felt against his chest.

Lucien, crouching nearby, noticed the shift. “Eris?” he asked cautiously, his voice laced with unease. When he saw the way Eris held her limp form tighter, something dark flickered across Lucien’s features. “Eris, what—?”

“Deal with the witch!” Eris barked, his voice raw and loud, his usual calm replaced with fury and desperation. He stood abruptly, cradling Kaia closer, his hands trembling as he adjusted the cloth to keep pressure on her bleeding wings. “I’m taking her back. Handle this.” His hair glinted under the dim light as his sharp eyes burned with determination.

Lucien nodded sharply, his expression hardening as he turned toward the wagon and the witch, who was still writhing and snarling curses at them. Without hesitation, he moved to take control of the scene, his mechanical eye glinting as he calculated every necessary step.

Eris didn’t wait another second. With Kaia pressed tightly to his chest, he winnowed, his flames licking the air as the forest house materialized around him. The moment his boots hit the ground, he shouted, his voice echoing with authority and desperation.

“HEALER! I NEED A HEALER NOW!”

His roar cut through the silence of the home like a blade. The few guards stationed nearby rushed into the room, alarm etched into their faces. They took one look at the bloodied child in Eris’s arms and didn’t hesitate to act. One of them darted off to fetch a healer, while another cleared a space on a nearby table.

Eris lowered Kaia onto the table carefully, his hands hovering as if afraid touching her further would cause her more pain. His throat tightened at the sight of her tiny form, so fragile and still. Her wings were splayed unnaturally, blood pooling beneath her despite the cloth he’d pressed against her wounds.

He leaned over her, his hands clenching into fists as he whispered, “You’re going to be okay. You have to be.” His voice cracked, the weight of the past weeks and the horrors she’d endured finally breaking through his walls.

The healer arrived moments later, her bag clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, but she quickly schooled her expression and approached the table. “Lord Eris,” she said, her tone steady despite the urgency in her movements. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“You’d better,” Eris growled lowly, his golden eyes blazing. He stepped back to give her room but stayed close, watching every move she made with a ferocity that promised retribution if she failed.

Lucien returned to the forest house nearly an hour later, his cloak dusted with ash and his expression grim. He entered the main room to find Eris pacing relentlessly, his golden hair dishevelled and his hands flexing at his sides. The faint scent of blood still lingered in the air, but the healer had just finished stabilizing Kaia, who now lay wrapped in soft blankets on a low cot.

Eris turned the moment Lucien stepped inside, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Lucien’s gaze flickered toward the cot where Kaia lay before meeting Eris’s burning stare. “The witch won’t harm anyone else,” he said simply, his tone as cold as the winter air outside. “She won’t be coming back.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press further. He didn’t need to; he trusted Lucien to have dealt with the witch in the manner required. His concern was focused solely on the small child resting a few feet away. He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face, before turning toward the cot. “Good,” he muttered, his voice low. “But we’re far from finished.”

Lucien stepped closer, his sharp features softening as he looked down at Kaia. “How is she?” he asked, his tone quieter now.

“The healer says she has a slight chance of survive,” Eris replied, though his voice was taut with restrained emotion. “But those wings... there’s damage. Permanent damage, possibly. She’s not out of the woods yet.” He glanced at his brother, the weight of everything pressing visibly on his shoulders.

Lucien placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, offering a grounding touch. “You did everything you could,” he said, his amber eye locking with Eris’s. “And she’s alive because of you.”

Eris shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter line. “I’m not done yet. None of this is over. I need to get to Rhysand. He needs to know his niece is safe.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed slightly. “Are you sure you want to go now? The child—”

“She’ll be safe here,” Eris interrupted, his voice firm. “I trust the healer. But her parents—Y/N she needs to— they deserve to know. Can you imagine what they’ve been going through?” His eyes burned with an intensity that left no room for argument. “I’ll winnow to the Night Court immediately.”

Lucien hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Go. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on her.”

Eris gave a sharp nod in return, his expression hardening as he stepped back from the cot. He spared one last glance at Kaia, who lay still but peaceful, her tiny form swaddled in blankets. Then, without another word, he vanished in a swirl of flame, his destination clear.

So in a few more chapters we come to an end but I think Kaia's faith is clear....

But once the series is done Traitors war starts properly so please check that out! I'd be so grateful if you do!

Part 5

[impish-baby]

Platonic Yandere! Changling x reader drabble - 🪺🪲 (Trigger warnings: implied/referenced abuse, death, general creepiness)

There's something wrong with your brother.

Yelling has turned into soft murmurs, slamming of cupboards now only being accompanied by a quick apology and a meal soon placed in front of you.

Turned over a new leaf, he says. Hah. It might be nice if it was even slightly believable.

Your mother is overjoyed with the change, she smiles so much more. He does too, but there's something strange about it. Even on the rare occasions he'd smile, it never looked so out of place on his face. The kindness in his eyes wasn't there before, there's no way it's real.

You aren't dumb enough to fall into whatever ploy this is, you aren't that willfully naive.

The other shoe has to drop eventually.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Jeremiah lingers in the doorway, completely ignoring the glare thrown his way. "Spring is almost here, the flowers are getting ready to bloom-"

"I said no already, go by yourself."

With the way he flinches you'd think you had struck the older boy, he'd have deserved it at least.

"P- Please? Listen, I know our relationship hasn't been.. the best, but-"

"Hasn't been the best?" The outrage you feel has you sitting up straight, hands clenched into fists. "Fucking bastard, you think you can play nice for a couple days and that makes up for everything you've done-"

The door suddenly clicking shut sends a cold chill down your spine.

You're sure a smack is soon to follow, you end up bracing for nothing as Jeremiah drops to his knees in front of your bed instead.

"Please.." Tears are falling in steady streams down his face. "I- I'm a changed man, alright? I'm better."

He grasps your hands delicately, intertwining your fingers. The man sobs as you flinch at his touch.

"I- I'll prove it, just come with me.." He really does look pathetic, eyes shiny as he pulls you to stand up. "Come on.."

It's silent as you walk besides the occasional quiet sniffle, he keeps ahold of you the entire way.

You're lead into a clearing, the trees serenely swaying in the breeze as Jeremiah suddenly stops.

In the grass, your big brother's empty gaze stares back at you.

"I- I've kept it fresh a little longer than usual, wanted to make sure I got all the features right, you know..?" A nervous chuckle, "i- i did a good job i think."

His arms wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your shoulder. "It's better, right? I'm better."

[fear-is-truth]

❝ WITH THE LIGHTS OUT, IT’S LESS DANGEROUS ❞

warnings — murder mention. s2 spoilers. suggestive pairing — nam-gyu x f!reader word count — 745 a/n — english is not my first language sorry

THE DORMITORY IS UNNERVINGLY QUIET TONIGHT, just the occasional cough or the faint rustle of shifting blankets break the stillness, but even those small sounds seem out of place. the events of the night before hang like a disaster on a frayed piano string, threatening to snap at any second. bodies are still sore, bruised, and battered from the chaos that erupted when the lights went out—violence erupting in the pitch black, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. the air reeks faintly of sweat and fear, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that had dried into dark brown stains on the floor.

the thanos team is completely disbanded, not that you cared. you didn’t much like the rapper anyway, but his death felt like a strange relief—a violent severing of a bond you never wanted in the first place. se-mi, though. your chest tightens at the thought of her. se-mi didn’t deserve what happened to her. you don’t even know how she died—no one does.

now it’s just you, min-su, and that asshole nam-gyu.

min-su doesn’t say much these days. he sticks close but keeps his distance at the same time, like he’s not sure if you’re allies or just temporary survivors sharing the same sinking ship. nam-gyu, though, you don’t trust that prick.

you’ve learned to sleep lightly, one ear always tuned to the sounds of the room. and tonight, something feels… off. the faintest sound of movement makes you jolt awake, fingers instinctively curling around the shard of glass tucked in your sleeve.

“relax.” even without seeing him, you know it’s nam-gyu. the last person you want to deal with in the near darkness. “what are you doing?” you whisper harshly, fear twisting into irritation as his silhouette moves closer. he doesn’t answer, just shoves your legs aside like he has every right to be there. the audacity of this man.

“move.”

“get off,” you shove at his shoulder, but it’s like trying to push a wall. he wedges himself onto your narrow bunk, his body pressing flush against yours.

“someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“not after what you did last night,” his arm bumps into your ribs as he makes himself more comfortable. “you’re better at playing dirty than i thought.” you bristle at the words. from anyone else, it might sound like begrudging respect, but from nam-gyu, it feels like a thinly veiled insult. after all, you were just trying to make it out alive.

“then keep an eye on me from your own bed.”

“what bed?” he snaps. you realise belatedly that his mattress must’ve been stolen during the free-for-all. you open your mouth to argue further, but nam-gyu suddenly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you down against the mattress with him.

“shut up,” he hisses, breath warm against your cheek. “you think i trust you after everything? you’re lucky i’m still on your side, or you’d already be dead.”

the shard of glass digs into your palm, and you loosen your grip, debating whether to stay still or stab him. the latter is very tempting. a chill runs through you, but it isn’t fear. not entirely. his grip on you is unyielding, almost desperate, as if holding onto you because he doesn’t know what else to do with thanos gone.

“this isn’t necessary.”

“stop moving,” he hisses. you shift again, uncomfortable because there’s something hard pressed against your lower back. “unless you want to wake everyone up. trust me, they’ll have a field day when they see us all cuddled up.”

“this isn’t cuddling. it’s you being a creep.”

“call it what you want, just quit squirming for god’s sake.” he grouses, “you’ll just make it worse.” nam-gyu moves again, adjusting himself discreetly.

“make what worse?” the words tumble out before you can stop them, but the second they do, you freeze.

then it dawns on you.

oh.

heat rushes to your face, mortified as the realisation settles in. you freeze, hyperaware of every inch of him against you—the solid weight of his chest, the curve of his thigh pressed to yours, and now… the unmistakable press of his hardened cock slotted firmly against your ass. nam-gyu clears his throat awkwardly.

“just go to sleep.” the edge in his tone is softened by exhaustion, one that mirrors your own. “we’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 2

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 10.8k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The next morning, you wake up at the ripe time of seven in the morning. Sitting up with a yawn, you do your usual stretches to wake yourself up and to warm your body for the day to come. The cold air of your apartment tickles at your skin as you stand, putting on your robe and slippers, and strutting into the kitchen. It’s still partially dark outside, but the city skyline has a view that welcomes you every morning from your place of residence. You fix yourself your morning green shake, humming a small tune. In just a few minutes, you’re presented with a lovely shake that you pour into a mason jar, along with a glass straw. Walking over to the sliding door to step out onto your balcony and bask in the Tokyo morning. 

The calm before the storm. 

You notice that it seems much more quiet than usual, which is a little odd to you. But that’s the least of your concerns right now. Looking back over your shoulder to check the clock in the living room, it reads 7:25 am. You usually start getting dressed in about ten-ish minutes. You suppose you can stay outside a bit longer. 

You take a slow sip of your green shake, letting the cool, earthy flavor settle on your tongue. The chill in the morning air prickles your skin, but it’s nothing your fluffy robe can’t handle. However, the quiet starts to feel... eerie? Tokyo mornings are rarely this subdued, even this early. Normally, you’d hear the hum of distant traffic, the faint chatter of commuters, or the occasional screech of a train on the nearby rails.

But today? Silence.

Your eyes scan the skyline, seeking something—anything—that might explain the stillness. The buildings stand as steadfast as ever, their glass facades reflecting the faint glow of the rising sun. Yet, there’s something unsettling about the way the city feels almost lifeless. You try to shake off the unease, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your breathing and the vibrant green color of your shake. It’s probably nothing. Maybe it’s a public holiday you don’t know about, and everyone’s sleeping in. Or maybe it’s just your imagination running wild.

You glance down at the street below. Normally bustling with early risers and delivery trucks, it’s eerily empty. A single pigeon hops along the sidewalk, pecking at something invisible to your eye. The faint rustle of wind carries a hollow sound, like a whisper of something distant and foreboding. The clock ticks in your mind—7:27 now. You have just a few minutes before your day officially begins. But something about the morning feels wrong. You step back inside, closing the balcony door behind you, the faint chill lingering on your skin.

You tell yourself it’s just another day. Just another quiet Tokyo morning. But as you head toward your room to get dressed, a faint sound catches your ear—a low, distant thrum, almost like the hum of an approaching storm. It sends a ripple of unease down your spine. Still, you brush it off. After all, what could possibly go wrong in the heart of the city?

Maybe playing some music would heal your unexpected anxiety.

It does, for the most part. Of course, it’s hard to just turn off those emotions of yours, but the music offers a great distraction. After the performance yesterday, you sent out a text to the group chat sometime last night about needing to practice the next day. Although no one outwardly showed their annoyance, you could sense the attitude in their text messages.

You change into a simple white, active long-sleeve. Followed by your black jacket that you usually take with you on your runs, the one that snatches you perfectly. Lastly, it comes with some simple, flared yoga pants and black shoes. 

With your anxiety dulled by the rhythm of your playlist, you focus on getting ready for the day ahead. The soft hum of the music fills your apartment, blending seamlessly with the faint rays of sunlight now creeping through the windows. You let the beats guide your movements as you pull on your jacket, the snug fit a comforting reminder of its familiarity. It’s become something of a ritual—dressing for your morning activities, and grounding yourself in the process.

You glance at your reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing out the creases in your yoga pants and adjusting the collar of your jacket. You look ready, at least outwardly. The unease from earlier still lingers faintly in the back of your mind, but you shake your head, willing yourself to focus. You grab your phone and slide it into your jacket pocket, the time now reads 7:40.

The messages from last night play in your mind. The short, clipped responses. The curt “Sure” from Mina, the nonchalant thumbs-up emoji from Emma, and the terse “Fine” from Izumi. They weren’t thrilled, that much was clear, but you couldn’t let that bother you. Practice was necessary. You push aside the nagging thought that maybe you’re pushing them too hard. Leadership isn’t always about being liked—it’s about making sure things get done. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Sliding open your apartment door, you step into the crisp morning air. The city feels a little more alive now, though not by much. A few cars glide silently down the street, and a pair of joggers pass by on the opposite sidewalk. You fall into step with the rhythm of your music, your shoes hitting the pavement in time with the beat.

The streets are still tamer than usual, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. If anything, it’s probably for the best you don’t run into many people today. In a way, the emptier streets feel more serene. The trek to the field you hold practices at is a short one; the perks of living right in the heart of Tokyo. 

You focus on the day ahead: the run, the practice, and maybe, if you’re lucky, a moment to breathe.

Of course, you’re the first one there. Getting things set up and stretching your body out some more as the time passes. Yui is next, greeting you with a small hug. Her hair is tied up, clad in a matching, light pink set.  Yui’s arrival brings a warmth to the otherwise still space. Her small hug is brief but comforting, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you share. Her matching set contrasts against the neutral tones of the locker room, bringing a pop of color and cheerfulness into the space. She adjusts her ponytail as she sets her bag down in the corner, glancing around. “You’re early, as always,” she says with a smile, her tone teasing but fond.

“Someone’s got to be,” you reply with a shrug, watching as she begins her stretches beside you. The quiet hum of the city outside filters through the windows, but it’s far less noticeable now that you have company. The room starts to feel more alive with her presence. Yui hums a little tune as she moves, her energy light but contagious. You feel your earlier anxiety begin to loosen its grip, replaced with a faint sense of reassurance.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” she asks, glancing at you as she bends into a stretch.

“Same as usual,” you say. “Clean up the transitions, make sure the timing is tight… and maybe work on that lift again.”

Yui groans dramatically, flopping onto the mat for emphasis. “Not the lift again! My arms are still sore from the last time.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be fine. We’re almost there; it just needs a little more polish.”

One by one, the others begin to trickle in, each bringing their own energy to the room. The buzz of conversation grows, and with it, a sense of purpose fills the space. This is where you thrive—in the midst of your team, working together toward something greater. Whatever unease you woke up with this morning feels like a distant memory now. The storm can wait. For now, it’s time to focus. Once you do a headcount, your team and you exit the locker room, heading out to the grassy field that’s surrounded by a track. The sun beams down on you all, not too hot but not too cold either. It’s the perfect weather where you won’t break too much of a sweat. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Sayo hovering next to you.

You force yourself not to say anything to her, choosing to look straight ahead. Though her fidgetiness is starting to grate on your nerves, your restraint may prove stronger today. 

Sayo awkwardly shuffles as she keeps pace with you, her head slightly bowed, hands nervously fiddling with the hem of her practice shirt. She’s trying to match your stride without actually walking beside you, hovering like a mosquito you can’t quite swat away. Your jaw tightens. You force your eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge her. Not today. Not when you’ve got your own mind to settle and a practice to lead. But her persistent fidgeting—the way she moves her weight from foot to foot, the slight sniffle as though she’s gathering the courage to speak—chips away at your patience.

You slow your pace ever so slightly, the rest of the team going ahead of you both, your voice calm but laced with an edge. “Do you need something, Sayo?”

She freezes, blinking up at you with wide, startled eyes like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh! Um, n-no, I just—” She fumbles over her words, clutching her hands together nervously.

“Then why are you hovering like a lost puppy?” you ask, not bothering to mask the exasperation in your tone.

Her cheeks flush crimson, and she stammers, “I just wanted to say… you’re, um, really inspiring. Like, the way you handle everything—it’s just, uh…”

You stop abruptly, turning to face her fully. “Listen, Sayo,” you say, your voice firm but not unkind. “If you have something to say, say it. But if you’re just here to tell me how great you think I am, save it for someone else. I’ve got a team to lead, and right now, I need focus, not flattery.”

Her mouth opens and closes like she wants to argue—or maybe apologize—but instead, she just nods quickly, retreating a few steps.

“Good,” you say, already turning back toward the field. “Now let’s get to work.”

Behind you, Sayo lingers for a moment before falling into line with the rest of the team. The tension in your chest eases slightly as you refocus, the field stretching out ahead of you. Today isn’t about dealing with insecurities—hers or your own. Today is about pushing forward, one step at a time.

“So, I want to get some things out the way first.” A hush falls over the group as your voice cuts through the chatter. All eyes snap to you, the sharpness of your words hitting like a cold splash of water. The casual confidence in your tone only deepens the sting, and you don’t miss the way some of them exchange uneasy glances. You stand tall, your hands firmly planted on your hips, surveying the group with an expression that could cut steel. “Let’s be honest,” you continue, pacing slowly in front of them. “Yesterday’s performance was sloppy. Timing? Nonexistent. Stability? A total joke. You know it, I know it, and anyone with eyes would’ve seen it.”

A few of the girls shift uncomfortably, some looking down at the grass, others bristling at your bluntness.

“I could tell you I’m disappointed,” you add, stopping dead in your tracks, your gaze sweeping over the team like a spotlight. “But that would imply I wasn’t already doubtful of your ability to pull this off in the first place.”

A beat of silence follows, heavy and charged. You let it hang, watching their faces carefully—gauging who’s about to crumble and who’s gearing up to prove you wrong. “This isn’t about making you feel bad,” you continue, your tone softening just a fraction—not enough to be comforting, but enough to show you mean business. “It’s about reality. And the reality is, if we want to compete—if we want to succeed with our abilities and as a team—we need to be better. Way better. So, today, we’re fixing this mess. Timing, stability, and everything in between.”

You step back, clapping your hands once for emphasis. “Pair up. We’re starting with synchronized drills. No excuses, no shortcuts. If I see even a hint of laziness, you’ll be doing laps until the sun goes down. Got it?”

A chorus of half-hearted “Yes, Y/N” responses fills the air, but you’re not satisfied.

“I said, got it?” you bark, your voice sharper this time.

“Yes, Y/N!” they reply in unison, louder and more resolute.

“Good. Let’s move.”

You watch as they scramble into pairs, your sharp gaze tracking every movement. Doubt may have been your starting point, but today, you’re determined to turn it into drive—for them and for yourself.

As the girls hustle to pair off, you notice the range of emotions on their faces—some eager to prove themselves, others visibly irritated, and a few clearly nervous under the weight of your scrutiny. The grass beneath their feet is damp from the morning dew, and their sneakers leave faint imprints as they shuffle into position. You don’t give them the luxury of hesitation. “Faster,” you snap, clapping your hands again. “We don’t have all day.”

The girls move with more urgency now, pairing up as instructed. A few of them adjust their ponytails or tighten their shoelaces, while others stretch their arms, shaking out the tension before the drills begin. You cross your arms and pace along the line of pairs, your sharp eyes dissecting their posture and stance. A few girls straighten up as you pass, clearly hoping to avoid your wrath. Others avoid your gaze entirely, their focus trained on the ground or their partner.

“Pair one,” you call out, stopping in front of the first duo. You take in their positions with a critical eye. “Anya, you’re leaning too far forward. Sayo, your footing is a mess. Fix it before you make each other trip.”

Sayo flinches at the critique, but Anya mutters a quick “Got it,” already adjusting her stance.

You move to the next pair, your tone no less sharp. “Pair two—Carmen, loosen up your arms. You’re not a robot. Chloe, stop slouching. What are you, ninety?”

The girls flush at your words, hurriedly correcting themselves as you step to the next group.

By the time you’ve made it through all the pairs, the atmosphere on the field is tense, the air thick with unspoken determination. You don’t sugarcoat anything, and they know better than to expect you to. That’s not why you’re here.

“Alright,” you say, turning to face them all again. “Now that you look less like a group of untrained amateurs, let’s see if you can act like a team. We’re starting with synchronized lunges. Pair up in a straight line and match your partner’s pace. If even one of you is out of sync, you’re starting over.”

A collective groan ripples through the group, but you raise a single eyebrow, silencing it instantly. “Save the whining for someone who cares. Let’s go.”

The girls shuffle into formation, their movements stiff as they line up across the field. You stand at the front, hands on your hips, watching like a hawk as they begin the drill.

“Left leg first!” you bark. “One... two... three!”

The line moves as one, or at least they try to. A few pairs stumble out of sync, lunges uneven, and you immediately catch it.

“Stop!” you shout, holding up a hand. “You call that synchronized? I’ve seen toddlers with better coordination. Back to the start. Again!” They groan louder this time, but your glare shuts them up. They return to their starting positions, sweat already starting to bead on their brows.

“Left leg, again. One... two... three!”

This time, the movement is a little better, though still far from perfect. You spot a misstep in the middle of the line and cut them off again. “Do it right, or don’t do it at all,” you snap, pointing directly at the offenders. “I’ll make you do this all day if I have to. Your choice.”

By the fifth repetition, their movements finally start to sync up. The line flows more smoothly, and the pairs begin to find a rhythm.

“Better,” you admit begrudgingly, though your tone is far from approving. “But ‘better’ isn’t good enough. Keep going. I want perfect.” You step back to observe, your arms still crossed as you watch them push through the drill. The sun climbs higher in the sky, and the sound of synchronized footsteps echoes across the field. Despite the exhaustion beginning to set in, you can see the spark of determination in their movements.

Maybe they’ll prove you wrong after all.

It has to have been at least two hours of synchronized activities before you break the group for some water. The group collectively collapses into the grass as you call for a water break, their faces flushed and hair sticking to their damp foreheads. Yui, ever the drama queen, stumbles toward you with exaggerated weariness, clutching her water bottle like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Stop being dramatic,” you tell Yui, who theatrically leans against your body, gushing down her water.

“Oh, captain,” she groans, leaning heavily against you with all the weight of a person on the brink of collapse. “You’re trying to kill us, I swear.”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow, gently nudging her off you. “Stop being extra, Yui. You’re not dying. You’re just out of shape.”

The other girls laugh weakly, some sprawled out on the grass while others sit upright, guzzling water like they’ve just crossed a desert. A few exchange playful jabs, their camaraderie shining through the exhaustion.

“Out of shape?” Yui gasps, clutching her chest as though you’ve mortally wounded her. “I’ll have you know I ran two miles yesterday.”

“And yet here you are, acting like two hours of practice is the end of the world. You know we still have more to go.”

Yui pouts but doesn’t argue, instead taking another dramatic swig of her water.

You take a moment to survey the team, your sharp gaze softening just slightly as you watch them. Their exhaustion is real, but so is their determination. You’ve pushed them hard today, and though they’ve grumbled, they’ve risen to the challenge.

“Alright, listen up,” you call out, clapping your hands to get their attention. The scattered conversations die down as the girls look up at you, still catching their breath. “You’ve done better these past two hours. I’m seeing more coordination and more focus. But don’t think for a second we’re done. We’ve got a long way to go, and the next game isn’t going to wait for you to get comfortable.”

A few of them groan, but the majority nod, their expressions determined.

“We’ll take ten,” you continue, crossing your arms. “Hydrate, stretch, and get your heads back in the game. After this, we’re moving on to formations. And I don’t want to see anyone dragging their feet.”

The girls groan again, louder this time, but you catch the faint smirks on some of their faces. Despite the grueling pace, they know you’re pushing them for a reason.

“Ten minutes,” you repeat, your tone firm. “Make it count.”

As the team disperses to stretch or lie back on the grass, Yui flops down dramatically next to a pair of her teammates, still grumbling about “cruel and unusual punishment.” You shake your head with a faint smile, turning your attention to the clipboard in your hand. There’s still plenty of work to be done, but you can’t deny the faint sense of pride bubbling beneath your strict exterior.

The minutes pass by quickly and soon, you’re back and at ‘em. At least, almost all of you are. “Where’s Mina?” You ask Izumi, who was her partner. 

Izumi looks back towards the locker room before responding. “Um…she said she wasn’t feeling good. She was getting nauseous?”

“Is she sick?” 

Izumi shifts nervously, glancing between you and the direction of the locker room. “I don’t know. She didn’t really say. She just looked pale and ran off before I could ask more.”

You frown, glancing toward the building, concern creeping into your chest. “Did she mention anything earlier? Did she seem off to you before practice?”

Izumi shakes her head. “Not really. She was fine during warm-ups. I thought maybe she just overdid it in the heat.”

You sigh, glancing back at the team, who are starting to reassemble on the field. “Alright.” You nod to Yui, “Keep the group running through the last drill we practiced. I’m going to check on her.”

Yui nods and jogs back to the others with Izumi as you make your way toward the locker room. The echo of your footsteps fills the narrow hallway as you push open the door, the cooler air inside a welcome relief from the heat outside. “Mina?” you call, your voice cutting through the stillness.

At first, there’s no response, but then you hear it—a faint sound, like muffled breathing, coming from one of the stalls of the bathroom. You move closer, knocking gently on the door.

“Mina? It’s me. Are you okay?”

There’s a pause before a shaky voice responds. “I… I’m fine. Just needed a minute.”

You can tell she’s not fine. Her voice is strained, and trembling, and it sets off alarms in your head. “Mina, if you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me. What’s going on?”

Another pause. Then, more hesitantly: “I think… I think I just got overheated. I’ll be okay in a second.”

You lean against the stall door, lowering your voice to sound less authoritative and more understanding. “Mina, it’s alright if you’re not feeling up to it today. You don’t have to push through if something’s wrong. Let me help.”

There’s a long silence before the lock clicks, and the door creaks open. Mina stands there, her face pale, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes are glassy, and she looks like she could collapse at any moment. Her skin is pale, almost green-looking and your concern heightens. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t want to slow everyone down.”

Your frown deepens as you place a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “You’re not slowing anyone down, Mina. Your health comes first. Sit down for a second.” You guide her to a bench and grab a nearby water bottle, handing it to her. She takes it with shaky hands, sipping slowly. “Did something happen?” 

She takes big gulps from her water, emptying the entire thing in just a matter of seconds. Afterward, she wipes some water from the corner of her mouth and replies. “No, I mean…” she takes in a deep breath before continuing. “On the way here, there was some…crazy guy on the bus. He got a little too close to me and when I tried pushing him back, he bit me. The cops and ambulance came and they said everything looked fine.”

Your stomach drops as her words sink in. “He…bit you?” you repeat, disbelief clear in your voice and eyes widening.

Mina nods, her expression tight with discomfort. “Yeah, it was so weird. He was acting all twitchy and… off, you know? Like, not just drunk or high. He looked sick. His skin was all blotchy, and his eyes were bloodshot.”

A cold chill creeps up your spine, but you force yourself to stay calm for her sake. “Oh my god. Did the medics check you out? Are you sure everything’s okay?”

She nods again, but there’s a hint of doubt in her eyes. “Yeah, they said the bite didn’t break the skin, so I should be fine. Just bruised. They gave me a tetanus shot to be safe, though.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to mask your unease. “Okay. That’s good, but you should have told me sooner. You’re clearly not feeling well, and this could be more serious than you think.”

Mina looks down at her hands, fidgeting with the empty water bottle. “I didn’t want to cause a scene. Everyone was already staring at me on the bus, and then practice… I just wanted to forget about it.”

You crouch down in front of her again, making sure she meets your gaze. “Mina, listen to me. You’re not causing a scene, and it’s okay to ask for help. If something feels wrong—anything—you have to let someone know. Do you feel weird? Lightheaded? Feverish?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “I feel a little off, but it’s probably just the heat and not eating, like you said. I swear, I’m okay.”

You study her face closely, noting the slight sheen of sweat still clinging to her pale skin. Something doesn’t sit right, but you don’t want to alarm her further. “Alright, but I want you to rest for the rest of practice. No arguments. And I’m walking you to the nurse after this to double-check.”

Mina starts to protest, but you cut her off with a firm look. “Non-negotiable.”

She sighs, slumping against the bench. “Okay. Thanks… and sorry for making you worry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” you say softly. “Just focus on feeling better, alright?”

You give her one last wary look before turning on your heel and exiting the room. As you step back onto the field, you glance over your shoulder from where you just came. Her words replay in your mind, and the uneasy feeling in your gut refuses to settle. A crazy guy on the bus. A bite. The blotchy skin and bloodshot eyes.

That doesn’t sound right. And the fact that she still felt obligated to come to practice makes you feel pretty damn guilty. You sigh and rub your forehead. I’ll check up on her in a bit. 

You turn your attention back to the team. “Alright, let’s pick it up! Positions!” you call out, your tone sharper than intended. The girls scramble to fall into line, but your focus drifts, your gaze flickering back to the locker room every few moments. 

You clench your jaw, reminding yourself of your duties as captain. Though the knot in your stomach grows tighter with every second. You push the nagging thoughts aside for now, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Yui, tighten up your formation,” you bark, pointing at the gap between her and Izumi. “If I can drive a truck through that space, it’s too wide. And Sayo, stop looking at your feet—you’re going to trip if you keep that up!”

The girls groan but adjust as instructed, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the rhythm of practice. The synchronized movements, the stomp of shoes against the grass, the shouts of encouragement from teammates—it’s enough to temporarily drown out the unease lingering in your chest.

The minutes pass, turning into another hour. Mina has sludged her way out of the locker room and back out onto the field. Giving her a wary look, hands hovering out in case of anything. “Hey, you don’t have to. Go home and call the do—”

“I’m okay.” She rasps out in a voice that internally shocks you. It sounds manly and guttural. The complete opposite of her usual sweet-toned voice. She pushes past you with a strength that almost knocks you back. Huffing slightly and watching her fall into her normal position. The girls give her concerned glances, some asking her if she’s alright. 

Mina shrugs them off with a small nod and a hand wave, but the paleness of her skin is starting to get almost ghostly. Your lips purse, keeping an extra focused eye on her as you slowly guide the team back into action.  Her shoulders sag more with each passing minute, and it’s clear she’s struggling, even if she’s trying to hide it.

She’s just sick. When the time comes to lift Emma up in the air, Mina is one of the girls holding onto her right leg. “And hold it…and hold it…” you call out, doing a small countdown to five. “Firmer, firmer!”

And all is going pretty well. You finally clap, just about to announce for Emma to come back down when Mina’s arms shake. Before anyone can prevent it, she’s releasing her hold and falls backward. Emma’s suddenly dropping to the grass on her back. She lets out a gasp and shriek, face scrunching from the hard impact delivered to her spine. 

There are immediate gasps, your eyes widening as you rush over. “Oh my god!” You gasp, some of the girls helping Emma up slowly into a sitting position. “Shit, are you okay?”

Emma, face contorted into a pained grimace, holding a shaky hand to her back. “Mmngh…w-what the fuck, Mina?!” She shouts, opening her eyes to glance over at the other girl. 

It’s only then that you all look back to see that Mina—once steady and standing—is now on the floor convulsing. Foamy, white liquid ran down the corners of her mouth, and her eyes roll back until there’s nothing but just plain whites. 

Chaos erupts in an instant. The girls scramble back, some screaming, others frozen in shock as Mina thrashes on the ground. The guttural, strangled sounds coming from her send chills down your spine, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, heart pounding in your chest.

“M-Mina!” you finally manage to shout, dropping to your knees beside her. Her limbs jerk violently, the foam spilling from her mouth bubbling up in horrifying bursts. Her pale skin now looks almost translucent, veins visibly darkening beneath the surface. “Someone call an ambulance!” you bark, snapping your head up to the team.

Izumi fumbles with her phone, shaking so badly that it nearly slips from her grip. The others huddle together, whispering in panicked tones.

You try to hold Mina steady, your hands trembling as you attempt to keep her from hurting herself further. “Stay with me, Mina! Just hold on!” But her body feels unnaturally hot, like touching the surface of a boiling kettle.

“She’s burning up!” you exclaim, pulling your hands back instinctively. The heat radiating off her is almost unbearable.

Emma, still clutching her back and wincing, snaps, “What the hell is happening to her?!”

“I don’t know!” you reply, your voice tight with fear. “Izumi, hurry up with that call!”

“I—I’m trying!” Izumi stammers, tears streaking her face as she finally presses the phone to her ear.

Mina’s convulsions begin to slow, but the sight doesn’t bring relief. Her body goes limp, her chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic breaths. The foaming has stopped, but her lips are stained white, and her once-bright eyes now look dull, unfocused. 

“She’s not—she’s not breathing right,” Yui whispers, her voice trembling.

You glance at Mina, your stomach twisting in knots. “No, no, no,” you mutter, leaning closer. “Mina, can you hear me?”

But she says nothing. 

A small, collective hushed silence falls over the group—fearing for the worst. 

It’s only when Rina sparks up that it grounds you once more. “W-We need to get her to a hospital, now!” She stammers out, equally as terrified. “The ambulance won’t get here in time and—”

“My car!” Sayo cuts her off.

You snap your head toward Sayo, your heart hammering in your chest. “Your car—where is it?” you ask, scrambling to your feet.  

“Just over by the parking lot!” Sayo replies, already fumbling in her pocket for the keys.  

“Okay,” you say, forcing yourself to take a steadying breath. “Rina, Yui—help me lift her. Gently. We don’t want to make anything worse.”  

Rina and Yui nod, though their faces are pale and tight with fear. The three of you move quickly, carefully sliding your arms under Mina’s limp form. She’s alarmingly cold now, her earlier burning heat seeming to have evaporated, replaced by a clammy chill that clings to your skin.  

Her body feels unnaturally heavy as you lift her, and every labored breath she takes rattles ominously in her chest.  

“Hurry!” Sayo calls, already halfway to the parking lot.  

The rest of the girls stand frozen, wide-eyed, and clutching each other as you and your helpers carry Mina toward the car. “Stay here!” you shout over your shoulder. “Wait for the ambulance, and don’t let anyone else out onto the field!”  

The urgency in your voice seems to shake them out of their daze, and a few nod shakily, beginning to organize themselves. By the time you reach Sayo’s car, your arms are trembling from the effort of carrying Mina, and you’re practically gasping for air. “Open the backseat,” you say breathlessly.  

Sayo fumbles with the keys, unlocking the doors just as the three of you maneuver Mina inside. Her head lolls unnaturally to the side, and you fight the wave of nausea rising in your throat.  

“I’ll drive,” Sayo says, climbing into the driver’s seat with trembling hands.  

“Fast,” you say firmly, climbing into the passenger seat. “You focus on the road—I’ll guide you and keep an eye on her.”  

Sayo hesitates for a moment but nods, starting the car as Rina and Yui carefully close the back doors once they’re settled in.  

“Go!” you urge, your voice tight with urgency.  

The tires screech as Sayo pulls out of the parking lot, the car lurching forward. You glance back at Mina, her pale face barely visible in the dim light of the car.  

“Hang on, Mina,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “We’re getting you help. Just hang on.”  

But deep down, a gnawing dread has already begun to take hold. Something about this—about her—feels beyond the realm of a simple sickness. 

The car speeds down the road, the hum of the engine accompanied by the shallow, wheezing breaths coming from Mina in the backseat. Sayo’s knuckles are white as she grips the wheel, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.

“Are we close?” she asks, her voice tight with fear.

“Just keep going straight,” you reply, leaning back to check on Mina. Her chest rises and falls sporadically, her face pale as death. The foamy residue still clings to the corners of her mouth. You reach out to touch her forehead, only to pull your hand back in shock. It’s like touching ice.

“Mina,” you say softly, trying to coax some kind of response. “Can you hear me? We’re almost at the hospital, okay? Just hold on a little longer.”

Her head lolls slightly to the side, her lips moving faintly as though she’s trying to say something. You lean closer, straining to hear her, but the words are nothing more than guttural croaks, incoherent and deeply unsettling.

“She…she’s getting worse!” Yui proclaims, putting a hand on the driver’s seat. “Go faster, Sayo!” 

She gasps out and furiously nods, putting a heavier foot down on the accelerator. “I’m going as fast as I can!” Sayo snaps, her voice shaking. The car swerves slightly as she overtakes another vehicle, earning a blaring honk.

Behind you, Mina suddenly jerks. Her body spasms violently, her head snapping back against the seat with a sickening thud. Audible sounds of bones cracking fill the tense car. 

“Oh my God!” Rina cries out, causing you to twist in your seat. Her eyes snap open, but they’re not right—her irises are a murky, sickly yellow, and her pupils are blown wide, giving her an almost predatory look.

There's still quietness as no one moves or speaks. Sayo is still driving but now focusing most of her attention on the rearview mirror. Rina and Yui feel frozen and stuck, staring down at Mina who is lying right next to them. Your hands tremble, eyes darting across her features and you really have no fucking idea what’s happening right now. 

“…Mina?” you whisper, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Her lips peel back into a grotesque snarl, revealing teeth that seem sharper than they should be. Slowly, her eyes blink focused, and the first thing she’s looking at…is you. 

There’s a small second of peace before she suddenly lunges forward, a guttural growl ripping from her throat as her hands claw at the air.

“Shit!” you shout, scrambling back to block her, your back hitting the dash.

“What’s happening?!” Sayo screams, glancing back in panic.

“She’s—she’s attacking!” you shout, trying to hold her back as she thrashes wildly. Rina and Yui are taking her by the shoulders, attempting to bring her still against the seats. 

“M-Mina!” Yui shouts, followed by Rina’s terrified gasp at the sight of Mina’s veins bulging from her neck—her strength almost inhuman. Her nails rake across your arm, leaving angry red welts in their wake.

You wince and grit out in pain. “Sayo, pull over! Now!” you yell.

The car swerves violently as Sayo slams on the brakes, skidding to a halt on the side of the road. You barely manage to hold Mina back as she claws and snarls, her movements jerky and unnatural. Rina, who had been trying her best to subdue the crazed woman, scrambles to open the door, practically falling out of the car in her haste. “Get out! Get out!” she screams.

You fumble with your seatbelt, finally managing to release it and stumble out of the car. Sayo is already out, her face pale and eyes wide with terror, Yui quickly following right after. 

Mina is still in the backseat, thrashing and snarling like a rabid animal. Her yellow eyes lock onto you through the window, and for a moment, you feel like prey under the gaze of a predator. “What the hell is wrong with her?!” Sayo cries, backing away from the car.

“I—I don’t know!” you stammer, clutching your bleeding arm. “This isn’t—this isn’t normal!”

Before anyone can respond, Mina slams her head against the back window, the glass cracking under the force. 

“She’s gonna break through!” Yui screams.

You take a shaky step back, your mind racing. Whatever’s happening to Mina—it’s not something any hospital can fix. “W-what the fu—”

“Hey!” A shout startles Yui, Rina, Sayo, and you. Looking over to the left to saw a man haphazardly parked right behind Sayo’s car. An angry glower on his face as he stalks forward. “What the hell do you think you dumb girls are doing driving like that?! Huh?! You’re going to kill someone! You almost killed me!” 

As soon as he gets in front of you three, the window of the backseat shatters open and Mina is all but tossing herself out of the open space, shards of glass sticking into her sickly skin.  The man doesn’t even see it coming as she hurdles herself atop his body. The two go down, he lets out one shriek before Mina takes a big bite from his cheek. 

The man’s blood-curdling screams ring out through the streets. There are still only just a few pedestrians—who stop and stare at the commotion. Everyone gasps and watches as Mina pulls back from the man, teeth and hands coated in blood. He contorts and pulses wildly, a similar snarl taking place from his voice box. 

He claws at the ground, back bending backward in an unforeseeable way. He’s crawling himself up into a standing position, movements twitchy and appearance matching that of Mina’s. His first target is an elderly woman who stops to watch the scene with wide eyes. Repeating the same actions Mina brought upon him, while Mina herself is animalistically scrambling toward a couple a few feet away. 

You step back slowly, trembling with fear and confusion. Fixated on the bloodbath that’s currently taking place before you. Rina looks over at you. “Y-Y/N, what do we—”

A growl is heard from the alleyway next to her and a figure emerges at lightning speed, landing on top of her. “Ah! No! No!” You stumble back onto your ass, getting a front-row view of Rina currently getting her neck mauled on. You scramble backward, your mind reeling, unable to comprehend what’s happening as Rina’s screams pierce the air. She flails beneath the weight of the attacker, her hands desperately trying to push the figure off of her, but it’s no use. The thing on top of her—its face distorted, skin stretched tight over its bones—grips her with unnatural strength. Her cries turn into guttural gasps as her body twitches under the assault.

A sharp, nauseating crack echoes from her neck as the creature sinks its teeth in deeper. You hear Rina’s voice, weak and panicked, but the words barely register over the roar in your ears. Blood spills, staining the pavement beneath her as the figure rips into her with the same ferocity as Mina. Your body moves instinctively, but you’re paralyzed by terror, your hands and feet glued to the ground. You don’t know if it’s the shock of seeing this unfold so brutally in front of you, or if it’s the fear that any second, you could be next. Your hands tremble violently as you try to push yourself to your feet, but your legs feel like they’ve been drained of all strength. “Rina!” Yui cries out, her voice breaking with the weight of helplessness. She’s frozen, just like you, staring at the scene with wide, horrified eyes.

Sayo, however, seems to snap into action. She yells for you all to move, but her voice shakes with panic. “We need to go! NOW!” Her hands are shaking as she pulls at the door handle, ready to get back in the car.

But it’s too late.

The alley is suddenly alive with motion. A chorus of snarls fills the air as more figures emerge, crawling and dragging themselves out from dark corners. They move with an unnatural speed, eyes gleaming with hunger, faces contorted with madness. Every movement they make is jerky, erratic—like they’re not quite in control of their own bodies as if whatever virus this is has taken full control of them.

“Get up!” Yui shouts, grabbing you by your jacket and lifting you up to your feet with a strength you didn’t know she had. You allow her to control your body, rushing you back over to Sayo’s car when one of the crazed creatures scrambles before you two. He snarls and throws himself at you. Once again, you’re freezing, seeing your life flash before your eyes. 

Out of nowhere, you’re roughly shoved to the side and Yui takes your place. The creature uses her as his next chewing victim. 

The sight of Yui's body being overtaken sends a shock through you that feels like a cold wave crashing over every inch of your skin. You stumble back, gasping for air, trying to process the nightmare unfolding in front of you. The creature sinks its teeth into her shoulder, tearing at her with an intensity that makes you want to look away, but you can’t. You feel the bile rise in your throat as her screams echo, her body jerking beneath the creature’s assault. Her blood spills freely, staining the cracked pavement beneath her. Time seems to slow as you watch helplessly. Yui’s eyes are wide with terror, her mouth trying to form words that never reach you. She reaches out with trembling hands, her fingers just barely grazing yours as the creature’s claws rip into her flesh.

"Yui!" you scream, voice cracking in desperation. But the words are hollow—nothing more than a whisper of the helplessness coursing through you.

The sight of your best friend being eaten alive is something that haunts you, shivers running up and down along your bones, with tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You see the life slowly leave her eyes, the will to fight deteriorating as her arm falls and her head lolls lifelessly to the side. There are chunks of her flesh being ripped from her body carelessly, and two more of the creatures deciding to feast too. “Yu…yui….”

Sayo is frozen for a moment, eyes wide with horror, before snapping into action again. “Get to the car! NOW!” Her voice is a whip, sharp and commanding. She’s already moving, her body running with a frantic energy. You can’t find it in yourself to follow after her, unable to tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene in front of you.

The creature whips its head up and around, finally looking toward you, its eyes gleaming with an insatiable hunger. A growl rips from its throat, and its ragged breaths fill the air. You freeze again, every muscle in your body locking up. No, this is really it. This is it. This is how I die.

But just as the thing reaches you, a blinding flash of movement catches your eye. Out of nowhere, a figure—Sayo—swings a heavy metal rod, crashing it into the creature’s head with a sickening thud. The thing jerks back, howling in pain before collapsing onto the ground, twitching and spasming. “Move!” she yells again, her voice rough and urgent. She grabs your arm, pulling you away from the creature and toward the car. “Get in the damn car! NOW!”

She’s practically tossing you into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you as you’re shoved in. The door slams shut just as another figure reaches for you, fingers clawing at the window. The car engine roars to life. She hurriedly gets into the driver’s side and speeds off, tires screeching against the asphalt.

You don’t know how you’re still breathing. The adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you from collapsing as you stare back at the chaos you left behind. The alleyway is now a warzone, figures crawling over each other, blood splattering in every direction. The sounds of screams and snarls fade into the distance, but they’re burned into your memory, an unshakable image of the horror that has taken hold of the world. 

The city around you is unrecognizable, swallowed by chaos. You don’t know how long you’ll be safe, or where you’ll go next, but for now, the car is the only sanctuary you have left. And even as you drive away, the memory of Rina, Yui, and the others—their screams and their fate—haunts you. You don’t know what this virus is, or how it spread so fast, but you do know one thing: things will never be the same again.

You’re disassociating, staring off into space—unaware of the blood that still dribbles down your arm. Sayo sneaks a glance at it, her expression even more panicked. “D-don’t worry. We’ll go to the hospital. They’ll know what to do.”

You don’t respond, breathing erratically while your body continues to shake from the spark of events that just happened. Tears fall from your eyesockets down to your hands, the weight of seeing your beloved friends die before your eyes finally settling in. When you slowly look over to Sayo, she’s giving you a small smile—as if it’s her attempt to reassure you. She removes one hand from the wheel and places it atop yours. “Don’t worry. We’ll—”

“Sayo!”

An oncoming car seems to appear out of nowhere. Ramming right into the driver’s side of Sayo’s car. Neither of you has enough time to react before the violent impact sends to car flying off to the side, tumbling. The world spins violently as the car flips over, metal screeching and glass shattering around you. Each tumble feels like an eternity, the force slamming your body against the interior. Your head whips back and forth, the seatbelt digging into your shoulder and chest. The sound is deafening—screams, crunching metal, the air knocked from your lungs. The airbags are activated, knocking your head backward into the headrest.

When the car finally stops, it’s upside down, the frame crumpled like a tin can. Everything is eerily quiet except for the distant sound of muffled horns and faint cries in the chaos beyond. You hang there, disoriented, your body trembling. Blood trickles down your forehead and into your eyes, stinging as you struggle to get your bearings. The first emotion you register is pain, a really bad fucking pain. Your entire body stings and it hurts to even open your eyes.

“Sayo...” you croak, your voice barely a whisper. You look to your left and see her slumped over, her body motionless. Her face is pale, a deep gash on her temple bleeding profusely. Her hand, the one that had been resting atop yours, now hangs limp in the air. “No... no, no, no,” you whisper, panic clawing its way up your throat. You reach out with shaky hands to touch her, to shake her awake, but your arm feels like it weighs a ton. You struggle against the seatbelt holding you in place, your fingers fumbling at the buckle.

“Nnngh, s…sayo!” you yell, louder this time, your voice breaking. There’s no response, her chest barely rising and falling. Tears blur your vision as you tug at the belt with all your might. Finally, it releases, and you collapse onto the roof of the car—now the floor—with a thud. You wince sharply, face scrunching up as shards of glass dig into your arms and legs. Slowly, you crawl toward her, ignoring the pain shooting through your body. Every movement feels like a monumental effort, but you manage to place trembling fingers against her neck, searching for a pulse. It’s there—weak, but there. Relief washes over you in a wave, but it’s short-lived.

A low growl echoes from somewhere outside the car. Your body stiffens, adrenaline flooding your veins again. You glance toward the shattered window and see them—those things—dragging themselves closer. Their twisted, jerking movements are unmistakable, and their glazed, hungry eyes are fixed on the wreckage. Your breath catches as you look back at Sayo. She’s unconscious, defenseless, and the blood pouring from her wounds is like a beacon to them. You don’t have time. You need to move.

“Sayo, wake up!” you plead, shaking her gently. “Please, we have to go!” But she doesn’t stir.

The growls grow louder, and closer. You glance outside again and see one of them pulling itself through one of the broken windows, its jagged nails clawing at the edge of the frame. Its mouth is smeared with blood, its teeth bared in a grotesque snarl. Your body screams in protest as you push yourself to a scramble. Maneuvering yourself through what once was the windshield swaying unsteadily. You grab Sayo under her arms, ignoring the aching in your shoulder and the blood oozing from your own injuries. “Come on,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face as you drag her toward the opposite side of the car. “Please, just hold on.”

The creature lunges, its hand reaching for you, but you kick at it wildly, desperation fueling your movements. You manage to pull Sayo free, collapsing onto the asphalt outside. The world around you spins, but you force yourself to stand, hoisting her up as best you can. With her added weight onto your weak body, it feels like you’re carrying a ton of bricks.

The growls are deafening now. They’re everywhere. You don’t know where to go, but you know you can’t stay here. Your head swivels around, catching sight of more unlucky souls who reign victim to the ravenous creatures. With Sayo’s weight heavy in your arms and your own body screaming in protest, you stumble forward into the chaos, hoping against hope that somewhere, somehow, safety exists.

A few more feet and your legs give out completely. You collapse to the ground with a cry of pain, Sayo’s limp body rolling out of your arms and onto the asphalt. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, but it feels like the air is being squeezed from your lungs. Every muscle in your body screams in protest, exhaustion threatening to overtake you. “Sayo...” you whisper, your voice trembling. You crawl toward her, dragging yourself across the rough ground. Her face is pale, and her chest barely rises and falls. Blood continues to seep from her temple, staining the pavement beneath her. You reach out, brushing her hair back from her face with trembling fingers. “Please... wake up.”

The growls are closer again, the sound reverberating through the air like a sinister chorus. You glance over your shoulder and see them—more of those creatures, their jerky, unnatural movements. Panic surges through you. You force yourself to stand, though your legs feel like they might buckle at any moment. You grab Sayo under her arms again. “Come on, Sayo,” you plead, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t do this without you.”

However, you fail once more when your back is hitting the hard ground, unable to carry her. A gasp and hiss leaves your lips, fingers clenching into your palm. With a look over at Sayo and then at the creatures who haven’t yet noticed where you two are, a singular escape route forms in your mind.

“I…I’m sorry,” you mutter, grabbing her by her arm and dragging her body closer to yours. Once she’s within enough reach, you’re pushing her body underneath the abandoned car next to you. Her head lolls to the side, and you force yourself to ignore the guilt clawing at your chest. “Please forgive me,” you murmur, voice cracking. Her limp form disappears into the shadowy gap, just small enough to conceal her. You can feel the tears streaming down your face as you lean in, tucking her arm and leg securely out of sight.

You press a trembling hand to the car’s frame, biting your lip to stifle the sobs threatening to break free. “Stay hidden, Sayo,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “I-I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

The creatures’ snarls grow louder, and you know your time is up. Forcing yourself to stand on shaky legs, you take a step away from the car, drawing their attention. Their heads snap toward you, eyes locking onto your movements. You swallow the fear rising in your throat and stagger in the opposite direction, away from Sayo’s hiding spot.

“Come on, you bastards,” you mutter under your breath, every step an act of defiance. “Come after me.” As the first creature lunges toward you, your heart pounds with terror and determination. If you can lead them away, if you can buy Sayo even a few more seconds, then maybe—just maybe—there’s still hope. 

The hospital is just a few minutes away, you remind yourself. You can do this. And if there’s one thing you’re good at—one thing that’s always been your saving grace—it’s cardio. You were a track star in high school for Christ’s sake! Blowing your opponents out of the water each and every single time. Your legs may be trembling, lungs burning from the sheer panic and exertion, but you’re still standing. You’ve run marathons in the past. You’ve pushed through exhaustion, pain, and every screaming muscle in your body before. This is just one more finish line to cross.

The snarls behind you grow louder, erratic footsteps pounding the pavement as the creatures close in. You grit your teeth and push off, forcing your legs into motion. Each stride is uneven, but you focus on moving forward, the rhythmic sound of your feet striking the asphalt your only anchor to reality. You dodge debris, skirting around abandoned cars and crumpled road signs. The air feels thick with the coppery tang of blood, but you can’t let yourself falter. Your pulse thunders in your ears, drowning out the world as you weave through the chaos.

Just a few more minutes.

The hospital’s towering silhouette comes into view as you round a corner. Relief washes over you, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. But there’s no time to slow down. You risk a glance over your shoulder and see the creatures still chasing you, their distorted faces twisted in an unnatural hunger. They’re relentless, their speed almost inhuman. Your mind flashes to Sayo, hidden under that car, and you grit your teeth harder. You can’t let this be for nothing. You won’t.

The entrance is closer now, the hospital’s glass doors still intact. The flickering glow of emergency lights illuminates the way, casting long shadows that dance ominously. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps as you barrel toward the doors, willing your body to hold out just a little longer. Adrenaline surges through your veins, giving you one final burst of energy. You’re almost there—just a few more steps, a few more strides. You don’t dare look back again, knowing the sight of those creatures gaining on you would only slow you down.

With a desperate lunge, you reach the doors and slam your fists against them, praying they’ll open. “Help!” you scream, your voice raw with desperation. “Someone, please!”

But the sight that welcomes you makes your blood run cold.

It’s just as bad inside.

The hospital lobby, which should have been a beacon of safety, is a scene straight out of a nightmare. Bodies are strewn across the floor, some motionless, others twitching with the same unnatural spasms you witnessed earlier. Blood smears the walls, the once-pristine white tiles now slick with crimson. Overturned gurneys and shattered medical equipment litter the space, forming a chaotic battlefield. You freeze in place, your hope shattering like the glass that crunches under your shoes. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker erratically, casting eerie shadows across the carnage. The air reeks of antiseptic and decay, a nauseating mix that makes your stomach churn.

A guttural snarl snaps your attention to the far end of the room. One of them is crouched over a body, tearing into flesh with an animalistic fervor. Its head jerks up at the sound of your intrusion, blood dripping from its chin as it locks eyes with you.

And it’s not alone.

More figures emerge from the shadows, their movements jerky and unpredictable. They were patients, nurses, doctors once—now they’re something else entirely. Their hospital gowns and scrubs are tattered, their faces contorted in twisted expressions of hunger and madness. You stumble back, your body screaming at you to run, but your feet feel glued to the floor. Panic claws at your chest, every instinct screaming that you’ve walked into a death trap.

Behind you, the snarls of the creatures chasing you grow louder, their footsteps closing in fast. You’re trapped between two horrors, with no clear path to safety. Your breath hitches, your mind racing for a plan. Think, Y/N. Think! Your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything—a weapon, a hiding spot, a miracle.

Then you see it: a stairwell door to your left, its glowing exit sign a small beacon in the chaos. It might be locked, but it’s your only shot.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you break into a sprint toward the stairwell, dodging overturned furniture and bodies. The creatures inside the lobby howl in unison, their focus shifting to you. Their footsteps echo behind you, joined by the ones you left outside.

You don’t look back. You can’t. You throw yourself at the stairwell door, praying it will open.

You don’t think you’ve run up the stairs faster than you are right now, intent on going to the very top floor. It shouldn’t be that bad, right? Other survivors probably have the same idea as you and are all congregated on the top floor. There are others. There has to be. 

The stairs are narrow, each step pounding beneath your feet like a countdown, but your legs don’t seem to feel the strain. Adrenaline has taken over, pushing you forward with a ferocity you didn’t know you had. Your lungs burn, but it doesn’t matter. You’re running from death. You have to. You glance behind you for a split second—only a flash, but enough to see that the creatures are gaining. Their frenzied howls fill the stairwell, echoing off the walls like a chorus of nightmares.

Keep going. Keep going.

The landing at the top of the stairwell finally comes into view, and your heart leaps with a mix of hope and desperation. You slam your hand against the door to the top floor. It’s locked.

Panic floods through you, but you force yourself to stay calm and stay focused. You try the handle again, but nothing. The sound of snarling grows louder. Think. Think!

You step back for a moment and scan the stairwell again. There’s a small window at the top of the door. Maybe—just maybe—you could climb through it. But you’ll have to act fast.

With your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you grab hold of the doorframe, pushing yourself onto the small ledge beneath the window. You force the window open with all the strength you can muster, the glass scraping against the metal frame with a screech. Your heart sinks as you try to squeeze through the opening. The window isn’t wide enough.

This can’t be how it ends.

You hear the snarls grow closer as the creatures continue to climb the flights of stairs, hellbent on reaching you. The sound is unmistakable—thundering footsteps followed by guttural growls. You have no time left.

You fall back down to your feet, desperately slamming your shoulder into the white double doors, aggressively pounding and twisting the doorknob as if it’ll magically open. “Please! Please! Is someone there?! Please open the door!”

Your voice cracks as desperation claws at your throat, but no one answers. The weight of the silence presses down on you like a heavy blanket. Your fists pound harder against the door, your breath coming in frantic bursts, but the door remains unyielding. Tears sting your eyes, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s all in vain. If you’re completely alone in this place.

You fall back against the door, your back pressing against it as you slide down to the cold floor, hands trembling at your sides. Your thoughts race. Where did everyone go? What happened to the survivors, to the people who should have been here? The sounds grow even closer, and they must just be right below you.

And for a second, you wonder if it’s worth fighting anymore.

You press your palms to your eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, but they only seem to come harder now. It’s overwhelming, the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. The fear, the grief, the endless chaos... you feel like you’re drowning in it. You slide down until your butt hits the ground, arms falling limply to your sides. The sight of the creatures climbing up the final count of steps happens in slow motion. Their arms outstretched, mouths pulled wide as they prepare for a delicious meal—eyes a terrifying mix of yellow and red. 

A series of every event you’ve experienced in your life flash through your eyes. Getting your first scratch as a kid, your first kiss, your first car, finally being recruited onto the team…and the faces of the people who died in front of you, your name being the last thing they uttered before they met their ungodly demise.

And after all the fucked up shit you’ve done in life, that seems to sting at you the most. Plus the fact that you left Sayo back there in favor of saving yourself. 

A cleansing for every sin you’ve committed. You force yourself to face them head-on, staring death in the face, and all you can think about is how much this will hurt. 

Just as the fastest one is about to grab hold of you, the double doors open. 

You have no time to protest as the back of your jacket is being tugged backward with a quick firmness that leaves you startled. Eyes widening and gasping as the doors closed just as fast as they opened. You’re being forced back up to your feet, being pushed back up against the wall. The sharp edge of something is held up against your neck. Slowly glancing down, it’s an axe. 

When you dare to finally look up at the owner of the axe, a set of bright blue crystals glares down at you. His mouth pressed into a dry smile, and his white eyebrows meet together with a deep crease in the middle. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’m in a charitable mood today?”

He leans closer, digging the axe just slightly into your skin that it causes you to push yourself back against the wall, squirming.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @boothillglazer

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4

@kirachuyuu @sypnasis @ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast

@beabamboo @boothillglazer @sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @lovely-maryj

@n1vi @ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5

[strawb3rryg2l]

How to Lose 'Bob' in 10 Days

Characters: Bob x Y/N, Robert Reynolds x Y/N, Sentry x Y/N, The Void x Y/N

Summary: You thought you'd lost, your husband, Robert Reynolds forever. Consumed by the Void and the chaos it left behind. But then you woke up in a world not your own. One where he's alive. Where he goes by Bob. Where he doesn't know you. To him, you’re a stranger. You have 10 days to lose him, before everything falls apart. But the cracks are already forming. Time stutters. Reality bends. And something followed you here, something made of grief, memory, and everything you refused to let die. As you try to lose Bob in 10 days, the world unravels with every lie you tell yourself. You’ll have to make an impossible choice: hold on to the man you love, or face the truth and finally let him go. Because if you don’t... this world won’t just end. You might go with it.

Word Count: 2081

Warnings: Mentions of grief, Violent/Graphic, A dark twisted version of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Spoilers maybe? (Please let me know if I should add anymore.)

Note from the author: This is my work, and I will be posting on here and @ strawb3rrygal on Archivesofourown. Keep in mind these are my ONLY TWO accounts. Please feel free to reblog if you like it! I've been working on this one as I write my other fic 'The Temp' which you can also check out if you'd like.

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Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… wrong.

It started with the silence. The usual commotion outside her apartment — shouting neighbors, honking cars, the occasional bark of that yappy Pomeranian two floors down—had dulled into a hushed, almost reverent quiet. It wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was the kind that felt staged. Like the city had paused to see if she’d notice.

Even the air in the apartment felt heavier, colder. Like it had forgotten how to move.

She sat up in bed, slowly, rubbing her face with both hands. Her skin was clammy. Her breath fogged slightly in the air. She hadn't been sleeping well lately. Her dreams always ended with the same sensation, falling through a place she’d never seen, toward something that knew her name.

Y/N glanced around the room, but it felt… distant. The walls looked just a little too clean. Her furniture, though familiar, felt arranged by someone else. Her plants sat perfectly healthy on the windowsill, but she couldn’t remember the last time she watered them. Did I do that?

She moved to her cabinet, rifling through underwear with robotic purpose. Sometimes, she found comfort in small rituals wearing something pretty, layering clothes like armor. She settled on a violet lace set that used to make her feel soft and strong at the same time. She tugged on thick leg warmers, worn jeans, and her favorite winter boots. The white fuzzy sweater she pulled over her head enveloped her in warmth, but even its softness felt muted. Almost unfamiliar.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she padded into the kitchen or what passed as one. After Robert’s death, she’d left behind the bigger apartment, moved closer to her office, to the city, to noise. To distraction. Now, the noise was gone. The distractions had turned their backs.

She poured herself cereal, sliced up a banana, and scattered some chia seeds across the top like she always did. She chewed slowly, eyes drifting out the window and froze.

A billboard stood across the street. Large. White background. Red letters. It wasn’t there yesterday.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. The ad was for a new Broadway show she didn’t recognize. The slogan beneath it read: “It’s not too late to come home.”

She blinked.

Was it a coincidence? A strange marketing ploy? She tilted her head, as though looking at it from a different angle would explain away the chill creeping up her spine.

She shrugged, more to herself than to anyone, and looked away. But the sensation didn’t leave.

Finished with her breakfast, she slipped on her jacket, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped outside. The air bit at her cheeks. Pedestrians passed her with heads bowed, not making eye contact. No one bumped into her. No one spoke. The street was the same—and yet it wasn’t.

Her building’s bricks looked darker. The corner coffee shop had changed names. The newspaper vendor on 42nd street was missing. She told herself she must’ve overlooked it. Told herself she was tired. Still healing. 

But healing didn’t feel like this.

At work, everything looked normal. Her coworkers greeted her with practiced smiles. She smiled back. She said good morning. She walked to her desk and turned on her screen.

Y/N was a writer for the nation’s most beloved women’s magazine, a voice of modern relationships and hope-filled advice columns. She had a dedicated readership. A strong social media presence. A decent salary. On paper, she had everything.

But every word she wrote about love felt like a betrayal.

She wanted more. Real stories. Stories about people who were never offered the soft landings she described in her columns. She wanted to write about the cracks in the justice system, about prisons dressed as reform. About things that mattered. Things her boss didn’t care for.

In the beginning, she made it work. Being married to Robert Reynolds had made her an expert in the language of love. In heartbreak. In grief. But then… the Void. Then Thor. And then silence.

Y/N blinked at her computer screen. Her reflection stared back, faint in the black glass. She looked… slightly off. Like the reflection was lagging. Or waiting.

She reached out to shake the mouse and for a moment, just a moment, her reflection didn’t follow. She paused. A strange pressure built behind her eyes. Then the screen flickered on. Her inbox loaded. The moment passed. She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe.

Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe it was just grief. Maybe she was just tired.

But somewhere deep inside, something whispered You’re not supposed to be here.

A sharp tap on her monitor startled her. Y/N’s eyes snapped upward.

Tara stood there, grinning wide, her hair sleek and pin-straight completely different from her usual crown of soft, carefree curls. It made her look polished. Almost artificial. Like someone had run her through a filter.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tara chirped.

Y/N blinked. “Morning…”

“You ready for the meeting?”

“Which meeting?”

Tara laughed shaking her head. “The pitch meeting. Elise wants something viral. Fresh blood. She's been in a mood all morning, so bring the juice.”

Y/N nodded, but her mind was still half-submerged in static. The pitch meeting. Right. She’d forgotten. That strange fog hadn’t lifted since she woke up. She couldn’t tell if it was stress… or something more invasive. Something crawling just beneath the skin of the world. She rose from her chair, pushing aside the low thrum in her head, and followed Tara toward the glass conference room.

Then stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. Inside, surrounded by laughter and coffee cups, sat Marlene. Marlene who had spent last night on Y/N’s couch, red-eyed and blotchy, sniffling into a wine-stained hoodie. Marlene, who had sworn off men forever after the barista she’d been seeing ghosted her for not owning a French press.

And yet here she was. Early. Polished. Smiling. Her posture crisp, her lipstick perfect, not a tear-streak in sight.

Had she imagined it? The crying? The whole night?

Y/N sat beside Tara and forced herself to breathe, ignoring the pressure clamping down on her chest.

“All right,” Elise snapped, breezing in with the presence of someone who lived off cortisol and sugarless espresso. She clapped once. “Let’s talk ideas. Love, lust, the dopamine dance—whatever keeps readers clicking even when their rent’s overdue.”

Stella, their photographer, raised a hand like a schoolgirl on fire. “I got Sam Wilson to agree to a spread. Flight to New York is booked. We’ll shoot by Sunday.”

“Beautiful,” Elise said with a tight smile. “Next?”

Her eyes slid to Marlene.

Y/N braced herself.

Marlene blinked. For a second, her expression went blank like someone had unplugged her.

“Uhh…” she started, stalling. “I was thinking… maybe…”

Tara jumped in, her voice a little too bright. “We were discussing the new Avengers this morning.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. The new Avengers? That was the first she’d heard of it.

Elise tilted her head. “Go on.”

Tara nudged Y/N with her elbow.

Y/N cleared her throat, racking her brain. She couldn’t think of anything New Avengers related so instead she said: “Maybe we flip the usual love column. Instead of giving advice on what to do… we show readers what not to do. Like…” She looked at Marlene and felt a little pang of guilt at her next words. “Sabotage a relationship on purpose.”

Elise raised a brow. “Intentionally?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah…” She thought for a moment. “You know… every red flag. Clingy texts. Sudden jealousy. Oversharing childhood trauma on the first date. Show readers what bad behavior looks like in real time.”

A slow grin crept across Elise’s face. “Interesting. And what’s the hook?”

Y/N hesitated. She felt the weight of Marlene’s eyes. The clock ticked too loudly.

“How to… lose a guy?” she offered weakly.

Elise laughed, the sound sharp and amused. “How to Lose a Guy… in 10 Days. I like it.”

“Why ten?” Tara asked, leaning forward.

“Seven’s too short, and we go to press in twelve,” Elise said with a shrug.

The room buzzed with excitement. Everyone nodded. Marlene even clapped.

But Y/N felt nothing. Not pride. Not relief. Just hollowness.

Because in her world she hadn’t needed ten days to lose the love of her life.

Just one.

One catastrophic day when the sky cracked like glass. One moment when Thor’s lightning lit up the battlefield and left smoke and silence in its place. One breath held tight in her throat, when Robert, the Sentry, turned to her with eyes rimmed in black and begged her to forgive him. Forgive the thing he’d become.

Her smile stretched across her face like cellophane. Tight. Fragile.

Her fingers trembled.

“And… one more thing,” Elise said, voice slicing through the buzz. The room stilled. Every eye snapped to her. Even the air seemed to lean in.

“About the new Avengers,” she continued. “The column would really pop if the guy you lose was one of them.”

A collective gasp rippled across the table like a wave. Y/N blinked; a beat too slow. The thought hadn’t occurred to her before she’d have to actually date someone. Not theoretically. Not hypothetically. Actually. She hadn’t done that, not since Robert.

Her stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice hollow. “The new Avengers?”

Marlene let out a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“There’s a whole new lineup,” Marlene went on. “Less Iron Man, more... walking HR violations.”

Tara snorted. “God. Remember John Walker? He’s newly divorced, right?”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Marlene shuddered. “He smells like Axe body spray and bad decisions. Maybe she could go for someone less... sociopathic?”

Tara leaned forward, practically swooning. “What about Bucky? He’s handsome. Mysterious. That arm?”

Y/N didn’t respond. Her pulse had started to climb, a steady drumbeat of panic behind her ribs.

Elise tapped a pen against the table, calm as ever. “Maybe we should push for a deeper angle someone off-grid. The one no one’s cracked yet.”

Y/N glanced up. Something in Elise’s tone had changed. 

“There’s a mystery man in the files,” Elise continued. “Operates alone. They’ve been calling him Bob.”

The name landed like a grenade in her chest.

Y/N’s breath caught. “Bob?”

Elise flipped through her notes, reading aloud without a shred of awareness for the horror she was conjuring. “Yeah. Real name might be Robert Reynolds. He’s not officially affiliated, but our contacts say he’s powered. Dangerous. Probably not even registered. The government’s been hush-hush. Some kind of asset gone rogue.”

Y/N stopped breathing. Her heart pounded like fists against a locked door. That name. That name.

Robert Reynolds.

Her Robert. Her husband. Dead. Dead. Burned to nothing but a shadow at the edge of a battlefield. She had watched the light leave him, seen his eyes turn black, his voice split by the Void inside him. She held his body when it cooled. He was gone. Gone.

And yet…

Tara’s hand brushed hers. “Hey,” she whispered. “You okay?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her lungs had turned to glass. Her throat closed tight. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Because nothing about her life since waking up had made sense. Her bedroom drawers had clothes she didn’t remember buying. The skyline was off, wrong buildings in the wrong places. Little things, piling up.

And now this.

Robert. Bob. Alive?

Elise looked up; one brow arched like a blade. “Is there an issue?”

Y/N stared at her, the world trembling at the edges. Like it might peel back and show her something too big to survive. Her mouth opened. Words didn’t come. But she forced herself to breathe. She had to. She had to play along. Had to get close. Had to see this man whoever he was. If it was really him. If it was a dream. If it was a lie.

“No,” she said finally, her voice hoarse and splintering.

She curled her fingers into a fist under the table, nails digging into her palm like a tether to her reality.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

And just like that, it was done. She had been assigned to destroy a man who wore the name and possibly the face of her dead husband.

And no one in the room even noticed the crack in her voice. Or the scream trying to claw its way out of her throat.

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

Author Post Note: mueheh :)

[x-gabrielle-x]

Withered Cards | IV

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

Your body still ached from the hits that Joker had blown at you only a week ago, the scab forming over your split lip leaving a metallic tang on your tongue. The bruises still had yet to heal, the purple blemishes littering your skin and serving as a fresh reminder of just how cruel and nasty the Joker really was. It had been a week. A week since your failed mission, and a week since you had last seen Robin.

You had found yourself mostly staying hidden away in your tiny room back in the warehouse, finding that it was much greater comfort than having to be around the tantalizing grin Joker always sent in your direction, like a lion baring its teeth to its prey. So of course, when you had heard a loud bang on your door with the Joker bidding you farewell, claiming he had 'unfinished business to attend', you were more than relieved to finally stretch your limbs and let your guard down; just a little.

Though even without the Joker there for the few days you had, your heart would leap into your throat whenever you thought to hear something similar to his maniacal laughter. You were constantly on edge even without him there, and Harley seemed to be mourning his absence just as much as you were enjoying it.

Sitting on a random rooftop with the glimmering city lights below did little to ease your running thoughts. The familiar chill of the freezing air pricked at your skin to which you folded your arms against your chest for a sense of warmth. Gotham had seemed to be a lot quieter tonight, a very rare occasion. Crime was low, and the usual distant sirens were quiet. You could even hear the occasional laughter and cheers from the bar just down the street.

You wished to bask longer in the silence, in your own company, but it was quickly gone when you heard the soft thuds of boots on the floor behind you.

You didn't need to look over to know that he was staring directly at you, observant and intrigued. In any other situation, you would have found yourself reaching for your knife and defending yourself against the charging enemy, fists flying and weapons drawn for blood, but this was different. Very different. There was no harshness to his steps, no attacks thrown at you, only silence.

The silence dragged uncomfortably long, and you kicked your legs back and forth over the edge of the building as you let out a long breath.

"I didn't think the Robin would be paying me a visit tonight," you kept your gaze trained below. "If I had known, I might have put on my better shoes!"

The pounding in your chest grew with each word you spoke, but if he had come to fight you, he would have done it by now.

He ignored your comment and instead came up beside you. It was then you finally turned your gaze up at him, noticing his yellow, red and green costume. The dominoe mask shadowed his face, though you could see little due to the dimmed lights of the city. He was staring right back at you, a little too much for your personal comfort.

He slumped onto the edge of the rooftop with a huff, maintaining the safe distance between you both. You had to resist from smiling a little to yourself at the silliness of it all. Robin, your enemy, the one who had made you fail your mission and make the Joker’s anger flare was currently sat five feet away as if nothing had happened.

He was playing a dangerous game, yet you were curious to see the reason of his arrival. If he wasn't here to start something, why was he here at all?

The tension was thick with something you couldn't place, but the feeling was oddly unsettling. Not because you were fearful, but because you were oddly excited for this coincidental meeting.

"Tough week?" he questioned in a tease, pointing to your split lip and the yellowish bruise poking out from under your mask. You merely scoffed at the boy before subconsciously licking the cut on your bottom lip.

"Maybe. It would have been a hell of a lot better if you had left me that vial, though," you looked at him, catching the smile that had appeared on his face triumphantly before he quickly disguised it with a bored look.

"What did the Batsy say when you handed it in," you continued. "It better have been good, considering the Joker wasn't too pleased when I returned without the one thing he had asked of me." You gestured to your eye again, his gaze lingering there for a few moments too long.

He tensed at the mention of Batman, lips twitching into a frown.

"Nothing you need to know," he mumbled out, irritation laced in his voice. You quirked a brow.

"I think I do," you laughed, though it was obviously fake. "Considering you're the reason I got my ass beat."

He ignored you, instead shifting himself so that his leg was now propped up on the edge of the roof. He tilted his head in question.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Another Joker deed or dwelling in your failure," he taunted.

"Having a breather," you were quick to reply in defense, and you noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise. He let out a soft laugh, something that surprised you considering you didn't hear laughter too often where you were, or perhaps too much from the Joker.

"Something that we have in common," he mused, and for the first time you felt a strange sense of welcoming with Robin. With anybody, for that matter.

The both of you remained at a safe distance, but his presence alone was one that confused you. Tonight, even with him a mere five feet away, you weren't worried about having to fight him, worried about hiding away, or worried about who you were raised with. It was nearly as if in this moment, you had somebody who didn't pose you as a threat. Or at least, not much of a threat.

Robin's movements were relaxed and composed, abandoned of any tension he may have held before regarding your presence.

“I’m guessing you don’t do this often,” Robin concluded. “If not at all.”

You frowned at him, slightly offended by his comment. “How would you know?”

The corner of his lip tipped into a smile, and he shrugged, flexing his shoulders in a way that caused for his suit to stretch.

“I’m here nearly every night, and I can positively say, I haven’t seen you out here once.”

“And I bet you wish you could see me, little birdy,” you fake pouted, watching him closely.

He breathed out a laugh, his eyes squinting under the dominoe mask that concealed his identity.

"Believe me, if it didn't end in you nearly breaking my nose last time, I might have considered it."

You just stared at him, your mind trying to figure him out. In all honesty, you don't remember the last proper conversation that you had with somebody. much less around your age.

"How old are you?" the question had slipped out before you could stop it.

Robin glanced back at you; a brow raised. "Not much older than you, I'd guess," he looked you up and down. "How old are you?"

"Thats not an answer," you deadpanned, ignoring him. "For all you know, I could be a sixty-five-year-old woman with insane plastic surgery."

"But you're not," he clarified. "No old woman would be able to jump off rooftops and work for criminals like him."

You cringed at the mention of the Joker.

Robin let out a low hum, and the city lights from below flickered across the right side of his face in what seemed to be like a dance.

You opened your mouth. "You're not-"

"Stop." He cut you off.

You paused. "Excuse me?"

He held up a hand, his gaze going past you. It was only then you heard the quiet grunts and rummaging from a nearby alley. You were already on your feet and moving toward the sound, steps cautious. Robin was right on your heel, and by the time you were both on the ground hidden by the shadows in the alley, you could see a hunched figure leaning against the brick wall, digging through what seemed to be a purse.

You turned to Robin, a mocking smile gracing your lips. You gestured an arm out.

"Well? After you, Wonder Boy," you said.

He frowned. "Is that some way you're going to get me distracted and then knock me out when my backs turned?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, do I look like a hero who fights purse thieves?"

He looked you up and down. "Honestly, no."

"You didn't have to answer, bird brain. Just go!"

The man who had been distracted for long enough suddenly snapped his head toward you both, snarling.

"What the hell?"

The man stood abruptly, stepping closer, though Robin was quick to move from the outstretched hand of the man. With a swift kick, the man was doubling over with a grunt and spilling the contents of the purse onto the floor.

The man growled in annoyance, lunging for Robin again, but he was quick to duck down away from the mans clenched fist before it could make contact. You, however, watched on with amusement.

"You could have been a bit more original rather than a purse thief," Robin called out to the man.

The grunts exchanged between the two continued, and you cringed at the few hits Robin had received. You had to admit, he put up a strong fight.

"Little rat!" The man yelled, holding his head where a punch managed to land before he stumbled out of the alley, disregarding the purse he previously held.

Robin huffed, brushing a dark stray of hair away from his face. He looked over, meeting your gaze as you clapped mockingly, stepping out from the shadows and closer to him.

He stooped down, picking up what looked to be an ID.

"Do you know a Lora Johnston?" He said, flipping the card in his hand.

"Can't you search that up on a special little gadget or something?"

He mumbled out something that you failed to hear.

There was a pause.

"I think you could improve on your movement," you said, and his eyes snapped to yours. Something changed in his features that you couldn't place.

"Teach me, then."

Your mouth ran dry. "What?"

"If you teach me, then ill teach you some stuff." He was quick to add, but you shook your head quickly.

"I don't need your help."

You went to turn, but you let out a yelp when you were suddenly tugged back and landed onto the hard floor.

"You let your guard down too easily," Robin teased. You only glared up at him with annoyance.

You stood back up to your feet and wacked him on the shoulder, pushing past him and walking toward the alley entrance to leave, but he quickly called out to you.

You ignored him, but he called out again.

"What do I call you?"

You stopped and turned to him, eyes wide.

There was a long pause. "Nothing," you said. "I can't give you a name."

"Well," he thought, a suggestive smile gracing his lips that you knew you'd see again. "I guess I'll just have to decide myself."

You turned again, waving a hand this time. "Until next time, birdy!"

He let out a chuckle. "Until next time, Princess!"

You remain silent the rest of the walk, your interaction with Robin nothing like how you would have imagined it. He confused you more than you'd like to admit, but oddly enough, tonight was a change, and you liked it.

You couldn't remember the last time you had spoken to somebody so casually, the sense of normality something you craved more of. Though the two of you barely knew each other, much less trust, you had hoped it wouldn't be your last interaction.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[antinousletmehit]

hey pretty person!

may I please, please, please, PLEASE, request some writing for Hephaestus? it doesn't have to be epic, just some Hephaestus writing. it doesn't even have to be romantic, just some chill platonic thing. i'll take ANYTHING. Hephaestus is SOOO underrated. it can be something like him taking in an apprentice at his forge or something, please, he's so cool.

please feel free to ignore!

୨୧┇Hephaestus x reader (platonic)

୨୧┇bro MIGHT like Hephaestus

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Hephaestus wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the heat of the forge licking at his face. The clang of metal echoed through his cavernous workshop as he hammered away at a bronze chestplate, its surface glinting in the firelight. It was a good day for creating, as they all were.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke his focus, followed by an eager voice calling out.

“Master Hephaestus! Master Hephaestus! You’ve got to see this!”

He sighed, though a small smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face his apprentice. You stood in the doorway, grinning ear to ear, your arms cradling what appeared to be a mess of gears, wires, and springs. “What is it this time, little one?” he asked, setting his hammer aside and folding his arms. “It’s an automatic bellows system!” you exclaimed, holding up the contraption as though it were the greatest invention in the world. “See? You wind this crank, and it’ll keep pumping air into the forge without anyone needing to work it manually!”

Hephaestus raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure it works?”

You hesitated, your grin faltering just slightly. “Well… no. Not yet. But it will!”

He let out a deep chuckle and gestured for you to bring it over. “Let’s have a look, then.”

You practically skipped to his side, setting the device down on a nearby workbench. As you began explaining its mechanics in rapid detail, your hands gestured wildly, your enthusiasm bubbling over. Hephaestus listened patiently, nodding along and occasionally interjecting with suggestions. “See this gear here?” he said, pointing to a small, poorly aligned cog. “That’s going to jam the whole thing if you don’t adjust it.”

“Oh! Right, right,” you said, scribbling notes furiously on a scrap of parchment. “I’ll fix that! Thanks, Master Hephaestus!” He smirked. “You’re getting better, you know. Not quite there yet, but you’ve got the spark.”

Your chest swelled with pride at his words, and you beamed up at him. “You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t have taken you on if I didn’t,” he replied. “Now, let’s see about getting this thing working before you burn the place down.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering with the device, laughing and joking as you worked. You couldn’t help but make silly remarks to lighten the mood, even when things went wrong. “Do you think I could attach this to a chariot?” you asked at one point, holding up a part of the bellows system. Hephaestus raised an eyebrow. “Do you want the chariot to explode?”

You burst out giggling. “Maybe! That’d be kind of cool, wouldn’t it?” He shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “You’re going to be the death of me, child.” By the end of the day, the bellows system was far from perfect, but it was functional enough to give you a sense of accomplishment. As you packed up your tools, you turned to Hephaestus with a bright smile.

“Thanks for helping me, Master Hephaestus,” you said earnestly. “You’re the best teacher ever.”

He grunted, though there was a warmth in his eyes. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got a long way to go. But…you’re doing good work.”

Your smile widened, and with a playful salute, you skipped out of the forge, already planning your next invention.

Hephaestus watched you go, shaking his head with a fond smile. The forge had been a quiet place before you arrived, and while he sometimes missed the silence, he couldn’t deny that your energy brought a new kind of life to his workshop.

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

Fight For Us - Mattheo Riddle (1/?)

The tension in the air was suffocating. Something was wrong.

You’d noticed it all day— the way Mattheo had been acting. He was restless, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, fingers twitching like they were waiting to wrap around his wand at a moment’s notice. He had barely spoken, which was unusual for him. Mattheo Riddle was many things— reckless, sharp-tongued, passionate— but quiet was not one of them.

You caught him staring at you more than once, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable. It was unsettling, and when you finally confronted him about it outside the Slytherin common room, he only shook his head and muttered something about needing to be careful tonight.

Careful of what? He wouldn’t say. And it gnawed at you.

The castle was eerily silent as the sun set, painting the sky in streaks of red and gold. Something about the way the torches flickered felt unnatural, and the usual background noise of Hogwarts— the distant chatter, the occasional laugh— had all but disappeared. A storm was coming. You could feel it.

Mattheo had barely left your side all evening, his hand hovering near his wand, eyes constantly scanning the corridors like he was waiting for something.

“Mattheo,” you whispered as you both sat in the library, the heavy tomes in front of you forgotten. “Talk to me.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “You need to stay in the common room tonight. No sneaking around. No wandering. Just— promise me.”

You frowned, reaching for his hand. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

He hesitated. That alone scared you. Mattheo never hesitated.

“I can’t— I can’t tell you,” he said finally, voice strained. “But please, just this once, listen to me.”

Later that evening, you were sitting in the Slytherin common room with Astoria Greengrass. While she contentedly flipped through the latest issue of Witch Weekly, your mind was consumed by Mattheo’s warning. Something didn’t sit right with you. Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash from somewhere in the castle. You immediately stood up and headed toward the sound, pushing away Mattheo’s voice in your head as he pleaded with you to stay put.

As you reached the entrance hall, the chaos became overwhelming. Screams echoed through the corridors, spells ricocheted off the stone walls, and the unmistakable, chilling green glow of the Killing Curse flashed in the distance.

Death Eaters. Inside Hogwarts.

A spell barely missed you, shattering a column inches from where you stood. You gasped, heart hammering in your chest as dust and debris clouded your vision. Before you could move, a firm grip yanked you backward, pressing you flush against a familiar chest.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” Mattheo’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, his breath hot against your ear. His grip on your arms was tight, almost bruising, his entire body rigid with tension.

“I— I had to help,” you stammered, but the moment you met his gaze, you realized just how furious he was. His dark eyes blazed with something primal— fear masked as rage.

“Help?” he echoed incredulously. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

Before you could respond, an attacker lunged toward you both, wand raised. Mattheo was faster.

“STUPEFY!”

The Death Eater crumpled to the ground. Mattheo didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a side corridor, moving fast, too fast for you to keep up.

“Where are we going?” you panted, struggling to match his pace.

“Somewhere safe,” he muttered, eyes darting around wildly. He was thinking ten steps ahead, his grip on you ironclad.

You had a million questions, but before you could voice them, Mattheo had pulled you into an alcove, immediately turning to hold you in his arms. His hands cradled your face, his breathing uneven as he scanned you for injuries.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he admitted, voice raw. Before you could respond, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it was like he was trying to shield you from the entire world. And then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, his lips crashed against yours. It was desperate, unspoken fear and relief spilling into the kiss.

You barely had time to process it before a deafening sound shook the castle. The ground beneath you trembled, and in the distance, a terrible, heart-stopping scream echoed through the halls.

And then, silence.

Mattheo’s whole body tensed. His grip on you tightened almost painfully. You barely registered the way his breathing had changed— the way his entire demeanor had shifted from protective to something far more terrifying.

You had never seen Mattheo Riddle look afraid. Until now.

You swallowed. “Mattheo… what—”

“He’s dead,” he whispered, voice hollow.

A chill ran down your spine. “Who—?”

“Dumbledore.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The world tilted.

No.

And that’s when it hit you. The way he had been acting all day. The way he had begged you to stay in the common room. The way he had known something was coming.

Mattheo had known.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. He wouldn’t meet your gaze now, his jaw locked, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

And for the first time since you had known him, Mattheo Riddle looked truly, utterly lost.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 15

You can read previous chapters here.

Summary: Y/n slowly begins to recover, gradually warming up to Azriel and Cassian again. She agrees to train with Cassian but only under a few conditions.

A/N: As promised, here’s the next chapter with more Az interaction. Enjoy!

WC: 4.8K.

As days went by, Y/n’s nightmares became less frequent. Cassian only spoke a few words to her whenever they crossed paths, mostly greetings, casual questions about her day, how she’s doing, and nothing more. No snarky comments, no mention of training.

She hadn’t seen Azriel for a while either. He was mostly on missions, ones she knew nothing about, and when he was back, he either stayed locked in his room or left just before she arrived.

Somehow, whenever she’d enter the dining room, she’d catch the lingering trail of shadows and find a half-empty plate or cup. He always seemed to know when she’d come and left before she could ignore him or say something to hurt him. It was almost like he was avoiding her just as much as she was avoiding him.

She began to miss him, and that was dangerous.

But at least her life had improved. She was eating again, going to the library, chatting with Gwyn occasionally, and knitting. Being left alone had softened her, just a little, though she wouldn't admit it to herself.

On one of those nights, she had finished a book that left her feeling content for once. The idea of sleep didn’t appeal to her yet, so she headed to the roof for some peace, fresh air, and a view of the slumbering city below.

She did not notice Azriel training in the corner of the roof at first. As usual he was as slick and silent as the shadows, his form blending into the dark. This time, his shadows did not inform him of her arrival. When he saw her, he moved slightly, making an accidental noise that earned her attention.

“I didn’t know you were back,” she remarked, her voice softer than usual, though her brows rose in faint surprise.

Azriel paused, lowering his weapon. “Only for the night.” His body remained tense, debating whether to leave to stay.

“Don’t you ever take a break?” she asked, stepping further into the open air.

“I do when I need one,” he answered simply.

“You’re going to work yourself to death.” Her gaze flicked over him, taking in the weariness etched into his features. “You look like hell. You should get some rest.”

It was her way of not being cold to him, and they both knew it.

Azriel tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t know you cared.” Though low, his tone carried a faint chill, guarded as ever.

“I- it was just a suggestion,” she clarified quickly, glancing away. “If whatever you’re doing is important, you need to take a step back and rest. If your head isn’t in the game, it’ll cost you a lot. And I know you don’t like to disappoint your High Lord.”

“I’ll rest when I feel the need to,” he insisted, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer. Then he added, almost too softly. “Thank you for your advice.”

She didn’t know if he was being sincere or mocking her; his face betrayed nothing.

Y/n shifted on her feet, suddenly uncomfortable. Just as she turned to leave, she noticed his shadows sneaking toward her.

Her gaze followed them instinctively, and her lips quirked slightly. She had missed them too. Noticing his shadows and her focus, Azriel sighed before speaking again. “This had nothing to do with me. Sometimes they act on their own.”

“Relax, Shadowsinger. It’s fine,” she said quietly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

At that, his shoulders eased a fraction. He studied her for a moment, his hazel eyes searching her face. Something about her was different, her voice, her behavior towards him, the way she seemed healthier. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied lightly, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.

“How are things?” he asked, careful and hesitant, as though afraid she might retreat behind her usual defenses.

“Not bad,” she said simply, her gaze drifting out over the city.

“But not good?”

“I’m still a prisoner,” she quipped, a faint edge to her tone.

“Be glad you’re not one of my prisoners,” he countered, softening a bit with a faint smirk, attempting to joke.

“Right. I almost forgot. You’re supposed to be ruthless with all the torturing you do.” Her lips curved upward, though she bit her lower lip to suppress the full smile.

“I’m glad you remembered,” he replied, his tone mock-serious. His eyes glinted faintly in the dim light. “But even if you were the most wicked High Fae alive, I promise you’re safe from me.”

“Hmm, even if I became a witch?” she questioned, her voice playful.

“Are you planning on becoming one?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I am,” she teased, shrugging. “But I still need someone to teach me how to channel that much power.”

He didn’t know if she was being serious or joking. “Just give me a heads-up when you do.”

“Why? So you could lock me up?” She couldn’t hide her amused smile anymore.

“I told you, you’re safe from me,” he repeated firmly. “But Spymaster, remember? It wouldn’t be a good look for me if I were the last to know.”

“Fine,” she relented, amused. “If I become a witch, you’ll be the first one to know, I promise. Happy now?”

“Very,” he said, an actual smile, soft and rare pulling at his lips.

Her own faded, her chest tightening unexpectedly. She missed that smile. She missed him, their little talks. For a moment, her expression faltered.

“What is it?” Azriel asked, noticing the shift.

“Nothing,” she murmured. “I should go. I have a long day tomorrow, and so do you. Good night, Shadowsinger.”

Of course, she’d pull away, run away from him the minute she started feeling something. The minute she felt her walls cracking.

“Good night, Troublemaker,” he whispered, though she was already gone.

The next morning, Azriel was gone again. But Y/n found herself in a rare good mood. She’d finally decided to train with Cassian.

This time, she arrived at the training ring dressed in Illyrian leathers, though not the ones she’d worn during the war. She’d burned those custom-made leathers after the war, unable to even look at them without being reminded of all she’d lost. If they hadn’t been custom, she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing others wearing the standard ones.

Cassian, shirtless and already wielding a sword, stood in his usual spot. When he noticed her approach, his brows shot up in surprise. He didn’t want to get his hopes up yet, so he asked, “Here to watch, or to join?”

“I’ve come to play,” she replied, heading for the weapon rack.

His surprise turned into an amused chuckle. “We should practice your movements before you go anywhere near a sword.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid,” she quipped, ignoring his comment as her fingers skimmed over the handles of various blades before selecting the lightest one. If she was going to wield one in front of him for the first time, she wasn’t about to embarrass herself. She knew she needed to work on her arm strength, but she could manage for now.

Cassian grinned, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “It’s for your own safety, but go ahead.”

Sword in hand, Y/n dragged the blade slightly along the ground as she stepped up to him. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are,” he said with a confident smirk, lowering into a defensive stance.

She did not give him a chance to prepare. In one swift motion, she disarmed him, the tip of her blade hovering just below his throat.

Cassian blinked, then broke into a wide grin. “Impressive. Let’s go again. I wasn’t prepared.”

“I thought you said you were ‘whenever I was’,” she replied, feigning innocence as she shrugged.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have to admit, I was taken by surprise.”

“In battle, your opponent won’t wait for you to get ready. I might not be the strongest or the fastest, but if and when it comes down to a fight, I can hold my own,” she said, lowering the blade.

Cassian retrieved his sword, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful as he studied her. “I see you know some moves. Let’s go again.”

“I’m not a fool. I know I can’t defeat you,” she admitted. “I’ve seen the way you fight. I just took advantage of the situation.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” Cassian said, his tone carrying a hint of respect. “I failed at that, I admit. Where did you learn to do that?”

She ran her fingers along the blade’s edge, inspecting it. “I took self-defense classes a long time ago. And a few sword-fighting lessons too. I practiced from time to time.”

His brows furrowed as he considered her answer. “Why did you let me mock you all this time? Let me believe you couldn’t fight?”

She gave him a cool look. “You never asked. You presumed, just like everyone else.”

His gaze softened, a note of guilt creeping into his voice. “I apologize for that.” His voice was surprisingly serious. “Does anyone else know you can fight?”

“A few Illyrians,” she replied,her tone casual as she inspected the hilt of the sword. “And I believe your Shadowsinger does.”

Cassian’s expression darkened slightly. “Is that why Devlon warned me to keep you away from his warriors? You beat them up?”

“I didn’t beat them up,” Y/n corrected, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just say they tried to show me some moves, and I showed them a few of my own.”

Cassian let out a hearty laugh, though his curiosity wasn’t fully satisfied. “Wait- your sisters don’t know?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“That is none of your business.”

He sighed but didn’t press. “So, why do you refuse to train then? If you know how to fight?” If he wasn’t intrigued before, he was now.

“That’s also none of your business.”

Cassian snorted, clearly exasperated. “If you hate me and can’t stand to train with me, you could always train with Az or Mor.”

“No.” Her reply was quick, sharp, leaving no room for debate. “Listen, I don’t hate you, but I just don’t like training.”

Cassian crossed his arms, his grin returning. “Is that you complimenting me?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” she shot back, rolling her eyes again. “Although I don’t necessarily hate you, training with you would be unbearable.”

“Is it because you wouldn’t be able to focus on training and rather be too distracted by my handsome face and impressive physique?” Cassian teased, flexing his arms playfully.

“In your dreams,” she retorted, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Engaging in conversation with you is frustrating enough. You’re just insufferable. You emanate this… bright aura around you. Your view on life is just-“

“Positive?” Cassian supplied, amused.

“Exactly.”

Cassian let out a bark of laughter. “How do you manage to turn every positive trait into a negative one?” He couldn’t fathom how her mind worked.

“The same way you turn negative ones into positives.”

“Why, though?” he pressed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“None of your business.”

“Is that your answer to everything, anyone asking you a personal question?”

“None- possibly..”

“I can already bet on the answer to this one, but why? Why don’t you want people to know you?”

“And that conversation has already been too much for my brain to handle in one day. I’m leaving.” She turned toward the door but halted, glancing back over her shoulder. “Because I’m in a good mood today, I’ll say something nice to you. Even though training with you would be unbearable, having your body on full display would make it slightly less unpleasant.” She shrugged.

Cassian froze, his expression caught somewhere between shock and delight. Then he grinned like a fool. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The next day, when Y/n arrived at the training ring again, Cassian was already there waiting for her, his arms crossed and a curious glint in his eyes. As she approached, he tilted his head, studying her. “So,” he began as she stopped a few paces away, “How do you want to do this?”

“First,” she said, holding up a finger, “I’ll only do basic muscle training. No sparring, no fighting exercises.”

“Why not?” he asked, feigning disappointment.

“I don’t like having an audience when I’m showing my moves.”

Cassian frowned, his brows drawing together. “Afraid someone will learn your fighting style and use it against you?”

“No,” she shot back, giving him an exasperated look. “I just don’t take well to certain kinds of criticism when it comes to this.”

He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I won’t judge. If anything, I might offer some advice, but that’s it.”

“Still,” she said firmly, “I don’t feel ready for that yet.”

“Alright, basic exercises it is,” he agreed, though the curiosity in his eyes didn’t fade.

“Second,” she added, “I’d prefer it if we trained in silence.”

He groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Way to kill the mood, Y/n.”

“Want me to train with you or not?” she countered, crossing her arms.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, raising his hands in surrender. “We’ll do as you say.”

With that her training journey officially began.

The nights were different. While Cassian trained with her during the day, Y/n would sneak to the rooftop under the cover of darkness. There, with no eyes watching, she practiced her stances, her movements, and her sword work.

It was after a few nights of this routine that Azriel landed silently on the roof after a mission, only to be met with a sight he never expected to see. Azriel wasn’t surprised by many things, but when it came to Y/n, this female never ceased to catch him off guard. He came to find her focused, her attention wholly on the invisible target she struck with her sword.

Not wanting to disturb her or break her concentration, he remained quiet in the shadows.

After a few minutes, she stilled, her instincts sharpening. She could sense something lurking nearby. She reached for a dagger and, without hesitation, flung it towards the shadows. Azriel dodged by mere inches, stepping out into the faint light with his hands raised in surrender.

“It’s just me,” he said calmly, his tone steady as his golden eyes met hers.

Her shoulders relaxed, though her tone remained sharp. “I thought I made it clear I don’t like being watched.”

“I remember,” he replied. “It wasn’t intentional. I just arrived and didn’t want to interrupt. You seemed… focused.”

Y/n eyed him suspiciously but let it slide. “I’ll let it go this time.”

Azriel’s lips twitched faintly, almost teasing. “I didn’t know you could wield a sword.”

“I’m not a professional, if that’s what you think,” she admitted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But I thought you already knew. You made it seem that way when you asked me about the Illyrians.”

“I thought you used your fists,” Azriel replied smoothly. “And your legs.”

“You’re not wrong,” she replied with a small smirk. “Do your shadows really know all that?”

“And more,” he said, a subtle smile playing at his lips.

Y/n tilted her head. “Then, with all your knowledge, I assume a lot of people want you dead?”

“You assume correctly,” Azriel said in his naturally quiet tone, a hint of amusement threading through it.

Silence lingered between them before he gestured to her sword. “Can I give you a suggestion?”

“About what exactly?”

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “May I?” he asked, nodding toward the weapon in her hand.

After a brief hesitation, she nodded, handing him the sword. His fingers grazed hers as he took it, the fleeting contact sending an odd jolt up her arms. The shadows around him seemed to still, as if observing.

“You’re holding it like this,” he said softly, his hands steady as they demonstrated her current grip along the hilt. “It’s not wrong, but there’s an easier way to balance the weight without tiring your arms.” His movements were fluid, sure, as he adjusted his hold, showcasing a more efficient grip with ease.

When he handed the sword back to her, his scarred fingers brushed hers once more, the touch lingering just a moment too long. The shadows curled subtly between them, as though curious about the interaction.

“Do you want to give it a try?” he asked, stepping back.

“With you watching?” she muttered, hesitating.

Azriel’ tilted his head, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Yes. Is that a problem? I can leave if you’d prefer.”

“Yes, no-” Y/n stammered, quickly shaking her head. “I just… I never train in front of anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Your brother asked me the same question a few days ago,” she replied, her tone guarded.

“And what did you tell him?”

“That I don’t like being criticized when it comes down to this.”

Azriel studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “But that’s not all, is it?”

She didn’t reply, her grip tightening on the sword as she started at the ground. After a moment, she shook her head.

“I won’t ask again,” he said gently. “Not unless you want to talk about it.”

She looked down at the sword, grateful he didn’t push.

“So,” Azriel continued, breaking the silence. “Do you want to try that move, or would you like me to leave?”

“You can stay, Shadowsinger,” she replied, the words slipping out before she could reconsider.

“Thank you for your generosity.” He gave a playful bow, a hint of a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes as a small smile softened her expression.

Adjusting her grip on the sword, she tried the move he’d demonstrated, surprised to find the technique was indeed easier and more natural than before.

Azriel stepped back and unsheathed his own sword, taking a fluid fighting stance.

“What are you doing?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“You forget, I usually train at night,” he said, his smile widening ever so slightly as the faint glow of starlight danced along his blade. “Don’t worry, I won’t spar with you…unless you want to?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly, her voice a little too sharp. Her heart stuttered as heat crept up her neck. “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” she added, cursing herself for the words as soon as they left her mouth.

A crease formed between his brows as confusion flickered across his face. “Why is that?”

Because my focus would be elsewhere, she thought to herself and was glad he couldn’t read minds. “I haven’t sparred with anyone in a long time,” she said instead, dodging his question. “The last time I did was during my lessons.”

Azriel regarded her for a moment but didn’t push. “The offer still stands. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

She scoffed. “I don’t think so. You’re a hard male to find.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “If you tell Cass or Rhys, I’ll come meet you.”

“For you to leave your all-important work just to come spar with me? I’m honored,” she said, mock-gasping as she placed her free hand over her chest.

“For you, I’d leave anything,” he replied quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Azriel froze, his heart almost stopping as his eyes widened slightly. He couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

Y/n blinked, her breath catching. She wasn’t sure if she'd heard him correctly, or if she wanted to. Ignoring the comment, she focused on the conversation at hand instead. “I’ll think about your offer.”

Azriel exhaled quietly, relief briefly crossing his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt that kind of fear before. What’s going on with me? he thought to himself.

With a nod, he turned back to his training. Y/n did not run away from him like she always did. This time she stayed and they trained in silence.

The sun was already rising by the time they stopped, its first rays spilling across the roof. Y/n groaned softly, lowering her sword and stretching her sore arms.

“I probably won’t be able to train with your brother today. I can’t feel my arms.”

Azriel sheathed his sword, his lips twitching. “I can vouch for you if you want.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’d be weird.”

“How so?”

“Because the General is the General,” she replied, as if it were obvious. “If I go up to him and say I can’t practice today because I’m sore, he’ll ask why. And then you’d show up and say, ‘because we were practicing all night long.’” She arched a brow. “How do you think that would sound to him?”

Azriel’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly and for a moment, he actually looked flustered. “I see how that might sound…” he muttered. “So what are you going to tell him?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’ll probably just tell him I was practicing all night. He doesn’t need to know all the details.”

“Right,” Azriel nodded. “That’s for the best.”

“Besides,” she added, starting to ramble, “I think he’d be a little jealous. Seeing as I told him I wasn’t ready to train with him yet, and then we went and did exactly that.”

“Yeah, probably not a good idea,” he agreed, his lips twitching as if suppressing a smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you when I see you.” She turned to leave.

“Good night, Troublemaker,” he murmured, watching her go.

She paused at the doorway, glancing back at him. “Is that your new nickname for me now?”

Azriel smiled faintly, his shadows curling lazily around him. “I’ve had it for a while.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Sweet dreams, Shadowsinger,” she replied softly before slipping out of sight.

Azriel stood there for a moment longer, staring at where she’d disappeared. His hand grazed the hilt of his sword as her parting words echoed in his mind. He let out a slow breath, then finally turned to resume his training.

—

“I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but I have to ask, do you still have your powers?” Cassian asked during one of their sessions.

Y/n’s movements faltered, her brows knitting together. “Why does it matter?”

“Because if you do, it’s dangerous to keep them unchecked.”

She huffed, resuming her stance. “Even if I did still have my powers, which I’m not saying I do, nothing’s happened so far.”

“As you said, so far,” he pressed, his voice firm but not unkind. “But we all know what happens when you’re overwhelmed.”

“Let’s just get back to training,” she snapped, her tone leaving little room for argument.

“Y/n, it’s dangerous. Someone could get hurt.”

“I didn’t say I have powers,” she retorted sharply. “Just drop it.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, his worry clear. “Just promise me, if you feel them coming back, you’ll tell me.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” She halted mid-movement, fixing him with a glare. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing, I’m just worried.”

“Well, don’t be,” she said, her voice colder now. “I’m not a ticking time bomb.”

“That you know of,” he replied, his tone edging toward frustration.

Y/n’s patience snapped. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

“Nesta still has her power,” he admitted quietly.

Her expression darkened, and her voice dropped to a dangerous calm. “Of course. Fucking Nesta! Why do you keep thinking that whatever she might do or have, I might as well?”

“Because that’s usually what happens,” Cassian said, pressing further. “You both are hotheaded, with tempers to match. You both took something from the Cauldron. You both have a way of pushing people away and saying hurtful things. Not to mention, you both shared similar bad habits after the war.”

“Do not compare her to me,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “She’s a much better person than I am, and we’re far more different than you think us to be.”

Before Cassian could reply, Y/n stormed off, leaving their session unfinished.

Y/n went straight to the library to unwind, her heart still pounding from the argument. Gwyn greeted her with a warm smile and recommended another book.

It wasn’t long before Y/n seelted into her usual spot, tucked away in the quiet depth of the library— the same place she had first discovered its solace. Bryaxis was no longer there, so that level should be safe, or so she thought.

She was aware Nesta was somewhere nearby, but thankfully, they didn’t cross paths.

She opened the book, letting its pages pull her into another world. But as she read, the quiet began to shift. A voice, faint at first, began to call her name. Again and again, the sound reverberated through the space.

Y/n stilled, shivers crawling up her spine. She tried to ignore it, focus on the words in front of her, but it was as if her body had other plans. Slowly, unwillingly, she stood.

The voice pulled her closer, an invisible string drawing her toward the darkness of the lower levels. Her steps were slow, hesitant, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t resist it. It wasn’t Bryaxis’ voice; she knew that much. This was darker, colder.

She halted just before the staircase. The voice whispered to her still, tempting her forward.

Then, suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm, spinning her around. Her breath caught as she found herself face- to-face with Azriel. Too close. He was too close, his face mere inches from hers. When she took in his features, she realized his breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run all the way to reach her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, startled.

Azriel didn’t answer right away, his shadows swarming protectively around them. His grip on her arm was firm, his other hand resting on the hilt of the dagger strapped to his side.

“Why were you going down there?” he demanded in his usual subdued voice.

Y/n blinked, the haze that had gripped her moments earlier beginning to fade. “How did you even find- never mind. I already know the answer to that question,” she muttered. “Something was calling to me. Something dark.”

Azriel’s expression turned more serious. “You shouldn’t stay in this part of the library again.”

“Why not?” she asked, her tone curious.

“The darkness is drawn to you like you are to it. Bryaxis might be gone, but there’s still darkness down there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you have your shadows follow me?”

“No,” he replied. “It was a mere coincidence.” He glanced around warily. “They’re everywhere, though. And when they felt that darkness, they informed me.”

Y/n’s brows rose in mild disbelief. “You ran here?”

He nodded, reminding her. “We can’t winnow into the library.”

Y/n’s gaze flickered to his hand still wrapped around her arm. “You can let go now.”

Azriel blinked as though realizing it for the first time. He released her quickly, stepping back slightly, though his gaze didn’t waver. “Do you still have your powers?”

Her eyes sharpened at the question, a defensive edge creeping into her posture as she created a distance between them. “Did you talk to the General?”

“No, why?”

She let out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms. “He asked me the same thing less than an hour ago.”

“I have reasons to believe the darkness was drawn to you because of your powers,” he explained, his eyes scanning her face for answers.“You should be careful.”

“You’re not going to tell me I should learn how to control it or keep it in check or whatever?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“No,” he replied simply. “I learned not to tell you what to do.”

She blinked again, caught off guard by his honesty. “At least one of you finally got the message.”

“Cassian means well,” Azriel said softly, though his tone held a hint of exasperation.

She scoffed. “He has a way of showing the opposite.”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. “The same way you do when you care about someone?”

Y/n froze, the words landing with more weight than she wanted to admit. She said nothing, just stared at him, the silence between them thick and charged.

Azriel didn’t push further. He simply watched her for a moment longer before his shadows receded slightly, their tension easing. “Stay away from the lower levels,” he said at last. “Promise me that.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. Azriel took her silence as agreement.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he spoke softly before stepping back and turning on his heel.

Y/n remained rooted to the spot, staring at the place where he’d disappeared. Somehow, buried deep beneath her defenses, was the unsettling warmth of Azriel’s concern. Not that she’d ever acknowledge it, or admit how much it lingered.

Tags: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03 @elaselat @minnieoo @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jojodojo02 @questionmymentality @romantasyreader28 @cassie-at-college-blog @dabiloverphoenix @hippop345

[almond-tofuuu]

Hi I see you're opening request, so I'm here to ask for one. Thank you so much!

Plot: Zayne anger and his punishment when he find out you lied to him and get yourself in dangerous.

anon are you a mind reader?! 👀 bc I've had a draft of this sat in my wip folder for ages!!!

Hope you enjoy!! 💕

Sorry isn't enough...

Zayne x reader

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, no comfort, Zayne is mad (and possibly ooc)

Might do a part 2 (with a happy ending as an apology for this)

Zayne doesn't yell. In fact, in all the time you'd known him you couldn't remember ever seeing him lose his temper. Sure he got annoyed with you sometimes, mainly when you ignored his advice or turned up at the hospital with yet another injury, but it never boiled over into anger. He'd scold you like a child, giving the occasional icy glare, but nothing more. So when you limped into his office today, an hour late for your appointment and caked in dirt and dried blood, you were prepared to receive another lecture about safety from your primary care physician.

The minute you opened the door and took the first unsteady step into his office, you knew something was off. The air held an icy chill, causing a shiver to run down your spine, the tension increasing with every step. You could feel the pressure of Zayne's eyes on you as you approached his desk, piercing green gaze scrutinising every aspect of your appearance, taking note of every scrape and bruise, every smudge of blood that stained your skin and clothes.

"You're late." Emotionless and cold, his voice shattered the uncomfortable silence that had been present since you entered his office. Swallowing thickly, you finally meet his eyes, and immediately regret it. His expression is hard, brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes which usually hold a tenderness whenever he looks at you are dark, and swirling with a storm of fury. Zayne is pissed.

Opening your mouth, the apology on the tip of your tongue quickly dies at the sound of Zayne's exasperated sigh. "If you're planning on apologising I'd suggest you save your breath. I have neither the time nor the patience to listen to whatever feeble excuses you plan on giving." His harsh tone hits you like an avalanche, burying you in the disappointment that is practically radiating from him. "I've warned you time and time again to be careful, to prioritise your safety and yet you seem determined not to listen. I've lost count of how many times you've limped into my office. You refuse to listen to my advice yet you come to me whenever your recklessness results in another injury. Tell me, do you insist on continuing this foolish behaviour until it undoubtedly causes your death?!"

A lump forms in your throat, eyes fixed on the floor as you desperately try to hold back the tears threatening to fall. Every cruel word Zayne seethes is another knife to your heart, cutting deep and carving themselves into your flesh. And despite your best efforts, you can't stop the choked sob that escapes your lips. Because it hurts. Seeing the man who has always treated you so gently fuming with rage, steely glare freezing you where you stand, forcing you to endure the brunt of his anger. His words melt together, flooding your mind and making your ears ring as they echo on repeat inside your head. You're so overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his disappointment that you don't even realise you're crying until a cold hand touches your cheek, thumb wiping away a single tear. His breath fans your face as he exhales a tired sigh, "come here, let me see your wounds" his voice is softer now, having lost its previous venom but his outburst has left a sour taste in your mouth. You pull away from his touch, shaking your head slightly as you wipe away the tears that stain your cheeks.

"I can take care of it myself...I wouldn't want to inconvenience you any further." You utter, keeping your voice steady and void of emotion. "Don't worry, you won't have to deal with my reckless behaviour anymore. Goodbye, Dr Zayne." Turning away from him you quickly make your way out of his office, ignoring the calls of your name, determined not to let him see you fall apart completely. With each step you can feel your heart breaking more, bleeding out and flooding your chest with every crushing word Zayne spat at you. You're not sure where you're heading, vision blurring with tears, you just know that the last place you want to be is with Zayne.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 23: Extreme Makeover Backyard Edition

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty three of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+ because it handles some heavy subjects!  Angst, Cursing, Nudity, Mentions of Abuse (sort of- it's more the reader being used without knowledge of it and I'm not sure what to call that), Numbness, Depression, Mental Health, Brief mentions of graphic death, Brief mentions of graphic torture, Mention of gore, Mention of death, Mentions of character going through some HEAVY EMOTIONS and INTERNAL TRAUMA, Fluff, Sexual References, Family Problems. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Reader POV

You fall on your hands and knees in the soft grass of Legend's front yard, falling from the sky like a comet as it's glow fades and burns for the last time before striking the earth. You don't remember how you left Stan's apartment, don't remember flying here, don't feel anything, not the humidity that comes with the rising sun, not the cold kiss of dew against your skin, all you feel is the cold creeping numbness that trickles through your veins.

The memories of what you did come in flashes, but they do nothing. They do not evoke remorse nor pain, they haunt you, but do not bring tears to your eyes.

You open and close your hands, letting the blades of grass crush beneath your fingertips, but you don’t completely comprehend where you are, or how the hell you got here. All you feel is weakness tugging at your every muscle, threatening to drag you under the rising tide. You felt electrified, but so tied at the same time, everything and nothing. What happened seemed centuries ago and also seconds ago.

There was no anger, no remorse, no pain, no horror, no shock, there was nothing, only the chill that clung to your skin on the warm summer morning. You could see Stan’s death in your mind, watch his body collapse in on itself under your power and yet it did nothing to you.

You're not sure of anything anymore. Who you are, who Rosemary is- everything you knew is gone and you're not sure what's left behind, not sure what will come crawling out of the shell you were now. You knew you should be afraid, but another voice in your ear whispered so should they.

Someone grabs you by the shoulders, hauls you up off the ground, raising your gaze from the wet grass.

Ben looks furious, mind you, he always seemed to be angry when it came to you. You wondered if that was because he loved you or if it was because the two of you were fated to kill each other one day.

Or maybe it's a healthy combination of both.

He's wearing his jeans again, his dark hair falling forward into his eyes that burn with the force of his rage, but as soon as he sees the dried blood coating your cheeks, hair, and body, you watch worry begin to spark behind his glowing green eyes.

You register that deep down his anger and worry comes from a place that he'd hidden from you for eighty years, his love for you, the love that he was no longer hiding. But the chill still rose in your chest like the first frost of winter.

"Fuck." Ben mutters, moving his hands along your body, boldly looking for injuries, but he doesn't find any. "What the fuck happened? Why did you leave?"

You don't answer him, instead you take in a shallow breath, filled with the smell of fresh cut grass and Ben's musk. You're trying to find your voice, but it's difficult for you.

"Y/n are you alright?" He asks it, firmly gripping you by the shoulders, trying to shake you back into reality. You can hear the way the anger in his voice has shifted to something else.

"It's not mine Ben." Your voice is no more than a whisper as you stare blankly at him.

"Whose is it?"

You can't answer him, the only thing in your mind is Stan's words to you, the secrets he kept for forty years coming to light, the terrible things that he and Vogelbaum did. You want to tell him, tell him about what you know, but you can't find the words, can't find the thoughts to follow them.

"Sweetheart?" Ben furrows his eyebrows together, tilting your face to look at him. His hand softly strokes against your cheeks not understanding why you’re acting like this. “Are you alright?” 

His voices sound like you’re underwater, a murmur, a buzz, just a shadow of the deep rumble you love so much, the voice you thought you'd never hear every again.

Ben says your name again, with such urgency that it snaps you out of it for only a moment. The smoke clears, but what’s left barely has the strength to cling to him as you collapse into his chest. Your body shakes uncontrollably, tears soaking through his thin t-shirt, unable to do anything else, but clutch him tighter against you.

"He's our son Ben. They stole my-" You can't find the words, can't find your voice, it sounds hollow. "Stan he and Vogel-." But your voice breaks again and you shudder against Ben's chest, the numbness coming back to drag you under.

Ben doesn't hesitate, he picks you up as if you weigh nothing, tucking your head under his chin as he goes and turns back towards the house. You barely register his picking you up, can’t seem to focus on anything, breath coming in shallow gasps, body still shaking. Ben tightens his arms around you as if trying to comfort you as he walks through the front doors.

“Is she alright?” Rosemary’s voice is close, but you don't raise your head from Ben's body.

“Fuck, there’s so much blood.“ Hughie adds and you can imagine him standing beside her, his eyes wide.

Guess that means he survived Mindstorm.

Your only hope was that Lou was already in bed, that she wasn't watching Ben carry you soaked in blood through Legend's house.

“It’s not hers.” Ben replies gruffly, still moving towards the staircase. He wasn't stopping and you were thankful for that, you didn’t want to talk to anyone and didn’t want to have it out with Rosemary. You were so tired, tired of fighting and of trying. You didn’t want to yell at her, didn’t want her to yell at you, all you wanted was to slip deeper into the darkness.

"Shit, she's just as fucking unhinged as Soldier Boy is." Butcher mutters under his breath wherever it is he's standing.

“Wait mom talk to me-“ Rosemary tries again.

“No.” You murmur into Ben’s neck. Stan’s revelation rings in your ears once more, betrayal momentarily clawing its way from the pit before the cold feeling comes back to drag you under.

Because it felt like she had betrayed you. All these years you thought that Vought left the two of you alone, but no, it was a lie. And if she'd done that, what else had she done to ensure your freedom?

“Please-“ She sounds broken, and it strikes something inside, because she's never sounded like that before. Rosemary was strong, stronger than you ever were.

But then the word makes the memory of Stan’s body snapping and twisting beneath your control come roaring back, his pleas for the mercy he didn’t deserve exhaled on his dying breath, as you turned him into nothing more than a lump of flesh.

You gasp, another shudder shaking through your body and you don’t answer and don't raise your head.

"Wait Ben-" She says his name, but Ben doesn't stop.

"She doesn't want to talk right now." Ben's tone is controlled, but you can hear the trickle of his rage just on the edge of his inflection. "And I'm not going to make her." He continues walking down the stairs and Rosemary does not follow.

Ben doesn’t put you down on the bed, instead he takes you to the adjoining bathroom. It’s bigger than your bedroom back at your apartment with a walk in shower big enough for five people to stand in, a giant vanity with two sinks, a jacuzzi, and a bathtub big enough for three. Legend never spared any expense when it came to that sort of thing.

Ben slowly places you on the vanity but when he pulls back you grab the front of his shirt. “No.” You breathe suddenly terrified. The terror of Ben leaving cuts through it all, followed by a wave of horror and fear.

If he leaves they’ll come for me again. They’ll come take me or Lou.

You were afraid to be alone, didn’t want him to go, not after everything that happened.

“Shhh.” Ben soothes you, brushing your hair back, “It’s alright sweetheart I’m just getting a washcloth.”

You relent, hand unfurling from his shirt, and he comes back with it, wetting it with warm water before he begins to drag it over your face as gently as possible. His eyebrows are furrowed with concentration, but you don’t move, you only stare at a point over his left shoulder not really comprehending what’s happening.

What happened to Stan comes back in flashes, black and white photographs followed by the bits of conversation that unmade you, the revelations that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Ben sighs. “Well. I don’t think this is helping at all.” He throws the washcloth into the sink and gently cups your chin, turning your gaze on him.

You blink a few times to focus your eyes.

“Look sweetheart I know you don’t want me to leave, but you gotta get in the shower. I can’t get it all with this washcloth and the last thing I want is to put you in bed covered in blood.” He searches your gaze trying to make you understand what he was asking but you don’t respond.

He leans his forehead against yours. “Honey please you gotta say something. You’re scaring me.” Ben’s eyes meet yours, wide and for the first time in years you see genuine fear.

You let out a shallow breath, but don’t say anything. You can’t find your voice. Instead you gently touch his chest just over his heart. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough for Ben.

Ben closes his eyes for a minute as if trying to make sense of it all. “Okay.” He breathes, opening his eyes again to look at you, care and concern charging the air between the two of you. “Can I take off your clothes?”

You nod once, eyes still focused on the white tiled wall behind him.

“Okay.” Ben gently pushes the leather jacket back from your body. It falls back on the counter in a bloody heap, staining the white countertops with flecks of dried reddish-black blood. “I need you to stand up for me sweetheart.” Ben says, holding you firmly by the waist and pulling you off the counter.

You stand there for a moment, unsteady on your feet, staring blankly ahead of you.

“Arms up.” Ben whispers.

You raise them above you head and Ben removes your shirt and bra before moving to your pants. “Hold on to me.” He places your arms around his shoulders as you step out of your shoes, pants, and panties.

If you’d been in your right mind maybe you would have worried about this moment, worried about Ben seeing you naked again after all these years. He’d only ever seen you the one time, but somewhere deep down registered that this was different. It wasn’t sexual. There weren't any expectations and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. This was Ben keeping his promise and taking care of you the way that he always had.

He steps over to the bathtub, running his hand under the stream of water to check the temperature.

"Come on.” Ben gently leads you over, your small hand in his and helps you step over the side of the tub and into the warm water.

Steam rises around your body, but the water feels lukewarm. Your gaze levels at the water that streams from the spout on the edge of the tub, not looking up at Ben as he switches the water to the handheld shower head.

"Tilt your head back for me honey." Ben murmurs, touching your chin with your free hand to tilt it back. "Eyes closed."

You do as he says and feel the water trickle through your hair and down your back, followed by the gentle scrub of Ben beginning to work shampoo through the strands. He works quietly, catching the suds that threaten to fall into your eyes. Your hands are folded in your lap, eyes still closed, feeling the steady way he cleans your hair and then your face.

As you sit there the memory of everything that happened with Stan begins to trickle in, causing an uncontrollable shudder to shake through your body. Ben's ministrations were doing little to make the cold feeling dissipate, if anything you could feel it sinking into your bones.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'm almost done." Ben says, and you feel his thumb stroke against your cheek for a moment before he continues to wash your hair.

"Sit here for a second. I'm going to go get you some clean clothes."

You open your eyes and watch him go. The water in the tub is red now, the last remnants of Stan's blood scrubbed clean from your body.

The fire would destroy any evidence that you'd been there and washing the clothes that you killed him in should take care of any other problems.

When you're dried off and in your own clothes, you stand in the bathroom and catch a glance of yourself in the mirror. You look hollow, broken, eyes miles away, skin a little paler than normal. You don't look like yourself, but you also don't feel like yourself.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." Ben says and you feel him pick you up again, carrying you to the bed as if you weigh nothing.

You mechanically go through the motions of getting under the covers, pulling them up almost over your head as you curl in on yourself, making yourself as small as possible. You shut your eyes to try and make the images of what happened go away, but you can't fight the ebbing darkness that comes to welcome you home. It's familiar. The same one that you fell into when Ben broke your heart and you thought he died. The pit was opening beneath your feet once again, and you wondered if you'd be able to pull yourself out this time.

Ben changes into a pair of faded sweatpants, before he crawls into the bed behind you under the covers, putting his arm up over your waist to pull you into him. You turn in his arms so that you're chest to chest and can bury your face into his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent, trying to rid yourself of the images and of the things you learned a few hours ago.

"It's alright Sweetheart, I'm right here." You can feel the rumble of Ben's voice in the palms of your hands where they curl against his soft shirt. The weight of his arm over your waist is familiar as is the heat of his body, the warmth you expected to wipe away the cold feeling that crept along your spine drowning everything else out of your head.

It's quiet for a few moments. Ben's hand is gently trailing up and down your spine, but sleep is miles away for you.

"I'm trying real hard not to be mad at you Sweetheart, especially when you're like this but-" Ben sighs, rubbing his hand up and down your back. "You lied to me. What were you thinking going off alone and-" His tone has shifted into more of a growl, the one he gets when he's about to yell at you.

If he had yelled at you, you wouldn't have reacted, you were just so tired of everything, couldn't focus on anything.

Ben's body tenses. It was as If he was physically trying to hold himself back from being upset, but you couldn't answer him. It had seemed like a good idea when you went, seemed right, but now you weren't sure.

What you had learned changed you, and you weren't sure if you'd ever be able to go back to the way you were.

He's quiet for a minute, before finally he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you bury yourself further into his chest. "I love you." He murmurs. "I promise I'm not going to go anywhere."

But you barely hear him, the only thing you hear is the low buzz of fluorescent lights and Vogelbaum's voice telling his staff to keep you quiet.

Soldier Boy POV

He didn’t know what to do. In all the years he’d known you, Ben had never seen you like this. He’d seen you upset, angry, sad, but never this.

It had been three days since you came back covered in blood, three days of you laying in bed refusing to speak, curled up into his chest.

Ben had tried to get you to eat something, but when you wouldn’t do it by yourself he had to spoon feed it to you, as if you couldn’t remember how to eat.

It scared him.

Ben hadn’t ever felt fear like this before in his entire life, but now, seeing you so distant and cold, he was terrified. He worried that you’d never come back.

Mindstorm had told him the truth about Homelander and as angry as Ben was about that, he couldn’t understand how Homelander was also your son. He’d never heard you say anything about them taking something from you for genetic testing, never spoken about willingly giving up your genetic material.

So then how the fuck did they get it?

There was something sinister that danced on the edge of his mind, something that seemed too horrible to consider, something that meant that Ben had failed to protect you, had failed to keep the promise he made eighty years ago.

But deep down Ben wondered if it was true, because as much as he knew you hated killing people, this seemed different than you usual reaction.

He held you closer to him, curving his body around your back as you slept soundlessly. You were holding on to his hand while you did, fingers entwined with his, holding it against your chest while you found some peace.

Ben was honestly waiting for another nightmare. Each time you’d fallen asleep over the past three days you’d woken up gasping for air, shaking uncontrollably, with tears rolling down your cheeks. Ben did what he could, brought you into his lap and held you tight, reassuring you that it was okay, that it was only a dream.

He was trying not to be angry, but he was. He was furious when he got back to Legend’s two days ago and discovered that you were gone, that you’d left to go off and do God knows what with Homelander flying around. Rosemary refused to tell him where you were only told him that you left but that you’d be back. Ben hated that you made him wait around like a fucking woman waiting for her husband to come home.

He had intended on yelling at you, at making sure you knew how pissed off he was that you did the one thing he told you not to do, but then he saw you land in Legend’s front yard looking like you had taken a shower in someone’s blood and he couldn’t. Not when he feared that the blood was yours and not when he saw how broken you were.

Ben had loved you for a long time, understood you, saw how strong you were, saw that you always spoke your mind no matter what, and to see you like this was… petrifying. He didn’t know what had happened, didn’t understand how something you learned could effect you this much.

He too was still reeling from the revelation that Homelander was his son, felt an even greater sense of betrayal because Vought should have let him give the team to his son, pass it off like a king giving up his throne. And after the night that he had spent with you all those years ago, Ben was ready to give it up, to walk away and give you the life that you always wanted away from the spotlight.

Ben figured that Stan had told you Homelander was your son, and maybe that’s what this was. Ben had been dreading the conversation with you when he got back to Legends, the conversation in which he was going to have to tell you that Homelander was your son too. He didn’t want to hurt you all over again with news like that.

I guess I don’t have to.

Ben thinks to himself listening to the soft beat of your heart, pushing his face further into your hair where it hangs over your shoulders. But he's not sure that this is better.

When he wakes the bed is empty.

“Sweetheart?” Ben says looking around the bedroom. He strains his hearing to see if you’re in the bathroom or upstairs but he doesn’t hear you. Fear grips his heart.

Fuck. Where did she go?

Thunder shakes the house, rattling the windows as Ben looks around the room, brief flashes of lightning illuminates the vintage furniture, but you aren't sitting on anything. The sliding glass doors on the back wall of the bedroom are open, allowing rain to sweep through onto the carpets, water flooding towards your now cold side of the bed.

Shit.

Ben all but jumps out of the bed and rushes to the sliding glass doors, looking beyond into the darkness of Legend’s backyard. Lightning skates across the night flashing bright white, and catching where you stand in the grass. You’re looking up at the sky, soaked to the bone, but seemingly unnerved by the weather.

“Sweetheart?” Ben shouts over the sound of the thunder, but you don’t move. “Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?”

“It’s not a nightmare.” You murmur into the storm, your eyes still focused on the sky, looking up at something that he can't see.

“What do you mean?” Ben gets closer to you, his feet sinking into the wet grass, rain saturating his clothes every second he stands out there with you. Ben was trying to understand, was trying his best to do what you needed, but he was worried that he was failing, that maybe he needed to take you to a hospital. He wasn't sure how to explain that to anyone if he did take you to one.

If anything he thought that you'd want to talk things out with Rosemary, but you hadn't wanted anything to do with her at all. That was the most surprising, that you didn't want to speak to her, didn't want her around. She had tried to come down to the bedroom, but you hadn't looked at her, you'd only clung tighter to Ben and said no. He wanted to know why, what Stan had told you to make you not want anything to do with her.

He was happy that Lou hadn't come down with her, he didn't want Lou to see you like this, didn't want it to haunt her the same way it was haunting him. He had heard Lou ask about you when he was laying in the basement beside you, and she had found him in the kitchen getting you something to eat and had hugged him tight and asked where you were. There were tears in her eyes when she did so and Ben told her that you weren't feeling well, but that he was taking care of you. There was a hand-drawn card on your bedside table from her filled with a picture of Lou holding out a bouquet of lavender to you that she asked him to give you.

“It really happened.” You close your eyes, head tilted up at the sky.

Lightning crackles across it, striking close to where you're standing, but you don't move an inch.

Ben stops mid-step. Your words sink into his soul, burn against his ribcage, anger surging up to replace the chill of the rain that clings to his skin. Because it meant he failed. It meant that the promise Ben made to you all those years ago was worthless, that he'd failed to protect you.

He thinks about all the time he wasted with other women, chasing after them, ignoring you. He thinks about all the moments he should have spent with you instead.

Maybe I would have figured it out if I wasn't so damn selfish. If I hadn't fucking cared about those stupid movies, or commercials, or the shitty interviews. I failed because I didn't put her first and I allowed this to happen.

“Stan told me.” You continue. "I wasn’t supposed to remember, but my mind knew. It was trying to tell me all these years but I just ignored it. Fucking pushed it away because I thought my mind was messed up from living this long. But it really happened."

“When?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that he said they did it when you were on location shooting a film. That they were too afraid to take me when you were still there.”  You're still not quite looking at him.

Ben felt the words like a punch to the gut. Why did I ever shoot any of those stupid films? Why didn't I take her with me? Why didn't I make up some stupid reason why I needed her there with me? Why didn't I tell her sooner how much she meant to me?

Ben remembered the first time you had the nightmare in front of him, he had just gotten back from shooting a film overseas, one that he could barely remember only that he literally had sand in every crevice of his body after each day of shooting. He remembered how happy he was to see you when you answered the door of your small apartment, how you smiled at him, but you seemed more tired than usual. Ben had missed you more than he knew, he had tried to call while he was away, but you hadn't picked up. He remember thinking that was odd. You always picked up the phone or at least always called him back, but you hadn't.

“They knew I’d say no. Knew that I wouldn’t want to raise a child under Vought’s watchful eye and instead of respecting that, they-" You stop mid sentence, your body has begun to glow bright purple, not just your eyes, there's a thin film of purple radiating out from your body, tracing your outline with a heavy hand, glowing brighter than the lightning that flashes across the sky. "Stan wasn't even ashamed. He was proud of what they made. Proud of what they did to our son."

As soon as you utter the word 'son', the ground begins to shake under Ben's feet, grass shreds in the air all around him, and the storm grows worse by the second. There's a terrible cracking sound and the trees on the edge of Legend's property snap, loosing their limbs to flashes of purple energy that wash away into the darkness with the force of your power.

Ben could feel the same power trying to push him back from you, push him inside the house, but he fought it, continuing to take more steps towards you.

“After all these years he wasn’t afraid of me. He was afraid that you would show up and make him pay.” Ben can see your body shake. “Everyone was always just afraid of you. All those years I worked so hard to make sure you didn’t kill anyone and for what? So they could take advantage of me?”

Your body begins to rise off the ground, glowing brighter and brighter. Until Ben almost has to look away, his body still being forced backwards. In all his years of watching you use your powers, he's never seen you do anything remotely like this. This didn't seem like just telekinesis and Ben wondered who else had killed you over the years, if it had happened before and you just hadn't cared to tell him, or if it had happened in the years he'd been away.

"Sweetheart please." Ben tries to say again, but it's swallowed up in the howling of the wind.

"All those years I gave Vought everything. I let them dress me, tell me what to say, inject me with that shit. I was everything they wanted me to be, and they used me just like I was a fucking doll for them to play with!" Ben can hear your teeth clenching together in rage, your powers spiking again so that now there is shredded earth, grass, and trees, whirling around the two of you swirling together in a vortex that flashes with purple energy. "But no more. They're all going to pay."

"Y/n-"

You were still rising off the ground getting further and further from Ben's reach and he was scared. He'd never seen you like this before, never seen you lose control or seen you this angry. Sure he pissed you off and you'd occasionally throw a couch around the room, but this was almost insane.

Fuck I should stop pissing her off.

Ben could feel his own rage surging in his chest when he understood exactly what Vought took away from you, when he understood exactly what Vogelbaum had done. But at the same time he was ashamed that he hadn't been there for you, that he hadn't been able to protect you from them, and that he hadn't known the first time you had that fucking nightmare and woke up screaming when he was in bed beside you.

"Sweetheart!" Ben finally shouts, grabbing your hand. As soon as his skin touches yours he feels like he's stuck his finger in an electrical socket,  as if the energy from your body jumping into his is almost painful, but he doesn't let go. He couldn't lose you to this, whatever the hell this was, wouldn't allow himself to lose you again.

Your glowing purple eyes flick to his. "Are you going to tell me that I shouldn't do that?" Your voice is cold. "That my revenge isn't as important as yours?"

"No." Ben shakes his head. "It's important. It's justified. I hate that they did that to you, that I wasn't there to stop them. That I didn't understand until now."

"It's not your fault what happened to me." You shout back, eyes flashing bright purple. "This isn't about you. This isn't your fight!" The vortex swirls faster around the two of you now, blurring everything beyond. "This is about what I need to do!"

"Yes it is!" His hand tightens in yours. "It is my fight if it involves you. I love you and that's what it means. It means us working together-"

"I don't need you to protect me! I am strong enough to do this on my own. I am so sick of people underestimating me and what I can do."

"Y/n please, listen to me!" Ben pleads. He could feel you slipping away and it scared him more than anything he'd been through in his entire life. He wasn't afraid to admit that. The look on your face and the display of power was so different than the person he knew.

You watch him silently, body glowing brightly in the night, floating off the ground as you stare down at him.

"I don't want you to do this alone." Ben says. The storm was still raging, thunder shaking the ground, lightning surging all around him. "I'm asking you to let me help you. Please."

"What?"

"You say that I hide what I'm really feeling, but you do too. You still hide things away from me. You think that you have to be perfect, controlled, some version of yourself that has everything together all the time, but you don't." Ben gently tries to pull you down an inch from the sky. "You've done that since we were kids, always done what you think is expected of you. That's why you almost married that asshole, because you were afraid to just let it go. So I'm asking you to do that now, to let go of all of it, because I promise that I will be right here for through every step of it."

"But-"

"I know I made promises when you chose me, and I'm sorry I let you down, I'm sorry that I let this happen, that I wasn't able to protect you from them." Ben's voice breaks and for a moment he sees a flash of the two of you in your bedroom the night that he asked you to come with him, how young and innocent you were, how much you cared for him reflected in your eyes. "So I'm promising you this now. That I will protect you, that I won't let anything happen to you and that you never have to be alone ever again. Because I love you. So please, just let go and let me in.

The whirlwind slows around the two of you, still ripping up the ground and the grass in the backyard.

"I have to be in control." You say in almost whisper.

"Why?" Ben asks.

"Because if I'm not I don't know what will happen!" You snap. "Someone dies, or you leave again, or they come to take Rosie or Lou away and I can't-" You shake your head, the glow on your body fading for a moment. "I'm not strong enough-"

"Sweetheart, you don't have to be." Ben says, and this time he pulls you from the air so that your bare feet swish in the grass again. His hand falls under your chin to raise your face to his. "That's why I'm here. You don't have to do this alone anymore, you don't have to carry this all on your shoulders. I am here and I am not going anywhere."

"But-"

"Please. I'm asking you to give me your pain, your anger, your burdens, your sorrows. Give me all of you. It's not going to scare me away." Ben whispers, taking your face between his hands. "I know that in the past I haven't been as dependable, but nothing is going to scare me away. I love all of you, even the pieces of yourself you keep from me, that you think you have to, to keep me here with you."

Fuck I sound like a pussy, but it's true. She's all I have and all I've ever wanted. And why shouldn't I say this to her? It's what she says to me. It's what she tells me and I believe her. I believe her when she says that I can rely on her, that I don't have to be strong all the time, that I can break.

He searches your face, brushes his thumbs across your rain soaked cheeks. I just want her to know that she can too and trust that I'll be here for her.

The vortex stops, the pieces of earth, trees, and grass falling to earth, the purple fading from your eyes as they do. You're no longer glowing, no longer a beacon in the night, you're just you, the woman that Ben loves more than life itself, and the woman that he thought he would never have ever again.

"I love you too." You whisper leaning into him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to lean your forehead against his.

He can feel the curves of your body against him, your wet clothes sticking like a second skin, hair stuck to your head, but you're just as beautiful as you always have been. And Ben understands that this time, he's not going anywhere, that he's going to stay with you for the rest of his life, and nothing can keep him away.

Reader POV

"Mindstorm told me." Ben says dragging his hand up your arm. You were laying on his chest in the bedroom, hair still wet, but now wearing dry clothes.

The residual thrum from your use of power was still charging through your cells, but lessened. Honestly you didn't remember going outside, didn’t remember standing in the storm, didn't know how long you were out there before Ben came out.

You were glad he did. You weren't in your right mind when you were out there, and if he hadn't come out you were sure that you were going to charge Vought yourself, tear it down and send it to hell where it belonged. You still wanted to, but you wanted Ben to do it with you. He was right, you didn't have to do it alone, and you didn't want to.

You nestled further into him, remembering what he shouted outside, remember how he held your face with the storm raging around him. He looked so afraid. You had only seen him look scared a handful of times in your life, but out there in the storm was different. It shocked you back into reality, brought you back from the pit, made you feel like you again for the first time in days.

And what he said hauled you further out of the darkness. You had said it to him countless times since he came back, that he didn't have to hide away what he was feeling from you, but for him to say it to you meant that he was listening. To you, Ben saying that made all of this more real, that he really wanted every part of you, that he loved you as much as he said.

The storm still raged outside, thunder occasionally shaking the windows, and lightning flashing behind the closed curtains, but you stayed curled up against Ben. Your head was tucked under his chin, arm wrapped over his bare chest. He hadn't put a shirt back on after the two of you changed, but you weren't complaining about that, there wasn't anything to complain about when it came to that. He was just so wonderfully warm, that you didn’t think you would get used to it. You also hoped that you didn't turn radioactive because of him, but you being here with him, laying on his warm chest made it worth it.

"Did he know about what Vogelbaum did?" You whisper.

Ben's muscles tense beneath your body when you ask that question. You knew that it hurt him, that it made him feel like he'd failed to protect you, but you didn't blame him for that. Even if he had been around, you knew that Vogelbaum would have figured out a way to do it, to get around him. And you didn't like it when Ben felt like he failed, it made you think about all the terrible things that his father used to yell at him when he was a kid. Ben had told you bits and pieces, over the years, and it was enough to make you want to travel back in time and kill his father yourself.

Honestly, you thought about killing him all the time when you weren't a supe as well.

"No. He didn't know that. All he knew was that Homelander was our son." When Ben says the word son he hesitates as if it's difficult for him.

It was also difficult for you, understanding that you had another kid and one that you didn't have anything to do with for forty years was hard. You suddenly understood how Ben felt about Rosemary.

"I should have known." You mutter into his chest.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh loudly. "At the premiere, Vogelbaum was pushing for me to come to the lab, said he was working on raising the "next generation of heroes" or whatever. And then Stan tried to come by and get me to do the same thing after you died, but I broke his nose."

"I remember." Ben mutters.

"What do you mean you remember?" You sit up to stare at him.

Ben raises an eyebrow. "I might have been there with Countess, but do you really think I wasn't listening to everything that was happening around you? He was dancing with you, I was making sure that everything was okay." Ben clears his throat awkwardly. "I mean I know that there was a lot happening that night, but I still wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah I-um- I know." His eyes flick away in shame.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?" He murmurs.

You gently turn his face back to look at you, fingertips under his chin. His green eyes are downcast, brows furrowed, lips pulled down into a frown. You knew how much he was still beating himself up for everything that happened in the past, and it was difficult for you to pretend that you didn't still feel the sting. But you knew he wasn't going to do it again, you believed that.

"It's okay. We're starting over. Just you and me." You brush your thumb over his bearded cheek. "No one else. This time what we're doing, it's different, it all feels different. Don't you think so? I mean I still love you just as much as I always have, but I-" You could feel yourself blush just a little, you weren't sure if Ben could feel that too.

"I know. It does." Ben whispers gazing at you. His fingers push back the strands of your hair that have fallen forward into your face. The way he's looking at you is the same way he did the morning you woke up on his chest after you slept together for the firs time. "I love you too Sweetheart." His lips find yours, gently pulling you up further on his chest so he can kiss you deeply, show you how much you mean to him, and you can’t help but smile into his mouth, feeling warm and happy for the first time in ages. His love dragging you out of the darkness that loomed over you and consumed your heart when Stan told you the truth about Homelander's heritage. 

You sit up, folding your legs beneath you, pulling Ben's right hand into your lap, gently tracing the lines with a finger tip, noting the rough callouses that he'd developed over the years. You weren't really sure what to say next.

Ben sits up so that he's leaning towards you. "Are you feeling better?"

"A little." You continue to trace the lines. His hands were so much bigger than yours, everything about Ben was big, but you liked his hands, mostly because how small yours were when you held his. "I think destroying Legend's backyard was just the right amount of therapy."

"That was a little much, but I'm glad you're feeling better. I was-" Ben swallows. "I was really worried about you."

"I know." You whisper. "It's never been that bad before. The last time I got close was-" You stop mid-sentence.

"Forty years ago?" Ben asks quietly.

You nod.

"I figured." Ben scoots closer towards you so that his thigh is brushing against yours. "I'm-"

"No." You squeeze his cheeks, eyes narrowing. "No more saying sorry. Not again."

"Okay." Ben's gaze is still apologetic. He waits for a minute, watching you in the silence. "What are we going to do about Homelander?"

"I don't know."

It was the truth, you had no idea what to do with your supposed son. You had seen the coldness in his eyes, heard about the horrible things that he was doing to other people, the horrible things he had threatened to do, and you'd seen the way he didn’t seem to care about human life.

Then again maybe I can't judge him, not after what I did to Stan. You think, your frown deepening. Stan deserved what I did to him and my only wish is that Vogelbaum somehow survived getting his head fucking blown off so I can make him pay.

"Do you think we should try to talk to him?" Ben asks.

"I don't think that's possible."

"Why not? He's our son, somewhere deep down he's got to be willing to do that." Ben's voice rumbles up through his chest. "Maybe they brainwashed him into the person we saw at Herogasm, maybe he's just being controlled and told what to do just like we were."

"I don't think that’s possible."

"Why not?" There's an urgency in his eyes that is unfamiliar to you, almost as if he's pleading for you to understand.

But why? Yes he's our son by blood but we don't know anything about him. We haven’t been in his life for forty years, we don't have any connections to him.

"You saw how he was at Herogasm. How he was almost happy to kill Butcher, how he was happy when he tried to kill you and me. I don't know what kind of person is okay with that. I mean you and I have killed people and we feel remorse after, or there's some kind of justification, but there was something in his eyes, it's almost not human. It's predatory, it's-" You shake your head trying to comprehend it. "I don't know what the fuck Vogelbaum did to him, but there's something inside Homelander that's not able to be saved."

"You don't know that."

"Ben, do you think that I want to believe that? To believe that our son is not a good person?" You drop his hand from your lap. "It's taking everything I am not to go to him, not to try and work this out. I keep trying to tell myself that maybe all he needs is family, but I don't know."

"My old man said that blood mattered. That it was the only thing that defined family-"

"Now you want to listen to your dad?" You sigh looking at Ben who is frowning at you. "We both know that he's not exactly the best role model."

"Well neither am I okay?" Ben snaps, his eyes flashing. "Maybe he just needed someone and there was no one there. I mean I wasn't there for Rosemary, but she had you and she turned out fine!"

"That's not your fault Ben. It's not your fault that you weren't there. You can't forget that they sent you to Russia to replace you with him."

"I'm not forgetting I'm just saying that they did the same fucking thing to me!"

Your next thought fizzes to a stop in your brain. What is he talking about?

"What are you talking about?" You try to reach for him, but he pulls back from your touch.

"They force fed him all that shit about what it was to be an American, they made him a supe, they brainwashed him with all my old fucking films." He spits. "But in the lab when we got the serum the first time, they did the same thing to me. They told me that I was going to be a god, that I was going to be the symbol that America needed to get through the war, that I was everything that would save America from destruction."

"Ben." You say again, this time taking his hands and he doesn't pull away. "Ben listen to me. You were older when you became a supe, we both were. You knew what reality was, you knew what the world was like when the scientists started spouting all their crap. You were old enough to understand. Homelander was raised in a lab, he didn't have a family, he didn't have friends. He was told that he was a god every day and he's not. He was raised to believe that he was something more than human, something unbeatable."

"But-"

"They told me that too." You push his hair back out of his eyes, trailing your fingers against his forehead. "That I was a god, that everyone would want me, would look at me and understand that I was beyond human. And at the beginning maybe I believed it for a few years, but that doesn't make him anything like you or like me. He's twisted, his mind is gone, any semblance of humanity he had has been warped away into something dark. He never had any light to begin with."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I can see it in his eyes. I saw it when I fought him at the Herogasm. There's nothing left to save. He's done terrible things."

"I have too." Ben mutters.

"No. You lost control, we all do. It's unrealistic to think that it won't happen, especially not for people like us who have lived this long, but him? He did those things of his own volition, because he believed that he should or maybe it was because he believed that no one could stop him." You cup his cheek, pulling his face forward into the space between the two of you. "The things you've done you feel remorse for. I was there for you every time you messed up. I saw what it did to you, saw how broken you were when you hurt someone."

"Because I'm a hero." Ben sighs. 

"Messing up once or twice does not make you less of a hero Ben, it makes you human." You lean your forehead against his, cupping his cheeks with your palms, feeling the way his beard tickles against your skin. "But Homelander, I don't think that there's anything human left."

Ben's hand comes up to hold on to your left wrist. "Then what do we do?"

"I don't know." You sigh. "I wish I did. If you really want to try to talk to him, we can, but I don't think that it's a good idea."

"He's still our son."

"He's our blood, but I don't think that makes him our son." You murmur.

You really didn't know how to deal with any of this. You wanted to believe that there was some semblance of humanity left in Homelander, but you didn't think that there was. You hated that Ben believed that he was like his son. Maybe that was some weird misogynist thing and Ben kept thinking like father like son in his head, but there wasn't any way that Homelander could be anything like Ben. Ben wasn't around for him, wasn't in his life, but maybe.

Ben pulls you back down on his chest once more, and you nestle into him once more, your head directly over his heart, the warmth of his skin comforting against your cheek.

"I think Noir knew." You breathe, tracing your hand over Ben's right pec.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Stan kinda hinted that he did, said that Noir was obsessed with me after I saved his life-"

"When did you save his- oh." Ben sighs.

"I think I should have seen that coming, given how much he kept showing up to my sparring sessions, the interviews, even some of the commercial shoots I had he seemed to always be around." You frown with a sigh. "I can't believe that I didn't know he was stalking me."

"What?"

"Stan said he kept breaking in to my apartment when I wasn't there, that he stole my necklace, you know? The one my dad got me for my birthday-"

Ben sits back so he can look you in the eye. "You're shitting me right?"

"No. That's what Stan said." You shrug. "Might have been just Stan trying to take some of the heat off, but that's what he said."

"That piece of shit." Ben almost growls. You can see the flash of jealousy and possession in his eyes that makes your heart thud a little faster in your chest. He clears his throat. "You-um- you never liked him right?"

"What?"

"The two of you were never that close?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Well you did save his life."

"Ben I've saved plenty of people from your temper. But no, I never liked him that way. Irving was sweet, but he was always so eager to prove himself to Stan it was just sad."

"Good."

"Why?" You sit up further, smirking at him. "Does that make you jealous? For you to think that Noir and I were together?"

Ben's eyes darken. "Watch it Sweetheart."

"Watch what?" You bat your eyes innocently. "I'm just asking a simple question."

"You keep poking the bear and you're not gonna like what happens."

"Poking the bear?" You snort sitting up and poke him in the ribs. "Are you the bear in that scenario?" You poke him again with a wicked smirk.

"Yes."

"Hmm. Well I think you're all talk. Because I have definitely poked you several-"

You're on your back in a second with Ben hovering over you, his green eyes shining as he flashes a roughish grin at you. One of his hands is pressed into the pillow next to your head, the other is at your waist, slipping beneath your t-shirt to rub circles over your hip bone with his thumb. "You were saying?" His voice is the low rumble that makes it hard for you to think.

You clear your throat. "I was saying that," You thread your hands behind the back of his head, working your fingers into his hair. "You have nothing to be jealous about."

"Really?"

"Mhhmm." You smile sheepishly. "Because it's always been you. No one else. Not Howard, Not Noir, just you." His hair is soft between your fingertips, his gaze unbreakable.

Ben returns your smile and collapses on top of you. You gasp out a breath, in a loud 'oof' sound as he does. His arms go around your waist and he buries his head in your chest breathing deeply. "I like it when you say that." He murmurs, turning his head so he can look up at you from your chest, with a smile that catches you in your heart.

"I know." You continue to scratch your fingertips through his hair.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?" You breathe as you close your eyes, comforted by the weight of his body on top of yours. It was familiar, almost like he was a weighted blanket that took all your anxiety away. You felt safe with his arms wrapped around your waist, as if no one could touch you. You needed that now, needed that after you learned that without Ben someone had taken you from your home.

"I know that I can't say that there hasn't been anyone else." He whispers. "But you're the only one who mattered. You're the only woman that I've ever loved, and I swear that as long as I live I'll never love anyone else. You are all I've ever wanted and everything I thought I'd never have."

"You have me Ben." You whisper, beginning to fall asleep. "You always have, you always will."

And with those words you drift into the first fulfilling sleep you'd had in days, wrapped in the warm cocoon of Ben's love, allowing it to send you under into oblivion.

A/N: I know this one was mostly fluff and talking, but I thought that the reader deserved that after everything with Stan, and also after she well -you know- made a tornado in Legend's backyard. We're going to pretend that no one else heard it. 😂

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know :)

And if you'd like to read something a little more bantery then try my series: Take A Chance On Me

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[myokk]

Hi! I'm still feral for these two, would you mind giving us some art of them in their later years together!?

Hello angel!!!!

Sorry it’s taken so long to respond🫶🫶 but I wanted to draw some new art for this ask💓

We have: Sebastian and Eloise trying out their new fancy camera with a selfie, pictures of them with their daughter, and finally…idk I just always felt like this drawing is when they’re a bit older💓

I want to take this ask as an opportunity as well to talk a little about how I imagine their future (I have no chill & you can ignore this and just enjoy the art if you want😇).

I am a COMPLETE pantser - I never know how a chapter’s going to end when I start writing it (I always just have a few scenes I know I need to include to keep the plot moving forward). Although I have different *big* scenes I’m always writing towards, and themes/plot elements I’m always foreshadowing (shout out to @elliecutte for catching *almost* all of my hints and appreciating my general no chill😆), IM STILL NOT 100% SURE HOW I WILL END THINGS !!! 😳 I have a lot of endings I see as possible, and I think soon it will become more clear to me what will work the best💓

HAPPY ENDING:

Eloise and Sebastian become Unspeakables. I have a LOT of thoughts on this profession that could be its OWN post, and I feel like Unspeakables are generally specialized in one or two departments, but as their interests/research change they also change.

Eloise becomes an Unspeakable in the Mind and Death departments, with the occasional foray into Time. Her ancient magic is connected with all of these things (my version of AM is NOT like the game) & the Department of Mysteries is one of the only places that gives her any useful information about these things. Plus she thinks too much (it IS her hobby after all😆💓) and is very introverted so a hermit job like this is a perfect fit.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable as well, but I feel like it takes him a long time to specialize in anything, if he ever does. I just feel like becoming an Unspeakable is the adult equivalent of sneaking into the Restricted Section🥹🫶

They grow old together (I won’t explain TOO much) & have a lovely little family🥹 at least one daughter that they both dote on. Sebastian had an amazing childhood (idyllic until it wasn’t), and wants to give his daughter the same, and Eloise works hard to make sure their daughter feels the love that she never had growing up🥺

When Sirius is burned off the family tree, Eloise and Sebastian take him in🥹🫶 (they’re like 100 years old but WIZARDS LIVE LONGER…) The same happened to her all those years ago, and she wants him to know that his whole family hasn’t abandoned him.

Eloise LOVED her nieces - Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa - when they were younger, but as Voldemort becomes more powerful & people realize WHAT he’s doing, she has to separate herself from them. Her heart breaks seeing Bellatrix go mad, and seeing Narcissa engaged to a Malfoy out of obligation😔 (iykyk)

I haven’t thought any more about happy ending but I think it’s fun to think about how their future story might weave in with the actual canon events, ESPECIALLY since Eloise is a Black🥹💓

SAD ENDING:

After Sebastian gets his hands on Slytherin’s relic, it really starts to consume him and makes him even MORE obsessive than his natural tendencies - I imagine it similarly “talking” to him like Slytherin’s locket/horcrux did in Deathly Hallows (😳)

Eloise is deathly afraid of the changes she’s seeing in Sebastian and steals it from him (he would never willingly give it to her ESPECIALLY if it starts to feel like a precious item to him)

BUT the relic triggers the latent Black Family Madness in her - the madness that afflicts almost every woman in her family since…🤭 - and she herself starts to lose touch with reality. Her body and soul are already destroying themselves between the curse and the ancient magic inside of her, and the relic is what triggers it in her.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable, focusing on the Mind, in a desperate attempt to find a cure for his Eloise🥺

He never gives up his research, and sometimes when he comes home she is lucid and they talk about his research - otherwise, he just loves and takes care of her.

(He’s never successful in finding a way to reverse what he feels he caused in the first place - his ambition and single-mindedness is, to him, the reason why all of this happened)

Honestly who knows if I end their story either of these ways😌 I just love thinking of AUs and different endings and I have a few others I’ve considered as well!!! And whatever endings I don’t write will be immortalized on this blog and in my art as well🙏

[elexaria]

Oh no 😅 what’s Simon gonna do once he realizes he cares about the reader and craves non-sexual intimacy with them, too? Is he still gonna be mean, are they all gonna have a talk, will he change his behavior? Will he grow to love reader?? I’m obsessed with your poly!ghoap!!! 💕I also love the other one with reader and Gaz, too. Great job!!

simon’s been distant since he realised that he’s jealous of the affection you give johnny. he can’t say he doesn’t understand why you keep your distance from simon, especially seeing as the last few times he’s had you pinned up against the fridge with a snarl.

it’s actually kind of terrifying that simon’s hopped off your back a bit, not acting all threatening when you two cross paths in the apartment like he normally would. holding doors open for you, he even woke you up when you had accidentally slept through your alarm??

johnny’s in the shower one evening, his screechy voice belting out rock tunes. you’re in the kitchenette, making yourself lunch for the next day, occasionally stealing glances from simon, who’s sat on the sofa watching a shitty soap opera. whilst also listening to a Soap Opera.

you bite the inside of your lip nervously, trying to think of idle conversation. “so… i know you and johnny have a work event tomorrow. do you want .. me to make you two lunch?” you squeak out, a chill running down your spine as his head whips around and he stares right at you. with one powerful lunge, he’s up off the sofa and striding towards the kitchen island, large hands reaching out to grab a knife.

fuck, this is how it ends. you’re gonna get stabbed to death by your lunatic roomie and johnny’s too busy singing in the shower to hear you. fuck—

“pass us the cheese.”

??

you furrow your eyebrows, looking up at simon. his facial expression is blank, piercing blue eyes just staring right at you. he grunts, extending his hand and curling his fingers up, motioning for you to pass him the block of cheese.

“i said pass us the cheese then. i wanna help.”

when johnny finally steps out the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he swaggers into the kitchenette with a comfortable stride. his thick eyebrows raised curiously at the sight of simon prepping sandwiches. except, there’s a fuck tonne of sandwiches on the island. he looks at you with a confused expression, which makes you giggle. “simon’s helping me make lunch for tomorrow.” you say gently, looking up at simon with a small smile.

simon’s lips twitch up ever so slightly, something he’s never done around you before. he clears his throat as he grabs some tupperware containers, shrugging as he begins to store the excess sandwiches. “dunno… might have gotten carried away. reckon we’ll all be eating sandwiches for dinner for a couple’a days.” he murmurs, smirking up at you when you laugh at his comment.

it’s a start, and you and simon are both content with that.