#so it's all fluff there's no danger or angst

[dixons-sunshine]

A High Mind Speaks A Sober Heart | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: After narrowly escaping the Russians, you and your friends were forced to hide in a movie theater. However, what you didn’t expect was for Steve, in his current state, to admit something that could make or break your friendship—or maybe relationship?

Genre: Fluff, I think? Maybe? Perhaps a bit of angst?

Warnings: Talks of being drugged, being high, mentions of being beat up, blood.

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: So I was listening to “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” by the Arctic Monkeys and suddenly I thought of this. I hope you all like this!

The sound of the film playing on the big screen of the movie theater reverberated in your eardrums. You had to resist the urge to slip from the room just to have a moment of silence, reminding yourself that the Russian guards could be hot on your tail. In fact, they probably were, and if they were to enter the cinema, they would instantly spot all of you. Two children and three teenagers, two of which wore vibrant coloured sailor’s uniforms and one whose face was all bloody and bruised?

Yeah, it was safe to assume that the five of you stuck out like sore thumbs.

You cursed under your breath when you nearly tripped down the stairs in your haste to usher your two companions—who were high out of their minds—to two of the three open seats at the end of one of the rows. You attempted to block out their whines and complaints as they rambled on about the seats being terrible, trying not to roll your eyes and remind them that there were much more important things to worry about.

They did not know any better at that moment. The Russians had drugged them. The sober Steve and Robin would never act like this when danger was afoot.

You zoned back into the conversation when you heard Dustin speak up. “Whatever you do; don’t go anywhere,” your younger friend instructed both Steve and Robin.

“Fine, dad,” Steve replied sarcastically, withholding his own chuckles when he successfully elicited a laugh from Robin. “He’s being such a dad. Right, Y/N?”

You simply shook your head when he addressed you. You tried not to let butterflies erupt in your stomach when his beautiful amber-like eyes locked on your own, clearly searching for your approval at his joke. “Let’s go, you two,” you quietly addressed Dustin and Erica, motioning for them to head for the three other empty seats at the end of the aisle.

To your great relief, both of them complied with your suggestion. The two of them brushed past you and made their way through the aisle, mumbling halfhearted apologies to the people they disturbed along the way. You moved to follow them, but you were stopped by something grabbing a hold of your hand. Or rather, someone.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked rather loudly, eliciting a rude “shhh!” from the man seated behind them, but he paid him no mind. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going far,” you reassured him in a soft whisper, leaning down to be heard over the boom of the soundtrack in the movie. You motioned over to where Dustin and Erica were seated. “I’m just going over there.”

“Why? There’s a seat right here,” Steve countered, pouting as he motioned to the seat right next to him. “Sit with us.”

Despite your best efforts, you could feel your resolve slipping. Steve’s puppy dog eyes, along with the most adorable pout on his face, made you want to give in and spend the whole night with him on those chairs. However, you knew you couldn’t. Danger lurked around the corner. You needed to keep a level head. You could not let your feelings for the Harrington boy cloud your judgement.

“I can’t, Steve,” you declined, gently removing your hand from his grip and placing it back in his lap. “You enjoy the movie, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”

You began moving away, but before you could, you felt Steve grab your hand again. However, instead of simply stopping you from moving, he tugged you back and onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you to stop you from moving away from him again.

“Steve, what are you—”

“Can’t leave me if I don’t let you,” he mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder. The popcorn that he had in his hands had haphazardly been chucked into Robin’s lap in favour of holding you.

You realized that, to the untrained eye, you and Steve looked like a couple. Your heart began galloping in your chest at that realization. And it only sped up when you realized that you were actually in Steve Harrington’s arms at the moment. The thing you had fantasized about since the two of you began spending more time together—thanks to Dustin for dragging you both to help him fight his interdimensional lizard pet—was now becoming a reality, and you were not prepared for it at all. Besides, Steve was high. He might not even have meant to do it in the first place.

But the saying went “a drunk mind speaks a sober heart”. Well, in this case, it was a high mind, and if it was true, this could only mean one thing: Steve liked you back. It had to mean that, right?

“Hey, Dingus,” Robin whisper yelled, grabbing both your and Steve’s attention. “Do it.”

“Robin,” Steve hissed, sending her a glare—or, well, an attempt at one, “don’t. You promised you wouldn’t say anythin’.”

“Wouldn’t say what?” You did not know why you were even asking. There were more pressing matters at hand than whatever the two coworkers were about to bicker about. However, curiosity killed the cat, and this particular cat was super curious.

“I “promised”,” she began, using air quotes when she said ‘promise’, “that I wouldn’t tell you about his little huge crush on you.”

“Robin!” Steve gasped, although it was cut off by a laugh. “You broke your promise!”

“So?” Robin laughed as if what was happening was the funniest thing ever. “You weren’t gonna tell her. Someone had to.”

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. “You like me?”

Steve groaned and leaned his head back against the seat. “Yeah. I do.” He raised his head to look at you again. “I like you so much. Like, this much.” He removed his arms from around you to stretch it as wide as he could make it go. “Even more than that.”

You could not help the small laugh that escaped your chest at Steve’s rather child-like assessment. However, when you looked over to the side, you could see Dustin furiously beckon you over, making you snap back to reality. You scrambled off of Steve’s lap, apologizing to the man behind Steve and Robin when he quietly exclaimed at yet another interruption.

“Wait. I’m sorry if I scared you,” Steve hurriedly spoke up, his eyebrows furrowing together in a frown. “Please don’t go.”

Your heart broke at the sad look he gave you, but you knew you had to focus. There would be time to address all these things when your lives weren’t in danger. You would talk to Steve when he was not high out of his mind, either.

“I’m so sorry, Stevie,” you apologized sincerely. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

You did not wait for his reply. You took off towards Dustin and Erica, forcing any thoughts that weren’t strictly about surviving the night to the back of your mind. However, you still heard Steve whisper to Robin.

“See? That’s why I didn’t wanna tell her. Now she hates me.”

Oh, if only he knew how wrong he was. Now you had another reason to want to escape the Russians. You needed to give Steve a kiss and tell him exactly how much you didn’t hate him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

[moonlitstoriess]

A Symphony of Silence- Cassian x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a mute musician cursed by a dark power, seeks refuge in Velaris, performing in silence at a local theater. Cassian is captivated by her haunting music, drawn to her mysterious presence. As their bond deepens, he becomes determined to help her, unaware of the full extent of her curse. As time runs out and her health worsens, Cassian must face a devastating truth that could shatter everything they’ve built.

Warnings: Not proofread, Fluff in the beginning, Trauma, (eventual angst, loss, and heartbreak)

See masterlist

The city of Velaris hummed softly in the aftermath of war. It was the sound of a place still healing, the echoes of battle fading beneath the rhythm of life slowly returning to normal. Cassian walked along the cobblestone streets, his wings tucked tightly against his back, the cool night air brushing against his skin. His boots scuffed against the stone, the sound swallowed by the laughter spilling from nearby taverns and the soft music drifting from street performers who had reclaimed their corners.

It was peaceful, or so it should have been. But peace was a concept that sat uneasily on Cassian’s shoulders.

He’d only just returned from a mission Rhysand had sent him on—a straightforward task of dealing with some squabbling Illyrian clans. Nothing dramatic, nothing particularly dangerous. But the routine of it had left him restless. He’d fought wars that had burned across continents, seen blood and fire in ways that couldn’t be forgotten. And now, with nothing left to fight for, nothing but rebuilding, Cassian felt…adrift.

He couldn’t exactly say this to Rhys or Azriel. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how to explain it to himself. So, he’d thrown himself into work—training recruits, patrolling the city, whatever kept his hands and mind busy. Tonight, though, there was nothing left to do. The streets were quiet, the stars glittered like shards of broken glass in the sky, and Cassian was left alone with his thoughts.

He hated it.

Turning a corner, he found himself walking along the Sidra. The water glistened in the moonlight, the gentle waves lapping against the banks. Ahead, the laughter of a group of friends faded as they disappeared into a nearby pub. Cassian debated following them—distracting himself with drink and noise—but something pulled his gaze to the left.

The theater.

It wasn’t a place he often visited. The world of art and performance felt foreign to him, something softer and quieter than the sharp edges he’d known all his life. He’d been there a few times with Feyre and Rhys, watching as Feyre’s eyes lit up with wonder. He’d appreciated the beauty of it, sure, but it wasn’t his world. Yet tonight, the faint glow of the building, the murmured excitement of the people filing in, called to him.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was desperation for distraction. Whatever it was, Cassian found himself following the trickle of people into the theater, his wings brushing the doorframe as he entered.

The scent of polished wood and aged paper greeted him, mingled with the faint floral perfume of the patrons. Cassian lingered near the back, his broad form earning a few curious glances. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a pillar as the crowd settled into their seats.

The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the room, and then she appeared.

Cassian straightened.

The female who stepped onto the stage was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Dressed in a simple gown that shimmered like liquid starlight, she moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal. Her face was partially obscured by the shadows of the stage, but her presence was undeniable.

She came over to the large piano royale in the center of the stage, delicate and gleaming, and when she sat and began to play, the world seemed to hold its breath.

The music was haunting. It started softly, like a whisper, then grew into something vast and consuming. It wasn’t just sound; it was emotion, raw and unfiltered. Cassian felt it like a blade to the chest—pain, longing, hope, despair.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the song ended, the final note lingering in the air before fading into silence. The audience erupted into applause, but Cassian barely heard it. His eyes remained fixed on her as she stood, offered a faint bow, and disappeared behind the curtain.

Something about her music, about her, had struck a chord deep within him. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he couldn’t deny that she was stunning. It was the weight of the emotion she carried, the way it bled into her music, speaking volumes without a single word.

Cassian didn’t know her name. All he knew was that, for the first time in a long while, the restless ache in his chest had quieted.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

Cassian found himself returning to the theater the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that.

Each time, he told himself it was just coincidence—that he had no other plans, that the theater was simply a good place to unwind. But deep down, he knew better. He came to watch her.

He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. There was something about her, something that pulled at him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. She was like a beacon of quiet strength, her music carrying a weight that seemed to echo his own unspoken thoughts.

Cassian sat in the same seat every evening, his wings tucked close to his back, his gaze fixed on her as she took the stage. Her presence was magnetic, her beauty undeniable, but it was the way she played—fingers gliding effortlessly across the tiles of her piano—that captivated him. It was as if every note held a story.

Yet, for all her grace and poise, there was a shadow that clung to her, a weight he couldn’t quite place. It made him want to know her, to understand what had shaped the woman who could command such emotion through her music.

By the fifth night, his frequent visits hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Azriel remarked one evening as they sat in the River House, the shadowsinger's tone laced with curiosity.

Cassian shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Just keeping busy.”

Azriel gave him a long, assessing look. “Busy watching performances in a certain theater every night?”

Cassian stilled, his glass hovering halfway to his lips. “How do you—”

"You aren't the only one lurking in the dark corners” Azriel interrupted, a rare smirk tugging at his mouth as he pointed to his dark shadows. “You’ve got a pattern, brother. And if I noticed, so will Rhys.”

Cassian groaned, running a hand down his face. “I don’t even know why I keep going. I just…” He trailed off, unsure how to put his feelings into words.

Azriel leaned back, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “You’re drawn to her,” he said simply.

Cassian didn’t respond, but the answer was clear in the way his wings shifted restlessly.

“You know,” Azriel continued, his voice taking on a teasing edge, “you could always stop lurking in the shadows like a lovesick Illyrian and actually talk to her.”

Cassian shot him a glare. “I’m not lurking.”

Azriel raised a brow, unbothered. “Whatever you want to call it, you’re not going to get anywhere just watching her from the crowd. Talk to her.”

“And say what?” Cassian asked, his tone half-exasperated, half-uncertain. “Hey, I’ve been obsessively watching you play for a week like some kind of a maniac now, and I think you’re amazing—mind if we chat?”

Azriel chuckled. “It’s better than doing nothing.”

Cassian huffed, leaning back in his chair. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” Azriel replied, his smirk returning. “For most fae, at least. But you—you like to overthink things.”

Cassian glared at him again, but the corner of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

By the end of the conversation, Cassian still wasn’t sure if he’d actually go through with it. But as he left the River House that night, Azriel’s words lingered in his mind.

So, when the next evening came and he found himself once again seated in the theater, watching her with that same quiet awe, he made a decision.

This time, he wouldn’t just admire her from afar. When the performance ended, he would wait. And he would find the courage to speak to her.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keys of the piano royale, her reflection barely visible on its polished surface. The heavy crimson curtain behind her marked the boundary between two worlds—the quiet solitude of preparation and the vibrant energy of performance. She exhaled slowly, willing her nerves to settle.

It wasn’t stage fright. That had disappeared long ago, beaten out of her by years of necessity and survival. No, this was something different—a flicker of anticipation, a spark that refused to extinguish no matter how she tried to ignore it.

Because she knew he would be there again.

The first time she’d seen him, she’d nearly faltered. Her gaze had landed on him like a moth drawn to a flame, his presence filling the room like he belonged in the center of every stage, every battlefield, every story. The most handsome male she’d ever seen—his dark hair, those powerful wings draped like shadows behind him, and the quiet intensity in his hazel eyes.

And then he kept coming back.

Night after night, he sat in the same spot, his massive frame a stark contrast to the delicate chairs of the theater. Always watching, always listening. She wasn’t sure if it unnerved her or thrilled her. Perhaps both.

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists on her lap. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She had come to Velaris seeking refuge, not entanglements. This city had given her safety when she had none, a home when she had only ruins to her name. She would not risk that—not for him, not for anyone.

But still…

Her fingers itched to play. The piano was her solace, her voice, her lifeline. It was the one thing no curse could take from her. She had lost so much—her voice stolen by a cruel twist of fate and power, her past ripped away by a tyrant who took pleasure in others' suffering.

Amarantha.

Even now, years after the cruel queen had been defeated, the scars of her cruelty lingered. Y/N had refused to kneel, refused to serve, and she had paid the price. Her voice had been silenced, not with magic alone but with pain so visceral it echoed in every note she played.

But in Velaris, she was free. Here, she could perform without fear. And if that Illyrian warrior wanted to sit in the audience and watch her every night, well… She let herself have this small indulgence.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. One of the stagehands peeked in, giving her a quick nod. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

She returned the gesture with a small smile, though it felt hollow. Her mask of serenity slipped easily into place as she rose and walked to the stage, the weight of her curse settling on her shoulders like an old companion.

The crowd’s applause was thunderous as she began to play, her fingers dancing across the keys with practiced precision. Each note echoed through the grand hall, filling the space with a melody that was both haunting and beautiful.

She didn’t look at him—not right away. She couldn’t risk it. Instead, she let herself get lost in the music, her emotions bleeding into every chord, every crescendo.

But then her gaze flickered upward, as if drawn by an invisible thread, and there he was.

His eyes were locked on her, his expression a mixture of wonder and something deeper she couldn’t quite place. Her heart stuttered in her chest, but her hands never faltered, the music carrying her forward even as she felt the weight of his gaze.

She hated how much she noticed him—how his presence pulled at her, made her want to imagine things she had no right to dream of.

When the final note faded into silence, the applause swelled again, but Y/N barely heard it. She stood, bowing gracefully before slipping backstage, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with performance jitters.

Back in her room, she leaned against the closed door, her hands trembling slightly. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how the sight of him had made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t expected.

A soft knock startled her. She froze, her pulse leaping as she considered the possibilities. Stagehands didn’t usually bother her after a performance.

When she opened the door, she wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not to see him standing there.

His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his wings tucked neatly behind him. He looked almost nervous, his hazel eyes scanning her face before he offered a lopsided smile. “Hi.”

Her breath caught. She nodded, stepping aside to let him in, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room as he looked around. “I just—I’ve been coming to your shows all week, and I thought it was time I introduced myself.”

She gestured for him to sit, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the notepad and pen she kept nearby.

You’re not intruding. She wrote the words quickly before holding them up for him to see.

His brow furrowed slightly as he read them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before understanding dawned. “You can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers.

She shook her head, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. She wanted to scream that she wasn’t broken, that she didn’t need pity, but she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and she hated how sincere he sounded.

She waved it off, quickly scribbling another message. I’m used to it.

But she wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. Not when she was sitting here, staring at the most handsome male she’d ever seen, knowing she would never be able to truly let him in.

Cassian settled into the chair across from Y/N, his massive frame making the small dressing room feel even smaller. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hazel eyes warm and curious as they met hers.

“So,” he began, his voice as smooth as the first note of a symphony. “Do I get to know the name of the talented pianist who’s been stealing everyone’s attention in Velaris?”

She couldn’t help but smile, picking up her notepad again. Y/N.

Cassian read the name and repeated it softly, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. “Y/N.” He smiled then, a grin so disarming it made her chest ache. “It suits you.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying herself with the pen. And you are?

“Cassian,” he said, leaning back slightly. His wings shifted, brushing against the edges of the chair. “General of the Night Court, Illyrian warrior, and occasional patron of the arts.” He smirked, the teasing glint in his eyes making her heart skip a beat.

She raised a brow, writing swiftly. Occasional? You’ve been here every night this week.

He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “Caught me.” His grin softened, and his gaze turned thoughtful. “It’s hard to stay away when someone’s as talented as you. The way you play... it’s like you pour your soul into every note.”

Her hand froze midair. No one had ever said that to her before, not with such sincerity. She ducked her head, biting her lip as she wrote. Music has always been my refuge. My escape.

He nodded as if he understood, his expression growing more serious. “I get that. We all need something to keep us grounded.”

She hesitated before writing again. And what grounds you, Cassian?

His grin returned, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. “Family, mostly. Friends. And… helping others. Making sure the people I care about are safe and happy.”

The weight of his words settled between them, and for a moment, she wondered how much he carried on those broad shoulders.

She tapped her pen against the notepad, debating her next question before finally scribbling. Do you know sign language?

The moment the words registered, Cassian’s smile faltered. He sat up straighter, his wings shifting restlessly. “I... no. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

His voice was tinged with regret, and the disappointment etched on his face made her chest tighten. She shook her head quickly, holding up her hands as if to say, It’s okay.

Then she wrote, her strokes swift and firm. You don’t need to apologize. Most people don’t. I’ve learned to adapt.

He didn’t look convinced. “Still. I should have thought to learn. I mean…” He gestured vaguely at her, his frustration evident. “It’s the least I could do to make this easier for you.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, and she placed a hand over his for a brief moment before pulling it back. You’re here. That’s enough.

Cassian stared at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—something tender, something raw.

“So,” he said after a pause, his voice lighter now. “Have you always loved music?”

She nodded, her pen moving fluidly across the page. Ever since I was little. My mother used to play, and I’d sit beside her, watching her hands on the keys. When I was old enough, she taught me.

His expression softened further. “She must be proud of you.”

The words hit harder than she expected. She hesitated before writing again, her movements slower now. She passed away a long time ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

She waved it off, forcing a small smile as she wrote. It’s okay. Playing helps me remember her.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the theater bustling outside fading into the background.

Eventually, she gestured toward him with her pen, her brow arched in curiosity. What about you? Do you play any instruments?

Cassian laughed, the sound warm and self-deprecating. “Absolutely not. Trust me, no one wants to hear me attempt music. Azriel says I have the rhythm of a drunk goat.”

She giggled silently, her shoulders shaking as she scribbled. I’d pay to see that.

He grinned. “I’ll consider it. But only if you promise not to laugh too hard.”

Her smile lingered even as she tapped the pen against the notepad, debating whether to ask the question gnawing at the back of her mind. Finally, she wrote, Why do you come to my shows?

Cassian blinked, caught off guard. He ran a hand through his hair, his wings shifting again. “Honestly?”

She nodded, her heart pounding as she waited for his answer.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a soft rumble. “Because when you play, it’s like the whole world fades away. It’s just you and the music, and it’s... captivating.”

Her breath hitched, and she quickly ducked her head, hoping he didn’t notice the blush creeping up her neck.

Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. A stagehand’s voice called out, “Y/N, we need to start cleaning up.”

Cassian stood, his towering frame suddenly making the room feel even smaller. “I should go,” he said, though he looked reluctant.

She scribbled quickly, holding up the notepad. Thank you for coming.

He smiled, his eyes lingering on hers. “Thank you for playing. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her heart racing and her thoughts spinning.

She knew she couldn’t let this go any further—knew she couldn’t risk him finding out the truth. But as she touched the keys of the piano royale one last time that night, she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.

Cassian leaned back against the slanted tiles of the rooftop, the morning sun casting a golden hue over Velaris. The city below was waking, its streets buzzing with life, and the gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He glanced at Azriel, who sat cross-legged a few feet away, methodically cleaning one of his daggers.

“So?” Azriel’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of curiosity to it. “How’d it go with your mysterious pianist last night?”

Cassian let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “She’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Incredible. Quiet, but not in a shy way. More like she’s got this... stillness about her, like nothing can shake her. And her music—Az, it’s like the world stands still when she plays.”

Azriel smirked faintly but didn’t look up from his blade. “Sounds like someone’s smitten.”

Cassian threw a pebble at him, which Azriel easily dodged. “It’s not like that,” he grumbled, though the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. “She’s just... different.”

“Different how?” Azriel asked, finally glancing at him.

“She’s mute,” Cassian said softly. “She communicates through writing, and—damn it—I didn’t even think to learn sign language.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She didn’t make me feel bad about it, but I could see it in her eyes. Like she’s used to people not understanding her.”

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly, his interest piqued. “And yet you’re determined to understand her.”

Cassian shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s worth it. I just... I don’t know, Az. There’s something about her.”

Azriel hummed in thought, his shadows curling around him like curious tendrils. “So, what’s your plan?”

Cassian grinned, his confidence returning. “I’ll figure it out. I mean, how hard can it be to win over a female who barely knows me?”

Azriel snorted. “I’m sure your charm will work wonders.”

Cassian sat up, stretching his wings. “Speaking of charm, let’s take a flight. I need to clear my head.”

Azriel sheathed his dagger and stood. “Lead the way, oh charming one.”

They launched into the sky, the wind rushing past them as they soared over Velaris. The city’s beauty stretched out below—cobbled streets, colorful markets, and the sparkling Sidra winding its way through the heart of it all.

It was during one of these wide sweeps that Cassian caught it—a faint but tantalizing scent carried on the breeze. It was soft and sweet, like fresh jasmine mixed with a hint of something warm and spicy. His head whipped toward the source, his eyes narrowing.

He spotted her immediately. Y/N was walking out of a shop, her arms laden with bags, her face partially hidden beneath a soft scarf.

“There,” he said, angling his wings and diving.

“Cassian, what—” Azriel’s voice was lost to the wind as he followed.

Cassian landed with a thud right in front of her, his sudden appearance startling her so much that she dropped one of the bags. Her wide eyes met his, and for a second, she looked like she might bolt.

“Sorry!” he blurted, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Azriel landed gracefully beside him, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Cassian’s flustered energy.

Y/N tilted her head, her expression softening when she recognized him. She crouched to retrieve the fallen bag, but Cassian was quicker, snatching it up and offering it back with a sheepish grin.

“Hi,” he said, his voice a little too loud in his nervousness. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Azriel cleared his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. “Y/N, this is Azriel,” Cassian said, gesturing to his brother. “Azriel, this is Y/N. She’s... well, she’s amazing.”

Y/N smiled politely, nodding in greeting, but her eyes flicked back to Cassian with an amused sparkle.

“I told him you were amazing,” Cassian added quickly, then winced. “Not like, in a weird way. I mean, I did—” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I’m just going to stop talking now.”

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re doing great, Cass.”

Y/N covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Cassian groaned again. “I swear I’m not always like this.”

“Debatable,” Azriel muttered.

Cassian shot him a glare before noticing the multiple bags in Y/N’s hands. “Do you need help with those?”

She hesitated but nodded, clearly a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of them.

“Great,” Cassian said, taking all the bags in one swoop and ignoring Azriel’s raised brow. “I’ll carry these for you. Where to?”

Azriel gave Cassian a knowing look and spread his wings. “I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he took off, his shadows swirling behind him.

Cassian grinned triumphantly as he fell into step beside Y/N. “See? Problem solved. Now, lead the way.”

As they walked, he found himself talking—about Velaris, about the beauty of the city at night, about how he and Azriel used to get into trouble as kids. Y/N listened intently, her expressions shifting between amusement and curiosity.

When they finally reached her door, Cassian set the bags down gently. “Here we are,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you... need help bringing these in?”

She shook her head, scribbling quickly. Thank you, Cassian.

He smiled, the warmth in her gaze making his chest tighten. “Anytime.”

As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she turned back, holding up the notepad again. See you at the theater?

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

And as she closed the door behind her, Cassian stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where she’d been, wondering how this woman had managed to captivate him so completely.

The theater buzzed with anticipation as the crowd settled into their seats, the soft hum of chatter filling the air. Cassian leaned back, arms crossed, his wings tucked in tight against the velvet seat.

The lights dimmed, and the theater fell silent. Cassian’s sharp eyes picked her out immediately as she entered the stage. She moved like she was part of the music itself, her dress flowing like liquid silver under the soft glow of the lights. His chest tightened at the sight of her—so composed, so seemingly untouchable.

She sat at the piano royale, her hands hovering above the keys. The first notes sang through the air, tender yet commanding, and the entire room was transfixed. Cassian had never considered himself a man drawn to delicate things, yet here he was, attending every performance like some besotted fool.

But tonight… something was different.

Her fingers faltered.

The wrong note struck, a sharp discordant sound that cut through the melody like a blade. Cassian stiffened, his senses on high alert. Y/N paused, her shoulders rigid as if trying to compose herself. Then she tried again. The music resumed, but it lacked the fluidity he’d come to admire.

She faltered a second time.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and concern spreading like wildfire. Cassian’s instincts kicked in. He sat forward, every muscle in his body taut as he watched her hands tremble on the keys. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and she was pale—too pale.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered to himself.

Y/N abruptly stood, swaying as though she might collapse. Her hands clenched into fists, and Cassian’s heart dropped as she stumbled away from the piano. The audience gasped as she braced herself against the instrument, her head bowed as if she were fighting some invisible force.

Cassian didn’t wait. He shot out of his seat, ignoring the whispers and stares as he pushed through the rows of patrons toward the stage. He didn’t care about protocol or appearances—something was happening to her, and he wasn’t about to stand by and watch.

The theater staff hesitated as he stormed past them, his towering frame cutting through their protests. By the time he reached her, Y/N was being helped off the stage by one of the attendants, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice low and firm, but she didn’t lift her head.

“Sir, you can’t—” one of the staff members began, but Cassian silenced them with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Without another word, he slipped his arm under Y/N’s, steadying her as she fought to stand upright. Her gaze briefly met his, and he saw it—the fear, the frustration, and something deeper.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said softly, his protective instincts roaring to life.

Pain clawed through her chest as she clutched the piano for support, her vision swimming. She had never faltered like this before. Never. For years, she had managed to suppress the curse, to keep its dark tendrils at bay with sheer willpower and the solace of her music.

But tonight, it had won.

Her legs trembled as she stumbled off the stage, the world around her blurring into a sea of shocked faces and hushed whispers. Panic threatened to consume her. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not yet. She had always known the curse would catch up with her eventually, but she had hoped for more time.

As she reached the wings of the stage, a strong, familiar arm wrapped around her waist. She looked up, and there he was. Cassian.

Why was he here? He had no business being this close to her, seeing her like this—vulnerable, broken. Yet his hold was steady, his presence grounding in a way that both frightened and comforted her.

The curse was getting stronger. She could feel it now, a dark weight pressing against her chest, making it harder to breathe. Her music had always been her shield, a way to channel the curse’s power and keep it from consuming her. But tonight, even that had failed her.

She closed her eyes, leaning into Cassian’s warmth despite herself. She shouldn’t. Letting him get close was dangerous—for both of them. He didn’t know what she carried, the burden that clung to her like a shadow. If he did, he would leave. They all left eventually.

But part of her wanted to tell him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke. She would never be safe, not while this curse still bound her, twisting her life into something unrecognizable.

As they reached the privacy of her dressing room, she sagged into the nearest chair, clutching her arms around herself. Her mind raced with fear and frustration. The curse was escalating, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold it off.

Cassian crouched before her, his hazel eyes filled with concern. “What happened out there?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Frustration boiled over, and she gestured to her throat, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said gently. “Just… let me help.”

Her heart twisted at his words. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. But the look in his eyes—so earnest, so determined—made her chest ache. She wanted to let him in, to tell him everything, but the weight of the curse held her back.

She couldn’t do that to him.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor of her small apartment. Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, her hands wrapped tightly around a warm mug of tea. She had barely slept, her thoughts a whirlwind of last night’s events.

The performance had been a disaster. She could still hear the discordant notes that had slipped from her fingers, the tremor in her hands, the strange, suffocating sensation that had overtaken her body. It had felt like her curse, that dark power she had kept under tight control for so long, had risen up within her and demanded to be noticed.

Cassian had seen it.

He’d been so gentle with her afterward, yet his concern was unmistakable. He hadn’t left her side until she was safely in her apartment, and even then, she’d caught a glimpse of him perched on the rooftop across the street, his form outlined by the soft glow of the streetlights.

The memory of his quiet insistence on her well-being made her stomach flip again. He’d asked so many questions—about how she was feeling, what had happened during the performance, if she had been overworking herself.

And she had said nothing.

She had only shaken her head and offered a weak smile, the one she wore when she needed to shield herself from the world. She couldn’t tell him. How could she? How could she explain something so awful, so dangerous, when she couldn’t even find a way to keep it from taking over her own body?

He’d been so persistent, so sincere in his concern, but she had been silent, the weight of her secrets pressing down on her chest. She saw the doubt in his eyes, the confusion that crept in when she didn’t answer his questions.

He hadn’t pushed, though. That was the thing. He hadn’t pressured her to speak. Instead, he’d carefully guided her to the door, his arm steady around her waist as he had offered to fly her home. When she’d refused, he hadn’t argued. Instead, he had walked her home, his pace steady and protective.

Cassian had talked to her, enough to distract her, enough to keep her mind from spiraling into the overwhelming chaos that constantly threatened to consume her. The rhythm of his words had grounded her, and she had found herself listening without thinking. She had told him nothing, but he had somehow made her feel safe.

When they had reached her apartment, he had paused at the door, his expression serious as he had reassured her that he would be nearby—just in case she needed him. Then, he had taken off into the sky, his powerful wings cutting through the night air.

Cassian hadn’t left her mind since. His words, his actions—they lingered in her thoughts like a haunting melody, one that made her both want to embrace the warmth and pull away in fear. The curse, the reason she could never be truly close to anyone, was the reason she couldn’t let him in. She couldn’t burden him with her problems, not when he didn’t deserve it.

But as she sat there, alone in her apartment, she couldn’t help but replay the events of the night.

Had she been too careless? She had kept the curse locked away for so long, but was it finally starting to take its toll on her body? What if this was just the beginning? What if it would only get worse from here?

Her chest tightened, and she placed a hand over her heart, trying to calm the fluttering panic rising within her. She had lived with this curse for so long, but now it felt different. More threatening. More uncontrollable.

Y/N’s mind swirled with these thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. She had tried so hard to maintain control, to keep herself distant from others, but she could feel the walls she had built around herself starting to crack.

And it terrified her.

She had always known that the curse would eventually catch up with her. But she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, or for someone like Cassian to come so close to seeing the cracks in her armor.

It was easier to pretend she was fine, to act like everything was normal, but she couldn’t keep up the act forever.

And if last night had taught her anything, it was that her curse wasn’t going anywhere. It was only a matter of time before it completely consumed her, and she wasn’t sure if she could bear to let anyone close enough to see it happen.

Her fingers tightened around the mug, her nails pressing into the porcelain, as she fought to steady her breathing. It was just one night. Just one slip-up. She would be fine. She had to be.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Cassian’s wings beat heavily in the air as he soared above the city, his mind a whirl of thoughts that he couldn’t quiet. The night had lingered with him, and he had barely slept since walking Y/N to her door. It wasn’t just the shock of her performance faltering—no, it was the look in her eyes afterward, the guarded silence she had wrapped around herself.

He had been gentle with her, careful to give her space and not pry too much into what had happened, but he could still feel her retreating from him. It wasn’t the first time he had met someone with secrets, but this felt different. The way her hands shook as she played, the way her breath had caught in her throat before she’d stopped mid-performance—there was something there, something she wasn’t telling him.

And it pissed him off.

Cassian gritted his teeth as he landed on the balcony of his apartment, wings folding with a fluid motion. He walked inside, but the moment his boots hit the floor, his thoughts immediately returned to her.

What had happened to her?

He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head—the delicate lines of her face, the fire in her eyes despite her evident struggle. And the way she had refused to tell him anything.

After a long, restless night, Cassian had done the only thing that made sense—he had gone to Rhysand.

Now, sitting in the study room with both Azriel and Rhys, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. His thoughts spilled from him, his voice tense as he recounted the events.

“I’m telling you, something’s not right with her,” Cassian said, pacing the floor. “I’ve never seen anyone react like that before. She was fine one moment, and then suddenly…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like she’s hiding something. She’s a damned mystery.”

Azriel, ever the quiet observer, leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing. “You think she’s hiding something from you?”

Cassian nodded, frustration evident in his tone. “Of course she is. She didn’t tell me anything—nothing about what happened at the show, nothing about why she couldn’t finish. It’s like she’s shielding herself from everyone.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to Rhysand, a silent question passing between them. Rhysand, who had been listening intently, now raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it you’re talking about, Cassian?” Rhysand asked, his voice calm but curious.

Cassian hesitated for a moment. “Her name’s Y/N. She’s the pianist at the theater I’ve been visiting. The one I told Az about.”

Rhysand’s gaze sharpened, and he stood up, his wings ruffling behind him. “Wait a moment… Y/N? As in the pianist from summer?”

Cassian nodded, confused by Rhysand’s sudden recognition.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You know her?”

Rhysand’s face darkened, and he looked at Cassian with a mix of disbelief and something else—something deeper. “I do. She was one of Amarantha’s victims. I was there when it happened.”

Cassian froze, his heart sinking. “What do you mean? What happened to her?”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his gaze turning distant as the memories flooded back. “Amarantha had her voice taken away. Anyone who dared to speak against her—she silenced them in the cruelest ways. Y/N…” Rhysand’s voice dropped to a lower pitch, filled with sympathy. “Her curse was placed upon her during that time. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even sing. But it was worse than that. Her voice was stolen, not just taken. The power of it was bound to a curse.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides. Anger surged through him, hot and fierce. “How is that possible? How could anyone do that to someone like her?”

Rhysand’s eyes met his, filled with grim understanding. “Amarantha had a way of breaking the subjects. She found a way to take their essence, their power, and twist it. Y/N was no different. But after Hybern fell, she sought refuge here in Velaris. I’ve seen her around, but I didn’t know the full extent of what had happened to her. I didn’t know she was still struggling with the curse.”

Cassian felt his chest tighten. Y/N. The female he had been so captivated by. The one who had captivated him without saying a single word. And yet, here she was, bearing a curse so dark, so consuming, that she had been left to carry it alone all this time.

“She hasn’t told you about her curse, has she?” Rhysand asked quietly, his eyes probing Cassian’s face.

“No,” Cassian said through gritted teeth.

Azriel, who had remained silent through most of the conversation, now leaned forward. “She’s not hiding from you, Cassian. She’s hiding from the curse.”

Cassian’s gaze snapped to Azriel, who continued. “She’s scared. Whatever’s happening to her, it’s worse than you think. She’s afraid of what it could do—not just to her, but to the people around her. And she’s scared that if you find out, you’ll run. That’s why she doesn’t talk about it. She doesn’t want to burden anyone with her curse.”

Cassian felt his chest tighten again, but this time, it was a different kind of tightness. He had been so focused on the mystery of Y/N, on the way she had pulled away from him, that he hadn’t even considered the depth of what she was dealing with.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer now, “I need help. I can’t just sit back and watch her slowly fall apart. There’s something deeper there. I can feel it.”

Rhysand and Azriel exchanged a look, one that Cassian couldn’t quite decipher. Then Rhysand stood up, his wings flexing.

“Alright,” he said, his voice firm, “We’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s safe, make sure she’s well. But you need to be patient, Cassian. She won’t open up to you unless she’s ready. You have to respect that.”

Cassian nodded, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “I understand. But I can’t just leave her to suffer alone. She deserves better than that.”

Azriel clapped him on the back. “We know, Cass. We’ll help. You just need to be patient.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed as he thought about Y/N, her vulnerability, and the walls she had built around herself. He hadn’t cracked her yet, not fully, but something in him told him that he would. He wouldn’t stop until he had helped her, until he had destroyed that curse for good.

For her.

He made a silent promise to himself then, as Rhysand and Azriel discussed their next steps. He would help Y/N, no matter the cost. He would break down every wall she put up and stand by her side, no matter what secrets she was hiding.

And he would destroy that curse.

No matter what.

Y/N had stayed home that day, too drained from the previous night's performance to do anything. The aftermath of the curse's flare-up weighed heavily on her, making her body feel as though it were made of stone, stiff and unyielding.

The soft knock at the door startled her, breaking her thoughts.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. Who could be visiting her now? No one knew she lived here. But when the knock came again, more insistent this time, she stood up, her joints stiff from the prolonged rest.

When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.

There, at her doorstep, sat a wicker basket overflowing with fresh flowers, soft pastel-colored ribbons, and a few food items carefully packed inside. A small folded note lay atop it, written in a familiar scrawl that made her chest tighten.

For the lovely pianist who fills the air with music and beauty. I hope this helps lift your spirits, even if just for a moment. – Cassian.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the basket. The warmth of the gesture caught her off guard. No one had ever thought to do something like this for her—no one but him. He had noticed her, understood her silence, and cared enough to leave a piece of himself behind. Her fingers hovered over the note, and her heart fluttered uncomfortably.

With a hesitant glance around, she wondered if he was nearby, but there was no sign of him. A pang of disappointment stung her chest at the thought. Still, she couldn’t help but smile softly, touched by his kindness.

She bent down to gather the basket and gently set it inside. But as she stood up, a sharp pain suddenly pierced her chest, causing her breath to catch. She staggered back, feeling the familiar sense of weight pressing down on her. The curse—no, the power within her was shifting again.

She tried to take a breath, but it wasn’t enough. Her vision swam, and the world tilted. She tried to steady herself, but her knees buckled beneath her.

Not now. Not like this…

Her heart pounded as the curse flared again, relentless and painful, constricting her chest, filling her throat with invisible hands. She collapsed to the ground, her fingers clutching her chest in a desperate attempt to find air. Please, please, just let me breathe.

Her efforts were futile as her body gave way to the pain and darkness swallowed her whole.

Cassian grinned to himself as he made his way down the stairs, his heart a little lighter than usual. He had been thinking about her all day, wondering how she would react to the little surprise he’d left for her. He hadn’t been sure at first whether it was a good idea—whether it was too forward—but something about Y/N made him want to show her he cared.

He had picked out the best flowers, the sweetest fruits, and a few small indulgences. Nothing extravagant, just a little something to brighten her day.

She deserves it, he thought with a satisfied smile. And maybe, just maybe, it will make her smile.

Cassian had wanted to be around when she opened the basket, to see the look on her face, but he had made sure to slip away quietly, vanishing into the shadows once he had left the gift on her doorstep. He would have stayed if he could, but he had a matter at hand that required his attention.

Still, the thought of her reaction kept him grinning as he made his way to the library. He was certain she would be happy—no one had ever done something like that for her, had they? He hoped it would at least make her feel a little less isolated, less burdened by the silence that seemed to weigh on her so heavily.

His thoughts were interrupted when a soft voice called from behind him, snapping him out of his musings.

“Cassian,” a priestess said, her hands extended, holding several large books on sign language. “I have the books you requested.” She also gestured toward a woman standing beside her, Mariella, who was mute. “Mariella is one of our own who uses sign language, and she has agreed to help you practice. These books will help you understand how to communicate with those who do not speak verbally.”

Cassian's eyes lit up with excitement. This was exactly what he had been waiting for. He had been eager to learn, not just to make things easier for Y/N, but because he wanted to understand her better—he wanted to make sure she didn’t feel alone.

I’ll learn. I’ll do whatever it takes, he promised himself.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere as he accepted the books. His eyes brightened as he turned toward Mariella, smiling warmly at her. “This will be amazing. Thank you for agreeing to help me.”

Mariella smiled back, a quiet, appreciative expression.

As they got to work, Cassian found himself mentally back in his conversation with Y/N, still wondering how she was reacting to the gift. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of her face, her eyes when she received it.

But the thought of her now… it had been replaced by the quiet determination to learn sign language and help her, however he could.

Later on in the night, Cassian’s wings beat steadily as he soared through the skies. However, a strange sense of unease kept gnawing at him. It was almost as if the world had shifted in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and his instincts were bristling, urging him to check on her.

He had no logical reason for concern, but Cassian trusted his instincts more than anything. They’d never steered him wrong before.

As he circled above her home, the soft glow from the windows cast faint shadows on the ground below. But then something caught his eye—a rolling object, bouncing slowly down the steps. It was one of the apples he had chosen so carefully for her.

His heart skipped a beat.

The apple rolled out of sight, and for a moment, Cassian’s stomach tightened. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to notice. His pulse quickened. Something was wrong. His wings angled downward, the urgency within him rising as the doors of his mind swung wide open. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to land, to investigate.

He descended rapidly, his feet hitting the ground just in time for him to notice a sense of stillness in the air. There was no movement, no light from inside the house. His protective instincts flared to life, and his fists clenched at his sides. Something wasn’t right.

Cassian approached the door slowly, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. He pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges louder than usual in the silence of the night.

His gaze landed on her almost instantly.

Y/N lay unmoving on the floor, her body curled slightly, her face pale and twisted in pain. The air around her seemed heavier than usual, thick with the weight of whatever curse plagued her. Cassian’s heart slammed against his ribcage as he rushed forward, his breath coming faster, his body charged with alarm.

“No, no, no,” he muttered to himself as he knelt beside her, panic threatening to seize him. Her chest barely rose and fell, her lips a faint shade of blue. He could see the signs of the curse’s latest flare-up, the way her breathing was shallow, her body fighting against an invisible force.

Cassian’s hands trembled as he carefully placed them on her shoulders, lifting her slightly to check for any obvious injuries. His mind raced, furious that she was alone like this, that he hadn’t been there sooner. He couldn’t let her die like this. Not after everything.

“Y/N!” His voice was hoarse, desperation lacing each word. “Come on, breathe. I need you to fight.”

She remained still, her eyelids flickering but not opening. Cassian’s jaw tightened in frustration, helplessness gnawing at his insides. His mind, usually so sharp and clear, was clouded with a thousand thoughts. He needed to focus. He needed to help her.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his anger and concern swirling inside him. Without thinking twice, he reached out mentally to Rhysand and Azriel, his thoughts flooding with worry.

Rhys, Az, something’s happened—Y/N’s in trouble. She’s—she’s unconscious, and her curse flared up again. She’s not breathing properly, and I can’t—

His words were cut off as Rhys’s calm voice echoed in his mind. Cassian, calm down. I have already talked with Helion to have hids libraries be searched for a solution. Priestesses are also hard at work. Keep her safe. Azriel, keep an eye (ora shadow) out for her. Send anyone to be near her house at all times.

Cassian could feel the protective power of Rhys’s words even across the distance. He had to stay calm. But the frustration clawed at him.

Cassian’s gaze softened as he sat down next to her, careful not to disturb her fragile form. His mind was filled with both anger and a deep sense of helplessness. I won’t let this continue, Rhys. I’ll break this curse, I swear it.

Azriel’s voice cut through, quieter but filled with the same sense of urgency. We’ll figure it out. Just don’t leave her side, Cassian. Don’t do anything reckless.

Cassian nodded, though he knew they couldn’t see him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak out loud as his emotions swirled. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll do whatever it takes.

Rhys’ mental presence was still strong, his voice calm but resolute. Cassian, when she wakes, we’ll help you with this. If she’s willing, maybe she’ll want to come back to the House of Wind with you. It will be safer for her there, with Azriel and Nesta. You know what we can do to help.

Cassian’s thoughts were consumed with a flurry of emotions—protectiveness, desperation, frustration. I just need her to be okay. Please let her be okay.

Rhys’ voice softened. I know, Cassian. We’ll do everything we can. Stay with her. We’ll be there shortly.

Cassian’s mental communication with Rhys and Azriel ceased, but the weight of their words lingered. I’ll keep her safe.He repeated it over and over in his head, willing it to be true.

Minutes felt like hours. His eyes stayed glued to Y/N, unwilling to blink for fear that something would happen while his gaze was turned. Every time her chest moved with a shallow breath, he sighed in relief. But that wasn’t enough. He needed her to wake up, to be okay. He would do whatever it took.

Suddenly, a shift in the air. He noticed her chest rise higher, her breath deepening, and a soft flutter of her eyelids. His heart surged in his chest, hope blooming.

Her eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first. Cassian was at her side in an instant, his hand hovering near her but not quite touching her. The moment his gaze met hers, everything else ceased to exist.

Her breath was still shaky, but she was alive. Her eyes locked onto his, a mixture of confusion and fear flickering in them as she tried to process what had just happened. Cassian’s chest tightened as he stared into her wide, silent eyes. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face, the tenderness in his touch matching the softness in his heart.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “You’re safe now.”

She blinked slowly, and Cassian felt a sense of relief wash over him.

But there was still so much to be done. Cassian felt his determination rise again, a wave of protectiveness flooding through him. He was going to fix this. He wouldn’t let her suffer anymore.

Rhys’ voice echoed faintly in his mind. Let us know what happens, Cassian.

Y/N was tucked into her bed, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow across the room. Cassian sat beside her, a steaming cup of tea in hand. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, his focus entirely on her as he gently held the cup to her lips. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering to his before taking a small sip.

The tea was soothing, and she leaned back against the pillows with a faint, grateful smile. Cassian set the cup aside, his hazel eyes watching her with a mix of concern and determination.

The silence stretched between them until he finally broke it. “I feel really uneasy leaving you here alone,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Rhys has already promised to have someone stationed near your house at all times to ensure your safety. But...” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “I’d feel a lot better if you came with me to the House of Wind. It’s safer there.”

Y/N blinked, her brows knitting together in surprise. She reached for the notepad on her bedside table and scribbled a quick response before holding it up for him to read.

Rhys? As in Rhysand? The High Lord?

Cassian chuckled softly, a small smile breaking through his worry. “Yes, Rhysand. The High Lord himself.”

Her cheeks turned pink as she quickly wrote her next message. I’m honored, truly, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden or an inconvenience.

Cassian’s expression softened, but there was a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Nonsense. You could never be a burden, Y/N. We’ve all already agreed it’s the best place for you.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. She shook her head and scribbled another note. No. I don’t belong there. I’m just... me. No one needs me there.

Before Cassian could respond, her body suddenly tensed. Her hands flew to her throat, her face contorting in pain as her chest heaved. The curse struck again, sharp and unrelenting. She clenched her eyes shut, her fingers digging into his arm as she gasped for air.

“Y/N!” Cassian exclaimed, moving closer to steady her. His hands hovered protectively over her, his voice softening. “Breathe through it. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The wave of pain subsided after what felt like an eternity, leaving her slumped against the pillows, her breaths shallow but steady. Cassian’s jaw tightened as he watched her, his heart breaking at the sight of her suffering.

He took a deep breath, his tone firm but gentle. “You know what? I’m sorry if what I said earlier sounded like a question. You’re coming with me, Y/N. No way in hell am I leaving you here to deal with this on your own.”

Y/N weakly grabbed her notepad, her hands trembling as she scribbled, No. I’m too shy. It is not a place for me.

Cassian gently pried the notepad from her hands, his gaze unwavering. “That’s where you’re wrong. You do belong there, and we do need you. And if anyone has the audacity to make you feel otherwise, I’ll personally make sure they regret it.”

Her lips twitched at his vehemence, a tiny smile breaking through despite her exhaustion.

Cassian smirked, leaning closer. “Besides, Rhys, Feyre, Az, and even Nesta have already agreed. They’re looking forward to having you there. So, like I said—this isn’t a question.”

She gave him a pointed look, writing a quick response. You’re stubborn.

“And you’re just figuring that out?” he teased, his grin widening.

I don’t want to trouble anyone, she wrote, her expression earnest.

Cassian sighed, his tone softening. “Y/N, you’re not trouble. You’re family now, whether you like it or not. And families look out for each other.”

Her eyes softened at his words, the weight of her resistance crumbling under his steady resolve. With a small sigh, she finally nodded.

Cassian’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Good. I promise you won’t regret this. Don’t worry about your things—I’ll have them sent to the House of Wind. For now, just focus on feeling better. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Y/N gave him a faint smile, her eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at her. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his watchful gaze never leaving her as she drifted off.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The wind whipped against her face as Cassian flew them toward the House of Wind, the towering mountain structure growing larger with every passing moment. His arms were strong and steady around her, his warmth cutting through the chill of the high altitude. She clung to him, not out of fear but because the contact sent an unfamiliar flutter through her chest.

There was something about him—his presence, his strength—that made her feel safe. For the first time in what felt like years, she could breathe, even if the air up here was thin. She stole a glance at his profile as they soared higher, his sharp jawline and focused gaze drawing her in. Her pulse quickened, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself for the strange butterflies stirring within her.

When they landed at the House of Wind, she was momentarily struck silent—not that she could speak anyway—by the sheer beauty of it. The sprawling structure perched atop the mountain radiated elegance and power. Cassian set her down gently, his hands lingering for a moment before he stepped back.

“This way,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him inside.

The grand doors opened, and the entire Inner Circle was waiting for her. Rhysand stood at the forefront with Feyre by his side, both of them emanating an aura of warmth and authority. Behind them, Azriel leaned casually against a wall, his shadows curling around him, while Mor, Amren, Nesta, and Elain stood nearby.

Rhysand’s gaze softened as it landed on her. He stepped forward, his tone gentle. “Welcome, Y/N. This is your home now, for as long as you wish it to be.”

She nodded quickly, clutching her notepad tightly, unsure of how else to respond.

Feyre smiled kindly. “We’re so glad you’re here. If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

The others chimed in with their greetings, each of them offering warm or curious words of welcome. Mor’s grin was wide and infectious, while Amren’s sharp eyes seemed to assess her with a quiet intensity. Elain gave her a soft smile, and Nesta... well, Nesta simply nodded, but even that felt like an acknowledgment.

But it was Rhysand’s words that lingered the longest. “I know you’ve endured much,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “You survived Amarantha’s cruelty, and that alone makes you stronger than you realize. You have nothing to prove to us, Y/N. You’re safe here.”

Her throat tightened at his words, and she quickly scribbled a note: Thank you for your kindness. I’ll do my best not to be a burden.

Rhys shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re no burden. You’re family now.”

The weight of his words made her chest ache—not from pain, but from an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Cassian stepped forward, breaking the moment. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

She followed him silently, the noise of the others fading as they ascended a set of stairs. Her heart pounded as they walked down a hallway, stopping in front of a door. Cassian grinned, gesturing to the room beside it. “That’s my room, so if you need anything, I’m just next door.”

He opened her door, revealing a cozy, sunlit space with a plush bed, a small sitting area, and a window that offered a breathtaking view of Velaris. She stepped inside, still clutching her notepad, and turned to thank him.

Before she could write anything, Cassian spoke. “I promise to help you find a way to get rid of this curse, one way or another.”

Her eyes widened, the notepad slipping slightly from her grasp.

He shrugged, his voice softening. “Rhys told me. About Amarantha. About what she did to you. I... I’m sorry you had to go through that. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll figure it out together.”

Her hands trembled as she wrote: No one can break it. It’s killing me slowly. There’s no way to stop it.

Cassian’s expression hardened, his hazel eyes blazing with determination as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “We’ll see about that,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what it takes or how impossible it seems. I’m not giving up on you.”

She stared at him, stunned by his resolve. The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips as she nodded, though deep down, a bitter truth whispered that his promise was futile.

“Get some rest,” Cassian said, his voice softening again. “Your things will be brought up soon. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me.”

She nodded again, watching as he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and she sank onto the bed, her heart heavy with both hope and despair.

No one could break the curse. Not even Cassian.

And yet, as she closed her eyes, that flicker of warmth he’d left behind refused to extinguish.

Cassian stood in Rhysand’s office with Azriel and Rhys, poring over books and scrolls. Every lead they had on Amarantha’s curses turned into a dead end.

Unfortunately, all was same on Helion's side as well as his librarians kept searching nonstop for a cure.

“She wasn’t just cruel,” Rhys said, his voice tight with anger. “She was meticulous. Every curse she created was designed to last.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him. “There must be something she overlooked. No curse is perfect.”

Cassian slammed a book shut. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m not letting her suffer like this. We’ve fought gods before—we’ll find a way.”

Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll keep looking. But Cassian... don’t let this consume you.”

Cassian didn’t reply, his jaw clenched as he flipped open another book.

Cassian and Y/N sat in the training ring, the sun casting a golden glow over the House of Wind. The faint rustle of the wind filled the quiet as he stretched his legs out, his wings half-spread to soak in the warmth. She sat cross-legged beside him, her notepad resting on her lap, though her pen hovered uncertainly above the page.

He gestured toward the notepad. “You’ve got a real talent there,” he said, nodding toward a detailed sketch of the training ring she’d been working on earlier. “Did you always draw, or is it something you picked up along the way?”

She glanced at him, hesitant, before jotting down her response: I started as a child. It helped me stay calm.

“Smart,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Az used to say the same thing about throwing knives. Something to focus on, to drown out the noise.”

Her lips twitched, and she wrote: Knives sound less calming.

Cassian laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Fair point. I guess drawing is a bit more peaceful.” He tilted his head, watching her as she added shading to a corner of the sketch. “What do you draw when you’re not sketching stuff like this?”

She paused, chewing on her lip, before scribbling: Dreams. Things I’ll never have.

His expression softened, his hazel eyes darkening as he studied her. “Dreams aren’t things you can’t have. They’re just things you don’t have yet.”

Her hand stilled over the page, and she looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But look at me—grew up with nothing. No family, no home, no future. Now I’ve got people who’d go to the ends of the earth for me, a family who fights for me, a place to call mine. If I can get all that, anyone can.”

She looked down at her notepad, her fingers brushing the edge of the page as if considering his words. Finally, she scribbled: Maybe one day.

Cassian grinned. “Maybe one day,” he echoed. “But don’t think I won’t keep trying to convince you sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his persistence, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

“See? There it is,” he teased, pointing at her face.

Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head in question.

“That smile,” he clarified, his voice softening. “I knew it was hiding somewhere.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself, and started to sketch again.

Cassian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to be shy around me, you know,” he said gently. “I’d like to know more about you, too.”

She hesitated, her pen hovering over the page, before finally writing: Maybe one day.

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod, his grin playful but understanding. “But just so you know, I’m a pretty patient guy. I’ve got all the time in the world to wait.”

Y/N found herself slowly being drawn into the Inner Circle’s orbit. With Feyre they painted together in the studio, Feyre encouraging her to express herself through colors and strokes. Y/N’s hesitation faded as the canvas filled with soft, sweeping lines.

Mor dragged her into town, insisting on a day of shopping and laughter. Y/N couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her when Mor modeled a particularly outrageous dress.Amren’s bluntness surprised her, but it was oddly comforting. They shared a quiet afternoon, Amren reading while Y/N sketched, the silence feeling more like companionship than solitude. Elain introduced her to gardening, showing her how to tend to the delicate blooms in the House of Wind’s gardens. Y/N found the gentle work soothing.

Nesta and Y/N shared an unspoken understanding, a connection forged in the quiet echoes of pain neither could fully articulate.

One afternoon, Nesta found her in the library, seated at a secluded table, surrounded by stacks of books she was carefully sorting. Y/N’s notepad lay beside her, already filled with scribbled notes. The soft glow of sunlight streaming through the high windows illuminated her focused expression.

Nesta hesitated at first, then pulled out a chair and sat across from her. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Nesta spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “You don’t have to explain. I know what it’s like to carry something you think no one else can understand.”

Y/N stilled, her pen pausing mid-note. She lifted her gaze to meet Nesta’s, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Slowly, she reached for her notepad and wrote: Thank you.

Nesta’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, one that carried no judgment, only understanding. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing Y/N’s hand before resting over it gently. “You’re not alone anymore,” she said, her tone firm, a quiet strength underpinning her words. “None of us are.”

For a moment, Y/N stared at her, as though weighing the truth in those words. Then, almost reluctantly, she nodded.

Nesta leaned back slightly, her fingers lingering a moment longer before she let go. “This place,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the library around them, “it helped me. Gave me something to hold onto when I didn’t want to hold onto anything. If you ever need that—or someone to just sit with you—I’ll be here.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and she quickly wrote: That means more than I can say.

Nesta smirked, her eyes glinting with a hint of her usual fire. “Good thing I’m pretty good at reading between the lines.”

Y/N huffed a silent laugh, the soundless gesture enough to make Nesta’s chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth.

Cassian found Y/N on the balcony overlooking Velaris, the city sparkling like a sea of stars beneath the night sky. She sat curled in a chair, her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she worked quietly, the gentle breeze tousling her hair.

He approached her slowly, his footsteps deliberately soft so as not to startle her. When she looked up, offering him a small smile, she reached instinctively for her notepad.

Before she could grab it, Cassian crouched down beside her, gently taking her hand to stop her. “Wait,” he said softly.

She blinked at him, puzzled, as he raised his hands and began to sign. It was slow, a little clumsy, but unmistakable: I’ve been practicing. For you.

Y/N froze, her eyes going wide with shock. Her sketchbook slid forgotten onto her lap as she stared at him. Tears welled in her eyes, and her hands trembled as she lifted them to sign back: You learned this? For me?

Cassian nodded, a small, warm smile curving his lips. “I told you,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’m not giving up on you. Not now, not ever.”

Her hands flew to her mouth as a soft, soundless gasp escaped her. Overwhelmed, she couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Cassian stood, closing the small distance between them, and held his arms open. She hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping into him, her face pressing against his chest as his strong arms wrapped around her.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with emotion as he gently stroked her back. “We’ll figure it out, together. I promise.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, she raised her hands again, signing haltingly but clearly: Thank you. For seeing me.

Cassian smiled down at her, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on her cheek. “I’ll always see you.”

In that quiet moment, with the stars above and the city below, the weight she carried felt just a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, hope bloomed in her chest.

The warm breeze from the open window carried the scent of fresh flowers into the room. Cassian leaned against the doorframe, watching Y/N as she carefully sketched in her notebook. There was a serenity to her today, a softness that he cherished. It had been two months since she’d arrived at the House of Wind, and though she had remained largely quiet, there were moments like this when she seemed to open up, even if only a little.

After a long silence, Y/N set her pencil down and reached for her notepad. Cassian raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but she didn’t look up at him right away. Instead, her fingers moved quickly, and then she held it up for him to see.

I grew up in the Summer Court, the words read, the ink delicate and precise.

Cassian’s heart warmed at the thought. “The Summer Court,” he repeated softly, stepping closer to her. He could tell this was a rare piece of herself she was offering him, so he knelt beside her, giving her the space to continue.

She glanced up at him, her eyes shy but filled with quiet hope, as though she was wondering if he would judge her. But Cassian’s expression was one of kindness, and he smiled gently.

Y/N signed again, the fluid movements of her hands capturing his full attention. “It was beautiful there. The sea, the sand, the sunsets... everything felt warm. My people, they love the light.” She paused, biting her lip, before adding, I loved the sunsets most of all.

Cassian’s smile widened, feeling a gentle tug on his heart at the thought of her happy memories. “I can only imagine. I bet the sunsets there are unlike anything I’ve seen.”

She nodded, her smile small but genuine, as though she was reliving those moments in her mind. The sunsets were perfect, painted in the most beautiful shades of gold and pink. They made everything feel peaceful... like nothing could ever go wrong.

Cassian sat beside her then, watching the sun dip low outside the window, as if honoring the memory she was sharing. He could almost picture it—the rolling waves, the warm sands, the endless horizon stretching before her.

“What happened to your home?” he asked quietly, not wanting to push her but also eager to understand more of her story.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing over the notepad again. Then she signed softly, her voice barely a whisper, even though her words were silent. It’s gone now. The court… it's not the same anymore. I haven’t been back since.

Cassian’s heart tightened at the quiet sorrow that passed over her features. She didn’t have to say more. He could feel the weight of her loss in her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile, one that spoke volumes. It wasn’t pity she sought, but understanding. And he gave it to her, without question.

With a soft exhale, Y/N wrote one last thing before turning the notepad to him: I don’t miss the court, not anymore. But I miss the peace. The quiet beauty of it all.

Cassian nodded, understanding more than she could know. He had lost so much in his own life, pieces of himself, pieces of those he loved. But this, her willingness to share her memories—her pain, too—made him feel closer to her than ever.

“I’ll make sure you have peace again,” he said, his voice firm with the promise. “It might take time, but I’ll make sure you find it.”

Y/N’s eyes softened at his words, and for the briefest moment, it felt like the entire world outside was forgotten. Just them, in this quiet corner of the House of Wind, two souls bonding over shared moments of pain and hope.

And in that moment, Cassian couldn’t help but believe that maybe, just maybe, they both had a chance at healing.

It was another one of those nights.

The pain struck without warning, a searing, unbearable wave that made her knees buckle. Y/N collapsed to the floor, clutching her throat as her vision swam. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could wrench the agony from her body.

Cassian, asleep just a room away, jolted awake. Something primal, something tethered to her, pulled him to her side. He burst into her room within seconds, shirtless and frantic, his wings slightly flaring as he skidded to a halt beside her.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice laced with panic. He dropped to his knees, gathering her trembling form into his arms as though he could shield her from whatever torment was tearing her apart.

Her lips parted, struggling to form words, but no sound came. Her hands scrabbled weakly at his arm, nails digging into his skin as the pain wracked her body. Tears streamed down her face, and Cassian swore he felt every single one like a knife to his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed against her back, grounding her. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe with me.”

The wave finally passed, leaving her limp and gasping for air. Y/N’s trembling fingers moved weakly, forming signs that he had painstakingly learned: It’s okay.

“No,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. He gripped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “It’s not okay. This—this isn’t okay, and I’m not letting it win. Do you hear me?” His voice cracked at the end, betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Her wide, glassy eyes filled with fresh tears as she shook her head, trying to offer him reassurance. Her hands moved again, slower this time: It’s not your fault.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, his jaw tightening. “Maybe not, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and do nothing while this thing—whatever it is—tries to take you from me.”

He pulled her closer, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world, his calloused hands gentle as they rubbed soothing circles on her back. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less determined. “I swear to you, Y/N. I don’t care what it takes or who I have to fight—I won’t stop until you’re free of this.”

Y/N let her head rest against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comfort amidst the storm. Her fingers moved again, shakily signing one last message before exhaustion pulled her under: Thank you.

Cassian tightened his hold, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Always,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a fierce, unyielding promise.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N signed to Cassian, Why do you do all this for me? You don’t even know me that well.

Cassian smiled, his expression soft but firm. He signed back, Because you deserve to live. To laugh, to dream, to be free of this pain. And because you’ve already shown me how strong you are.

Her chest tightened, and she looked away, blinking back tears.

Fourth months had passed.

Y/N lay in her bed, her skin sweating and her breathing shallow. The curse had taken almost everything from her now—her strength, her laughter, even the small moments of peace she used to find in music or her notepad.

Cassian sat at her side, his large hands cradling her frail one. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as if he could keep her tethered to life through sheer will alone. Around them, the rest of the Inner Circle moved with frantic determination. Healers came and went, their faces grim, their efforts fruitless.

Rhys stood by the window, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. Feyre sat beside him, her hand resting on his arm as silent tears streamed down her face. Amren, Nesta, Elain, and Mor lingered nearby, each offering words of comfort or soft reassurances, though they all knew the truth: they were running out of time.

Cassian couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N. Just two months ago, she had been vibrant, defiant even, as she poured her soul into music on that stage. Now, she was a shadow of herself, her once-bright eyes dulled by exhaustion and pain.

"She doesn't deserve this," Cassian muttered, his voice raw as he stared at her fragile form. "Not after everything she’s been through. Not after everything she’s given."

Rhys turned, his violet eyes heavy with sorrow. “We’ve found something,” he said quietly. “But it’s…complicated.”

Cassian’s head snapped up, hope and fear warring in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Feyre stepped forward, holding a worn piece of parchment. “We got this sent to us by Helion only an hour ago, me and Rhys were contemplating if we should reveal it or not but....the curse can be broken, but it will cost her… everything. All her memories. Her connection to us. To you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“She’ll live and have her voice back,” Feyre continued, her voice trembling. “But she won’t remember any of it—any of us. It’ll be as if none of this ever happened.”

Cassian’s heart plummeted. The thought of Y/N forgetting him, forgetting the bond they had formed, the trust she had placed in him—it felt like a dagger to his chest. He turned to look at her, only to find her watching him with tears in her eyes.

She reached for her notepad with trembling fingers, but the strength to write eluded her. Instead, she signed weakly: No. I don’t want it. I’d rather die… with the memories of you all. Of you, Cassian.

Cassian’s throat tightened as he shook his head, tears blurring his vision. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still time.”

She smiled faintly, a fragile, heartbreaking thing. Thank you for all the kindness, she signed slowly. For giving me a glimpse of what life could be like. I never thought I could know true happiness after fifty years under Amarantha’s reign. But you… all of you… showed me otherwise.

Her gaze softened as it settled on Cassian, her fingers signing once more: You showed me love.

Cassian’s chest heaved with silent sobs as he grasped her hand, pressing it to his forehead. “No. Don’t do this, Y/N. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Y/N cupped his cheek with her other hand, her touch featherlight. Her lips moved, forming silent words he couldn’t hear but understood all the same. Thank you for everything.

He broke then, his tears falling freely. “I can’t let you go,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her strength fading fast. The room blurred around Cassian as he made his decision.

“Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling. Then, with shaking hands, he activated the spell, pouring everything into saving her.

The magic surged, golden light enveloping her frail body as her memories began to unravel. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, confusion and betrayal flooding them as she looked at him one last time.

Her lips moved soundlessly, forming the question: Why?

Cassian choked back a sob as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Because I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered.

He pressed his trembling hands over Y/N’s chest, activating the ancient spell with the force of every ounce of his heart. The room filled with a brilliant, blinding light as magic surged through the air.

Y/N’s body jerked beneath his hands, her face contorting with pain as the curse began to unwind. The energy flowed around her like a storm, unraveling the threads of her torment—yet with each passing moment, something else began to shift. Her memories—those precious fragments of time they had shared—began to fade, slowly, one by one.

The Inner Circle stood at a distance, their faces stricken with grief as they watched. Rhys, Feyre, and the others could do nothing but wait.

Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest as he leaned over Y/N, his hands desperate to hold on. But as the light dimmed, he saw the subtle change in her expression. Her eyes—those bright, compassionate eyes that had once held so much for him—began to dull.

Y/N’s hand slowly slid from his, her fingers uncurling like a wilting flower. Her eyes fluttered closed as the magic worked deeper, erasing all traces of what had been. Every shared moment, every laugh, every whisper between them vanished, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Cassian felt the bond—their bond—dissolving, piece by piece, until nothing remained. His chest tightened, each heartbeat a painful reminder of what he was losing. She wasn’t gone… yet. But she might as well have been.

The spell continued its work, erasing Y/N’s memories, her connection to him, the love and connection they were slowly but surely building together. The warmth of their bond faded into nothingness, until all that was left was a hollow silence between them.

Cassian held her limp hand, his tears falling freely as the truth settled within him: He had saved her life, but in doing so, he had lost her. The Y/N who had laughed and loved and held him close was gone. In her place was someone who would never remember the bond they shared.

He could feel her slipping away from him, the last remnants of her fading.

And with that, her memories were gone.

Her bond with Cassian disappeared permanently as her memories of him were wiped away, leaving only the emptiness of a connection that would never be made again.

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[cissy0writes]

Little Matchmaker

Part 1

(Jinx x gn!reader)

Summary: The little girl you've been taking care of for a few months stopped showing up one day. A few days later she's on your doorstep once again, but this time she isn't alone... (angst & fluff)

Warnings: mentions of violence and death, selfloathing thoughts, suicidal thoughts, probably ooc Jinx

Wordcount: 1.3k

A/N: Sorry for the delay, my weekend was way more hectic than I originally anticipated. And I worked two double shifts the last two days... This is still not finished, but I decided to cut it into two parts so I could at least post this, it's super short and Jinx only appears at the end, sorry for that... I was super tired while writing this (and as I already mentioned in my last post, english is not my first language), so I apologize for every mistake I didn't correct. I hope it's still enjoyable to read.

The first night she didn't show up, you didn't think much of it. Sure, there was that nagging feeling of worry in the back of your mind; but she was a smart kid- surely she was alright. By the third night, however, you were a complete mess. Your whole body was filled with nothing but anxiety and guilt.

You had looked for her, of course, you had. Day and night you made your way through the lanes, searching for the little girl to no avail. You started dreading the worst, she was dead, she had to be that was the only logical explanation. It's not like it was far-fetched either, Zaun was a dangerous place, and children died daily... You just didn't think she would.

You barely knew her for two months, but it was enough time for you to develop maternal feelings for her. You took her in, kept her well-fed and entertained, and even changed the whole room arrangement in your small house to give her a little space of her own. You planned on raising her to your best abilities and you failed. You failed her, you didn't protect her, you let her wander off... Her blood was on your hands and the guilt was eating you alive.

You always thought it was fate that led her to you, but now you weren't so sure anymore. Would fate be really that cruel? To give you a new purpose, a reason to stay alive, just to rip it from you again?

Perhaps this was fate's way of showing you that you had no reason to stay. Maybe you weren't meant to live a happy life, maybe you weren't meant to be alive at all.

That's all you could think about as you sat in front of the small window of your bedroom. You stared out onto the empty street, the undercity painted in the darkness of night. Your head was pounding- curtsy of the last three sleepless nights, and your eyes burned from the many tears you shed over the last days. You felt absolutely miserable, your mind showing you memory after memory you made with her over the last two months.

You were about to close up your shop when you heard the clashing of metal cans. With a frown you made your way to the window, peeking out of it with squinted eyes. That's when you saw her, a small girl covered in dirt and grease sitting between the trashcans with a pout on her young face.

Her brown hair looked matted and was covered in knots, her clothes dirty and ripped, and goodness did she look thin- like a single blow of wind would knock her down. You quickly made your way outside, wondering where she came from, if she still had parents, or at least somebody to look after her.

Once you reached her and crouched down in front of her with a frown, she looked up at you- face scrunching up in fear and started scrambling backwards until she hit the wall. You carefully held up your hands in front of you, showing her you were no threat. "Hey, hey... it's okay. I won't hurt you." You kept your voice as gentle as you could, and her rapid breathing started to slow down again.

She still looked skeptical of you, and honestly, you didn't blame her. Who knows what she faced, what she went through? You looked her over more carefully, searching for any wounds, but besides a few bruises on her knees and palms, she seemed unharmed.

You bit your bottom lip and looked up at the sky for a moment, it was starting to get dark. The girl's gaze followed yours and she let out a sound close to a whimper, which caused you to look down at her again.

Taking her inside was an easy decision. She was scared, hungry, and all alone; what else were you supposed to do? So, with a small sigh, you got up from your crouched position and held out your hand to her. And after a moment of hesitance, she took it.

She held your hand the whole time. From getting inside, closing the shop, and making your way upstairs to the small flat you lived in- she didn't let go once. It surprised you, how quickly she decided to trust you, but you supposed you were the first person to offer her at least some sense of safety.

As the two of you sat at your tiny kitchen table, a plate with hot porridge placed before her, you decided to ask her the question that's been on your mind since you noticed her.

"Hey kid," was all it took for her to look up from her plate, spoon held midway in the air, and a curious expression on her face. "Do you have a family? Anyone?"

Even though you alredy expected it, the shake of her head still sent a wave of sadness through your body. In that moment, you knew you would keep her around.

The first time you met her...

The memory caused you to break down in tears again. Your shoulders shook with every sob and you felt like you couldn't breath. Why did you let her go outside on her own? Why did you prioritize a stupid sale over playing with her? No money in the world was worth loosing her, and you would give anything to have her back.

You were tired, so damn tired, but you wouldn't allow your body the rest it so clearly needed. You were punishing yourself, why should you let yourself rest? You clearly didn't deserve it. You wiped at your eyes and tried blinking your vision back to focus. But the sight on the street caused your heart rate to pick up; this couldn't be real, you were hallucinating from exhaustion.

You frantically rubbed your eyes and leaned closer to the window, your nose almost pressed against the glass. But it seemed like your mind didn't decive you, she was still there, walking towards your shop.

Isha.

She was alive!

You pushed yourself up, the chair you were sitting on falling backwards and landing on the floor with a dull thud. Then you ran, you ran as fast as you could, outside the room and down the stairs. You pushed the door of your shop open, the door swinging harshly against the wall.

"Isha!" You screamed as you ran towards her small figure, tears still running down your cheeks at a rapid pace.

She looked at you with a smile, oblivious to the worry she caused you, as she picked up her pace.

You fell to your knees in front of her and pulled her tightly against you, pressing your cheek against the top of your head and closing your eyes. Your sobs slowly died down and you took shaky breaths to calm yourself.

Isha was alive, she was safe and unharmed in your arms. Where has she been? Did you even care? Not right now, you decided. Now you were just going to hold her for a while. She was alive. nothing else mattered.

The call of your name from an all to familiar voice, a voice that still haunts your dreams, caused you to snap your eyes open abruptly. You hadn't noticed that Isha wasn't alone, you were far too relieved to see her, so you blocked anything else completely out.

But as if your poor heart hadn't been through emotions already, you were now faced with the very person who broke it. Your eyes widened as you stared at her, her gaze looking almost haunted as her violett red eyes met yours.

Jinx. She was right in front of you, and now you were vividly picturing the last time you saw her in your mind.

[nemisuki]

Sudden Shower

Break up AU | You didn’t realize entering a new life would affect your relationship this drastically. Maybe some things are meant to stay in the past to live in the future. 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, pure angst, no fluff, sad but kinda open ending, aged up to 19-20, right person wrong time trope, high school sweethearts no more, time to cry, read at ur own will, 1.1k word count 

"You can't keep pushing me away when all I've been doing is trying to help you Katsuki."

The sound of water droplets echo around the couple - pitter and pattering of the rain trickle on the concrete pathway under their feet.

Small vibrations course through his hand as the storm grows more intense, both in his heart and nature taking its course, heavy downpour hitting the surface of their shared umbrella.

Her gaze roams his facial features from the side, the moonlight illuminating his red eyes, making them look more intense if even possible.

"I didn't ask for your fucking help. I'm not a kid who needs to hold your hand every step of the way."

He refuses to meet her eyes - staring straight ahead as they walk towards the agency he interns at. His voice was intense yet not to the point of yelling.

Arguments aren't uncommon these days. Growing more frequent these past couple of weeks.

The stress of newfound adulthood seeping into the cracks of their relationship.

"Yes and I understand that but you're not acknowledging my concerns! It's not like I think you're not capable, I'm worried about you. What part of that don't you get-"

He halts in his stride as she expresses her troubles - causing her to stop as well.

They both stand in uncomfortable silence, the only thing being heard is the rain around them and sway of leaves from the trees of the park.

A shortcut to the agency they found months ago.

"Don't you think I know that? That's not the point! Breathing down my neck every time we meet and constantly babying me is fucking annoying!"

"Because I care about you!"

"You never were like this before we graduated! And don't give me that bullshit of hero work being dangerous. I know what I signed up for and you knew since we started dating!"

"Did you ever think for one second from my perspective?! I barely see you these days and when I do, you're so exhausted that I have to pick up your pieces!"

"I never asked you too, I'm fucking fine!"

"You never tell me anything! Just talk to me! Why can't you admit to yourself that you need a break?!"

"I don't exactly have the pleasure to have free time Y/N. I can't just stop going on patrols because my girlfriend fucking misses me!"

The storm only seems to grow more intense as the pitch of their voices turn sharp - courtesy of their fluctuating emotions.

A chill goes up her spine as he finally turns to face her, those red orbs boring into her own.

Whether it's from the cold weather or the frustrated expression on his face, she doesn't know.

At his words she's unaware of what to say in response, thinking about the tension between them as of lately.

Her gaze wanders away from his face and down to the puddle forming beneath them.

The reflections of them two tauntingly staring back at her. A version of themselves they have yet to explore.

This isn't high school drama anymore - the new world they entered was filled with responsibilities and unfamiliar experiences.

They have yet to open the gates of their unknown future as adults but looks like they'll be choosing which path to take from here on out.

And they both knew there was only one right option.

He seems to understand what's going through her mind and grimaces at the thought.

Even if he knew it was inevitable.

The decision was like a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode after weeks of arguments, conflicts and foul exchanges.

She couldn’t constantly be distracted from her work because of the uncontrollable anxiety towards him. And he couldn’t give it his all if he had to balance his busy schedule between his work and personal relationships.

They both had problems to work on but separately. 

"....katsuki-"

"yeah i know... i know."

Before he cowers back on this decision, he gently places the umbrella in her hand, giving her one final look.

As if all his frustrations vanished and were replaced with a neutral reaction. Maybe because he’s trying to be strong for the both of them, knowing he has to be the one to end things.

That’s something that she always admired, his strength.

She’s about to apologize for not being the one to speak up but he shakes his head. Already knowing what she’s gonna say and gently patting her head.

Her heart thumping away at the small gesture.

A distant look casts over their eyes - though they both know once they look away, it will all come crashing down.

They didn't say much after that, unaware of how long they stood in the same position communicating with their stare alone.

He was the first one to move.

Turning around and beginning to walk away from her, droplets starting to absorb into the jacket he wore today.

One she bought him long ago.

"Text me when you get home at least dummy."

The serene sound of his voice made her unable to stay silent any longer, she bit her cheek as tears began trickling down her face, attempting to hold back the sobs urging to escape her mouth.

"Katsuki!" she yells out, once he's a good distance away.

Her heart is clenching so much that it hurts, her throat closing up as if her body registers that this is really it.

He hesitates but ultimately turns around, looking at her from afar.

This distance between them is so vast - both physically and emotionally.

When you love someone, set them free right? Right.

It was as if all their shared memories came flowing back to her.

Perhaps they were meant to meet when they're still young and find each other again when they're older.

Or maybe this truly is the end - only time would tell.

She musters up the best smile she could at the moment and stares at him. Many thoughts going through her mind but only one stands out.

Slowly she opens her mouth to speak, wanting nothing more then to run back into his arms and say "I love you" but-

"Thank you."

Before he could say anything back, she turns on her heels and spins around, walking away from him before she breaks down. 

Finally allowing her emotions to surface, bursting into tears as her figure goes out of sight.

She knew if he said anything more, she'd go running back to him. But you shouldn't stay on a chapter for too long, no one should stay stuck in the past after all.

Unable to see the blonde, he stands there motionless, letting the rain devour him up completely.

Streaks of water dripping down his cheeks - unaware of the difference between possible tears and the downpour coming from the clouds.

"I love you too Y/N."

Oh how much the boy hates rain. 

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| im sorry i haven't posted in 2 whole weeks! honestly i zone out during december but im back ૮꒰ྀི > . < ꒱ྀིა and with some angst oooo la la. idk if u guys would like more sad fics like this on my page but do lmk in the comments! sometimes u just gotta let people go to improve on urself and thats okay :) tags ||| @leleyro ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[stevie-petey]

a cutesy fluff blurb w steve and bug for all the angst coming from the season 4 rewrite😭😭 i hate to see bug and steve go through all this but your writing is just so so so incredible that i’m just completely and utterly drawn to it.

i missed steve and bug so much so heres a fluffy blurb of everyone finding out theyre finally together <3

enjoy !

"steve and i are dating."

you hold your breath, bracing for impact. steve is frozen next to you, perched on the edge of the couch as if getting ready to run at the first sign of danger.

all week the two of you have agonized over this. telling everyone that youre now together was a given. obviously it wouldnt be a secret, but telling everyone seemed simple at first. now, with dozens of eyes staring at you: its terrifying.

especially when the news is met with complete and utter silence.

mike yawns. el and max stifle giggles.

"youre all shockingly quiet right now." you finally say, hating this immensely.

robin looks up at the ceiling, suddenly finding the wheelers basement a fascinating thing. will picks at the carpet beneath him and dustin taps his leg impatiently on the ground.

lucas, bless him, has the decency to smile at you. "thats great, y/n."

"did we..." steve scratches the back of his neck. "did we, uh. miss something?"

"why the hell is everyone acting so weird?" you butt in, now really starting to wonder if you and steve did something heinous to deserve the weird silent treatment.

jonathan shifts on the floor, and your eyes narrow at him instantly. crossing your arms, you jut your chin out at him. "fess up, byers. whats going on?"

his eyes widen slightly, and nancy, who is sitting next to him holding his hand, bites back a smile. your eyes narrow even more and jonathan finally releases a laugh.

"stop glaring at everyone, bug." he looks at you fondly. "i think we're all just wondering who won."

your face scrunches in confusion. "what...?"

dustin jumps up from his seat, sick of the anticipation. "just spit it out already! did i win? for the love of god, please tell me you guys got together on july 11th. please."

nancy raises her hand. "or july 16th. id prefer that date, actually."

"what about y/n's birthday? i thought everyone agreed my date made the most sense." will speaks up, looking eagerly at you.

an offended scoff escapes your mouth when you finally realize whats going on. "that bet seriously cant still be going on."

"answer the question, y/n!" dustin wails, practically choking on the taste of victory of the $30 that went into the betting pool. "when exactly did you and steve finally seal the deal, huh?"

"what the hell is this kid talking about?" steve looks around the room, completely confused. "why does it matter when we got together?"

jonathan explains before you can. "we all placed bets on when youd get together. lucas and max were out of the running a while ago. but me, nance, dustin, and will are still in."

"i, for one, am still personally offended that i wasnt allowed to join the bet when i found out about it." robin says, looking pointedly at him. "just so you know."

"sorry," jonathan says without any real sympathy. "rules are rules."

your face burns wildly. "y'all are insane and this is such a gross invasion of privacy-"

"screw privacy! tell me when steve found a pair of balls and asked you out." dustin stumbles in front of you and steve now, panting. "i need the money!"

"dustin!"

steve places his hands on his hips. "i already had balls, thank you very much."

you elbow him. "please stop talking."

"the kid was doubting my manhood-"

"do you enjoy having my elbow in your ribs?"

mike, no longer finding this conversation amusing, stands up and claps his hands. "alright, im bored. will," he turns to him. "clearly they didnt get together on y/n's birthday. they were locked in a death lair and not even steve is dumb enough to make their anniversary that date. so youre out."

steve wants to argue with him, but admittedly he cant.

mike then turns to dustin. "it wasnt july 11th, either. considering the fact that we had funerals to attend and we all know y/n's crippling guilt complex."

"hey!"

"hes not wrong, angel."

you elbow steve again and he doubles over in pain.

then mike turns to nancy. "and it wasnt july 16th because its currently the 27th and theres no way in hell harrington would be able to keep his mouth shut for that long."

again steve really wants to argue with mike, but, unfortunately, hes right.

mike finally turns to jonathan, sighing tiredly. "which leaves us with you and your guess of july 19th. aka: the only possible date left. wow, shocker! jonathan byers correctly guessed something about y/n henderson!" he spins around, glaring at you as if this somehow all your fault. "are we done here now?"

robin, not at all whispering quietly, leans over to max. "this kid has some serious issues."

"like you wouldnt believe," the girl mumbles. "trust me."

dustin shoves mike out of the way, inadvertently causing the teen to stumble into jonathan and fall on top of his sister. "hes wrong, right? please tell me hes wrong. y/n, im your brother. we are blood."

"well, technically mike is wrong. july 19th isnt when we got together." you begin to say, raising your voice when dustin starts to cheer wildly. "it was july 20th, so mike isnt wrong about jonathan winning."

two things happen at once.

first, dustin falls to his knees in despair, screaming in agony as max and el cover their ears and glare at him.

the second thing that happens is dustin regaining his senses and then tackling jonathan, with nancy and will right behind him.

its a mess of screams and screeches as jonathan tries to defend himself, but you simply press your back against steves chest and watch the storm unfold with slight vindication.

serves the fuckers right for betting on your private life like a game of poker.

"how much money do you think our relationship ended up being worth?" steve asks you, wincing under his breath when he sees dustin pinch jonathans nose.

"better be at least $20. if be offended if its anything less than that."

he laughs, the sensation of it sending vibrations down your own body. he kisses the crown of your head. "thats my girl."

"how did you know?" dustin has jonathan pinned now. "how do you always win?"

"get off me! it was just a lucky guess-"

"that was $30 you asshole!"

you hum, pleased. "think i can convince jonathan to give me some of his cut?"

steve laughs again. "only if you give me a percentage as well."

[m00nchildwrites]

pairings: female!reader (first person) x Xavier

tags: romance, eventual smut, based on storyline of game but diverges, little angst and feelings, resolved feelings, fluff, hurt/comfort, injury, these two need to just kiss already, use of her/she/you depend on the pov at the time, reader/MC/you is expressed as female and during smut times will use female-at-birth anatomy terms- she/her, first person when written from "your" pov- use of I/my/mine, referred to as y/n, will have nsfw content mdni- please read with caution, will be tagged, my smut gets ...vivid. Will have content from part of story line, myth cards, and other cards [possibly...probably].

{ch list: 1, 2 , 3, 4, 5 (here)}

Chapter 5: Lumiere

When I arrived in Azure Square, the scope of the situation fully sank in. There was devastation everywhere. It looked post-apocalyptic. The skyscrapers' bottom floors all had their glass blown out like from an explosion, likely the same metaflux explosion that was on set earlier that morning. Broken hologram signs were hanging or scattered on the ground below. Taxis and cars were wrecked, crushed, or on fire. It had all fallen into ruin. People ran around screaming as hordes of Wanderers attacked anything and everything that moved. Otto-bots were smashed to pieces. Explosions shook the ground. It was like when the Deepspace Tunnel first appeared when I was a child. This level of destruction had not taken place in the city since that time.

The chaotic metaflux was spreading like wildfire outwards as though it was being created and pushed further to encompass more territory. It was so thick in the air; it nearly distorted it like heat waves off of pavement in the height of summer. Hunters were already there when I arrived. More and more of my colleagues poured into the square, fighting desperately to contain the horde and their destruction. Others ushered the trapped civilians to safety. 

I immediately got to work. My guns smoked from the amount of firing. I covered countless civilians as they ran, reuniting crying children with mothers and moving so many others to safety. On and on it went, yet it seemed that as quickly as we put them down, more poured in, as though they were just endlessly respawning. Hunters began falling around me one by one, and I could feel myself growing weaker. The continued and constant use of my evol over such a period of time was draining my energy. 

After a particularly nasty fight, my vision blurred and I stumbled, catching myself on an overturned taxi and ducking behind it to catch my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to recombobulate myself. My ears were ringing. But the sounds of battle seemed further away and fewer. 

Perhaps we had made a dent afterall… or maybe the Wanderers were chasing my teammates down elsewhere. I had to pull it together and see for myself. I shook my head in a feeble attempt to shake the blurriness out of my sight. My heart was pounding from the exertion. My body was burning too, from cuts, burns, bruises, and gashes. My uniform would have to be replaced.

I tsked. My head falling back against the metal of the ruined taxi. It was beginning to look like I wouldn’t make it out of here. Like none of us still here would. Surely more teams were on their way. But, would they make it? And where were these Wanderers coming from? No. My uniform was the last thing I needed to worry about. 

I reloaded my guns and, breath returned, stood from my cover and threw myself back into battle. In the distance, I saw a Hunter, a familiar figure, someone that I had worked with before- gone on that team building trip with- collapse. I rushed over- or tried- but a massive Wanderer blocked my path, forcing me to fight it. I tried to get a glimpse of the Hunter, Steve perhaps, to check on them, but by the time I finally defeated the hulking Wanderer, my energy was dangerously low. Steve was no longer on the ground. Someone else must have gotten to them. My vision swimmed.

I knew I had heavy blood loss from all my cuts and gashes. No doubt, that was not helping my light headedness and blurred vision. But it was my heart that hurt the most. With intense pain. My vitals were flashing orange on my watch: “Warning! Hunter, your energy is low! Warning! Hunter, your heart rate is irregular. Please seek out a safe-”

Beep.

“No shit,” I clicked my tongue, shutting off the annoying AI warning voice. I pushed onwards ignoring the warnings to find a safe place or to seek out medical care. People’s lives were in danger. I didn’t have that luxury.

An explosion made me duck as a burning car finally blew up. Today had quickly become a very bad, no good day. I huffed, standing from cover and firing more shots at a Wanderer. It screeched as it disintegrated into metaflux. One more down. Several dozens or more to go. I grit my teeth and pushed on through the pain.

“Y/N! Are you alright?” 

I heard Captain Jenna over my comms. No doubt my vitals were going crazy at HQ. “Captain…” My voice felt weird, garbled to my own ears. That couldn’t be good, surely. 

“It’s likely another Metaflux explosion will…. occur at your… location….Retreat. I repeat…” 

The signal cut in and out. I squinted, pressing the comm to my ear, straining to hear, “Captain? Captain? Can you repeat that?”

“You can’t…. Fighting…. Numbers too…Retreat…”

“Captain?” I hissed at the failed signal as it cut out. I needed to get somewhere where I could get through to HQ. Someone might need help. Using my watch's guidance, I mapped out the best way out. 

I was about to head out when I heard a young girl crying. “Help!” 

My head spun around searching for the crying. There is another child?! 

“Help us!” a woman’s voice called out as well.

There are still people here trapped! I couldn’t just leave them to die. I reloaded and began searching the square trying to stay covered as much as I could until I found them. My vision swam off and on, almost like the world was tilting. Maybe I damaged my inner ear? 

Finally, through smoke and dust, I saw an arm waving from the collapsed cafe at the edge of the Square. I sent the coordinates to any nearby Hunters and HQ, calling for backup to help me dig them out. They were okay, but blocked by the fallen entrance. But in the end, danger found me first.

My watch sensed them first. Three alerts popped up in quick succession as three Wanderers appeared. “Threat level: S.” Figures.

“Get back!” I yelled into the collapsed cafe, “Take cover at the back of the cafe. Can you do that?” I yelled orders to them desperately.

“Yes,” the woman called back, “There is a storage room.”

“Hide in there until backup arrives! I am going to lure them away!” I turned back to the Wanderers and jumped and yelled, waving my arms, “Hey! Hey you giant, stupid, big ugly lugs! Look at me! I’m over here!”

The three loud roars of rage signaled that they got the message.

“Oh shit,” I took off running, three giants pounding the ground in pursuit. Good. They took the bait. Unfortunately, the bait was me. 

As I ran, I felt my belt for how many bullets and clips I had left. My equipment was low. Too low. And my stamina and energy wouldn’t last much longer, but maybe if I could just draw them far enough away from the civilians in the cafe and keep these three busy until help arrived… maybe then the civilians would be safe. Maybe I’d even manage to take one down with me.

I spotted a clearing in the square. It was all the way on the opposite side, far from the civilians. The perfect place for a last stand. 

As I pushed my legs to run faster, I thought of Grandma and Caleb. Maybe I will be seeing them soon? I thought of my teammates and Tara; I hoped they were okay.

I thought of Sylus and his annoying habit of calling me kitten; I’d never admit it but he was growing on me. I’d miss his terrible singing and how he always had my back, no questions asked. I’d even miss his damn gothic chicken.

I thought of Zayne, my childhood and dearest friend currently; he would be devastated and so very mad I didn’t play it safe. I’d miss our meetups for sweets and his sarcastic dry humor and getting him to crack a smile as I sang loudly to songs in the car.

I thought of Rafayel; he would be so heartbroken to lose his favorite bodyguard and adventure buddy. I’d miss his antics and our beach walks and Reddie and trying to guess the song he was humming as he painted until he finally gave up and we’d dance around his studio singing whatever pop tune came to our heads.

Inevitably, as I spun to a stop, guns aimed at the three massive S-class Wanderers coming for me, I thought of Xavier. Of how sweet and peaceful he looked as I last saw him, curled up and sleeping, silver-blonde hair tousled in his sleep. He was gorgeous, painfully so. And I never told him. Never told him what I felt. How my heart skipped and then raced just for him. How his smile was brighter than the sunrise and made me want to spout poetry and listen to love songs. How his gentle touches made heat and longing fill my very being. I thought about how worried he got over me, how protective he was. How he seemed to naturally guard me from harm not because he thought me incapable, but because it was natural, instinctual. I thought of how his face would crumple when he learned that I hadn’t made it this time. Because I wouldn’t. I thought about him and I realized-

I love him.

“Xavier…” a tear slipped down my cheek as I took aim and fired, “I’m sorry.”

 A roar filled my ears and my head whipped sideways. When did that Wanderer get over there?!

And then darkness and pain.

My mind seemed to flicker to the past. A memory. All those years ago to before when I was a child. The smell of smoke was the same. The screams and roars of Wanderers. 

I clutched my gun and fired towards the Wanderers I knew were around me, hovering nearby, waiting to pounce again. The pain-filled roar of one told me I hit one. They were going to crush me. This was it. My mind played out the nightmare from my past like an overlay on top of the present. It was so similar, but different. This time, I wouldn’t make it, would I?

Dazzling light suddenly surged through the dark haze of my failed vision and in my memory. A shockwave of light blasted through the area. The Wanderers had no place to hide. They dissipate into metaflux dust leaving only the echo of their shrill screeches in the air. Even the distant sounds of fighting stopped.

Just how big was that blast of light? My mind felt woozy as my vision came through as dark shadows and shapes. Another slash of light slashed through the darkness of my vision. Golden light filled the air and poured down like rain, washing away filth. I could hear the pops and screeches of more Wanderers further away.

I blinked trying to focus. I struggled, trying to sit up. I saw a beam of light flashing through the golden speckles of light dancing in the air like fireflies. It is headed towards me like a meteor. Space and time itself appeared to distort around the radiant light. I should likely feel worried. The intense beam was headed for me, but I felt only serenity. My arms gave out and I fell backwards. As I fell, my memory flashed back through my mind– my memory of the past event like this one– suddenly it came through clear and vivid.

Arms caught me; Hands cradled my head just before it hit the concrete. I heard voices exclaiming surprise and shock. People no doubt were drawn out by the spectacle of light that sent the Wanderers away. But all I could see was him.

Dazed, I looked up into the face of the one who caught me and held me embraced into their chest. Something about him was familiar. His energy or perhaps his scent? I blinked away the haze, trying to focus. I saw silvery blonde hair… I think?

“Xa-Xavier?” my voice is barely a whisper.

The figure didn’t answer but merely wiped at blood on my face and at the corner of my mouth. Wishful thinking. He isn’t here. Through my blurry vision, all I could see was a warm gaze, profound as a lake but deep and intense with urgency. Then, I saw it. The mask.

“You!” I gasped.

He swept me off my feet as he carried me up into his arms, then we were in the air. The wind blowing past my face. In my exhaustion, my vision started to blur and darken at the edges again. 

“Close your eyes if you're tired,” a soft and warm voice drifted to me through the haze. He cradled my head to his neck as more flashes of radiant light rain down from his blade. I heard cheering from below as the last of the Wanderers were cleared and metaflux fluctuations righted. A glowing moon signalling the user. Lumiere. He had returned, and like 14 years ago, he saved me again.

Sharpness cut through the haze and I gasped in pain. The arm around me tightened. I leaned back to reassure him, but my voice caught in my throat. The pain had cleared my vision. The face before me was crystal clear.

“Xavier?” The pain hit again and I clenched my eyes shut with a hiss. My words cut off and stuck in my throat in exchange for a groan of pain. 

“Sleep,” he spoke, cradling my head back into his neck, “Don’t force yourself to stay awake.” His gloved hand brushed over my eyes, and they closed, heavy, as I relaxed in his arms, my guard relinquished at last. And I slipped into a world of sweet darkness.

-

I came to sometime later. The moon was in the sky. 

“Does it hurt?”

I turned my head and saw Xavier bandaging my hand. 

“I did some first aid,” he continued softly, concern sitting heavy on his brow. “The roads are still a wreck right now. I will take you to the hospital for a thorough examination later when I can get through.”

I turned my head the other way towards the sounds of people talking and crying. They sounded far but close at the same time. It was then I realized that we were on a rooftop. Down below, Azure Square was reduced to ruble. Rescue workers ran around searching for who needed immediate help. People were looking for loved ones. It was a mess. Camera crews and journalists had also arrived, trying to get the latest updates.

Xavier’s small huff of a laugh drew my attention back. His grin was tiny as he looked at me softly in amusement, “Don’t worry. The people in the cafe are safe.” 

My brows smoothed. He knew me so well. I had been wondering about them.

“And there aren’t any other casualties,” his face fell slightly, his hand brushed away a strand of hair from my face, “You’re the only one who is severely injured.”

I studied his face. The contours of it etched into my heart, but now that I am seeing them again, they seem shrouded in unfamiliar shadows. Secrets.

“Why are you here?” I asked at last.

He looked down, away from my gaze, “Who else were you expecting to see?” He deflected my question as he busied himself with my wounds again.

I was tired. Tired of the secrets. I pressed, likely for the first time, I truly pressed, “But how did you get here?” The image of him curled up asleep in that pod flashed in my mind. “Are you okay now?”

“I slept well, so I am fully recovered.”

“How? You practically shut down in the no-hunt zone… Then there was that pod and those syringes-”

He sighed, “You’re the one who needs to be cared for right now.” He gently pushed my shoulder, forcing me to lay back again.

I obeyed with a huff and then winced in pain.

He tsked, a small sigh leaving his mouth as he worried over the bandages he had placed over various wounds. My side seemed to worry him in particular.

I felt the urge to explain how I got so bad, “It was urgent. I had to–”

“I only know that if I had been even a second later, I would’ve lost you. Forever.” Though his tone was flat.

“...No,” I tried to relieve that heaviness that settled on his shoulders, “that’s not- Don’t underestimate me. I’ve always been lucky.” I gently took his hand in mine, “14 years ago, Lumiere saved my life. And this time…” I looked into Xavier’s eyes. “Lumiere saved me again. I must be the luckiest person alive.”

His eyes studied my face, his expression calm aside from the storm of emotions swirling in his gaze. “You might just feel lucky…” he spoke, as his hand reached out to brush dirt from my face, gently, fingers lingering, “But for me, it’s a wonderful blessing.” 

The sounds of the news screens below reach our ears. Lumiere is declared the savior of the day's events and the one who vanquished the Wanderers. It is also suggested that he was the one who cleared up the odd anomaly from a few days ago with the apocalyptic storm. 

I glanced over to Xavier to see his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down. I hated seeing him troubled. And the news wasn’t exactly a good thing. I remembered the wanted posters in the Nest. Lumiere- Xavier could be in danger if anyone found out.

I reached out and placed my hand on his arm, “I am sure that news of Lumiere’s return will be all anyone talks about in the morning.” I smiled at him teasingly. He was lost in thought for a moment, then suddenly scooped me up into his lap. I squeaked in alarm and scrambled to wrap my arms around his neck, “Xavier, what the hell?”

He chuckled, holding me to his chest. “We should hurry.”

I blinked, “Why?”

“We need to get to the hospital. Otherwise, everyone will be rushing over after dawn to catch a glimpse of Lumiere.” He hesitated, glancing down at me, “Your doctor…”

“Dr. Zayne?”

He nodded, “You trust him?”

“I’ve known him since we were children.”

“But you trust him.”

“With my life… quite literally,” I grinned, but he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Xavier’s tense expression didn’t shift as he held my gaze before looking down to the fray below us. His eyes were troubled, and I realized what he was getting at. I held his face between my palms, “Hey, look at me.” I smiled softly as his blue-blue gaze fell back on mine, “Zayne is a good person. He wouldn’t put anyone at risk.”

He frowned, lower lip pouting slightly, “Zayne?”

“Doctor Zayne,” I squished his cheeks slightly grinning at his pout, “but I would never want you to feel uncomfortable. If you can get me close enough, somewhere secret and hidden nearby, I can make it into the hospital myself.”

His pout fell into a flat look, “You’re wheezing.”

“What?”

He leaned his cheek slightly more into my palms, “Your breathing has a slight wheeze to it. I’m not letting you walk anywhere.”

“Xavier, Lumiere is wanted. You can’t be see-”

He shook his head resolutely, “You likely have a broken rib pressing into your lung. Your heart is also erratic.”

“The heart part is nothing.” His gaze darkened deeper into worry at that, but I waved it off trying to ease his stress, “I’m used to that. And I can breathe fine, see?” I tried to take a deep breath and gasped as a sharp pain tore through my rib cage and chest, “F-fuck!” 

Xavier’s eyes went wide, frantic. He called my name, standing. His arms tightened around me, “If you trust your doctor… then I will too.”

“Wha-”

“I will never leave you all alone. Ever,” His voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for debate. Pressing me closer, his lips brushed my forehead, “You might get dizzy. Hold on tight.”

I pressed my face into his neck and let my eyes close, taking in his scent. For a while back there, in the fighting, I was sure that I would never see him again. My arms tightened around him slightly at the thought. Now, though, he had come and saved me. My masked hero, Lumiere. My knight, my prince charming, Xavier. 

I smiled into his neck. Xavier, Thank you. Before I could react, the world around me started to spin again, “Ugh.” 

His chuckle reached my ear, raising goose bumps along my arms as his breath tickled at my ear, “I warned you.”

“Menace,” I hissed, earning another chuckle. 

The world stabilized and we were in a familiar office. I blinked, lifting my head from Xavier’s neck. My bewildered eyes met equally bewildered green eyes from his spot behind his desk. He appeared to have stopped in his movements to collect something. His hair was slightly a mess, showing how busy the hospital was with the attack. He looked frazzled, or as frazzled as Zayne ever looked.

Zayne looked from me to Xavier who still held me. His sharp, analytical eyes taking in Xavier’s clothing and widening just barely as recognition hit him. His eyes narrowed as he looked over my form. His hands clenched at his sides, the temperature dropping in the room as he made to step forward.

Xavier’s voice level but firm cut through the tension, “You are her doctor, yes? Dr. Zayne, correct?”

Zayne gave a slight nod. He looked to me, uncertain, seeking a question with his eyes. When I smiled slightly and waved my fingers in the air, the tension drained out of his stance and he sighed, sounding over my antics already. I couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “And you are her partner, the Hunter…” He looked Xavier up and down, “or should I call you Lumi-”

“Xavier is his name.” My voice cut in, drawing two pairs of eyes. “Just Xavier, Dr. Zayne,” I repeated. The message clear. This knowledge wouldn’t leave this room. 

Zayne gave a slight shake of his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Very well.” Zayne appeared not entirely happy with the situation. 

Xavier looked down at me with his brows raised, from surprise or what, I wasn’t certain. I gave his shoulder a small squeeze in an awkward hug, I was, afterall, still being held in his arms. It was sort of hard to hug him like this, but my reassurance worked because his face softened as he looked at me.

Zayne let out a sigh and moved to us, “I can take it from here… Xavier. Let me see her.” He reached out to take from Xavier’s arms, who took a half step back. Zayne rose a singular black brow.

I huffed, “Guys, I can walk.”

“Not on my watch.” “I think not.”

I frowned at both of them as they frowned at each other.

“I’m not leaving her,” Xavier declared.

“Xavier…” I sighed, annoyance at the lack of independence leaving me and concern for Xavier taking its place, “You can’t be seen. Lumiere buzz is everywhere and you very obviously,” I flicked his earring, “Are wearing his clothes.”

“No one has ever connected the dots before,” he argued even as he relaxed his hold slightly. I knew I was getting through to him.

“Yes, well, people are stupid,” I scoffed.

“Y/N,” Zayne chidded.

“What! It is true! What is this? A Superman movie? Take off the mask and POOF where’d Lumiere go?” I squeezed Xavier’s face between my palms and turned it towards Zayne, “Look at him and tell me it is not obvious!”

Zayne did in fact eye Xavier before tilting his head slightly and begrudgingly admitting, “Point made.”

I turned back to Xavier’s face, “See?”

Xavier’s eyes wavered. Something deep in those pools of azure rippled with some unknown fear and pain, “I can’t lose you. Not again.” 

The breath in my chest froze as he pinned me with those eyes. I felt the strangest sense of panic, desperation, and longing fill my chest; my arms tightened around his neck slightly, as though afraid if I didn’t hold on, he’d slip away into the stars and be gone from me forever.

“I think,” Zayne’s voice made me jolt suddenly pulling from that odd magnetic pull I had felt, “It would be best for all parties if I took it from here.” He looked to Xavier, who looked solemn. Zayne seemed to regard him differently than he had mere moments before. “Unless, of course, you wish to have all of the hospital and soon the media aware that Lumiere is here and just who he brought… single handedly… personally.” His eyes flicked to me pointedly.

Zayne was right, of course. If anyone found out that the legendary hero Lumiere had brought a woman to the hospital himself, the media would be in a frenzy spinning love stories, and I would be the target for their attention. I knew from Rafayel how much of a nightmare that could be. 

And Xavier knew it too from the way his shoulders slumped as his eyes averted briefly before fixing onto Zayne firmly. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his chin up briefly. His tone was firm, a slight sharp edge to it, “Do you want to get that under control then, Doctor?”

Zayne’s eyes fell to his hands where crystalline shapes had creeped up from his wrists. He looked slightly surprised and chagrined about it. As he shook them slightly, tiny snowflakes fell to the ground, the ice of his evol receding.

“Really, guys,” I interrupted, “I can walk.”

“You have a punctured lung,” Xavier stated matter-of-factly. “And you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’ll likely need an infusion.”

Zayne tsked, sweeping in, clearly over my ‘nonsense’ as he called my stubbornness, and gently took me from Xavier’s arms. The crystals were gone, but in their place, he looked absolutely unamused, “How did you manage this?”

I opened my mouth to retort that it was my job when Xavier spoke up.

“She was holding down the Square… single handedly.”

Zayne’s gaze fell to me sharply as mine snapped to Xavier, “Traitor.”

Xavier’s mouth twitched in an almost smile. My eyes narrowed. He looked to Zayne, “You will take care of her until I get back.”

Zayne looked at him as though he was dim, “I will look after her regardless of your return.”

I frowned, Zayne was being even more blunt than usual.

Xavier ignored it and looked back to me, “I will take care of everything. Just recover. I will be here when you get out.”

“What?” He had that look on him, the one he wore on missions, “Xavier? What are you-”

Zayne let out a tired sounding sigh and made for the door, “I trust you can find your way out?” He said to Xavier, but the flash of light behind us signaled Xavier’s exit.

Prying my eyes from the spot Xavier had just left from, I opened my mouth to insist on walking again, but he cut me off as he kicked the door to his office open.

“You have any other interesting friends I should be aware of?”

I scoffed, my head lulling as the tiredness and dizziness set back in as the adrenaline drained out of me. If you only knew. 

“Nurse!” I heard him call out as he began calling out orders to his team. But I had slipped back into the black of unconsciousness. My final thought was on Xavier, and how I had gotten my wish to see him again after all. And I got to see my childhood hero as well. My partner- neighbor- crush was secretly a superhero.

What an odd day.

-

I woke up to the annoyingly familiar sounds of medical machinery beeping. My vision was blurry as I blinked my eyes open, pulling my face from the sterile smelling pillow it was stuck to. My mouth felt like cotton. I smacked slightly trying to get moisture back in. My vision cleared and all I saw was red.

Well, red roses. Lots of red roses in crystal vases with black satin ribbons tied around them dotted around my room on every surface available. Or at least, every surface not filled with bouquets of fire lilies mixed with exotic looking purple, blue and pink flowers sprinkled with white baby’s breath. Those sat in crystal vases of their own. I blinked, sitting up and grabbing a card from each. I opened the red envelope first.

(Translated: Kitten, A little birdy told me that you had gone and gotten yourself  injured playing hero. We really need to have a talk about you and your martyr complex. It is vexing. Be a good kitten and be  patient. Allow yourself to heal. I am a call away if you need me. As for the ones responsible for your injury-  I am on it. Yours Truly, S)

I scoffed out a small laugh, shaking my head as I set the card down and looked at all the roses. I had no doubt before who they came from, but now I knew for sure. His line about the ones responsible made me pause. Did Sylus know who the ones were that were causing those suped-up Wanderers to appear? What was he going to do about it? I made a note to message him when I found my phone.

With a sigh, I moved onto the purple envelope. It had a slightly iridescent sheen to it, making hints of blues and pink shine out in the light. I smiled softly, fingers tracing the shell shaped wax seal. I knew who wrote this one, even before unfolding the expensive feeling paper. The looping hand of the calligraphy inside fit the man who wrote it.

(Translated: Miss Bodyguard, The sunset has lost its magic. The fishes of the reef are complaining so loudly that I am losing sleep– their friend that walked the beaches hasn’t been by and won't be for a while! I had to tell them the news to get them to give me a moment's peace. My inspiration is all dried up like a desert. How could you get so injured like this and leave me all alone to my own defenses? How shall I survive being apart from you? I will shrivel up and die of loneliness like a starfish stranded all alone in too small a tide pool. Will you take responsibility? Who will help me find the perfect shell for my collection? I started a new one, ya know? Got a whole new crystal vase for it and everything. So… you have to get better soon and help me find more shells to keep it company, yeah? You’ve really got to learn to not face things on your own, yeah? These hands aren’t just for painting. You have me, ya know? I’ve heard whispers. Rumors. I do have connections, ya know? I know who let all of those monsters out– the ones that hurt you. The ones responsible will learn- The sea never forgets those that cast offenses against its own. Eternally Yours, Rafayel)

I frowned. What did he mean ‘These hands aren’t just for painting’? Sure, I knew that there was more to Rafayel than most realized; he did have connections to the Nest, but I couldn’t help the worry that filled my heart at his words. His words about the sea never forgetting sounded especially concerning. What in the world was that fish planning?

I needed to get out of here. I needed to get to the bottom of this mess before more people I cared about got hurt. I sat up and began peeling the tape of an I.V. off my arm.

“I highly recommend that you stop doing that.”

My head whipped to the otherside of the bed, the side not filled with flowers by the door. There in a chair looking suspiciously like he had been dozing shortly before now sat Zayne. I eyed the empty coffee cups on the bed tray next to us both and fixed him with an accusatory look, “Have you been here all day? You have to have been busy with the disaster. Go take a break. I will be fine.”

He grunted noncommittally as he stood, reaching for the stethoscope around his neck. He pressed it over my heart, green eyes narrowed with focus as he watched the monitor. It seemed he didn’t trust it to report completely; his shoe tapped on the tile of the hospital room floor along with my pulse as he counted. Satisfied, he finally met my gaze, “Mhm,” he nodded slightly, “And all that night until this morning. Your… partner was quite clear about you being left alone.” His eyes went to the tape I had begun to peel, one brow raising as he fished tape from the pocket of his white coat and fixed it. He looked at me pointedly, “It seems he knows you nearly as well as I do.”

I sat back a bit dazed, “All night and this morning…? How long have I been out?”

Zayne looked at his watch, “Well, the hunter-”

“Xavier.”

“-brought you in at around 7:47pm last night. Roughly… 1.25 hrs after the Square incident was ended-”

“By him.”

“So, that would mean you’ve been here getting the care you needed for about 41.55 hours or 1.73 days, give or take a few minutes.”

“What?” My brain hurt and I could tell he was ticked, whether it was at me or Xavier, that I didn’t know. “Zayne, talk to me like I’m dumb. How long have I been here?”

“You’re not dumb.”

“Let’s pretend I am,” I rubbed a hand over my face, “I have been here for over a day?”

“Almost 42 hours.”

“42-” I stopped and eyed him fiddling with the way my IV laid. My eyes narrowed, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Wh- Why!?” No wonder he was tissy, “You need rest too! You have to take better care of yourself.”

The glare he leveled at me was almost icy but definitely put out. He picked up my chart and flipped through it: 

“Your rib wasn’t broken, but two were cracked. You likely coughed up blood due to the nasty bite to your tongue, which we found during examination. Your CT scan showed a mild concussion. I concluded that your main injuries were likely from a blunt and heavy force trauma hitting you from the right- something akin to but not exactly like a small compact car colliding with your person- causing the cracked ribs. You had whiplash of the neck to match this idea and a bump on the back of your head as well, likely from the impact and the subsequent landing of your skull to the concrete. You also had a slight sprain of your right ankle and wrist. Your heart was also in tachycardia and very nearly gave the whole heart team on call a very busy night indeed.”

My jaw snapped shut with an audible click and I plopped back on my bed. Pain radiated from my side and I winced, hand going over it to feel bandages.

Zayne clicked his tongue. He set the chart back down and set about fixing the pillow behind my head. He continued, though his tone was less harsh, softer, more worried. I felt awful for how scared he must've been,  “You had to have a total of 24 stitches. Try not to twist they are on your left side. Your Hunter friend, Xavier, was it?” I nodded. “He was correct. You did need an infusion...Two, in fact. One gash hit your intercostal arteries and another cut through a majority of your lumbar arteries branching below your ribs. It is a lot of blood flow, but... " He leaned back, seemingly satisfied with the pillow. His jaw ticked as he added, "Thankfully, no major artery was hit or you would have bled out during the 1.25 hrs that he delayed your care.”

“He didn’t delay my care on purpose,” I sighed feeling tired. Tired of his prickling mood, tired because I knew he was just worried and that made me feel like shit, tired from the emotions of the day before, and tired from the meds I was surely on. “I passed out, but I woke up. He had stopped the bleeding. And I honestly did not feel so bad.”

“I’m sure his… secret identity needing to remain a secret had nothing to do with it,” Zayne’s eye leveled with mine. 

I shook my head, “No. Not at all. It wasn’t until I started trying to move around that we both realized it was worse than we thought, and he immediately insisted on bringing me here, whether he was seen or not. It was me that had to convince him to be careful, otherwise he would’ve teleported us right in the middle of the Emergency Department or the OR itself.” I chuckled a bit at the thought of the nurses exclaiming as Lumiere appeared in a flash of light. I thought back to those last moments when I thought I was about to die. My voice shook slightly, “He saved my life, Zayne. I really thought I was going to die down there at the end.”

Zayne’s hand fell over mine on my blanket. He gave it a small squeeze, “If that is true... then I suppose, I owe him my thanks.”

I chuckled softly, “Whatever for? Saving your most difficult patient?”

“Hn,” he shook his head slightly, “For saving my childhood friend. My... dearest friend.”

I smiled at him at that, giving his hand a squeeze, “We’ve known each other a long time, huh?”

His mouth twitched in a near smile, as though he knew something I didn't. He glanced to the side and chuckled, “It almost feels like eternity.”

I grinned, chuckling softly as well. Curious, I asked, “Hey Zayne?”

“Hm?” He looked back. His expression back to the softer Zayne I usually knew when it was just us.

“What made you want to become a doctor?”

“My father.” His eyes darted to the side however.

“Zaaayne,” I whined playfully and wiggled his hand still in mine, “No, really. Why a heart doctor? Come on. It’s just me. I won't judge you or think it's lame. I promise.”

He sighed, “Very well… Once, when I was over playing with Caleb, I heard your Grandmother talking.” He paused, eyeing me hesitantly before continuing. “You had been sick. Very sick for a while. It was not too long after she brought you home. I’m not sure if you remember.”

“I do.” I had been terribly sick then. So much so that many of my memories were lost.

He nodded, “Well, I heard then that it was your heart making you sick. Then you got better… and I got to know you. But sometimes… sometimes you’d get sick again. Never that bad but bad. Your Grandma always tried to look brave in front of Caleb and me, but we knew. It was then that I decided.”

My eyes widened, “You became a Cardiac Surgeon because of me?”

“Of course,” the green of his eyes looked intense and vivid as he stared back, “I wanted to be the one to save you. Of course I did, for you.”

“Zayne…” I trailed off. I didn’t know what to say. What could you say to something like that?

He tore his eyes away from mine and looked around the room. “Is it really so surprising? You have a way of making me care for you.” His eyes were soft and warm as they met mine again, “It is my honor to be able to help you in this way. If I could do it over, I would do the same.”

My eyes watered and I leaned up, throwing my arms around his neck, "Well that's not lame at all! That's so impossibly sweet."

“Careful,” He said but hugged me gently back. His ears were red.

“You are amazing, Zayne, you know that? I am so, so glad that we reconnected. I wish we never lost touch at all.”

His arms tightened just slightly, “I feel the same.”

I pulled back and couldn’t help the warm smile on my face, “You are such a good friend.”

He blinked a moment and at first I thought I had said something wrong, but then he smiled back, “I will always be here for you. As long as it makes you happy.”

I grinned, “It does.”

He feigned a sigh, “It is settled then. You are stuck with me.”

“Darn it,” I teased.

He chuckled, before looking more serious, “I do have a request.”

“What is it?”

“I… I know it is your job. I understand what it is to have a career that can push you. But I must insist that you not push yourself so far. You were the only hunter to sustain this level and amount of injuries. Everyone else pulled back and allowed a replacement to go in.”

I had to look away from his searching green eyes. The pain in them made a cloud of guilt swell in my gut.

“Why do you have to take such unnecessary risks?” He leaned his elbows on the edge of the bed, “Please. Help me understand.”

“I had planned to find a safe place to go.” My mind replayed the scene. “Captain Jenna was trying to tell me something, but the signal was bad. I was heading out but then I heard them…”

“Who?”

“A Mother and child. They were trapped behind the entrance of a cafe that collapsed.” I shook my head, “I knew I needed help and sent word but then these three huge Wanderers just appeared, almost like out of thin air.”

Zayne brows furrowed, “They didn’t give off a metaflux surge?”

“They did, but it was almost instantaneous with their appearance.”

“That seems… unnatural.”

“I think… it was…” my eyes met his, “I have not made my report yet though. There will have to be an investigation…”

“But you think something or someone caused this?”

“... Yes, I do.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbed his face. “I guess… it is a good thing then.”

“Huh?”

“That Lumiere is back. Or at least, that he came back for this. For you.”

"I don't think it was just for me," face heating, I looked into my lap deep in thought.

Zayne hummed, "Perhaps."

I thought about the odd Wanderers in the Square then earlier on set. And about those guys cornering Xavier in that alley. I frowned. What was going on?

“Promise me that you won't do anything rash,” He caught my gaze, “Let the proper channels do their work. We’ve…both of us…have already lost. Let’s not add to that list.”

My chest panged at that. It was true. Zayne lost Caleb, just as I had. I nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

He smiled a soft smile at that then stood, glancing at his watch, “Well, I suppose I should get started on your paperwork.”

My eyes lit up, “I’m going home!?”

He tutted, “You will be after 8 tonight.” I groaned at that and he shook his head, brow raised, “I only agreed to that because your partner assured me that you would not so much as lift a finger for the next two to three weeks if I released you to his care.”

“You… What?” I blinked, “Two to three weeks!”

“Cracked ribs, Y/N. You Association will determine the exact length, but I have submitted my suggestions as your Doctor,” he reminded me, “Now then, he will be here after 8. Since you are being released I figured that it wouldn’t be too bad if I brought you something to eat.”

“You mean I don’t have to eat hospital food!” I laughed at his huff, “Even you have to admit it is awful.”

“The choices can be… limited.”

I scoffed, “The food tastes like cardboard or salt cakes and there is no in-between.”

That earned a chuckle. He was trying not to grin as he suggested, “Your favorite from the nearby cafe?”

“YES.”

A snort.

I grinned, “You just snorted.”

“... You’re high. It’s the meds.”

“Zayne!”

“Oh look, I’m being paged…”

“Zayne! You are off duty! You’re not even wearing a badge!” I laughed at his retreating figure, “Wait, Zayne! Come back I wont tease you about it! Snorting when you laugh is cute!”

“Just for that, no dessert.”

“You’re evil.”

“Just petty.”

“Zayne!”

This one took me a WHILE. I think it is the longest chapter so far and I almost chopped it in half AGAIN (originally this was part of chapter 4!)

The guys letters gave me trouble. I couldn't figure out how to include their handwriting and really wanted to. IDK how the heck to do code in tumblr, so I just made the letters into images and included translations for those that have a hard time with loopy fonts or that use accommodations. If you still had an issue, let me know and I will help you out by sending the letter text in a different way or something. I want to be inclusive and am open to tips!

I personally loved this chapter. I loved adding more intimate moments between Xavier and "Us". I let "Y/N" have more of a voice and I think I am having more fun with this than I even was before. Hopefully, you all are liking how she is coming across.

This chapter was also a bit of a love letter to Zayne. While he is not my main now, he was way I started playing and will always have a special place in my heart just for him. I hope he wasn't too ooc. Poor Zayne was *stressed* and suspicious for a lot of this. Still, I am comfortable (I think) with how it came out in the end.

Let me know what you all thought of this one! Did you like Sylus and Rafayel's letters? Anything you didn't like? Give me the DEETS.

Tag list:

@xxfaithlynxx @moonsavior @2kyute2poot @yournextdoorhousewitch @sapphoslostkid @ivohex @cherimoyatea @sandy2848582 @adorezhi @animecrazy76

As always, thank you for your support and for reading! Please comment to be added to the list!

[armpirate]

RED || Jungkook | Ch. 1

MASTERLIST Previous ||  Next

Pairings: Demon!Jungkook x fem!reader  

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, fantasy, past life

Warnings: Explicit language, mention of death and suicide, demonology, violence, rough sex

Summary: Y/n thought her life couldn't get worse after losing her parents in a tragic accident. Years after, she's aware of everyone moving forward, while she's in the same place, isolated and alone. She struggles to find meaning in a world that seems indifferent to her grief. Desperate for comfort, to feel the deep connection she had been missing, she starts the manifestation, expecting an inoffensive entity to walk with her that rough path. What she doesn't know is that she awoke the mysterious entity tied to an old necklace around her neck.

Jungkook, a mysterious and seductive figure, appears in her life, offering the company she craves. But as his presence grows stronger, so does the unsettling sense that there's more to him -and the necklace- than meets the eye, unfolding all the reasons that took him to that place.

Now, as the past bleeds into the present, Y/n must fight with her growing feelings for the demon who seems familiar yet dangerous. Jungkook is determined to reclaim his power, but in doing so, he may doom Y/n once again. Bound by fate, the two are locked in a dangerous mix of love, redemption, and the looming threat of destruction. 

Will they break the curse that has haunted them both, or will history repeat itself with devastating consequences?

Chapter duration: 11 minutes

When she first came across a video about manifestation through subliminal audios, she was skeptical. More like skeptical, she quite laughed at the idea of people actually believing someone could get something out of that. It was similar to making a wish to a shooting star, with the only difference being that watching those videos made her feel like an idiot.

At first, those videos showed up as advertisements of other videos claiming to know how to attract positive energies, or how you could get whatever you wanted with manifestations. Slowly, they evolved into more specific videos on how the Law of Attraction worked and thousands of videos with that same theme. She wasn't a believer, she certainly didn't think a video on social media could help her overcome her struggles, yet she still believed in those small signs. As if the universe was trying to communicate with her somehow. She still chose to go on with life, hopeful she was just getting crazier.

But after she found herself alone at home, bored on a Saturday night after coming back from work, while her only friends were hanging out with their own friends, suddenly those videos didn't sound as stupid and pathetic as she thought.

She went from one video to the other, too bored to continue, but too intrigued in finding out whether they worked or not to give up. One of her hands sneaked under the blanket, finding a warm place when she pressed her thighs around it, so she could escape the cold in her apartment.

Suddenly, while moving from one video to the other, those videos started turning into "magical entities", things that weren't abstract. Those apparently powerful entities were tangible, with personalities and thoughts, with amazing abilities. And, most importantly, that would wish only good things for those who manifested them.

At first, she ignored it. She didn't have the energy to think of herself playing the Bloody Mary game at such a big age, but then she thought of how she had nothing else to lose. She was already bored. If it didn't work out, she'd have found entertainment for the night. If it did work out, life would probably start looking at her differently.

She had nothing to lose, at that point. The only results would be either non-existent or positive.

With a sigh, she moved in her bed, dragging her body to the middle, legs crossed and hands still holding her phone, earphones on and eyes focused on the screen. Nervously, she played with the necklace around her neck, looking for some reassurance there, before she started speaking.

Her eyes closed, one hand holding her phone, the other hand still playing nervously with the pendant of her necklace.

—By the thread of time, I call to you —she repeated softly, barely audible in a whisper. Her tone was shy, as if someone was hearing her despite living alone—. In silence, I call. In darkness, I find you —one of her eyes opened, trying to check whether something was changing in her surroundings—. From the shadows of what was, come forth into the light of now? Bound by love, freed by pain. Answer me —another sigh, another movement of her head showing off her disappointment—. If someone is there, come to me, please, fill this void.

When saying those last words, her voice cracked, and her eyes watered at the possibility of calling out for her parents. She went quickly from trying to call out that entity to demand her parents to be there with her, right when she needed them.

She dropped her phone, holding onto the necklace that one belonged to her mother, while looking around in the darkness.

—I'll do whatever it takes —her voice was shaky while pronouncing those words—, I don't care about the price, I don't care about the consequences. Please, I need you.

For a brief moment during that chant, she felt something in the air changing. Like the temperature dropping or the hint of an indecipherable whisper falling on her ear... yet she realized it was all coming from her own desperation and not reality.

There was no movement in her apartment, no hints that whatever she did worked. Her tongue moved through her lips, stopping at the corner with an annoyed expression, dropping her head to the front while her hands fell over her lap.

It was the dumbest and most pathetic thing she had ever done in her twenty four years alive. And which made it worse was how hopeful she felt on it working out.

The reverse of her hand moved with anger over her cheekbones, wiping out the tears that kept rolling down. Minutes later, she looked like she hadn't been crying, she looked like she hadn't been hoping for a miracle, plugging her phone and turning the lamp off, so she could lie on the bed on her back again, wrapped on the thick blankets.

Her fingers fidgeted on her belly under the covers, eyes stuck on the ceiling above her, while she kept thinking she didn't do things right. She felt uneasy, unable to get some peaceful sleep before she insisted again.

—Psst —she called out—. Don't take too long to give signs. If you're there, show up with the same desperation I called on you.

She tried, even if it was something that gave her no results.

Y/n found herself standing in the middle of an empty street, her heart pounding in her chest. The world around her seemed old -ancient, even-, but not the European type of old. The characteristics of that street had Asian features, pretty remarkable.

The street was eerily quiet, deserted, and bathed in a redish fog that clung to everything. The uneven stone path beneath her feet was cold, and the sound of her own footsteps echoed unnaturally, amplifying the growing tension inside her. She felt the weight of something unseen pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

The wind was still, and yet there was a gnawing feeling that something was watching her, just out of sight. Each shadow seemed to stretch and bend as if alive, threatening to swallow her whole. Every step she took forward only heightened her anxiety, the oppressive silence ringing in her ears.

The cold air had her hugging herself almost instantly, making her even more confused at the fact that she was still wearing the tank top and shorts she used as her pajamas.

Suddenly, something came at her like a wave, making it difficult to breathe, going from holding her own arms to grabbing her throat as if that gesture would make the air come through more easily.

Her breath came shallow, and in a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating emptiness of the street, she darted into one of the old wooden houses nearby. The door creaked as it swung shut behind her, enclosing her in complete darkness. Inside, it was still, but different -no longer the silent, oppressive void outside. Inside, there was a strange, almost magnetic pull that tugged her forward, guiding her down a dimly lit corridor.

The door clicking behind her echoed the room, making her aware of how big the place was despite not being able to see anything at all. Scared of the dark, she tried to open the door again, but it kept resisting her strength.

As if that action was the only thing she needed to get it all started, some claps stole her attention, freezing her move. With every lamp that was being lit in the corridor, a new clap made all the hairs in her body raise, getting pointier with each loud sound.

It kept getting narrower the further it was from her, and the weak light coming from the curved lamps barely gave her any chance to see properly. Her mind kept telling her to try to open the main door and escape, but her body didn't respond to her own begs. Her feet started moving, slowly but steadily towards the new door away from her, as if there was something else controlling her moves better than she did.

Her steps felt heavy, almost as if her body was being dragged by an external force to the dark red door at the end of the corridor. It was hypnotic, attracting, almost like seeing a distant star in a black sky.

The light grew stronger as she moved, illuminating a single room. Just like the street, with dark tones of red that ended up being pleasing to her sight.

She stepped inside, her heart hammering louder now, the air thick with something she couldn't name. As soon as she crossed the door, the lights went off again. Her eyes were squinted as she tried to see something through the darkness when she found herself trapped again in a different space. But, that time, she didn't attempt to get out, she didn't turn, not a single hair in her body moved. There was a growing sensation that there was something inside she wanted to find.

A sonorous breeze collided with her ears and her body instantly reacted to the sensation. Her skin was burning, her core throbbed with eagerness. There was an urging suffocating need that started to build up and that she couldn't make disappear when pressing her thighs together -it only grew bigger with every slight rub.

Somewhere among the silence, she heard a male chuckle, deep and dark, but so attracting that it almost caused her to moan out loud. Her brain overthought when that laugh got in her system, and her stomach felt funny instantly.

The room lit up, but not completely. For minutes, there was a flicker of light coming and going in different corners of the room, quickly moving in front of her. With every new move, she discovered a new detail of the room that was hidden to her with that darkness, finally allowing her to see what was being kept from her eyesight.

A few centimeters ahead of her, there was a black leather headboard that shined under the light, completely disappearing as the focus kept moving. It lowered down, allowing her to see the burgundy sheets falling over the edge of the bed, heading to its corner and moving back to the center, where she was able to see a pair of athletic thighs, covered with some black slacks, manspreading with a hand falling lazily in the center. She tried to pay attention to the tattoos on the reverse and his fingers, but the light moved before she was able to. It w bent back to the opposite side of the headboard, moving to the right steadily. His eyes were black and fierce, as if he knew he'd be able to do whatever he wanted to her. There wasn't a glimpse of good intentions on the looks he was giving her.

The way he already had his eyes on her, and how he even moved them lower over her body, made Y/n aware that, unlike her, he was indeed able to see her across the darkness. Y/n thought she'd be able to reach the climax merely with the way he was looking at her.

To him, she was his prey, cornered and trapped, and he was the beast ready to jump at her.

The corners of his doe eyes wrinkled for a second, as if he finally thought what he was going to do to her.

Y/n's pulse quickened as she stood frozen, unsure if she should move toward him or run. Each flicker of light illuminated just enough to make her breath catch in her throat, but not enough to see him fully. His figure seemed almost unreal, like a phantom on the edge of her consciousness, tethered to the shadows. Then, just as suddenly as the dream had begun, the light vanished, plunging her back into darkness. The only light in the room disappeared, leaving her lost, momentarily blind.

She was hopeful the light would shine again and would fall on him, that was why her eyes didn't move a centimeter from where she last saw his eyes. But when the light came back, starting to move over the spot where he was sitting, there was no one else anymore. The sheets looked messy, and they had the subtle shape of his lower body, confirming her he was indeed there in front of her and it wasn't made up.

It felt disappointing for her. Because it was all getting started, and the moment she was calming herself down to speak, encouraging herself to make a sound, he vanished without saying a word.

Her body squirmed involuntarily when a warm touch over the side of her tank top, feeling a palm almost cover her ribs.

His breathing was calm, slow, relaxing and warm when falling in her ear, feeling like an enchant that took over her body easily. Her neck fell to the side, and her eyes closed, handing him all the power he wanted to have over her.

—Were you looking for me? —never a voice had sounded so sensual and melodic, yet so deep and masculine at the same time.

The way his warm breathing coated her right ear, while his voice hypnotized her out of her control made her nipples harden under the thin white fabric.

She hadn't seen his face completely, she didn't know his intentions, and she for sure was in a dangerous place, but she was ready to do whatever he asked her to.

His hand expanded to her belly, with his pinky finger ghosting over the elastic of her shorts. He still didn't stop, but his touch was gentle on her, venturing himself lower while giving her time to mentalize what was going to happen, caressing her body as if he had touched it many times before. His finger played with the edge of her shorts, digging lower and directly moving through her underwear. He didn't ask for permission, he didn't need to. It was as if her consent had been agreed beforehand, long before she showed up there, lost in danger.

Her lip was trapped under her teeth when his mouth moved over her sensitive skin, looking for that same reaction he got from her.

—Then you already found me.

His body pressed against her back, while his hand dud lower, digging his fingers to reach her clit.

—Who are you?

But he didn't answer, he twirled his digits around her bundle of nerves, leaving her with a loud gasp escaping her mouth, and that transferred to reality.

She woke up instantly, in the middle of a heavy breath that forced her to sit on the bed. Her heart was pounding against her chest, aiming to break her rib cage while her whole body was craving a touch that wasn't even real, a touch in her dream so vivid that she was sure she'd feel for days.

Y/n looked around in her studio, confused at being there for a few seconds, trying to understand that everything that happened was just a dream. Despite being home, she still had the feeling of being somewhere else just seconds ago. As if she had been able to teleport without knowing it.

That dream felt way too vivid and real to only be part of her imagination.

[sikyulioness]

I love this idea! It adds so much depth to Jinwoo’s character and explores the emotional weight of his trauma.

✨A lil bit of angst but fluff in the end✨

__________. .___________

Fractured Shadows

---

The apartment was eerily silent.

You stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Behind you, Sung Jinwoo stood rigid, his expression unreadable—but you knew better.

You had always known better.

“What the hell is wrong with you lately?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jinwoo didn’t respond immediately. He merely exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clenched your fists. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

Silence.

You took a step closer, your heart pounding. “You used to be different, Jinwoo. You used to care.”

His head snapped up, eyes flashing dangerously. “And what? You think I don’t care now?” His voice was low, sharp as a blade.

You swallowed. “You don’t act like you do. You’re colder. Ruthless. You don’t hesitate to kill anymore.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “That’s what it takes to survive.”

Your breath hitched. “Since when did surviving mean losing yourself?”

The air between you crackled with tension. Jinwoo’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as if he was holding back something—something vast, something terrible.

“You don’t understand,” he finally said.

“Then make me understand,” you pleaded.

And then, suddenly, it broke.

Jinwoo’s walls, his carefully controlled mask, shattered in an instant.

“You want to know what happened to me?” His voice cracked, raw with something you had never heard from him before. “You want to know why I’m like this?”

Your breath caught in your throat as his dark eyes bore into yours, filled with something far worse than anger.

Pain.

“I died,” he whispered. “I died in that dungeon.”

You froze.

Jinwoo let out a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I watched them all die first. The Hunters who went in with me. One by one. I saw their terror, their agony. And when it was my turn, I—I had to choose. Die or kill.” His voice wavered, his entire body shaking. “I killed, (Y/N). I had to. I didn’t even know if I’d make it out alive, but I couldn’t just—”

His breath hitched, his shoulders heaving. “I didn’t want to die.”

You stepped forward instinctively, reaching for him.

He flinched.

That broke you more than anything else.

“Jinwoo,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“I keep telling myself it was the only way,” he continued, his voice hoarse, as if the words were cutting his throat on the way out. “That it was them or me. But sometimes, I still see their faces.” He let out a hollow laugh, but there were tears in his eyes now. “And the worst part? It got easier. Killing got easier.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath uneven. “So tell me, (Y/N), if I’m a monster now—” His voice broke completely. “—then when did it start? Was it when I left that dungeon? Or was it the moment I decided my life was worth more than theirs?”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Jinwoo stiffened, his entire body trembling against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmured against his shoulder. “You’re not a monster.”

His hands gripped your back like a lifeline. “I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be who I was before.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Then let me help you.”

For a long moment, Jinwoo just stood there, tense and unmoving. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, holding you as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

And in that moment, you realized something.

Jinwoo hadn’t just lost his innocence in that dungeon. He had lost his faith in humanity.

But maybe, just maybe, you could help him find it again.

Together.

---

The End.

@2021animeandwebtoons

Thanks for the idea😊✨

[princessofgotham777]

Detective Dick Grayson (Part One)

Fic type: ongoing, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: You have similar abilities to Rachel Roth, only you don’t know it yet. When you’re attacked by the cult who serves Trigon, Nightwing saves you and Dick Grayson promises to help you.

Hey so I know this is kinda cringy but all fanfic lowkey is💀 If you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on😃🧍‍♀️. I don’t write smut. If you liked the Titans show and liked that characterization of Dick Grayson you’ll probably like this fic. The concepts I’m gonna be taking inspo from are Titans and CW arrowverse shows cause I grew up watching them. There also might be some comic lore here and there. Of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Violence

Part One: Detective Grayson

You regretted it all. Graduating from your college in the heart of Gotham, getting accepted there four years ago, going against your parents wishes and moving to the most dangerous city in America. The city known for lunatics in masks and relentless criminals. But most of all you regretted going out when you knew there was a serial killer whose profile was girls just like you. Mid twenties, female, hell you even looked like the other girls who’d been killed. You weren’t sure how the whole vigilante system worked but you were pretty sure you weren’t Batman and the countless Robins priority.

You had no idea where your attacker went. You simply stood against the sewer wall with your arms tied to a pipe. You tried to break free but it was hopeless. You noticed the sewer water rising quickly. “Shit,” you say. You keep tugging at your restraints so hard your hand and wrist starts to bleed from the force you’re using trying to break the zip ties. The water reaches your waist and you begin to cry. “Help!” You scream. There’s no sign of your attacker, and no sign of anyone coming to help. You tug and tug but all it does is cause you more pain. “Help me! Please anyone!” You scream as the water crawls up your neck. You breathe deeply as the water covers your head. You tug on the zip ties and they don’t budge. You’re about to completely give up when you see something move in the water. It’s a man with a blue bird symbol on his chest. He cuts the zip tie and guides you to where he must’ve came in. He lifts you out of the sewer so now you both are lying in an alley in Gotham City. You cough up the water, gasping for air.

“Breathe,” the man says as he places his hand on your upper back. Finally you’ve coughed all the water out of your lungs.

“Who are you?” You ask as your head spins.

“Nightwing,” he responds. You notice his black mask and eye paint as well as his armored acrobatic suit with the blue symbol. A vigilante has rescued you and you are severely oxygen deprived so you pass out.

You open your eyes to find yourself in the hospital. There are white bandages around your hands and wrists from where the zip tie cut. The harsh florescent lights burn your eyes. You can feel an iv in your arm and notice you’re wearing a hospital gown. You begin to sit up when a voice says, “take it easy.” Beside you sits a man with dark brown hair and tan skin. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket, black pants, a white shirt and tie.

“Who are you?” You ask him.

“Detective Dick Grayson,” he says as he holds up his badge. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you say.

“You’re at the hospital Y/N, you know why?” He asks.

“I was fucking kidnapped and trapped in a sewer to die when…when someone saved me,” you say.

“So you remember what happened?” He asks.

“I guess so,” you say.

“Can you remember anything else?” He asks.

“There was…somebody saved me. It must’ve been one of Batman’s old robins, the one with the blue bird on his chest,” you say.

“Right that one’s called Nightwing…I think,” he says awkwardly. “Do you remember being kidnapped?” He asks.

“I was walking home. I knew there was a killer on the loose but I figured it was just another day in Gotham. I was right outside Crown Point when this guy came up behind me with a knife. Then he knocked me out and I woke up tied to a pipe in the sewer.”

“Do you remember anything about the man? His height, hair, skin or eye color? Even what he was wearing?” He asks.

“Um, he wasn’t much taller than me. I didn’t see his face, only his hand that held the knife to my throat. I remember his hand was pale as a ghost and he had a blue jacket on. I think it was denim.” You say. Dick is about to say something but the Doctor comes in. She gives you some paper work to fill out and discharges you.

“Would you let me give you a ride home? Make sure you’re safe,” he asks.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the hall,” you say to politely tell him to get out so you can change. The hospital gave you some clean clothes but they were pretty big on you. You and him walked through the parking garage and you were quite surprised when the car he stopped at was a small silver Porsche.

“This is your car?” You ask.

“You like it?” He says.

“It’s alright,” you say sarcastically as you get in.

Pulling into your appartment parking lot he asks, “would you let me walk you up?”

“Course, thank you,” you say.

You two walk up the stairs to your apartment.

Standing outside the door you say, “thanks for the ride, and walking me up.”

“Of course,” he says softly. “If you remember anything or if you feel unsafe at all don’t hesitate to give the GCPD a call and make sure to ask for me so you don’t have to deal with any bullshit alright?”

“Okay,” you say. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles as he begins to walk down the stairs.

You go inside your apartment and lock the door behind you. Suddenly someone comes up behind you and wraps their hands around your throat. You gasp for air and hit the man in the face. “Detective Grayson!” You scream. Dick here’s you from the stairwell and races back to your apartment. “Help!” You say as you attempt to run from the man. He catches you and tackles you to the floor. “Help!” You scream again.

“Y/N!” Dick yells. He tries the door but it’s locked. He kicks it down to see you struggling with the man on the floor. He grabs the man and pulls him off of you. “Get the fuck away from her!” He begins punching him not bothering to hold back. The man gets the upper hand and punches Dick in the face. He runs out of your apartment and Dick chases him down the stairs as you follow. In the parking lot Dick tackles him. The man once again gets the upper hand and you go behind him and jump on him to pull him off Dick who appears to be unconscious. The man throws you off of him, gets in his car, and speeds away.

“Detective!” You say trying to get him to wake up. He opens his eyes and sits up rather quickly.

“Fuck,” he says grabbing his neck. “Are you alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, physically anyway. Are you?” You ask.

“I’m fine,” he says standing up. “Clearly this guy has some problem with you, his victims have escaped before and he never bothered going after them again. Somethings different about you,” he says.

“What the hell could be want with me?” You ask.

“No idea but you’ve gotta get out of here,” he says.

“I have no where to go,” you say. “My sister lives in Central City but I don’t wanna put her in danger,” you say.

“It’s no problem. I can get to the bottom of this and while I do, if you’d like we can go hide. I can protect you,” he says.

“Where do you suggest we go Detective?” You ask.

He smiles slightly and says, “call me Dick.”

Hi, I hope you enjoyed reading. Any positive feedback is always appreciated. Remember to like if you liked the fic and follow if you want to see more like it. I have a pretty long ongoing series that’s Jason Todd x Reader so if you’d be interested in that please check out my Masterlist. Thank you for reading🩷

Here’s a link to my Masterlist if you’d wanted to check it out.

Masterlist

[hayaku14]

anyway kaishin + bad parent toichi and chikage enjoyers go read cuethesun's tomorrow, and the next day ✌️😎✌️

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[loveanddeepthroat]

Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts. 

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—” 

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself. 

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly. 

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence. 

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.” 

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?” 

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry—”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

[bruhstories]

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged. 

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

[the-sunflower-room]

scared half to death

🌪️tyler owens x fem!reader 

☆ genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers

☆ wc: 2.7k

☆ summary: tyler owens is not easily angered, but when the love of his life runs into an incoming tornado without a second thought, his emotions get the better of him.

☆ warnings: a very upset tyler, yelling, language

note: so i watched twisters and it was actually everything to me! the brainrot is bad and i’ve been wanting to write for tyler ever since i saw it, so here it is! this is very much the idiots in love trope because it’s one of my favorites. enjoy! :)

“Where is she?”

Tyler isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this angry before. He considers himself a fairly easy going man, always quick to make light of a situation and put everyone in the room at ease with his charming, joking nature.

But this was different. This had his heart pounding, his ears ringing. His face is flushed red and he feels like he can hardly breathe.

All because of her.

He slams the door of his truck, approaching his crew in the gas station parking lot with a look on his face that’s so completely un-Tyler that it makes them all shift uneasily.

“Where’s…who?” Boone tries weakly, unsuccessful in his attempt to play dumb. Lily rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare.

Tyler clenches his jaw, for once not in the mood for his friends’ antics. “You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

They all exchange glances, his uncharacteristic demeanor both surprising and concerning. This isn’t the calm, charismatic frontman of the Tornado Wranglers they’re used to.

“She’s in the RV, but I don’t think-” Dani begins, but he’s already beelining for the camper before they can finish. He can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he nearly bursts through the door, finding her sitting at the small table in the back with her head in her hands.

Her gaze snaps up at the sound of his entrance into the RV, and her face immediately drops when she sees him practically fuming. “Tyler-” she says urgently, instantly on her feet as he approaches as if she’s about to defend herself. But he isn’t having any of it.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking out there?” He seethes, suddenly towering over her with his jaw clenched and hands on his hips. She swallows thickly, nervous around this version of him. Terrified to have upset him, disappointed him.

“Tyler, I promise, I was just trying to do the right thing-” she starts again, her tone practically pleading, but he just scoffs. 

“The right thing?” He questions in disbelief, cutting her off with a shake of his head. “You call nearly getting yourself killed in the field ‘doing the right thing’?”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the reminder of what she’d done, at the venom in his voice that’s ordinarily so gentle when directed at her. Memories of what had transpired nearly 20 minutes ago flood her mind and she feels a lump forming in her throat.

“I couldn’t let our data get lost,” she whispers weakly, her gaze glued to the floor in shame. “Bullshit,” he mutters, jaw clenched as his breath picks up. His eyes search her face, grasping to understand why the hell she had risked her life the way she had.

“You don’t run into the path of an incoming EF3 to recover some stupid equipment for our disruption research,” he practically spits, his voice growing louder, more emotional.

“That equipment is completely replaceable. You sure as hell aren’t. So I want to know why on god’s green earth you thought it was a good idea to run headfirst into danger like that.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes welling up with unshed tears at the reminder of her brashness. She feels ashamed and almost embarrassed as Tyler practically berates her.

They were best friends, a pair that the rest of the team liked to call the “dynamic duo.” With a shared passion for tornadoes and a taste for danger, they had instantly clicked from the moment they met during a chase a few years ago, becoming inseparable. Which is why Tyler’s harsh reminder of her stupidity stung so painfully.

She wasn’t used to hearing him so upset, so emotional in the worst way. With her, his tone was always soft, teasing, sometimes so overtly flirty that it would leave her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed.

But this was different. Now his gaze was harsh, curses unnaturally tumbling from his lips as she struggled to explain herself. And she hated every moment of his scrutinizing stare.

“You’ve worked so hard on putting together the equipment for the disruption research. I didn’t want you to have to start from scratch…not after all the effort you went through,” she explains pathetically, her voice cracking slightly as her emotions begin to shine through.

Tyler shakes his head, stepping even closer into her space. “And you thought it was worth risking your life for?” He grits out, his furrowed brow and downturned lips looking so unnatural on his normally smiling face.

Another shuddering breath escapes her as she catches herself from revealing the true reason she’d been so careless, from baring her soul and telling him that she’d run into the path of an incoming tornado because she loved him more than anything. That the thought of his disappointed face, his devastation over months of work lost to an unpredictably large tornado, hurt her so much that she would have done anything to save that equipment.

Anything to make him happy, to be the hero that he was to her.

“I- I didn’t get hurt, I knew I had time to get at least some of it-” she stammers, but she can’t get the words out.

“You didn’t have time!” He practically yells, gripping her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. His eyes are wide, his gaze burning as he stares down at her.

“If Boone hadn’t been close by with his truck, you could’ve easily not made it. You could’ve died,” he chokes out, his grip on her tightening. His eyes are watering now, his anger fizzling out into something more desperate, more panicked.

Tyler still remembers the pure, unadulterated fear he’d felt as she slipped out of the safety of his truck before he could stop her, sprinting out into the open field where the winds and torrential rain were getting worse by the second.

He remembers the devastated scream of her name that had ripped itself from his chest, lost to the howling winds.

He sure as hell can’t forget the feeling of overwhelming fear and helplessness that overtook him when the rain became so intense that he could not longer see her, no longer assure himself that she hadn’t been sucked up into the raging funnel or hurt by the flying debris.

It was only when he got radio confirmation from Boone five minutes later, stating that she was safe in their truck with some of the equipment intact, that he even knew she was alive.

It had been the most hopeless, terrifying five minutes of his life.

“Don’t you understand what you mean to everyone? What you mean to me?” He rasps, his voice quieter now, more broken. “Some stupid equipment for an experiment isn’t worth your life, Y/N. Not in the least.”

His eyes are tender now as they rake over her face, scanning the scrapes and cuts littering her cheeks, the patch of dried blood clinging to her temple. His heart aches at the thought of her getting hurt, even if the injuries are small.

She notices that nearly all of his anger has left his body, replaced by the emotion that had truly been brewing beneath the surface: crippling fear at the possibility of losing her.

A silent tear runs down her face at his softer, more vulnerable words, her heart breaking as she realizes the effect her thoughtless actions have had on the man she loves. He’s quick to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on her cheek as he gazes at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she chokes back a sob. In an instant, he’s enveloping her in his tight, comforting hold, cradling her head to his chest and pulling her so close to him that their bodies are practically molded together.

“Shhh…it’s alright, sweetheart,” he gently hushes, his hand stroking through her hair as she cries softly against him. He’s back to himself now, all anger and frustration long abandoned in favor of his naturally calm, caring demeanor. Through her tears, she feels herself flushing slightly at his term of endearment.

“I’m the sorry one. I shouldn’t have yelled at ya, you didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs into her ear, his arms tightening around her.

He internally berates himself for defaulting to anger when she had also probably been scared and upset. But thinking she had died in that tornado just for attempting to recover his equipment had struck something so deep within him that his brain had reacted irrationally.

He stews in his remorse for a moment longer before admitting a truth that might be a little too vulnerable, a little too revealing of his deep and unwavering love for her, but he has to get it off his chest.

“…You just scared me half to death, darlin’. I can’t lose you...I can’t. It would tear me apart worse than a damn tornado ever could.” His whispered words are so raw and tinged with devastation that her breath hitches against his chest.

Slowly, she peels herself away from his comforting embrace to get a good look at him, and what she finds makes her heart clench in her chest. 

His eyes are red and glassy, obvious signs that he’d been crying. His muscles are taught with anxiety, like every fiber in his body had been tense ever since she fled his truck. His hair is slightly tousled and she instantly knows he’d been running his hand through it the way he does when he’s stressed.

The thought that she could cause him this much worry, this much pain, sucks the breath from her lungs and makes her feel dizzy.

“I only tried to save the equipment because I knew how important the research was to you,” she whispers, her voice still shaky but full of sincerity.

“I know how much it means to you, finding a way to keep these tornadoes from causing so much damage to innocent lives. I just- I wanted to do something brave and selfless for you, the way you always have for me,” she admits softly, swallowing as she meets his gaze.

His lips part slightly at her admission, the reverence in her words staggering. Hearing that she cares for him, finds him brave and selfless, wants to return the way he makes her feel, fills his heart with a love so deep he feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Y/N, you’re-” he rasps, pausing to clear his throat when he hears how raw and weak his voice sounds.

“You’re so damn sweet. Your heart is so big. That’s what I love about you. But please, don’t be as stupid as me. I throw myself headfirst into danger so much because I don’t think first…my judgement gets clouded by the thought of helping someone and I get tunnel vision. Which has put me in one too many potentially life-ending scenarios,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing her slightly as they rest on her shoulders.

“I can’t- I won’t let you be that careless. You mean too much to me.”

Her eyes widen at the tenderness in his voice, the affection and worry dripping from every word. It feels like their conversation is breaching on something deeper, something much more vulnerable and terrifying.

Her mind is hung up on his soft that’s what I love about you. Even hearing the word love directed at her from the mouth of Tyler Owens makes her head spin and her face heat up, and she’s unsure if she’s even breathing anymore.

“Tyler…” she manages, her voice threatening to break with the overwhelming swirl of emotions running through her. She can’t help herself, knows that she’s finally going to put it out there, tell him how she feels no matter how scary it might be.

“I love-” his lips are on hers before she can even finish. The sensation of Tyler kissing her is unlike anything she’s ever felt, and she’s damn sure she never wants him to stop.

His large hand tenderly cups her cheek while the other snakes into her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands as he pulls her even closer. She gasps softly as his grip tightens, his lips moving against her own with an almost feral desperation.

The salt from her tears mixes with his sweet taste – something like honey and peppermint – and she melts further into him and his warmth. She can feel him pour every ounce of his turbulent, pent-up emotions into the kiss, and it leaves her completely breathless.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, and after thinking he’d lost her today, he’d be content to just kiss her like this for the rest of time. Reassuring himself that’s she’s still there, that she’s his. Showing her what she means to him.

Finally getting a grip on his emotions, Tyler pulls away for a moment, wanting to make sure he hasn’t misread the signs, misinterpreted what he’d felt brewing between them for so long.

But a wide, disbelieving grin spreads across her face as she fights to catch her breath, and he suddenly has no doubt that she’s been his all along.

“I’ve been waiting for that for- well, I don’t even know how long,” she laughs breathlessly, slightly woozy from his intoxicating taste.

He huffs a laugh in return, his eyes shining with an overwhelming adoration for the woman before him. “Yeah…I think Boone might owe Dexter and Lily some money,” he jokes softly, his thumb gently brushing her rain-soaked hair away from her face.

His eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her muddy clothes, her scraped up hands, the shallow cut on her temple. Regret courses through him at the way he’d raised his voice at her, even if it had been out of fear of losing her.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” He murmurs, his voice lower and more serious than before. She gently nods, her hand moving to rest on top of his own as it cups her face.

“I’m ok, promise. It’s just a little scrape from slipping in the mud,” she reassures him, sensing his lingering gaze on her slightly bloodied face. She can practically feel the apprehension in his stare, his constant worry for her well-being so endearing that she just wants to kiss him again and again.

“I promise, Ty. And I swear, I won’t do anything like that again. I just got lost in the moment and didn’t think before acting.” He nods slowly, letting the sincerity in her voice wash over her and comfort his racing mind. 

“You’d better not,” he teases softly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “If we’re doing this thing, no more running headfirst into tornadoes, you hear? Can’t have my girl acting like an irrational daredevil like me. I’ve been told she’s smarter than that.”

She feels herself blushing as he calls her his girl, the title rolling off his tongue so naturally that it makes her heart skip a beat. Tyler watches as a hearty laugh escapes her and she leans into his touch, his own smile growing wider.

Suddenly nothing else has ever mattered beyond this moment of her in his arms, blushing and laughing like he’s the funniest damn man in the world.

“Ok, alright,” she giggles with feigned exasperation. “No more running into tornado paths, I swear. Wrangler’s honor. But you have to swear it too. You’re an adrenaline junkie and a trouble maker, even more than I am.”

He chuckles at her playful jab, his body feeling lighter than it has all day as he finally lets the tension within him fade. She’s safe, he tells himself over and over. She’s alive, she’s teasing him like she always does, and she’s got him smiling like a damn fool.

“Baby,” he mutters with that teasing glint in his eye, “you need to get my head checked if I ever run away from you and into a tornado. No man in his right mind would leave a gorgeous thing like you for some wind.”

Before she can reply to his ridiculous comment, he captures her lips once more with his own, relishing in the way she smiles against him as he pulls her closer.

This is all Tyler’s ever wanted - all he’s ever needed. Just her, safe and sound, loving him in all his flaws and worry for her.

If her running into that damn field led to this moment, this reality where she’s finally his, then so be it. He’s never been more grateful for a tornado.

[lostfracturess]

THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you. 

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions. 

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away. 

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence. 

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush. 

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased. 

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted. 

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years. 

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

masterlist + tip jar

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[sinner-as-saint]

here forever

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Dating a superhero was no joke. And as noble as Bucky’s job was, it was just as dangerous and unpredictable. Which is why ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’d been training you in his free time. Teaching you how to defend yourself if ever he wasn’t around to protect you, or if ever his enemies came after you. Although you weren’t perfect at combat yet, you were almost certain you could get out of a tricky situation if you ever found yourself in one. But you were soon proven wrong. And your only option was to hope and pray that Bucky finds you in time. 

Themes: smut, fluff, mentions of kidnapping and death, boyfriend!bucky to the rescue, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mean!dom!bucky, aftercare, biker!bucky (except i made him wear a helmet because safety), mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

a/n: short, quick lil fic because I know we’re all hungry

It had been two hours since these strange men had so easily abducted you off the streets. 

It was a regular day, you were leaving yoga class and were on your way to pick up a smoothie. A treat you always got yourself after each workout class. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Bucky’s incessant messages asking about your location. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to let your guard down, not even on busy streets – one of the first lessons Bucky taught you just weeks after your first date with him. But you couldn’t help looking down and frowning at your phone. Your bag, purse and phone in your hands. Always have your hands free when walking alone, even on busy streets – the second thing he taught you. 

Always be ready. Always be ready. Always be fucking ready. 

But you had messed up that morning. Bucky’s messages were starting to worry you. He had been away since last night, and as usual, never gave you too many details about his job. But all you knew was that before he left, he’d asked you to try and not go out if you could. Your apartment was safe. He had eyes all over that building. Cameras, security guards, it was the safest place you could be. 

‘Where are you? Why aren’t you home?’

Seconds later: 

‘I told you not to go out. It’s not safe right now. Call me.’ 

Then some missed calls which you couldn’t answer because you were in class at the time. Then messages one after the other: 

‘Go straight home.’ 

‘Is your class over?’ 

‘Go home and wait for me. Don’t open the door for anyone else.’ 

‘Baby I’m so serious right now, go home.’ 

And you were midway through typing an answer to reply to him. To tell him not to worry. To tell him that yes your class was over, and everything was okay and you would call him as soon as you got home. 

But you never got the chance to reply to his messages. 

It all happened too fast. One moment you were looking down, all your focus on your phone and boyfriend, and the next, you were being grabbed and shoved into a dark truck. You barely even got a scream out before the doors were shut and a tape sealed your mouth, ropes snaking around your wrists and ankles. 

And just like that, in less than a full minute, you were taken. 

And here you were now. 

In the back of that same truck which had been driving for about two hours, maybe more. Getting further and further away from the city you lived in, and into more and more unknown areas. 

Fuck! You had messed up. 

You should’ve checked your phone while you were still inside the building. You shouldn’t have been texting on the streets. You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Bucky had been saying for weeks that he suspected people had eyes on him, and consequently you because you two spent a lot of time together. 

He was right of course. He always was. You should’ve listened. You should’ve stayed at home, at least until he got back later today. 

A tear slid down your face, like it had been for the past hours. You silently cried, thinking about all the potential circumstances you could end up finding yourself in. You couldn’t even tell who were the men who kidnapped you because they all wore masks and hadn’t said a single word in the past hours. 

They were armed. And the truck seemed bulletproof. And they kept driving. Nothing said about wanting a ransom, nothing about why they had taken you, or whether they were using you as bait to get Bucky’s attention. Surely they were. 

And a few minutes later, when you heard the familiar roar of a familiar bike, you knew they had his full attention. 

Bucky was here. 

But they hadn’t noticed yet. And you didn’t want them to. So you tried to get all their attention on you by wiggling in the backseat, acting like you were trying to get more comfortable. The two armed men right in front of you just glanced at you and your tied limbs and let you be. 

You noticed the guy in the passenger seat didn’t even bother looking at you. The driver looked into the rearview mirror but quickly looked away and ahead. 

They still hadn’t heard the faint, steady roar of Bucky’s bike. 

Perfect. 

By the time Bucky would get close enough to attack, he would catch them by surprise. And it would be too late for them to react and defend themselves. 

So you kept moving, grunting in annoyance extra loudly just to mask the sound of Bucky’s bike as it got closer and closer– 

A loud gunshot exploded near you. For a moment nothing made sense. 

Then you realised the truck was no longer steady, it was tilted on one side. Bucky had shot one or more of the tires. You sighed in relief, while the men in the vehicle panicked. Muffled voices spoke all at once, one of them telling the driver to drive faster. 

Another, one of the men who was armed in front of you, lowered the window and popped his head and gun out, trying to find whoever was around but it was too late. 

You turned your head and managed to catch a glimpse of him through the rear windshield. Amongst the smoke and dirt flying, there he was. Mounted on his mean bike like a fierce general riding his beast into battle. Except this general wasn’t backed by soldiers. He was alone. 

But army or not, he was still Bucky Barnes. All black bike, black helmet, full biker gear, metal arm catching the sunlight. Guns strapped to his body. He looked like Death. 

A sob shook your body as you ducked and hid under the seats as much as you could as Bucky rain down bullets like hellfire upon the vehicle. He knew it was bulletproof, but you were certain he was doing it just to get the men to use their weapons and waste their bullets on him as fast as possible. 

The loud noises made it seem like your brain was vibrating, your heart was racing, and your ears were hurting with how loud the guns and shouts were. But Bucky was here, and all would be well now. 

A few seconds later, the truck began zig-zagging. You assumed it must be because the driver got shot. More shouts and bullets later, the truck came to a sudden stop. Like it collided with something that was strong enough to stop it even at that speed. 

But there was nothing on the empty streets you had been on. Nothing except… Bucky. 

An eerie silence followed. Then footsteps. The men in the truck had all been shot you realised upon smelling the scent of blood and gunpowder. 

You couldn’t get yourself up, not with your limbs still tied but you tried your best. And you were barely up when you heard the sound of metal literally tearing apart. You managed to peek from the back seat and Bucky had torn off one of the doors. The entire door off the side of the truck. 

You couldn’t call for him, but you kicked the back of one of the seats hard enough to get his attention. 

The moment his ocean blue eyes met your teary ones, you couldn’t help but start crying. Hot, burning tears streaming down your face as Bucky almost tore apart the entire truck to get to you. The moment he grabbed you and pulled you out into the open air, it was only his arm around you keeping you up. 

“I’ve got you,” He whispered over and over again, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated continuously as he carefully peeled the tape off your lips and cupped your face in his hands, looking at you intently to look for injuries while he wiped your tears away. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking more panicked and worried than ever. “Baby, answer me. Did they hurt you? Inject you with anything? Touch you?” 

You shook your head, wanting nothing more than to just be able to take a deep breath, now safe in his arms. Only when you went to wrap your shaky arms around him, he stopped you. Keeping you at arms’ length and away from him. 

That worried, soft look in his eyes turned cold. Even under the afternoon sun, you shivered under his gaze. 

“What the fuck did I tell you before I left, huh?” He snarled. “I told you to stay inside, don’t leave the building. Didn’t I say that?” 

You sniffled, nodding. “I just went to my weekly class, and–,” 

He cut you off, hissing, “And look what happened!” He was almost screaming in your face, “You’re so lucky I got here in time. You’re so fucking lucky I have a tracker in that bag of yours. Otherwise it would’ve taken me days to get to you! Days!” 

You trembled, knowing he was right. Bucky dealt with dangerous people. He knew why he asked you to be cautious. 

Bucky leaned closer to you, looking down at you with no warmth. “These aren’t the villains you read about in your silly, little fucking books.” His voice sounded menacing, freezing. “These are actual, dangerous people. They wouldn’t have waited for you to charm your way out. They would’ve killed you!” He yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I was replying to your texts and–,” 

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him. “That when I tell you it’s not safe out there, you stay put. You stay inside and wait for me.” He growled. “You could’ve been killed today! And who would have had to live with that, huh? Who would’ve had to live with the disappointment that he couldn’t keep you safe? That he brought you into this shitty life and couldn’t even keep you alive?” He bellowed. “Who would’ve had to look your family in the eyes and tell them he lost you? Me! That’s who!” 

More tears, and a whimper escaped your lips. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. You had never seen this side of him. He let go of your face like it burned to touch you. 

He looked around, at the torn apart truck. At the bodies. The bullets on the ground. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. He reached into the truck and grabbed your things. Your bag and all that you had on you when you were taken. Your phone wasn’t here though, they must’ve thrown it out onto the streets while they took you. 

Bucky said, “We need to get out of here. Come.” 

He didn’t turn around to see if you were following, he knew you would. Once he got on his bike, he handed you his jacket and helmet. You put both on without questioning where you were going. 

Once sat behind him, your arms hesitantly around his torso, he turned to the side and said, “City’s not safe right now. We’ll spend the night at a motel nearby.” 

And that was all he said for the next few hours. 

– 

By the time you two made it to the motel – which was much, much more decent and clean than you had imagined – the sun was already setting. The place was quiet. A few voices conversing here and there, ACs humming as ACs do, cars coming in and out frequently given there was a gas station nearby, and a burger joint on the other side of the street. 

Bucky got you two a room for the night, and didn’t say a word to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the room. 

It was a decent room. Bed, bedside tables, TV, sofas. The usual. 

You didn’t notice Bucky had packed a bag as well. You hadn’t been paying much attention anyway. He placed his much bigger bag on the bed and pulled out a few things. Some belonging to you, you noticed. Toothbrush, soaps, clean clothes. 

He handed a bunch of things to you and said, “Go shower.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. Guess he was still angry at you. 

You didn’t argue. You just took the things and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in there for a good half an hour. 

When you stepped out of the shower, feeling clean finally, you noticed Bucky wasn’t in the room. And the weather outside had changed. You could hear the faint thunder approaching. Surely by tonight there would be a storm. 

But where had Bucky gone? 

You put your clothes away in your bag, and with no phone you had no choice but to turn the TV on. You got in bed, a few minutes into watching some random documentary when Bucky walked in with food. 

You gave him a look, wondering if he would talk to you now. But all he said as he placed the bags filled with food on the bed was, “It’s none of your fancy green smoothies and healthy wraps, but it’ll have to do for now. I’m going to shower.” 

Then he disappeared. 

You were still upset, but then hunger took over and you pawed at the bags like a raccoon. You found milkshakes, fries, and burgers. And you ate while you wondered how long Bucky would keep being angry at you. 

You were halfway through your second burger when Bucky walked out of the shower. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet, dark hair pushed back, droplets of water still dripping down his chest and abs. 

You swallowed your food before you choked, then looked away, acting as if the documentary on the TV was much more interesting to look at compared to your half naked boyfriend. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, and you noticed he was carrying a first-aid kit in his hands. 

You shook your head. 

“Nothing? No scratches, nothing?” He asked again. 

You shrugged, “Just a small cut. It’ll heal. Nothing serious.” 

He walked over to your side of the bed, and said, “Show me.” 

You didn’t want to argue so you placed your food aside, lifted your shirt and showed him the minuscule cut on your ribs. “It’s not–,” 

But he cut you off by placing the kit down and looking for some cotton and disinfectant. 

It burned as he cleaned in and put a little bandaid over it. It hurt even more when he didn’t kiss it after like he usually does whenever he tends to your cuts and wounds. 

You didn’t say a word though. And soon, you both finished your food in silence with only the TV and the approaching storm as noise in the background. 

The thunder got louder and louder as you both got into bed. That weird silent treatment continued, and by now you were annoyed as well. You’d admit, it was your fault for being so careless when he’d told you to be cautious. But didn’t he see that you needed him now? 

Couldn’t he see you wanted to be held? And kissed? And comforted? 

You frowned in the dark. The lights from outside came through the blinds and lit the room up a little bit. As did the lightning. You were the only one tossing and turning you noticed, Bucky was asleep it seemed. 

But the thunder, the new bed, the fear and stress from earlier, it was all keeping you from falling asleep. Plus, it was a little embarrassing to admit, but you liked being held while you fell asleep. But Bucky wasn’t even talking to you, and wrapping your own arms around yourself wasn’t working. 

Another hour went by. Now the heavy rain finally came, along with a proper thunder storm. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You turned to face Bucky and he had his eyes shut, facing you. Not a single item of clothing on his body, except for a thin sheet covering him from the waist down. You sighed, frowning a little in annoyance still but you couldn’t help but scoot closer to him, seeking his warmth and embrace. 

First you pressed into him, to see if he would stir or wake up. He didn’t. So you got bolder and took his metal arm and placed it around you, waiting again. He didn’t move. So you went to wrap your arms around him, and once you did, you heard his sleepy voice saying, “Oh, what’s this? Now you need me?” 

You froze, trying to see if you could pretend you were asleep already. He didn’t buy it. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

You sighed. “It’s the thunder.” You said, nuzzling his warm neck. 

“And you need daddy to protect you now, little bunny?” He mocked. “But when I try to tell you what to do to keep you safe you never listen.” 

You noticed he kept his arm around you, pulling you more into him even as he chided you. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It won’t happen again.” 

He hummed. “It better not.” 

You were quiet for a second or two, then said, “You were so mean to me earlier.” 

“I have to be.” He said sternly. “You never listen. You don’t take your training seriously, you think you’re ready to fight your way out, baby, but you’re not. All I asked you to do was not to leave that apartment until I got there. But you couldn’t help but be a brat, could you?” 

You squirmed in shame. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” 

“Well,” He said, sounding sassy as he pulled you closer, “I am pissed. Deal with it.” 

You had had enough. You slipped out of his arms, “Stay here and brood then,” You tried to get out of bed, “I’ll sleep on one of the sofas–” 

Bucky didn’t let you. A loud thunder boomed right above as he pulled you back into bed and climbed on top of you. “Stop being fucking difficult.” He hissed. 

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. Beard scratching your face, his long hair tickling the sides of your face. 

His kiss was rough and it hurt in the best way. Bucky pulled away for a brief moment, squeezed your cheeks so you couldn’t close your mouth. “Brat.” Glaring down at you, he spat in your mouth before kissing you again. 

Your brain felt like it was floating. His kiss was hot. And messy. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “Needy little brat. Can’t ever do as you’re told, can you? You almost got fucking killed today, but you don’t care about that. Do you? Huh?” 

You were quiet. Your brain was too foggy with lust to function. 

“Why are you quiet? No bratty words for daddy?” He asked, sliding his rough hands up and down your parted thighs. You spread them even more the moment he touched you and he smirked when he noticed it. “Go on, tell me to stop. Tell me to let you go.” He taunted, knowing full well you would never do that. 

All you did was whimper as he touched you mindlessly, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. 

“You’re gonna listen from now on.” He stated. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll lock you in that apartment if I have to. But from now on, if I tell you it’s not safe out there, you do not leave that house. You hear me, princess?” 

Silence. Which earned you a slap on the thigh. You yelped in pain before glaring at him. “Fine,” You said, “Yes, I hear you. I’ll be good.” You whined. 

“Of course you will,” He said, his metal hand pinned you down on the bed by wrapping around your neck to keep you in place, while his other hand wrapped around his cock. Pumping it once, twice while holding your stare. “‘Cause I’ll have you over my knee and spank that little butt raw if you don’t.” 

You whimpered and squirmed because of how badly you needed him inside you. “I will. I’ll be so good,” You begged, “Buck, please.” 

Bucky wasted no time sliding inside of you. Giving you no time to even think, he moved in and out of you in a way that had you moaning out loud, not caring that the walls might be thin. 

The storm got louder somehow, thunder rumbling and lightning lighting up the room every now and then. The rain got heavier, silencing the rest of the world as Bucky fucked you. His body weight pressing down onto you in a way that made you never want to be anywhere else. 

It didn’t matter that you were in a small motel room, so far away from home. It didn’t matter that danger could still be lurking around. Nothing mattered, not when he held your stare as he fucked you hard and fast, barely giving you time to breathe right. 

He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Look how you behave the moment you have some cock in you. Is that all my baby wanted? Daddy’s cock? Hmm? Is this why you’ve been pouting for the past few hours?” He chuckled, spreading your thighs even more, “I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” He cooed, fucking into you deeper somehow. “I’ve been so mean by telling you just where you messed up and how bad things could’ve gotten if I didn’t reach you in time. I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” He mocked you, scoffing, “Is that why your pussy is strangling my cock, baby? Because daddy’s so mean to you, is he?”

You could feel your face getting hotter as your walls clenched around him over and over again, as he sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you out, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. 

“Is this what you wanted, little bunny?” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Is this enough to make you behave from now on, baby?” 

You moaned at how perfect his warm body felt on top of yours, his weight pressing down on you. His stubble tickled your skin as he kissed your face and bit on your lip. Your legs trembled as his thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body grew, familiar, tight and hot.

The storm, the streetlights, and every little bit of light allowed you to see how Bucky looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “I killed for you today.” He whispered, “I saved you, and this is what I get? Attitude? A bratty girl? Not even a thank you,” He scoffed, “Not even a ‘thank you for saving me daddy’, nothing.” The cold cruelty in his voice only made you clench around him harder. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, making you moan even louder. “Dirty little slut. Look at you, all cock drunk.” He scoffed, giving you yet another messy kiss. “Are you gonna be good from now on?” 

“Yes,” You whined, not recognising your voice because of how desperate you sounded. Then again, only he could make you sound this way. You whimpered, unable to say anything else because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. 

Fuck, you needed this. So much. You whined again when his hand let go of your throat, fingers trailing down your squirming body until his metal fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly. 

“Yeah?” He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke. “You’re gonna be my good girl and listen to me?” 

You nodded, tears streaming down your face again. The exhaustion from earlier, the day you had survived. It was all too much. “Please…” You whimpered, squirming and unable to hold back anymore. You needed to come so bad. Your thoughts were a mess. 

“Good girl.” 

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. You came undone all around him. Moaning, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him even harder than earlier. 

Bucky kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under him. “That’s it, babygirl. Come for daddy.” 

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, growly voice. He groaned until he came undone as well. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, his thrusts slowing down, his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

—

You vaguely remember his cleaning the two of you. He let you rest for a minute, but then it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So he flipped you around, straddled you and began massaging your worn out body. 

He rubbed his rough hands all over your back, down your hips, and thighs. It was quiet for a while. Just the rain, the thunder, and the sound of Bucky breathing. 

Then you heard his gentle voice. “I can’t lose you. Not you.” He whispered, like he was saying it to himself, “Not you, baby.” 

Your heart throbbed and pinched.  

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your spine, all while massaging your body. “I don’t like being mean to you.” He kissed his way up again, nuzzling your ear and whispering, “Earlier today,” He spoke softly, “When I watched the tracker show me how fast you were getting further and further away, thinking about how they must’ve grabbed you. How easily, how quickly they took you, I–,” His voice cracked. 

You couldn’t help the tears anymore, “I’m sorry.” You tried to turn over and face him but he gently pushed you back down on the bed. 

“Shh,” He shut you up. “Just let me take care of you.” His hands touched you everywhere. Soft touches soothing the spots he’d grabbed harshly earlier. “You scared me, baby.” He kissed around the cut on your side. “For a moment I thought I’d never see you again.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffled, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll train harder, I’ll be better. I won’t let my guard down, ever.” 

He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. “You’re perfect.” He stated. “We’ll work on training you better. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you. Always.” 

You gave him a teary smile and sheepishly said, “Thank you for saving me.” 

Bucky laughed softly, nuzzling your neck again, kissing your skin like he couldn’t get enough. “I would burn this entire world down if anyone tries to take you from me again.” 

You laid your head back down on the pillow, laughing softly. Thinking he was joking. 

He wasn’t.