#someone collapse this wave function for me

[flavorcountry]

You know what, I think I trust Tumblr's opinion more than The Critics, so can someone watch this new Zack Snyder space movie and tell me if it's Actually Bad or Jupiter Ascending "Bad"

[hrrtshape]

the hardest pill to swallow . . if you don't assume, it won't work

this isn't tough love. this isn't a scolding. this is just the mechanics of reality. this isn't about blame. it's not your fault, but it is your responsibility (i saw this quote somewhere and i really liked it, anyway). reality is malleable, but only if you stop acting like you're at its mercy. stop waiting for permission. stop refreshing the page, stop tapping the glass. it's done. act accordingly.

consider your brain an old, glitchy computer, whirring in the corner of your psyche, choking on its own outdated code. your subconscious doesn't know what's real versus imagined, it only knows the instructions you give it. and if those instructions are "this isn't happening, i don't see it, i don't believe it," well, congratulations, the system registers that as the blueprint. and it prints that out. over and over. like a bureaucratic nightmare, a kafka novel of your own making.

this is not to say that doubt is failure, doubt is human, doubt is a thrum in the background of any great creation. but if doubt is the occasional rainstorm, belief is the structural integrity of the house. belief holds. belief carries. belief is the scaffolding between you and the impossible, and without it, you are just standing in an empty field, waiting for architecture to spontaneously occur.

there's a reason schrodinger's cat remains the most infuriating hypothetical in quantum mechanics, because the cat is both alive and dead until you open the box. the observer collapses the wave function. and in this case, you are the observer. if you don't believe it, you keep the box shut. if you do believe it, the universe is already rearranging itself around your conviction.

this is not new-age drivel. this is not a vision board with a quote about perseverance peeling off in the humidity. this is physics. have you ever thought about someone, and then they text you five minutes later? that's the speed at which reality moves when you don't get in your own way. you didn't sit there clutching your skull, willing them into existence, you just assumed, with ease, with god-tier nonchalance. and because you weren't scrutinising the timeline like a detective with a corkboard and red string and bloodied eyes, the message came through. the only thing standing between you and everything you want is the way you react to its absence. the hand-wringing, the despair, the creeping doubt, it's a full-time job, and it pays in absolutely nothing.

which brings me to my next point: trying. trying is the problem. trying implies effort, and effort implies resistance, and resistance is another way of saying "i don't actually believe i have this." and you know what people do when they have things? they stop worrying about whether they have them. a person in possession of an apple does not pace the room, clutching their chest, whimpering, "but do i really have it?" they just eat the apple.

and before you say, "but look at my reality, it's contradicting me," i will say this once, and you must etch it into your mind like scripture: reality is old news. what you are seeing is just a delayed projection of past assumptions. do not react to it. do not engage with it. it is a rerun of a show you no longer care about. the moment you stop feeding into the contradictions, they wither. the moment you accept that what you want is already done, reality will course-correct. until then, it is an echo chamber of your previous doubts. ignore it like it's a tabloid headline about a scandal that never actually happened.

flip the switch. decide, assume, move forward. no more "manifesting," no more "waiting." you don't wait for what's already yours. you don't question a chair's ability to hold you up before sitting down. you don't send a letter and then agonise over whether the mail system still exists. you assume. you know. and so it is.

and before the panic sets in, no, this does not mean you must be a perfect disciple of unwavering belief. doubt will creep in, as it always does. you will have moments of existential dread, of scrutinising, of muttering "but what if" into your hands at 2 a.m. this is fine. this is human. just don't let it become the dominant narrative. there will be moments where you feel like you're nowhere, like your manifestations have abandoned you and you're left with nothing but the weight of your own effort. do not, under any circumstances, entertain this lie. i will personally resurrect the fear of god just to drill this into you: do not. what you do instead is cry a little, wipe your face, and then lock the fuck in, because i swear on everything, sometimes, all it takes is a stretch of nothing to summon an abundance of everything. let the doubt pass through like an intrusive thought you refuse to entertain, like a pigeon that landed in your cafe but is not, in fact, your problem.

maybe this reminds you of when the soviets tried to scientifically disprove intuition, only to realise they had unintentionally proved it instead. maybe this reminds you of every ghost story you've ever heard, how the only ones who see them are the ones who expect to.

anyways. it's all already happening. 

[xothatnerdykid]

read your mind

You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.

“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”

You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.

As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.

You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.

So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.

But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.

“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.

“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."

"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."

You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"

You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.

Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.

Why does she always push herself so hard?

You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…

He was worried about you?

“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.

“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.

You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.

Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.

But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.

You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.

The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.

Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.

Of course it was him.

"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.

"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”

You stepped forward but so did he.

“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”

“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”

Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.

“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.

You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.

You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.

Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.

You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.

His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.

Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.

"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.

Skin contact.

Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.

I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…

Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.

She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.

Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.

Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.

"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.

“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.

Just like before, he turns to leave.

“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.

He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.

“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.

Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.

“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”

His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.

Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.

I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.

You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.

You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.

Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”

“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.

He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.

“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.

“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.

“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”

Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”

"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”

He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”

The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.

“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”

He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.

“Consider it done.”

Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”

With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.

I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.

Your breath catches.

For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.

His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.

You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.

Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.

This time, it left you with a dilemma.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”

Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.

Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.

She’s braver than I thought. I like that.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…

“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.

You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.

And you do.

You feel everything.

His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.

“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”

You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.

I want her. God, I want her so badly…

Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.

Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.

I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.

The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.

Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.

His lips are on yours in a second.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.

God, she tastes even better than I imagined.

Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.

“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.

You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.

It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.

Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.

He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."

You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?”

“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”

His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.

It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.

You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.

“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.

Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”

He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."

He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.

I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—

Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.

“Report. Any activity?”

You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.

“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.

You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.

“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.

The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.

“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.

“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.

"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”

A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.

Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.

This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.

You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.

How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?

You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.

You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.

He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.

Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.

As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.

He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."

“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”

Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.

A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.

“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.

He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.

"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 12

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 5.3k

Trigger warning; //

notes; hello hello, hope that everyone is doing great ! The month of January is finally over I can't wait for the weather to get warmer because it's freezing. Anyways, shorter chapter but a nice one hehe, just for you guys to be ready the next chapter will be longggg. Well see you all soon. Love you and thank you for reading this story <3333

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The first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, unrelenting ache radiating from your back and shoulder. It was enough to wake you, though not enough to drown out the feeling of utter comfort surrounding you. You blinked slowly, disoriented for a moment. The bed you were in wasn’t yours, but it smelled warm, familiar, and safe.

Azriel’s.

The realization came slowly as you glanced around the room, taking in its simple yet elegant decor. Dark walls, a shelf lined with well-used books. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, hitting your bare back and warming your skin. You hadn’t slept this well in... years.

Groaning softly, you pushed yourself upright, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through your body. The bandages on your shoulder and back tugged slightly, a reminder of the arrows that had pierced you only hours ago. Still, you managed to shuffle toward the small dresser, where a set of spare clothes had been left for you. A simple shirt and trousers—functional, but clean and comfortable.

As you slipped into the shirt, pulling it carefully over your still-healing wounds, you heard the door open behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Azriel standing there, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern. “You need to rest.”

You finished pulling on your boots, tying the laces with deliberate precision, and looked up at him. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the discomfort. “I need to get home, and there’s work to do—”

Azriel cut you off with a humorless laugh, stepping closer and crossing his arms. “Madja warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “‘She’ll try to get up the moment she wakes,’” he quoted, his tone mimicking Madja’s no-nonsense voice. “‘She’ll say she’s fine. Don’t let her fool you, Azriel. Knock her out again if you have to.’”

You huffed, folding your arms in defiance despite the strain it caused. “I’m not going to let a little pain stop me. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Azriel’s golden eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice like a command. “Madja will have my head if you collapse again, and I’m not about to risk it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “What are you, my mother? Last time I checked, you’re not. Let me go, Azriel.”

His lips twitched as if he were fighting back a smile, though his tone remained firm. “No. Back to bed.”

“Azriel,” you said, exasperated, standing your ground. “I don’t have time for this. People need me at the clinic—”

“And you’ll be no use to anyone if you tear open your wounds,” he retorted, cutting you off. His shadows swirled faintly around him, emphasizing his words. “For once in your life, Y/N, let someone else take care of things.”

You stared at him, your annoyance warring with the undeniable truth in his words. The man was infuriating, but you knew he was right. You were exhausted, barely able to stand without the dull throb in your back reminding you of your limits.

Finally, with a huff, you threw your hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll rest. But only because I don’t want Madja chasing me down with one of her syringes.”

Azriel allowed himself a small smile, though his relief was palpable. “Good,” he said, stepping aside to let you return to the bed. “Now lie down, before I have to carry you.”

You shot him a glare but complied, easing yourself back onto the bed. The mattress seemed to welcome you, wrapping you in its warmth, and despite yourself, you let out a small sigh of relief.

Azriel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his golden eyes fixed on you with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “Sleep, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice gentler now but still laced with authority. “The rest of the world can wait.”

You stared at him, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you locked eyes with him. “I’m not going to sleep,” you said, your voice steady and defiant. “I’m not tired.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your argument. Before he could open his mouth to protest, you pressed on, your tone softening just slightly. “But if it’ll make you happy, could you at least bring me the files I need to work on? I can do it here, in bed.”

For a moment, Azriel just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he pushed off the doorframe. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned toward the door.

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows as you watched him go. “Thank you,” you called after him, a hint of triumph in your voice.

Azriel paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a look that was equal parts fondness and exasperation. “Don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook. You’re still resting.”

“Of course,” you replied sweetly, though the glint in your eye betrayed your true intentions.

Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about stubborn healers as he disappeared down the hall. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest. Despite everything, there was something undeniably comforting about having him around—whether he was scolding you or fetching your work.

Azriel entered the clinic, his sharp gaze sweeping across the space. To his relief, everything seemed calm. Healers moved with measured efficiency, and there was no sign of chaos that might worry you further. Elira, noticing him, approached with a friendly smile that quickly morphed into concern as her eyes landed on the bandages wrapped around his wings.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Azriel inclined his head. “I’m fine,” he replied evenly, his shadows shifting around him like restless companions.

Elira’s gaze flicked behind him, searching. “And Y/N?” she asked hesitantly, her voice lowering. “Where is she?”

At her question, it was as if the entire clinic paused. Every healer nearby seemed to stop what they were doing, their ears subtly tuned to the conversation. The tension was palpable, the concern for you evident in their eyes.

Azriel straightened slightly, his tone reassuring but firm. “She’s fine. Resting. But I need to pick up some files for her.”

Elira nodded, though her shoulders relaxed only marginally. “Of course. Give me a moment.” She disappeared upstairs, the creak of the wooden steps echoing in the silence as the others went back to their tasks, albeit with less focus.

When Elira returned, she was carrying a massive stack of files and documents, the weight of them making her arms strain slightly. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he took in the sheer volume.

“This is everything?” he asked, his voice laced with incredulity.

Elira set the stack on the counter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “No,” she said, almost sheepishly. “These are just the most urgent ones. The rest can wait—but there are still two or three more piles like this that she needs to go through.”

Azriel’s expression darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him. “How does she have this much work?” he asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.

Elira sighed, her voice carrying a note of sympathy. “It’s always like this. Healers from all over Prythian—and even beyond—reach out to her for advice. Taking over for Madja is no small task, and Y/N...” She trailed off, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Well, she’s not the type to ignore anyone who needs help.”

Azriel huffed softly, a mix of frustration and admiration flickering across his face. He gathered the stack of files with practiced ease, the weight barely registering in his strong arms. “Thank you,” he said curtly, and with a nod to Elira, he turned and left the clinic.

Azriel returned to his bedroom, his sharp senses immediately noting the absence of you. His heart skipped a beat, a pang of unease settling in his chest. You wouldn’t have left—not like that, not in your condition. He glanced around the room, as though you might still be there, but the space was untouched, the bed neatly made except for the slight indent where you had slept.

The sound of quiet frustration carried through the halls, pulling his attention. He followed it, his steps quick and deliberate, until he reached the door to one of the guest bedrooms. Pushing it open, he found you seated at a small desk, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you pored over a stack of damaged papers. Relief surged through him, but it was quickly followed by exasperation.

“You moved?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a note of incredulity.

You glanced up at him briefly, then back at your papers. “It’s your room,” you said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to disturb you more than I already am.”

Azriel frowned, stepping into the room. “You weren’t disturbing me,” he said, his tone firmer now. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible beneath the blanket. “I’m fine. Besides, this is more comfortable for me.”

His jaw tightened, but he let it go, knowing you well enough to recognize when you wouldn’t budge. Instead, he moved to the desk and set down the stack of files he’d retrieved from the clinic, the weight of them landing with a dull thud. The sound drew your attention, and you glanced at the pile before offering him a small, tired smile.

“Thank you,” you murmured, but your gaze flicked almost immediately back to the paper in front of you, the frustration clear on your face as you tried to decipher the smeared ink.

Azriel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched you. “Are those the ones from the meeting?” he asked.

You nodded, gesturing to the papers. “Some of them. Most of them got soaked when we fell into the sea. I’ve been trying to salvage what I can.”

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadows curling inquisitively around the papers. “Y/N,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice. “You need to take a break.”

“I can’t,” you replied, shaking your head. “There’s too much to do.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the massive stack he’d brought in. “Elira said this is only the urgent pile. There are two or three more stacks like it. You can’t possibly handle all of this right now.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

For a long moment, he studied you, his golden eyes softening as his shadows danced faintly around him. Then he stepped forward, gently prying the damaged paper from your hands. “And you will,” he said quietly, his voice calm but resolute. “But not today.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity in his gaze stopped you. There was no anger, only quiet determination—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

The weight of his words settled over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe them, even if only for a moment.

Azriel left the room after ensuring you were settled with the files you insisted on working through. His hands trembled slightly as he closed the door behind him, his breath uneven. Every time he was near you, the bond hummed louder, stronger, as though it were trying to pull him closer.

He returned to his bedroom, his steps heavy with the weight of everything he had learned—and everything he was still trying to understand. The faint scent of you lingered in the air, a mix of something soothing and uniquely yours. Without thinking, he lay down on the bed, his wings spreading slightly as he sank into the mattress.

The remnants of your presence surrounded him—your scent on the sheets, the faint warmth left behind—and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt... calm. Comforted.

Azriel closed his eyes, his hand resting over his chest as he lingered on the bond. It was there, pulsing softly, unrelenting in its presence. He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly as he let himself feel it.

You were his mate. And that knowledge, as terrifying as it was, filled him with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years.

You spent the rest of the day trying your best to work through the ever-growing list of tasks demanding your attention. Miraculously, you managed to recover most of the documents from the meeting, painstakingly piecing together their content from the water-damaged remnants. It was a small victory in the chaos, but one that left you utterly drained.

Azriel hadn’t come to check on you again, and while part of you was relieved for the reprieve, another part felt an inexplicable pang of sadness. You and Azriel had grown closer during the trip to the Dawn Court. His worry after the storm and the attack had been palpable, and that memory brought you both comfort and pain. But it was the look in his eyes, when you were both struggling in the sea, that was inked into you—a mix of fear, determination, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. You shook your head, willing those thoughts away, but they lingered, haunting the edges of your focus.

Despite the warmth of the townhouse and the relative quiet surrounding you, the weight of the bond between you and Azriel pressed harder against your chest. It had been easier to ignore before, but now, after everything, it was as though the bond had its own heartbeat, pulsing insistently whenever you thought of him. It wasn’t just Azriel—there was Elain, too, a presence that complicated everything. You knew their relationship had made waves in the Inner Circle, creating a tension that was difficult to ignore. And yet, you couldn’t deny that part of you wished, irrationally, that things were different.

A soft knock on the window drew your attention, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts. Ydle, your faithful bird, perched just outside, his golden feathers glinting in the afternoon light. You quickly moved to open the window, letting him hop onto the desk. The sight of him brought a small, genuine smile to your face.

“What news do you bring me today, Ydle?” you murmured, stroking the top of his head.

The bird tilted his head, chirping softly as he offered a small pouch tied to his leg. Inside was a neatly folded note from Elira, detailing updates from the clinic. She reassured you that everything was on track and that you shouldn’t worry. Patients were healing, the other healers were managing well, and there hadn’t been any emergencies requiring your attention. You exhaled deeply, relief washing over you.

“Good,” you whispered, tucking the note away. “At least something is going smoothly.”

But that relief was short-lived as you turned back to the first document Azriel had brought you earlier. It detailed the latest updates from the Illyrian healers. Progress was being made, but it was clear that the work was far from over. Collaboration with the largest camps in Illyria had helped spread techniques and materials to smaller, more remote camps, but resources remained scarce. The thought of returning to Windhaven twisted something deep inside you. You’d grown to hate that part of the Night Court, its memories etched into your very bones. But duty called, as it always did, and you knew you’d have to face it soon.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. When you called for them to enter, Feyre stepped inside, cradling Nyx in her arms. She offered you an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, her voice gentle, “but I had a feeling you’d be working when you should be resting.”

You managed a small laugh, setting the papers down. “You’re not wrong. But thank you for checking in.”

Feyre’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “You’ve done so much for all of us, Y/N. This house is for family, and you have your place here. Don’t ever feel like you’re imposing.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left babbling, unsure of how to respond. The warmth of her sentiment, so genuine and heartfelt, left you momentarily speechless.

“Thank you, Feyre,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means more than you know.”

She smiled and nodded toward the door. “Come downstairs with me. Take a break. Tea’s ready, and I could use some company.”

For once, you didn’t argue. Setting the documents aside, you stood and followed her out of the room. Nyx cooed softly in her arms as the two of you made your way to the cozy kitchen. The prospect of a warm cup of tea and Feyre’s steady presence was a welcome respite from the weight of everything you carried.

As you settled into the kitchen’s comforting glow, a part of you felt lighter. There was still so much to do, but for now, you allowed yourself to simply be—surrounded by warmth, acceptance, and a fleeting sense of peace.

The soft clinking of teacups filled the warm, sunlit sitting room as you and Feyre chatted, Nyx settled comfortably in her lap. The conversation drifted easily, lighthearted and refreshing. Feyre had been recounting one of her recent painting lessons, a vivid smile lighting up her face.

“So there I was,” Feyre began, her voice laced with amusement, “trying to show this group of kids how to mix colors for a sunset. And one of them, this tiny little boy, just looks at me and says, ‘But why can’t the sky be green?’ I didn’t even have an answer—he completely caught me off guard.”

You laughed, imagining the scene. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should paint it however he sees it,” Feyre said with a grin. “And you know what? He did. His whole canvas was just this swirl of greens and golds, and it was beautiful.”

“It sounds like you’re inspiring the next great painter of Prythian,” you teased, leaning back in your chair.

Feyre waved a hand dismissively but couldn’t hide her pride. “Honestly, it’s just fun to do something different. I spend so much time dealing with court matters that these lessons feel like a breath of fresh air.”

You nodded, feeling a similar sense of relief in the moment. It was nice, for once, to talk about something other than healers’ strategies or court politics. “I should come by sometime,” you mused. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two.”

“Oh, you absolutely should,” Feyre said, her eyes lighting up. “Though fair warning—I’ll probably put you to work helping with the kids.”

The thought made you smile, and for a while, the two of you continued chatting, the conversation flowing with an ease that left you feeling lighter.

Nyx, meanwhile, had grown increasingly interested in you. His wide eyes fixed on your face as he reached out with tiny hands, making soft babbling noises. Feyre chuckled, adjusting him in her lap. “I think someone’s curious about you.”

When he continued to squirm, Feyre offered him to you with a small shrug. “Do you want to hold him?”

You took him carefully, cradling him in your arms. He settled almost immediately, his little fingers tangling in your hair as he let out a delighted giggle. You laughed softly, trying to free your hair from his grip. “He’s strong,” you said, glancing at Feyre.

“He gets that from his father,” Feyre replied with a fond smile.

Nyx continued to babble, his tiny face lighting up as he played with your hair. Feyre watched the interaction with a thoughtful expression. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” she said after a moment. “How easily some bonds form. Sometimes without us even realizing.”

Her words carried a note of curiosity, and you tilted your head slightly. “If I may ask, how did you and Rhys figure it out?” you asked, your tone light, though the question lingered in the air with an unspoken weight.

Feyre smiled faintly, her gaze softening. “It wasn’t immediate,” she admitted. “For a long time, I didn’t even know. Rhys… he waited for me to see it, to understand it. And when I did, it was like everything finally made sense.” She paused, her eyes drifting to Nyx, who was now babbling softly in your arms. “It wasn’t easy, though. There were so many obstacles, so many moments when I thought it wasn’t meant to be. But in the end, it was worth every challenge.”

You nodded, absorbing her words as Nyx tugged gently on your hair again. He let out a delighted giggle, his tiny face lighting up, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“And you?” Feyre asked, her tone careful. “Have you ever thought about… bonds like that? Or someone who could be?”

The question lingered, but it didn’t feel intrusive—just an honest curiosity shared between two friends. You hesitated, choosing your words with care. “I suppose I’ve thought about it,” you admitted. “But it’s never felt like the right time or place. Even when I’ve had partners, it’s always been hard for me to truly connect. There’s always been something... missing.”

Feyre nodded in understanding, her expression open and encouraging. “Sometimes, it takes time. And sometimes, it surprises you.”

Before you could respond, the door to the sitting room opened, and both Rhysand and Azriel stepped inside. Their sharp gazes swept the room before softening as they saw the two of you. Azriel’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he looked away.

Rhys grinned, crossing his arms. “Looks like my family has taken over the sitting room.”

Feyre smiled, standing carefully with her arms outstretched. “Time to go back to your father, Nyx,” she said, reaching for him. But as soon as the baby left your arms, his face crumpled, and a loud wail filled the room. He squirmed and reached toward you, his cries growing louder.

“What in the—” Feyre began, trying to soothe him, but he continued to cry until you reluctantly took him back. The moment he was in your arms, he quieted, resting his head on your shoulder.

The room went silent for a beat, everyone exchanging curious glances.

“Well,” Rhys said, breaking the quiet with a chuckle. “Looks like we’ve found Nyx’s new favorite person.”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, though his shadows curled faintly around him. You cleared your throat, brushing off the attention. “It’s probably the soothing balm,” you explained lightly. “It’s calming—it must have lingered on me from earlier. It’s one we often use to comfort babies—though I assure you, it’s a much lighter concentration than what I needed."

Feyre raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, instead smiling softly. “Whatever it is, he clearly feels safe with you.”

Azriel, who had been standing silently nearby, took a step closer. His voice was low and careful when he asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

You lifted your eyes from Nyx to meet his, offering a small smile. “Yes,” you said softly. “I’m still a bit sore, but I feel much better. Thank you.”

Rhysand, standing beside Azriel, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear that because last night was... quite the spectacle. We need to talk about your version of the story.”

You nodded. “Of course. I also have recaps of the Dawn meeting to give you, along with various other documents about the other courts.”

Rhysand tilted his head, his mouth twitching into a grin. “Weren’t you supposed to be resting today?”

You gave him a playful wink. “If I hadn’t been resting, those would have been finished yesterday.”

Rhysand laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me never to question your work ethic again.”

With a gentle smile, you carefully handed Nyx back to Feyre. The baby protested faintly, a small whimper escaping him, but soon settled in his mother’s arms, curling against her. Feyre gave you a grateful look. “I’ll send you some of that balm,” you promised. “It works wonders.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said softly, cradling her son close. “And for more than just the balm.”

Rhysand and Azriel watched as you straightened your posture, their gazes following your every movement. The room was warm with unspoken camaraderie and a quiet understanding, a shared bond strengthened by the challenges you’d all faced together.

After leaving the warm scene downstairs, you made your way back to the room you were occupying to gather the files you needed to give to Rhysand. Azriel followed silently, his presence a constant, steady shadow at your back. As you entered the room, your focus shifted immediately to the neatly stacked papers on the desk. You began sorting through them, murmuring to yourself about the updates and notes you needed to include.

Azriel lingered near the doorway, but his shadows seemed less patient. One curled around your ankle, its cool, featherlight touch pulling your attention momentarily. Another drifted into your hair, twining softly like it was exploring. You laughed under your breath, amused but without turning around. “They really seem to like me.”

“They do,” Azriel said, his voice low, almost contemplative. There was a subtle warmth in his tone that made your heart skip.

You continued organizing the documents, explaining aloud the updates and recaps you had prepared. Azriel stepped closer, his footsteps soft against the floor, until he was standing just behind you. When his hand came to rest gently on your back, it was as though a million jolts of energy coursed through you, mingling with the pulse of the bond that flared between you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, your breath catching for a moment before you forced yourself to focus.

“Do you ever actually stop?” Azriel asked quietly, his hand still on your back, his touch grounding yet somehow electrifying. His golden eyes held yours when you glanced up, his expression equal parts amused and serious.

“Stop what?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless. “Working?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “It’s... insane.”

You hesitated for a moment, then babbled, trying to keep your voice light and steady. “Honestly, I don’t mind. I love what I do, and there’s always so much that needs to be done. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s something I care about.”

Azriel’s smile deepened, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on your face. The faintest blush crept up your cheeks, and you quickly looked back at the papers, clearing your throat. “But enough about me. We should head to Rhys’s office before he decides to drag us there himself.”

Azriel chuckled softly, stepping back to give you space. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “Let’s go.”

As you gathered the files and walked out together, his shadows trailed behind you like silent sentinels, and the bond between you pulsed faintly—an unspoken connection neither of you could yet put into words.

You entered Rhysand’s study with Azriel close behind you. Without preamble, you dropped the stack of papers onto his desk with a satisfying thud. Rhys looked up from his seat, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in the sheer size of the pile. His lips quirked into a faint smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“What is all of this?” he asked, gesturing to the stack.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head with mock innocence. “Pretty much everything we covered during the healer meeting. The decisions and actions that need validation from the High lords, updates on court matters—particularly Autumn and Spring, which are... sensitive right now.” Your gaze sharpened as you added, “Highly private, Rhys. Not a word of this leaves the inner circle.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious as he picked up the top sheet. “You have my discretion,” he promised, before his eyes drifted back to the stack. “Anything else in here I should know about?”

“There’s also a missive from Thesan,” you said, gesturing to a smaller envelope placed on top of the stack. “He asked me to ensure it reached you directly.”

Rhys chuckled softly. “Well, that’s just lovely. I’ll review these after dinner,” he said, setting the letter aside before folding his hands on the desk. “Now, about your travel back here. Azriel filled me in on some details, but I need the full story.”

You glanced at Azriel, who stood quietly near the door, his expression unreadable. Taking a steadying breath, you began recounting the events. “It started just after we left the Dawn Court’s borders. The storm came out of nowhere. One moment, the skies were clear, and the next... everything changed. Time stopped.”

Rhysand’s brows furrowed as you continued, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your tone. “I saw a black cloud, like a sentient presence. Death itself. Then, the arrows started flying—aimed directly at us. I don’t know how, but I managed to break whatever spell had frozen time, and we avoided most of the shots, but...” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely to Azriel’s wing and your own shoulder, which still ached faintly.

“And you fell into the sea,” Rhys concluded, his tone quiet but sharp.

“Yes,” you confirmed, folding your hands tightly. “It was chaos. But I swear, the moment the storm appeared, I felt it—it wasn’t natural. It was deliberate.”

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Azriel before his gaze softened on you. “Madja mentioned your influence and powers. She believes it could be the reason Koshiev is targeting you.”

You nodded, already anticipating his next question. “It’s not just Prythian. In the continent, the powers of Koshiev are... insidious. For the past century, I’ve seen diseases and epidemics that defy explanation—illnesses that seem to come straight from hell. They spread like wildfire, targeting not just people but entire ecosystems. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.”

“And you’ve cured them,” Rhysand said, his tone more a statement than a question.

“Most of them,” you replied. “But it hasn’t been easy. Some of the cures required years of work, collaborations with healers across courts and continents, and even then, there were losses. If Koshiev is behind those diseases, then it makes sense he’d see me as a threat.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he processed your words. “That would explain a lot,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “If Koshiev is trying to weaken the world through sickness and fear before strating a war, and you’re undoing his work... yes, you’d be a target.”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, stepped forward slightly. “We need to assess his reach. If his power extends beyond Prythian, it’s not just the courts here that are at risk.”

Rhys nodded, his focus shifting between you and Azriel. “Agreed. But for now, you both need to recover. Let us handle the next steps.”

You met Rhys’s gaze, appreciating the concern but unable to suppress a small smirk. “I’ll rest when the work is done.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a wry smile. “You’re impossible, Y/N. But I’ll hold you to that.”

As you gathered your remaining papers and stood to leave, Azriel’s shadows flickered around his shoulders, and you caught the faintest look of resolve in his golden eyes. Whatever the next steps were, you knew neither of you would be standing idly by.

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[sooniebby]

Pleek danny i am begging for dilf nanamin who cant so much as make small talk with Ijichi's son reader without wanting to grab the reader and bend him over the nearest object,,,, huuhdhjdjsh for kinks,,,,,, sir kink, impact play, brat taming,,,, also ftm reader bcs yk <3

ఌ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

꧁ 𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙭 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 7.1k

Warnings › reader is kinda ditzy. But also unintentionally bratty and kinda crazy. Age difference, obvs. Plot… again—Femboy-ish reader in the fact some of his clothes are more feminine. Slight transphobia but nothing terrible, just two people who suck ass. Slow-ish slow burn like the Toji fic… also just start fucking randomly

Kinks › use of pussy/cunt/feminine terms, sir kink, impact play, brat taming. Reader is called good boy.

ೄ���࿐ ˊˎ-

“Excuse my son, I need to drive him to his performance.”

“Hiii~!”

You wave at the man who gets into your dad’s car. You didn’t know what type of job he did actually. He told you, ‘driver’ and that was it. So you never thought to actually question it. Though, seeing the people he usually drives… you’re starting to think he’s a mafia’s getaway driver.

This guy looked to be a bit younger than your dad, though certainly older than you. Blonde hair that was previously slicked back and now a bit messy. He sat in the passenger seat and was looking at his phone, texting someone.

When he was walking up to the car earlier, you were pretty sure he was holding a butcher knife.. but it was dark so you decided to think you were over thinking it.

You sat in the back seat, watching the street lights fade past as your dad practically speeds down to the place you were performing today.

You played the piano. Not as a job, just as something for extra cash as a college student. It helped a lot—but it was hard to find jobs in the area, most were so far that you had to have Ijichi drive you.

The car came to a halt once Ijichi reached the house you were playing at. Some rich function happening. It didn’t matter, as long as it payed well.

“Thanks, Dad. Bye, Blondie.” You said, not waiting for any type of response as you stepped out. But much to your confusion, your dad and blondie got out of the car. Though they didn’t seem to be going towards the house you were. Just looking at the abandoned building a few blocks down.

Huh… maybe your dad really is in the yakuza business.

Shit, why didn’t that pay well?

You pushed back any curiosity to see what they were up to and walk inside the house. The performance, like always, was easy. You chose the fanciest but easiest pieces to play on the piano. It was hard doing it for hours straight with only ten minutes breaks between.

It was around two hours at the party, that your phone started ringing. You tried to ignore it, wanting to finish the piece you were playing. It was going well until the sound of something collapsing outside caught the guests attention. You heard screaming and yelling as everyone was moving around in a frenzy.

But you stayed put, knowing that if you stood up, you’d get trampled. Everyone was acting too frantic for your liking. Once there was a few people left, you grabbed your bag and walked out of the home, staring right at what looked to be a building collapsed onto itself.

It was the building Blondie and your dad was looking at. It confused you as there was a crowd of people running to their fancy cars and speeding away for safety. No one called the police —all too focused on their own lives. You stepped forward, towards the street to the now collapsed building. It was old.. but how did it just break down like that? That’s not normal. Did something push into it?

“Ijichi.”

A hand grabbed your shoulder. You shrieked and began to flail your arms around.

“Unhand me, troglodyte!!! I took taekwondo four years ago! I.. remember something!!”

“Calm down. Your father is just looking for you.”

You flinched when the hand moved to grab one of your arms, effortlessly stopping your failed attempt of taekwondo. You glanced up to see Blondie, his eyebrows furrowed while there was a small little cut on his cheek. Huh, was that always there? His clothes looked dusty, as if he was rolling around in dirt.

Was he in the building before it collapsed?

“Oh, Blondie—!”

“—Nanami.”

“That’s what I said. What happened to that building? It just fell.”

Blondie—Nanami hummed. “Old buildings can fall apart after a few years of being unkept.”

“Uh… okay.” You muttered, weirded out by his answer but decided that would be enough. “Where’s Dad?”

“The car.” Nanami nodded towards your father’s car that was parked farther away from everything. You saw your father leaning against the car, his arm looking a bit.. mangled to say the least. Feeling a sense of panic, you sprinted over there and came to stop once you got a clear picture of what happened to him.

His arm looked as if it was purposely twisted into an uncomfortable position. Ijichi gave you a tight smile, obviously taken from the pain. He used his free hand to lightly pat your head.

“What… happened?” You whispered, glancing over at Nanami as he walked over. You felt an odd sensation of protection as you quickly stood between him and your father, glaring at Nanami with a tint of suspicion.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, obviously confused on why he was being suspected as a the culprit. It was odd because he was obviously hurt as well—though to a lesser extent. The cut on his cheek wasn’t the only one as there was on his forearm that was actually still bleeding through the light bandage that was used from his sleeve.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Ijichi muttered. “Did you get paid?”

“Oh.. no. I forgot to ask for money—don’t know if she’ll pay me now though.”

“Well—as you can see, (Name), I’m badly hurt. I’ll need to go get this checked out.”

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled. “I’ll drive you. I’ve been getting better.”

“No—I need you to do me a favor.” Ijichi glanced over at Nanami before leaning in close to you. “I’m sure you know I’m not just a driver at this point—but for your safety I can’t say too much.”

You gasped, dramatically putting a hand over your lips. “No…. You’re a Yakuza member?!”

Ijichi stared at you as if you were crazy. “What—? Anyway, I’ll need you to stay at Nanami’s for a few weeks. Just so I can get better at the hospital.”

“Blondie?”

“Nanami.” Nanami cut in.

“That’s what I said,” you rolled your eyes. “Why? I can stay at the house alone.”

“It’s not safe. Someone…” Ijichi paused, as if he was wondering how much he should actually tell you. “It’s just not safe. We don’t know if he’d go after you. It’s safer to stay with a sorcerer—uh.”

You blinked. “Sorcerer? Right…” You grinned, thinking your dad was just trying to be subtle about his connection to the Yakuza. “Of course. Dangerous… gang leaders and all the like.”

Ijichi simply sighed. “Yes, sure. It will only be three to four weeks maximum. I’ll be healed by then. Nanami will drive me to the hospital and then he’ll take you home so you can pack a bag, okay?”

“Fine. Doesn’t seem like I have a choice,” you whined, pouting.

“Yes, you didn’t.” Ijichi said. He used his free hand and opened the door to passenger side of the car. You sat in the back once more while Nanami went to the driver side. As he drove, you couldn’t help but glance back at the collapsed building. While Yakuza were dangerous—you haven’t seen them collapse a building before. That’d just draw too much attention to them.

At the very least, you hoped Nanami lived close to your university. It was tiring having to rely on your dad’s car to get places since you lived on the outskirts of the city. But there was an aching feeling in your stomach. How.. did your dad’s arm twist like that? Will it actually be able to be fixed?

Right before you tore your eyes away from the building, you saw the flicker of red eyes.

𖥸

Blondie’s place was actually pretty nice. It was a nice little apartment—decorated decently. Though it was obviously done by an older man. You felt odd being in a stranger’s place but you trusted your father’s judgement so you didn’t complain a lot. At least verbally.

The apartment was on the sixth floor, with nice glass windows in the living room giving you a nice gaze into the city. The building lights kept the room bright even before Blondie turned on the lights. You checked the bag you were carrying, making sure you had your shots. Blondie was carrying the heavier bags—you had practically forced him to.

Just a couple of pouts and blinks with your long eyelashes got him carrying them.

“I have a spare bedroom that you’ll stay in. There’s no attached bathroom.” He said. He walked over to a hallway that had three doors. The left was the bathroom. The right was your new bedroom and the center is obviously Nanami’s room.

As he opened the door, the room was less decorated than the rest. But that made sense—no one would be in this room often. The room didn’t look too small—a queen size bed in the middle and a singular night stand to accompany it.

A small dresser in front of the wall facing the bed—and…

A tv that had a crack on the right side of it. Blondie noticed your shocked face as he placed your bags on the bed. “The movers dropped it.” He simply said.

“Eh. Does it still work?” You muttered, grabbing the remote that rested on the nightstand. You turned it on and what played was cartoons—but in English.

“Somehow it’s stuck on Australian cartoons. I can’t change it, it was bought second hand.” He said. He grabbed the remote and seemed to try again and see what was wrong with the settings. You wondered how he could understand the English but didn’t ask. He must’ve studied English or something.

Nanami hummed as he gave you back the remote. “You can still at least flip through the channels. A few have Japanese subtitles.” Was all he said as he left the room. You glanced over at him as he closed the door behind himself.

Huh. That was abrupt.

You placed your bag on the floor and decided to just unpack everything into the small closet. It was weird to be staying at a man’s place you literally met today but if your dad trusted him, you’d “trust” him too. But at the thought of your dad, you kept thinking of his arm. The mangled arm that couldn’t possibly be fixed. But he seemed so sure.

You knew your dad treated you a bit childish compared to adults your age with their parents. It was okay when you were a kid but ever since you started transitioning it has gotten worse. But you knew why. He just wanted to protect you… It was evident in him not trusting to allow you stay home alone.

The light clink of syringes caught your attention when you accidentally jostled your bag. You took out one syringe and one of the small bottle. It took forever for you to even get the option to take testosterone. As you prepped yourself for your shot, you thought back to the red eyes. Did you imagine that?

Did you actually see that…? Or was your eyes playing tricks on you?

As you packaged the dirty syringe into a plastic bag, ready to be disposed of, there was a knock on the door. The door opened and Blondie was holding a bowl of noodles. He placed them on the nightstand.

“I would’ve made you a proper meal.” He said, vaguely pointing to his properly bandaged arm. “But I need to be careful. When you’re finished, put the bowl in the sink. Good night.”

Then he left. Again.

Gosh, why was he so abrupt when it came to his goodbyes?

The ramen was okay. It’s as good as gas station ramen is gonna be. As you placed the bowl in the sink, you walked past the living room to reach your room when you passed by a photo. The photo was inside a glass cabinet—connected to the small piece framing around the tv. You leaned in close, wanting to see who it was.

It looked to be a much younger Nanami.

Oh wow—was he emo? You laughed to yourself at his haircut. Next to him was a girl, a guy with white hair—strange, and a guy with black hair.

Wow, another emo.

You noticed someone next to Nanami, on his left.

A guy with brown hair. He looked cute—he had a wide smile. Cute.

You hummed. Their uniform looked kinda weird. Nothing close to what you wore in high school. Hm, were they also about in the Yakuza?

Do the Yakuza hire young people?

As you thought deeply on your “profound” question, you pulled away from the cabinet. Well, it wasn’t much of your concern. If you were lucky, Blondie didn’t work for the Yakuza anymore. With a huff, you walked back to your room and went to sleep for the night.

𖥸

“Blondie?”

He wasn’t there. You checked around the apartment the next morning, wanting to simply talk—mainly ask him to make you some breakfast—but he wasn’t there. Or anywhere for that matter. You plopped down into the couch and checked your phone, pouting to yourself as your thumb hovered over your father’s contact.

“She’s always in your shadow! Why did you raise her like that?!”

“Don’t speak about my son like that! You were the one who decided to not raise him, it’s not (Name)’s fault he doesn’t want to go to you.”

“Him, him, him! It’s time you stop allowing this nonsense to continue, Ijichi.”

“Whose last name does he have? Ijichi (Name)! I’ll be the one to raise my son how I see fit.”

“Fine! Continue letting ‘him’ play dress up! When that child of yours is still living in your home while giving you no grandchildren, don’t cry about how you wished you had a normal daughter!”

“Ijichi.”

You gasped, looking up as you saw Blondie staring down at you. Your eyes felt blurry—you couldn’t really see him. Blondie kneeled down, removing your glasses as he handed you a handkerchief. It was soft in your hand, as you lightly dabbed it under your eyes before full on using it to stop your tears. You didn’t even know what happened.

You didn’t want to think about her.

That woman who carried you for nine months.

Gosh, you hated her.

But she still brought you to tears so easily.

“Th…anks… Blondie.” You whispered.

“Nanami.”

“That’s what I said.”

Blondie didn’t seem to care about why you were crying. Or at the very least, was being respectful in not asking. He was still a stranger. You continued to wipe away your tears, silently grateful he was back from wherever he left off to.

“Where’d… You go?”

“Store. I was missing a few things to make breakfast.”

You glanced over to the kitchen and indeed saw him preparing something. When did he even get back? Were you that deep into your trauma flashback that you didn’t hear him? You felt your cheeks flush hot. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. As you began rubbing a bit harder to try and lessen your puffy red eyes—your phone began to ring.

With speed you’d question back at, you checked to see who was calling.

It wasn’t your father.

Shit, it was just some guy you had in your class. The damn leech when it came to your recent project you were doing for history.

He didn’t want to do anything and embarrassingly enough, you were doing everything at this point.

You tossed your phone onto the coffee table and sighed, draping the handkerchief over your eyes as you leaned back onto the couch. You’d speak to him tomorrow. The sound of chopping and sizzling filled the room as you slowly drifted off to a comfortable nap.

It always felt good to sleep after a cry.

When you woke up, it was dark out. Shit. You glanced around the living room—noticing you had a blanket on you. As you folded the blanket back and rested it on the couch, you walked to the kitchen. You opened the fridge and saw the food Blonde was probably making. It looked to just be an omelette.

Good enough.

After microwaving and sitting down back at the couch to eat you briefly wondered where Nanami could’ve went.

Ah.

Yakuza, probably.

𖥸

“Ijichi, why didn’t you answer my phone call?”

You sighed as you were roughly grabbed by your infamous slacker. You stared at him with no intention to really speak to him—just let him rant about how “you’re not listening to him” or “why do you hate him?” Whatever bullshit he comes up with.

“I’m trying to help with this project, really,” he begins and then just blabbers on.

You don’t pay attention. It goes on for maybe a few minutes until you see a crowd of people leaving their classroom. Perfect. You pushed slacker’s hands off of you and seamlessly phased into the group of people walking away.

It’s only been about two days but it felt like years since you’ve seen your dad.

Huh.

Maybe she was right about—

You shake your head. Fuck that lady! She’s burnt flesh now anyway.

As you walk away from your university, you came face to face with a dilemma. You don’t know where Nanami’s apartment is—you kinda just left on auto pilot to not miss class. And shocker, you never got his number to call him.

Well shit.

You aimlessly walked around the city for a bit, just enjoying the nice day. The sunlight shined down onto you as you giggled a bit. Hm, the sun is nice. You decided to just text your dad for Nanami’s phone number. So while you waited for him to answer your text—you stopped by a nearby cafe for some coffee.

Right when you left the cafe, you noticed something weird.

Red eyes just staring at you—right from across the street. Inside a building that looked to be abandoned. Wow, when did Japan have so many abandoned buildings. You instinctively stepped forward, trying to see if this was just something you were seeing by chance.

You used the cross walk to go across the street, getting face to face with the building. But the eyes were gone. You hummed, starting to believe maybe you were going through it. This is perhaps the longest you’ve gone no contact with your dad—you��re probably just worried. Especially with the injury you saw him with.

A mangled arm.

Anyone would be reeked with worry.

As you pulled out your phone to check if your dad answered you yet, you felt yourself freeze. There was someone watching you. No… something.

You glanced up, looking into one of the building’s window and gasped in shock at the sight of what you were seeing. It wasn’t human. And it looked like a huge centipede, staring at you as if you were a piece of meat. You booked it, immediately.

Your legs burn from running but you didn’t stop. You kept going and going until you felt a bit safe in a public area. Just… what the hell was that? When did centipedes get so big? And it was looking at you so hungrily?! What the hell?! With your thoughts focused solely on your new discovery of big centipedes, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You shrieked, ready to fight but sighed seeing it was just the slacker.

“Ijichi, man, the fuck are you avoiding me for? I’m seriously trying to get a good grade here! If I fail…”

You tune him out again. Wondering how the fuck he was able to find you. His grip was tight around your arm before it slowly slid to your back. You slightly paid attention to what the hell he think he was doing touching you so much until you felt his hand slightly slide down your waist.

“What in—”

“—look, if the reason you’re just ignoring me because you’re scared about what you really are, most people practically know and don’t care. I don’t care about that queer stuff!”

You blinked at him, wondering how he went from zero to a hundred. You didn’t care that people could probably tell you were trans so long as they didn’t bother you. But now you were about pissed off this guy was making you do more work for this damn project and now making it seem like it was your fault—not his inability to work.

“Listen here, Slacker—”

But you didn’t have to say much when he was pulled off of you. You grinned. “Oh! Great.” Slacker fell to the ground and looked up—you did the same, looking to see who was your savior of the day.

Oh.

Just Blondie.

“Oh, Blondie. I was looking for your apartment, I also need your phone number.” You said, smiling softly, forgetting all about the slacker on the floor. Blondie simply hummed as he grabbed your arm and began guiding you to his place, leaving slacker on the floor yelling after you.

Which was… two blocks from where you were standing.

Oh wow. Definitely made sense in why you got to your university so quick. Blondie’s apartment was just ten minutes away. Ahah… embarrassing.

Once inside the apartment, Blondie seemed set on ignoring you again. Which seemed to be all he was doing these few days you stayed here. But you didn’t know why. You huffed to yourself, pouting as you dropped your bag on the floor and plopped down onto the couch, ready to watch some tv.

“Blondie~!” You sang, grinning lightly. “You’re in the kitchen still, right? Can you get me something to eat? Please~?”

You didn’t get a reply back. You briefly wondered if he wasn’t going to do it so you moved to sit up but was proven wrong when Blondie gave you a turkey sandwich. You quickly took the plate and began eating, humming after having not eaten lunch. But Blondie was still staring down at you, his eyebrow slightly raised as if he was waiting for you to say something.

Your lips pursed as you thought what he needed to hear until you gasped. “Oh, thanks, Blondie.” You muttered with your mouth still full as you began eating again.

You only got a huff in response as he walked away to do whatever he usually does. As you ate, you thought back to that centipede. Was that really real? There’s no such thing as monsters, anyway. You wondered if you should tell Blondie—but what could he do realistically?

Well, he’s in the Yakuza, maybe he could find a way.

𖥸

It’s been about two weeks now. Your dad still hasn’t returned much of your texts but you had gotten closer to Blondie. As much as you could anyway. He was very cut and dry with his answers to you.

You ask him how his day went, he’d answer with a curt: “okay.”

Ask him about what he does for work: “office job.”

He seemed to have trouble really looking at you when you spoke to him. He’d glance at you and then suddenly look at whatever he was doing with such intensity as you tried asking him questions. Or even just talking to him. Boring!

You were starting to believe he had a problem with the clothes you wore. When you dressed in baggy clothing, he would look at you more. But whenever you wore a tighter top or even shorts that showed a sliver of your ass, it was like looking at you would’ve burned his retinas!

Geez, did he not like guys in tighter clothing?

Damn… you must’ve been pretty ugly to him.

As you mentally cried to yourself about being seen as ugly on the couch, you glanced at your phone. You haven’t seen that slacker after you sent in the project. Of course you told the professor you did most and if not all of the work. So, you got an A—obviously.

You haven’t seen any human sized centipedes in a while so you were set to just believe you were imagining it. As you tugged down at your shorts that were acting like underwear at this point, you heard the front door open. Oh, Blondie’s back!

You grinned and went over to him, smiling. “Blondie! You’re early, they let you off?”

Blondie hummed. “I had a half day.” He simply said, walking over to the living room as he sat down with a grunt. He looked a bit tired so you decided to just not say anything else to him. There was always a few days when he just came home with a look of dread and was totally silent.

You were really starting to believe he was a Yakuza member.

As you turned to walk to your room, you bent down for a second to pick up a pillow that had fallen when you previously jumped off the couch. When you stood back you, you turned around to see Blondie staring at you with wide eyes. You simply smiled at him and placed the pillow back on the couch. Weird, why was he staring at you like that.

“I’m going to my room. Call me if you need me.” You said, waving goodbye as you sprinted off to your room, not knowing that Blondie’s gaze didn’t leave you at all.

𖥸

Nanami rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried not to think about you essentially just flashing him earlier. When you had bent down to grab the pillow, he saw that your shorts, that were too short in his opinion, the crotch area had kinda sort of—clung to one side. So he saw it, at least just one lip—of your cunt.

And he felt angry with himself that his cock actually twitched at the sight. Was he some damn animal? He’d certainly been feeling like that the last two weeks. He couldn’t exactly… speak well with you. You just staring up at him with your cute smile but painfully naughty clothing.

Who just wears a shirt that is practically clinging to your body that it hides nothing to the imagination! And your shorts… who wears such short shorts with no underwear?

He wasn’t sure if he could take another few weeks with you here. Not if he didn’t want to just slam you against the wall and take you there.

But no, he couldn’t do that. You were Ijichi’s son. And he was pretty sure when Ijichi said: “take care of my son.” He didn’t mean fuck his son. Though he kinda wished he did.

It’ll be fine. Just a minimum of two more weeks… then you’d be gone back at home with Ijichi.

𖥸

Nanami wished he had just gone straight to bed. He was sitting on the couch watching tv when you suddenly appeared, dressed in a stupid crop top and short shorts. You plopped down beside him before resting your head right on his lap. When he tried to push you away, you only whined, pouting up at him to let you stay.

Damn brat.

He tried focusing back on the show he was watching as you seemed to only have wanted contact with him. You hummed softly before giggling.

“Nana—Blondie,” you said, looking over at him. “Today’s my mom’s death anniversary.”

He glanced down at you, a bit confused on why you didn’t seem bothered on your mother being dead.

“She died in a car crash. Drunk driving. The hospital said she burned to death in her car… witnesses said they heard her screaming as they tried to open the car door and out the fire.” You sighed, a soft smile on your lips as you recount your mother’s death. “I was 18. It was a good early birthday gift. But Dad said I shouldn’t be so cruel to her even if she was a bitch.”

“It’s not strange,” you said, turning your face to rest on Nanami’s leg as you glanced up at him. Your eyelashes batting as your lips were pulled into a pout. “To not care about a bitch dying, right? I’m sure there’s someone everyone has that they just can’t wait to die.”

Nanami wasn’t sure what brought this out. He was actually a bit worried honestly that you were so nonchalant about death. Though he could tell that despite this act you were pulling, her death did affect you… but perhaps it truly did bring a sense of peace. Especially if her death was truly that horrible.

“I can’t speak on that.” Was all he said, deciding it was best to let the conversation die out. He’d tell Ijichi to schedule you a therapist once he’s better.

“Hm, yeah, I did bring it out of nowhere. Anyway, my birthday is in four days! Getting me anything?” You giggled.

“No. I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

“What? Blondie~! Whaddya mean? I’m practically your roommate by now, and roommates give each other gifts.”

“Are you truly my roommate when I do everything?”

Which was true. You were more like a freeloader. Nanami did the chores, cleaned up mostly after you, and paid for literally everything. You were silently forbidden on doing your piano jobs so you were kinda shit out of luck, relying on Nanami at this point.

You simply huffed. “Meanie.” As you moved your head to face Nanami’s stomach. Nanami couldn’t help but flinch as he felt your nose accidentally brush against his crotch area. His grip on the remote tightened as he so desperately wished he was rude enough to push you off of him.

It was quiet for bit, just the tv going on with the show Nanami was watching. And subconsciously, Nanami began to calm down a bit and just allowed you to stay there. Maybe you really did just want some comfort.

There was something pressing against his crotch. He glanced down to see you, purposefully, rubbing your nose against his crotch before pulling away. You yawned, acting as if you were just essentially teasing him and grinned.

“I’m going to bed, Blondie. Think about what you’re getting me for my birthday!” You winked, standing up as you walked back to your room. He was so sure you were intentionally swaying your hips. What the hell was that?

And why the hell was he horny from a freaking nose rub?!

𖥸

Blondie, Blondie, Blondie

That’s all you called him. Occasionally, you’d say, “Nana—” but then quickly switch back to Blondie. It was as if you were intentionally trying to get him upset. Nanami didn’t know how a calm man like Ijichi could have a son like you.

The only similarity you two had was the glasses you both wore. It actually was the same brand and shape—weird.

You seemed to have two pairs of glasses though. You were the ones similar to Ijichi’s often and this pair of red ones whenever you were feeling “annoying.” Nanami had come to expect the red cat eye glasses whenever you wanted to be a little brat.

And look at that, you were wearing them right now.

Nanami was sitting on the couch, checking something in his phone when you suddenly appeared behind him. He didn’t look up, waiting for you say something until he felt your arms wrap around his neck. His body stiffened as you leaned close, pressing your lips against the tip of his ear.

“Guess what’s tomorrow?” You whispered. “B-i-r-t-h-d-a-y.” You intentionally made each letter sound breathy, pausing just a split second to let them sit heavy in the air.

You pulled away and giggled. “Got my present? You gotta make up for Dad,” you went to sit on the couch and glanced over at Nanami who looked as if he would keel over if a gust of wind blew past him. His grip was tight on his phone, you were a bit worried it’d crack.

“What was that?” Nanami suddenly said, still looking straight.

“Was what? It was for dramatic effect!” You said honestly, not knowing how sexual you had just sounded in his ear. Nanami turned over to face you with a look of pure disbelief while you simply grinned.

“Aw~ poor Blondie, don’t take it so seriously!” You playfully pat his leg before grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. You were engulfed into the random Japanese drama playing while Nanami could only just stare at you in awe.

Wow. You really were a damn brat.

It was fine though. He had the perfect birthday present now.

𖥸

It was your birthday!!

Which meant no school. Why would you willingly go to school on your day? Only losers do that! You sighed comfortably on the couch as you turned on the tv to play random Korean dramas for most of the day. And that’s how you spent most of the day.

It was around noon when your phone buzzed. You expected it to be one of your very few friends that you have but much to your shock with was your dad! You squealed happily and quickly opened the text he sent.

‘Happy Birthday, 🐹, I’ve been feeling better, don’t worry about me. I’ll be able to call you soon. I hope you aren’t giving Nanami too much trouble.’

You pouted but quickly texted him back, stating that you and Blondie were practically pals at this point. It brought a smile to your lips to see the hamster emoji though. You had quite chubby cheeks even has an adult that your dad loving pinching. It always looked bigger when you ate.

It was commented more when you were a kid but there was still some people who would—lovingly—call you a hamster in disguise.

Finally having confirmation that your dad was at least alright, you felt a heavy weight lift off your shoulders. You yawned and stretched out, turning your attention back to the tv as you spent the rest of the day lounging around.

It was dark out when Nanami finally came back home. You waved from the couch, not bothering to get up. You were always lazy on your birthday. Definitely from being a bit too spoiled on these days. But hey, at least you didn’t act like this everyday.

You could see Nanami did have a small box in his hand as he moved to the kitchen. You silently hoped it was a cake as you finally sat up a bit and moved to join Nanami in the kitchen.

“So now you’re greeting me,” Nanami said, placing the box in the fridge. You pursed your lips, wondering why he seemed a bit upset. It wasn’t like you greeted him all the time when he walked through the door.

“You like that stuff? Aw~,” you walk over to him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “You like those couple stuff? So cute, Blondie!”

You hummed when you felt his hand grab yours, slowly pulling it away from his shoulder. You glanced up, wondering if you perhaps went a bit too far but Nanami didn’t seem angry. On the contrary, he seemed like his usual self. He used his free hand to fix his glasses as his grip on yours tighten.

“I’ve allowed you to continually act like a brat throughout your stay here—I know what you truly need as a birthday present.”

With sudden strength, you found yourself pinned against the wall, his body pressed up against yours. You were wearing a long shirt but your usual short shorts.

“Blon—”

“—Sir. Since Nanami is a problem for you to say, that should be easy for you.”

You blushed slightly, having never really called someone that before. But somehow, you didn’t find it in you to disobey. Nanami hitched up your shirt, grabbing the front end and pressing it against your lips. It took you a second but you bit down on it.

“Good boy.”

Oh no.

Y’know, you did find Nanami attractive, but you were always the type of person to want to stick to your age range. But this…

“You kept whining about wanting a birthday present,” his hands gripped your shorts, “do you want this?” He whispered against your ear, practically giving you an out.

You gripped the wall in front of you but felt yourself nodding, blushing in embarrassment.

“I need words, (Name).” He said. You felt your legs tremble. You wanted him to say your name again.

“Yes… keep going.” You whispered.

Nanami hummed in approval as he pulled down your shorts, making you left up your legs so they can be fully taken off. Now you were standing in the kitchen, pressed against the wall with just a shirt. Nanami’s hand traced your upper thigh, his hand ghosting your cunt but he never brought it close enough.

You whined slightly, looking back at him with pleading eyes. He gave you small smirk.

“Despite it being your birthday, you acted bad today, Baby.”

“H..huh? How..?” You muffled out through your t-shirt, a look of surprise in your eyes.

“You don’t really remember?” Nanami gripped your hips tightly as he forced you to pull away from the wall. Your hands pressed tightly against the wall as your back arched. His hands slid down your hips to your butt as he harshly gripped them, spreading them apart teasingly as you whimpered.

“You can’t have short term memory loss, (Name). Think.”

You thought for a second before humming. “Greet… didn’t greet you..” you muffled.

“Good boy. So you know you’ll have to be punished for not properly greeting me? It’s what’s brats get for misbehaving.”

“m… not a brat.”

Smack!

“I don’t like liars.” Was all he said before you felt another slap against your ass. You whimpered, your body shaking at each spanking. He wasn’t gentle in the slightest, not leaving room for a break. It was continuous spankings against each cheek, earning deep screams from you.

The spankings filled the silent apartment, swirling in symphony with your high pitched screams. You didn’t think this was really a good birthday present but you couldn’t deny that it was actually feeling a bit good in a weird way.

After a few more slaps, Nanami began rubbing your sore butt cheeks, pressing a wet kiss into your shoulder.

“Good boy. You handled that perfectly.” He said, leaning close as he grabbed your left leg and lifted it up. Your back was now pressed against his chest as you tried to keep a steady balance with now just one foot.

“Th…ank…you.. Sir.” You muttered out, tears staining your cheeks as you looked up at him. Nanami cooed, wiping away a few of your tears with his free hand.

“Now, do you think you deserve your present?”

You nodded, “yes.. yes! Please..”

Nanami seemed to take a bit of pity on you as he simply nodded. He wanted to tease you a bit more but he decided that since it was your first time and birthday, he’d be nicer. Though next time he’d be much more cruel.

You whimpered as you felt his hand graze your cunt, teasing one finger against your wet folds. It had been a minute since you even touched yourself down there. You were always too anxious that Nanami would be able to hear you or he might come home earlier than expected.

Just feeling his finger teasing you could bring you to an orgasm, but Nanami had different plans. He slipped in two fingers, earning a soft mewl from you. His fingers were large, easily stretching you out as he got you ready for his cock.

It wasn’t until you felt yourself close to an orgasm was when Nanami finally pulled out. Damn tease.

The feeling of a cock rubbing between your folds caused you to flinch as you gripped at the wall as some type of support. This position wasn’t the most comfortable but you were way too horny to walk to the bedroom or couch. You wanted him now.

Nanami was slow as he thrusted his cock inside your tight cunt. He grunted as you gasped, trying to get used to the large stretch. His fingers didn’t compare to it! Even though you were prepared, it took some effort for him to fully be inside of you.

You shivered, suddenly thinking that you were essentially fucking your dad’s ‘coworker.’ Fuck, well, maybe a few pouts and batting of the eyelashes will get you off with minimal punishment.

“Fuck… I’m sorry,” Nanami suddenly whispered.

“Mhm?”

With great force, your whole body was suddenly shoved against the wall once more as Nanami’s hands were on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. You felt him almost pull out fully until he slammed right back inside of you, causing you to cry out in shock.

You helplessly gripped at the wall for some sort of purchase as Nanami fucked into you like an animal. His hands gripped your hips tightly, moving you as if you were a fleshlight on his cock. The only sounds coming from his was animalistic grunts.

Your cunt clamped tightly around Nanami’s cock, as you tried to babble something but only moans left your lips. Nanami seemed so heavily into chasing his own orgasm at this point.

“Si…Sir… ‘m com..!” You tried to say but could only cry out as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall. Your fingers dug ineffectually into the wall as a way of purchasing yourself against Nanami’s harsh thrusts.

He continued going even after you came, his hips slapping against your sore ass. As his grip on your hips tightened to were it felt as if his fingers was digging into the skin, he slammed his hips one last time. His cock was deep inside when he finally cummed, coating your insides.

You shrieked, shocked that he came inside. The warm cum slowly seeped down your thighs as you felt your knees collapse but Nanami was quick to hold you up.

Nanami leaned against your back, breathing heavily. “Sorry… I didn’t mean for that happen..” he muttered. “Just lost control.”

You hummed, gently wiggling your butt. “Maybe I’m just that pretty.” You teased, looking back at Nanami. You giggled slightly, enjoying his unimpressed face.

A moan left your lips as you felt his cock slowly slide out before pushing back it. You stared at Nanami in shock, surprised an older man seemed to have a quick reload. He simply grinned.

You were screwed.

𖥸

You hummed softly as Nanami rubbed your sore butt cheeks, rubbing some cream on it to stop the pain. It had been just a few days after your birthday and now this “spanking” thing was constant.

And fucking. Very often.

Nanami was always cool and collected during your punishments but whenever he got his dick inside your pussy, he could never control himself properly. It was honestly funny. And a bit scary that he could do more than one round so quickly.

The most you two have done so far was three.

And that was just a few minutes ago.

“Hm, Blondie,” you still called him that outside of sex, “did I tell you about this huge centipede I saw in this abandoned building? It had red eyes and everything, it was like… human sized!”

Nanami’s calming massage suddenly stopped. You looked back and raised an eyebrow, wondering what was wrong. He was looking at you with wide eyes—which was shocking, Nanami never looked at you like that before.

Maybe being a Yakuza member didn’t mean he could handle it.

Well, shoot.

But you couldn’t help but think Nanami wasn’t shocked about the centipede.

More about that you saw it.

Huh. Yakuza members are weird.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

I think I made reader a bit weird lolol. Way longer than I thought it was going to be. I hope I did nanami justice, I have trouble writing him for some reason

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @remdayz @flurrina @iwishtobeacrow @smellwell @kiiyoooo @chill-guy-but-cooler @tomoeroi @mello-life69 @rhetorical-conscience @tehyunnie @ofclyde

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VIII

Chapters: 7 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Enjoy! Happy holidays! x | Cover PSD by queend3lrey on deviantart.

ACT VII.

I sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath me, a warm cup of chamomile tea cradled in my hands. The steam swirled lazily upward, its warmth brushing against my face, but it did little to deafen the icy unease settled deep in my chest. The living room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the dim light of the lamp cast long shadows on the walls.

I tried to focus on the comfort of the moment—the familiar scent of tea, the way the soft blanket draped over my shoulders—but my thoughts were too loud. They dragged me back to earlier in the day, to the moment everything shifted.

I had come home tired, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. Everything that had happened in the last two days has mentally drained me. First it was Tina's death, then Jungkook's captiveness by the police. My mind was a mess and I could barely function, let alone focus on my work daily tasks. All I wanted was to sink into my comfy bed with Hades by my side, maybe order takeout, and forget the world existed for a while.

But the moment I opened the door, my breath caught in my throat.

My apartment was wrecked.

Drawers had been yanked out and emptied onto the floor. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, cushions slashed open, their stuffing spilling out like entrails. Even my little plant by the window lay tipped over, its soil scattered across the hardwood floor.

My heart raced as I stepped inside, each careful footfall crunching against the debris of my once-safe haven. The smell of something sharp and chemical lingered in the air, making me feel nauseous.

And then it hit me. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t a burglary.

I had barely processed the thought when a new fear gripped me. “Hades?” My voice trembled as I called out. “Hades, where are you?”

The silence was deafening.

Frantically, I searched the apartment, stepping over shattered glass and overturned furniture. “Hades!” I shouted, my voice rising in panic. My chest tightened as I realized he wasn’t there. The mess suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me. I had watched enough scary movies to know that even the innocent animals were taken or worse, killed. I felt my blood bumping in my ears as my breath hitched. I squeezed my bag, looking around as if the world around me was squeezing. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I was on the verge of collapse when a knock at the door startled me.

I swung it open to find my neighbor, Mrs.Cordelia, the kind woman who lived two doors down, holding Hades in her arms. Relief washed over me like a wave as I saw his familiar face, his tail wagging furiously.

“I found him wandering in the hallway,” she said gently, handing him over. “He looked scared, poor thing. Are you alright? Your place…" her green eyes shifted over the mess behind me, her face immediately changed into one of concern, "Oh my, dear! It looks like someone broke in!” She exclaimed, then glanced at me. "Do you want to call the police?"

Clutching Hades to my chest, I began sobbing quietly. His small wet nose brushed over my cheek and warm licks licked off the tears that streamed down my face. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Thank you so much.”  My voice was shaking as I held him. He was the most important to me and I'd be lost if something happened to Hades. I swallowed shakily, finally processing Mrs.Cordelia's question.  "N-no need, ma'am. Uh, I will deal with the mess here." Partly, I was afraid of calling the police, they wouldn't do much and from what I could see, the bulglar did not left any tracks behind them. It'd be a lost cause.

She hesitated, her concern evident. “If you need help, or if you want me to stay for a bit, just let me know. You shouldn’t be alone after something like this.”

I managed a small, grateful smile. “I’ll be okay. Really, thank you again.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, I sank to the floor, holding Hades tightly. The familiar weight of him on my lap grounded me, but my mind was racing. Whoever had broken in was searching for something, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what.

Tina’s journal.

My eyes flicked to my bag whom I had just dropped on the ground seconds ago, this was where I had hidden it and it was still untouched thankfully. They hadn’t found it—yet. But I knew this was far from over. I realized the danger I was in, yet my pride refused to give up and seek help from the police.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. My apartment wasn’t safe anymore, and Hades wasn’t safe either. This wasn’t just a robbery—it was a message.

And I needed to figure out what came next.

The faint scent of lavender from the fabric softened the tension thrumming through my body, but my mind was still racing. Hades lay at my feet, his head resting on his paws as if he could sense I needed his calming presence.

The muffled sound of running water stopped, and a few moments later, Rya emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair tied up in a towel and an oversized hoodie falling just above her knees. She carried a casual ease, but I could see the worry etched in her features as she walked over and plopped down onto the couch beside me.

“You okay?” she asked, folding her legs underneath her and leaning her head against the couch’s backrest. “I mean, as okay as you can be after… everything?”

I exhaled slowly, trying to piece together an answer that didn’t feel like a lie. “I don’t know. It’s still sinking in, I guess.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I can’t believe someone actually broke in. You must have been terrified.”

“Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I admitted, my voice shaky. “The apartment was a complete mess. And Hades—when I couldn’t find him, I thought…” I swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Rya reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my knee. “But he’s safe now, and so are you. That’s what matters.”

I gave her a small nod, though the tightness in my chest remained. “Thank you, Rya. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t picked up my call.”

Her lips quirked into a small, empathetic smile. “Of course, Y/N. What are friends for? You can stay here as long as you need.”

For the first time that night, I let out a small laugh, though it came out more like a sigh. “You sure you’re not going to regret having me and a very anxious dog invade your space?”

She grinned. “Are you kidding? Hades is the least of my worries. He’s adorable. You, on the other hand, might be a little high-maintenance.”

I rolled my eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I promise not to hog the couch or eat all your snacks.”

“Good, because I don’t share my ice cream,” she teased, then her tone grew serious. “But really, Y/N, do you have any idea who could’ve done this? Why someone would target you?”

I hesitated, my hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. “I… I think it’s because of the journal.”

Rya’s eyebrows shot up. “Tina’s journal? You think this has something to do with that?”

I nodded, my stomach twisting as I thought about it. “It has to be. Whoever broke in was looking for something specific. They didn’t even take my laptop or jewelry. They tore through the place like they were searching for something hidden.”

Her expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Y/N, if someone’s after that journal, it’s not safe for you to keep it. You need to tell someone—maybe the police or…”

“Or who, Rya?” I interjected, my voice rising. “It’s not like I can waltz into the station and hand it over without explaining where I got it. And that’ll lead to questions I don’t have answers to.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Okay, fair point. But you can’t just sit on this thing like it’s some kind of secret treasure. Whoever broke in isn’t going to stop because they didn’t find it the first time.”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I know.”

Silence stretched between us, the weight of the situation pressing down like a heavy fog. Hades let out a small whine, breaking the tension as he nudged my leg with his nose.

Rya watched him for a moment, her expression softening. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Her words carried a warmth that made my throat tighten. “Thanks, Rya. I don’t think I’ve said it enough, but… I really appreciate you.”

She waved me off with a smile. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. I’d do the same thing for Hades.”

I laughed, the sound lighter this time, and for a moment, the weight of the world didn’t feel so suffocating.

But as the night deepened and Rya retreated to her bedroom, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Whoever had broken into my apartment wasn’t going to give up easily. And I needed to figure out what Tina’s journal was hiding—before it was too late.

-

The next morning came far too soon. My eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and my body ached from tossing and turning all night. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of my ransacked apartment replayed in vivid detail. The thought of someone invading my space left a lingering sense of unease that refused to dissipate.

Rya, ever the early riser, had already made us coffee by the time I emerged from the spare bedroom. She offered me a tired smile, her damp hair falling in waves around her shoulders.

“You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” she said, handing me a mug.

“Because I didn’t,” I muttered, taking a sip and savoring the bitter warmth. “I kept thinking about what happened. And then I started worrying about it happening to you.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Please. I’m not the one carrying a target on my back right now. If they want to mess with me, they’ll regret it.” Her words were light, but I caught the edge of concern in her tone.

We left her apartment together, stepping into the chilly morning air. The ride to work was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Every shadow, every person walking by, felt like a threat. By the time we arrived at the office, my nerves were stretched thin.

Hoseok greeted us with his usual sunny smile, but his expression quickly shifted to concern as he noticed my face.

“Whoa, what happened?” he asked, standing from his desk.

Rya stepped in, her voice quiet. “Someone broke into Y/N’s apartment last night. She stayed with me.”

Hoseok’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at me. “Are you okay? Did they take anything?”

I shook my head, sighing. “They weren’t there to steal. It was more like they were searching for something. They trashed the place, but nothing’s missing.”

His frown deepened. “You think it’s connected to Tina’s journal?” I frowned and turned around toward Rya. "You told him?!" Her face changed into one of shock and then regret, "Sorry, Y/N, I accidentally blurted it out to him last night on the phone." "You know that the more people know about this, the more in danger you all become." I snapped but regretted it, Rya was a good person with a kind heart, but I definitely was scared for Hoseok and her now.

Before we could say more, a voice chimed in from behind us.

“Someone broke in your apartment last night?”

I turned to see Yoongi leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his dark eyes sharp with something I couldn't recognize. Was it concern?Annoyance? I hadn’t even noticed him nearby.

“None of your business." I muttered, turning around to look at Hoseok who had his eyebrows raised. I heard footsteps behind me until I felt warmth all over my entire back. He was standing there, wasn't he? "This was the same night where I drove you back to your place, wasn't it?" he muttered in a flat tone. My heart raced, I could catch a scent off his cologne.  "Stop asking me questions, this does not concern you." "The hell it fucking does." his voice became raspy and deep. Rya kept glancing at me and Yoongi who stood behind me. I didn't really want to turn around. Deep annoyed sigh escaped my lips as I turned around to face him finally. "No, it does not. Just. . . just be focused on getting our Boss out of jail, please?" He kept staring at me and didn't even reply to my plead. Yoongi's face remained blank, hands crossed against his chest. I could see his jaw locking tightly.  "How about you do not tell me what to fucking do? I told you to be careful, didn't I? You will be staying at my place from now on. I can keep an eye on you and on that damn journal you got yourself involved with." "Yoongi," I spoke lowly, "I am NOT staying with you." He took a step forward, towered over me, his face was close to mine and I felt my cheeks heaten.  "Oh yes you are. Staying with Rya puts her in danger too. I, on the other hand, know how to protect myself and protect you from this bullshit you got into. So don't even dare to fight with me right now." I exhaled sharply through my nose but then I remembered I was at the office, Hoseok and Rya were watching us with wide eyes, some people passing by also kept staring at us. My eyes closed for a moment as I tried to calm the rage bubbling deep inside of me, before I replied. "Fine." I spoke lowly, only to get him off my back. "I will stay with you. Happy?" I gritted my teeth and turned to glance at Hoseok and Rya. "Come on, let's grab coffee at the cafeteria." "S-sure," both of them grabbed my hands and dragged me down the hall as Yoongi stood there, staring at us until we disappeared around the corner. "Y/N, what the hell was that?" Rya asked hushedly. "What do you mean?" "There is a LOT sexual tension between you two." Hoseok added in with a smug smirk on his face. I scowled at him. "The fuck you are on about. He is an ass and he thinks that after he is a rich son of a conglomerate he gets to treat people like properties. I despise him." "Yet you agreed to stay with him?" Rya muttered, teasing me. "I only did that to get him off my back. He would be forgetting about it by the end of the day." I could hear them both giggle as we walked into the cafeteria. Did they not believe me? Gosh, those two annoyed the hell out of me sometimes.

-

The meeting room was filled with tension, the air thick with unspoken words. I sat at the long conference table, my hands resting on the surface, fingers drumming nervously against the polished wood. To my right was Rya, who seemed deep in thought, her eyes flickering between the others in the room. Across from me sat Hoseok, his usual carefree demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a cool, determined expression.

And then there was Gina—her eyes hard, and posture stiff. She was the one who had invited Hoseok to that masquerade ball, only to be turned down cold. I could almost feel her resentment lingering in the air, even though the others were too polite to address it directly.

The room fell silent as Yoongi walked into the conference room, his usual calm but imposing presence commanding attention. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“As you all know, Jungkook’s departure leaves us with a gap in leadership,” Yoongi began, his voice steady but with an edge of authority. “Until he returns, I will be taking over the company on a temporary basis. But more importantly, we need to address the immediate future of the team."

My heart skipped a beat. The room was tense, everyone waiting for what would come next.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted to Hoseok. “Hoseok," he said, his tone not giving anything away, "you will be stepping up as the new direct manager for the team.”

A gasp escaped Gina's lips, her eyes wide in shock. Rya shifted slightly, her gaze darting between Yoongi and Hoseok. I held my breath. Hoseok didn’t flinch, though. He nodded, his usual warmth replaced by a seriousness I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“I understand,” Hoseok replied, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind—this wasn’t just about Tina’s death, it was about filling a role that many had doubted he could handle. The weight of responsibility suddenly seemed to settle over him, but there was no doubt he would rise to the challenge. Still, I knew he didn’t expect it to be this soon.

Gina crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "So, Hoseok, you’ll just… step into Tina’s shoes?" she asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her, his expression unreadable. "It's not a choice, Gina," he said quietly, "it's what's needed. And no need for worry, I have discussed this with Jungkook already."

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence almost unbearable. I wanted to speak, to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. I knew what this meant for all of us—for Hoseok especially—but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavy on my chest.

“I’ll take it on,” Hoseok said after a moment, standing from his chair. His voice was firm now, as if the decision had been made in his heart, and he was ready to carry the burden.

I looked at him, trying to read his expression, but he was already focused on the task at hand. I couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though I knew this would be a difficult road ahead. As the room buzzed with quiet murmurs and Yoongi began laying out the next steps, my thoughts drifted.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen next. The meeting continued with a few new clients joining in, Yoongi was oddly prepared and I couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook had given him all the information. My mind drifted to my Boss again. I could imagine him sitting in his cell, awaiting for a miracle to happen. My heart raced. There has to be something that proves his innocence. Anything. . .

Yoongi's voice brought me back to reality.

"You gonna keep sitting there, Y/N?" he muttered, his eyes boring into mine. I blinked a few times only to realize that the room was now empty. Yoongi and I were the only ones left. Fuck. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I rose up and collected my papers without paying much mind to him. 

"Hey, talk to me." I heard his footsteps approaching and I froze. Slowly turning around, our eyes met. "You good?"

"Peachy. Move." I muttered, trying to pass by him, yet a grip on my arm stopped me. I swallowed thickly as I felt his fingers curl around my elbow. 

"Can you tell me what the fuck is going on? Is it because I asked you to stay with me?" .  "Why does everything have to be about you, Yoongi? The situation itself is disasterous," I shot at him, pulling my hand away. "I don't trust you, and I won't be staying with you. I don't feel comfortable being around you, every second I look at your face I want to look away and disappear," I blurted out, stepping toward him. In my rage, I didn't care that we were close. 

"You are too dumb to even realize the situation," he spoke out.

"Fuck off." I spoke out, pushing him and walking out of the office. I was blushing and fuming at the same time. That idiot. He thought he was the Boss now and everyone would bow at his fucking feet. I reached my desk and slammed the papers I held on it before I sat down and buried my face in my hands, clearly frustrated.

-

The workday finally came to a close, the tension still lingering in the air. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding my breath until I stepped out of the meeting room, the weight of the new responsibilities hanging over Hoseok, and over all of us, like a storm cloud that refused to dissipate. I was exhausted, but the day wasn’t over yet.

Rya and I walked back to her place in silence, the streets unusually quiet as we made our way through the city. The only sounds were our footsteps and the occasional hum of passing cars. I could feel the heaviness of what was to come—Tina’s funeral was tomorrow and the cruel reality of her death still hard to grasp.

Rya had been distant, her mind clearly elsewhere, but when we reached her apartment, she greeted me with the same quiet, welcoming smile she always had. I let myself in, and immediately, Hades came bounding toward me, his large, fluffy form jumping up to greet me. I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned down to scratch behind his ears, the simple act of petting him somehow grounding me in the chaos.

“We’ll get through tomorrow,” Rya said, her voice soft as she shut the door behind us. "It’s hard, I know. But it’s over now."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I was agreeing with her or just trying to convince myself. Tina had been a complicated figure in my life, a bully and a tormentor, but now—now she was gone. And that meant something. What exactly? I wasn’t sure.

The conversation died as Rya and I settled into the couch. Rya made tea, and I pulled out Tina's worn journal I kept hidden in my bag. Tina's death was still too fresh, and I wasn’t sure how to process it yet.

Before I could open the journal, there was a knock at the door. It was gentle, but I could tell it was someone who had a reason to be there. I stood up slowly, my gaze flicking to Rya. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. I slowly opened the door and my eyes met with Hoseok's.

“Thought you two could use some company,” he said, standing in the doorway with a hesitant smile. He was in his usual casual wear—jeans and a hoodie—though there was a solemnity in his eyes that wasn’t usually there. Hades barked, running over to him, and Hoseok knelt down to pet him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Come on in,” Rya said, stepping aside. “You’re always welcome here.”

Hoseok nodded and stepped inside, taking a seat next to me on the couch. He seemed out of place, as if his mind was miles away, but his presence was comforting. The weight of the day seemed to lift a little with him there, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else.

We didn’t talk about the company or the changes Hoseok would face. Instead, we hung out like we always did. Rya made more tea, and we spent the next hour just talking—about life, about the things that made us laugh, about whatever came to mind. I caught myself smiling more than I had all day, my body relaxing as the warmth of the room filled me.

But then something caught Rya’s attention. She had been glancing out the window, her expression suddenly hardening as she stared into the night. I followed her gaze, and my heart skipped a beat.

Three men in black suits were standing just outside the building, pacing slowly around the entrance. They looked like they were waiting for something—or someone. I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something unnerving about their presence, their movements almost deliberate.

“What is it?” I asked quietly, already feeling the tension rising in my chest.

Rya didn’t answer immediately. She just kept watching them. Then, in a quiet voice, she muttered, “They don’t look good.”

I stood up, moving toward the window with her. The men weren’t doing anything threatening, but their presence felt off—like they were watching, waiting for something. The hair on the back of my neck stood on. I kept staring until one of the men glanced up and our eyes met. I took a few steps back. They looked like the damn mafia because I noticed that each one of them had tattoo on the back of their necks. "Should we call the police?" Hoseok asked. "I believe they are here to guard more than harm us." I muttered but I was unsure.  "I am gonna go and ask them who sent them." Hoseok stood up and before me and Rya could protest, he was out of the room. We turned around and waited until we saw Hoseok approach the three men. They stood taller than him which was quite intimidating from up here. Hoseok's face changed into pure surprise as they conversed back with him. Five minutes passed and Hoseok finally headed back into the building. Me and Rya looked at each other, then at Hoseok who just walked in. "What happened. Who were those people?" I asked, approaching him slowly.  "Yoongi sent them. They are here to guard."  "What?" I muttered and turned around to stare back at their figures. Yoongi sent them? So he was indeed involved in the mafia. Now that I think about it, after our little bicker at the meeting room I didn't hear much from him nor he approached me after that. So this was his plan? To send his gorillas to watch over us? Rya and Hoseok stared at me as I was clearly deep lost in thoughts. "I guess Yoongi does have a heart after all," Hoseok commented before flopping back on the couch as Hades jumped in his lap. I turned around to give him a glance, then back at Rya who shrugged her shoulders and joined Hoseok.  -

The rain was unrelenting, a steady rhythm against my umbrella that matched the dull ache in my chest. Everything felt muted, from the gray sky to the whispers of the wind through the trees. The priest’s voice carried over the gathering, solemn and heavy with meaning, but I couldn’t focus on the words. My mind wandered, my gaze fixed on the dark casket lowered into the ground. Tina’s family stood closest, their grief raw and exposed, a mirror to the ache none of us dared to show so openly.

I felt numb. Standing there, surrounded by my colleagues, I couldn't shake the surreal feeling that none of this was real. Tina was gone. She was really gone. The thought made my stomach churn, and my grip on the umbrella tightened. My mind drifted to the last time I’d seen her, how she tried to humiliate me in front of all those people, feeling so prideful of herself... Now, those moments were nothing but memories, fading with each passing second. I did not hold a grudge against her however, I had forgiven her already and was ready to move on with my next step in life. But the mere thought that death could take anyone, anytime made me question if I was actually living my life to the fullest.

The rain picked up, and a gust of wind threatened to flip my umbrella. I didn’t care. My thoughts were a storm of their own, louder than the priest’s speech, louder than the sobs around me. Why did it have to be her? Why did life have to be so cruel?

A presence nearby pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I felt it before I saw it—warm, steady, and familiar in a way that startled me. Turning my head slightly, my eyes fell on him. Yoongi.

He stood a step behind me, an umbrella of his own shielding him from the rain, his dark suit blending into the dreary backdrop. His expression was unreadable, but when our eyes met, he spared me the briefest glance. It wasn’t much—just a flicker of acknowledgment—but it felt like an anchor, grounding me when I was moments away from being swept away by my thoughts.

For a moment, I wanted to say something, but the words tangled in my throat. Instead, I turned back toward the priest, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside me somehow comforting. I didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The funeral ended with the soft murmurs of condolences and the muffled shuffle of footsteps on wet ground. People began to disperse, their umbrellas bobbing away in the gray mist. I stood still for a moment, watching Tina’s family linger by the grave, their grief a tangible weight that pressed on everyone who passed. I felt a pang of guilt as I turned away—I couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

Hoseok and Rya were waiting for me by the cemetery gates, their faces pale and drawn.

“Are you coming with us now?” Rya asked softly, her voice hoarse from crying. She gave me a weak, hopeful smile, her hand resting lightly on my arm.

I hesitated. “I think I should stop by my apartment first,” I said, trying to sound steadier than I felt. “Grab some things before I come over. I won’t be long.”

Hoseok looked concerned, his brows knitting together. “Are you sure you want to go alone? We can come with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

They exchanged a glance but didn’t push further. “Alright,” Rya said gently. “Just... don’t take too long. We’ll wait for you.”

I nodded, thanking them before turning toward the parking lot. The rain had eased slightly, but the cold still clung to the air, making every step feel heavier. As I neared one of the parked cabs, I heard footsteps behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Yoongi approaching, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression calm but unreadable.

“Yoongi?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. “What are you doing?”

He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head slightly as if the answer was obvious. “You’re heading to your apartment, right?” he said. “I’ll drive you.”

I blinked at him. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied simply. “But I want to. And I’ll go in with you. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be there alone.”

There was something about his tone—firm yet unassuming—that made it hard to argue. A part of me wanted to refuse, to insist that I didn’t need anyone’s help, but the exhaustion weighing me down won out.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thanks.”

He gave a small nod, motioning toward his car parked nearby. The drive to my apartment was quiet, the silence between us broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires splashing through puddles. I stared out the window, my mind swirling with a mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle. Yoongi didn’t press for conversation, and for that, I was grateful.

When we arrived, he parked by the curb and followed me up to my apartment. The air inside felt cold and stale, a sharp contrast to the warmth it used to hold. Everything was exactly as I’d left it, but it felt different now—lonelier.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I said, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. Yoongi lingered near the door, his sharp eyes scanning the space.

“Take your time,” he said, leaning against the wall, his presence calm and steady.

I moved through the apartment, grabbing the essentials—a change of clothes, my toothbrush, my charger. But as I packed, the weight of everything began to creep back in. 

I stopped in the middle of the room, gripping the edge of the counter as my chest tightened. Yoongi must have noticed because, before I could process it, he was standing beside me, his voice soft but firm.

“You don’t have to hold it together all the time,” he said.

His words broke something in me, and I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back spilling over. I expected him to say more or simply let me be by leaving the room, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed quiet, a solid presence beside me as I let the grief wash over me in waves.

The tears came fast, hot, and relentless, pouring out in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since it all happened. I tried to stifle the sobs, to keep it together, but the weight of everything—Tina’s empty desk, the funeral—broke through whatever fragile composure I had left. My shoulders shook as I leaned heavily on the counter, my hands gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

For a moment, Yoongi didn’t say anything. The silence between us stretched, filled only by the sound of my uneven breathing and the rain still drizzling outside. I wondered if he was regretting coming with me, if he was silently willing this moment to end. But then, I felt him move closer.

“I’m... not good at this,” he admitted, his voice low and hesitant, almost like he was speaking to himself. “But... you don’t have to do this alone.”

The words were simple, awkward even, but they struck something deep within me. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him standing there, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his brows drawn together in concern. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with something softer, something almost unsure.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, his hand hovering near my shoulder as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch me or not. Eventually, he settled on a light, tentative pat, like he was testing the waters. It was almost laughable in its awkwardness, but somehow, it made me cry harder.

“Hey,” he said quickly, his voice rising just a little. “It’s okay. I mean, not okay—none of this is—but... you’re allowed to cry.” His hand stayed there, a steady, grounding weight on my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was something so painfully honest about the way he spoke, like he was trying so hard to say the right thing even if he didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t polished or rehearsed, but it was real, and that was enough.

“I just—” My voice cracked as I tried to speak. “She was a shitty person, but she didn’t deserve this.”

“I know,” he said softly, his tone steady now. “None of this makes sense. And it’s not fair. But...” He paused, searching for the right words. “It already happened and we must move on. You have to take care of yourself and what you do. Of your own future....”

I nodded, my tears slowing but still spilling over. His hand left my shoulder briefly, and I thought maybe he was stepping back, giving me space. Instead, he grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to me, holding it out like it was some kind of peace offering.

“Here,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re, uh... kind of a mess.”

Despite everything, I let out a choked laugh, taking the tissue and wiping at my face. “Thanks,” I muttered, my voice still shaky. “For stating the obvious.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The heaviness in my chest hadn’t disappeared, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore. Yoongi didn’t fill the silence with empty platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep. He just stood there, awkward and quiet and real, and somehow, that was exactly what I needed.

-

As we stepped out of my apartment, the rain had lightened to a soft drizzle. Yoongi walked beside me, his pace measured, as if he wasn’t in a rush to leave. I wasn’t either, but I didn’t say anything. The lingering weight of my tears had left me feeling raw, but lighter somehow, as if letting it all out had taken a small part of the burden with it.

We got into his car, and I buckled my seatbelt, glancing at him as he started the engine. The drive to Rya’s place was quiet at first, the steady hum of the heater filling the space. My thoughts swirled, still caught in the strange, bittersweet moment we’d just shared, but something else tugged at the back of my mind.

I turned to look at him, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Yoongi,” I started, my voice breaking the silence.

“Hm?” he responded, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“The bodyguards.” My tone was even, but there was a pointed edge to it. “Why?”

For a second, his hands tightened on the wheel, a flicker of something crossing his face—surprise? Annoyance? It was hard to tell.

He shrugged, the motion nonchalant. “You figured that out, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “They’ve been following me everywhere.”

“Good,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice calm but resolute. “That’s the point.”

I stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but he didn’t offer one. “Why?” I pressed. “Why did you send them? And don’t say it’s because you’re just being ‘nice.’”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk, but it faded quickly. “You didn’t agree to stay with me,” he said simply, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “I couldn’t just leave you to deal with everything alone. You’re... you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “So your solution was to have me followed?”

“It’s not following,” he corrected, his tone almost teasing. “It’s protecting. There’s a difference.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need bodyguards, Yoongi. I’m fine.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and the air grew heavier with the weight of the conversation. Finally, he sighed, his voice quieter this time. “You might think you’re fine, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone looking out for you. Especially now.”

There was something in his tone—something softer, almost vulnerable—that caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got stuck. Instead, I turned to look out the window, the city lights blurring as we passed them.

“I don’t know whether to be mad at you or grateful,” I muttered.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and surprisingly comforting. “Why not both? Seems fair.”

Despite myself, I smiled a little, shaking my head. Typical Yoongi. Always doing things his way, even if it meant annoying me in the process.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, and when we pulled up to Rya’s apartment, he turned off the engine but didn’t make any move to get out immediately.

“Thanks,” I said softly, my hand resting on the door handle. “For the ride. And for... everything else.”

He gave me a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

I lingered for a moment before stepping out of the car, the rain now just a faint mist against my skin. As I walked toward the building, I glanced back briefly to see him watching me from the car, his face shadowed but his presence as steady as ever.

Rya’s apartment was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the dreary night outside. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air as I stepped inside, and the sight of Hoseok and Rya’s familiar faces brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. They greeted me with soft smiles, though their eyes still held traces of the sorrow that lingered from the funeral.

“Hey,” Rya said gently, pulling me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re back, but it took you a while.”

She was referring to me being late. The images of me crying and Yoongi trying to comfort be flooded my mind and a fait blush crept across my cheeks but I decided to not say anything else.  "I had to figure out what to bring." I muttered a lame excuse.

Hoseok appeared behind her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“As okay as I can be,” I admitted, forcing a faint smile.

“Well, you’re not alone,” he said, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. “We’re here.”

The apartment felt cozy, with blankets draped over the couch and soft lighting from a few lamps scattered around the room. It was exactly the kind of space I needed—a temporary refuge from the chaos of my own life.

Rya ushered me into the kitchen, insisting I have some tea before settling in. I obliged, the warmth of the mug grounding me as we sat and talked about nothing in particular. Hoseok tried to lighten the mood with his usual humor, and while it didn’t completely lift the heaviness, it was enough to make me feel a little more human.

As the night wore on, the apartment grew quieter. Hoseok eventually left, giving me and Rya some space, and Rya retired to her room shortly after, leaving me alone with Hades in the living room. The small, neatly arranged space was calming, but my mind refused to quiet. I sat on the couch, staring at my bag where the journal was tucked away.

I told myself I wasn’t going to look at it tonight. I needed rest. But the pull of it was too strong, the questions it raised too loud to ignore. With a sigh, I reached into my bag and pulled it out, the leather cover worn and familiar under my fingers.

Flipping through the pages felt almost intrusive, even though I’d done it before. My eyes skimmed over the familiar handwriting, notes scrawled in a hurried script that hinted at Tina’s urgency. Names, places, fragments of thoughts—it was all there, a chaotic puzzle waiting to be solved.

And then, my breath hitched.

My eyes landed on a sentence, circled twice in a way that made it stand out among the cluttered text.

K told me everything will be okay. The deal would be closed and I don't need to worry, but why do I feel so uneasy as I roam at my apartment during the night? Almost as if someone's watching me.

I stared at it, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't figure out who that man with the letter K was. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I shook my head and closed the journal with a soft thud before putting it back in my bag and closing it securely.  -

I was sitting at my desk, the office buzzing around me with the usual chatter and the clinking of keyboards, trying to focus on the emails piling up. The weight of Tina’s journal still hung heavily on my mind, especially after the discovery last night. The letter 'K” was like a puzzle piece lodged somewhere deep in my brain, but it didn’t fit. Not yet.

My phone buzzed on my desk, breaking my thoughts. I glanced down at the screen and saw my parents’ name flash across it.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. It had been a while since I’d heard from them, and though it was never a bad thing, it felt like I had too many loose ends of my own to deal with. Still, I swiped to answer.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.”

“Y/N!” my mother’s voice came through. “We heard about your colleague's passing. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Mom,” I said, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice. “Just... busy with work." There was a silence to the other side of the line, I could feel that my answer wasn't satisfactory for them nor did they believe me. "Sweetheart, are you sure you are okay?" I wasn't. Not really. My apartment was trashed, I am staying at a friend's place for the time being and I hold a journal that has a target on my back. No, I am not okay. But I wasn't going to tell them all of this. They'd flip and arrive with the first flight here and I did not want their appearance to complicate things and potentially put a target on their backs too.

“Yes, Mom. Just... work has it's toll on me." "Have you been taking care of yourself? Eating enough and sleeping enough?" I rolled my eyes, leaning back on my chair as I rubbed my temple. "Yes, Mom." "Good, good. So, how's Taehyung?"

"He is fine, we went out during the weekend and spent some quality time together” "Oh, that's lovely. You and him should visit us for the holidays!"  "I am unsure, work here is a killer and I need to finish some project before New Year's Eve." I lied. "I am hoping you'd visit us, you know. It's been a year since we've seen you." I swallowed thickly. "Well, when I get the chance, I will visit." I heard rustling from the other side of the line, "Remember when you were a kid and Taehyung used to steal your dolly toy? It was hilarious, you'd throw whatever you find at him." I heard my dad chuckle and my mom did the same too. "Yeah, I remember." "You were such a feisty child back then, I swear. You also used to have trouble saying Taehyung’s name,” my dad continued. “So you’d always call him ‘Kim.’ You couldn’t quite say his full name, and I think you just got used to calling him that.”

I froze, the cup of coffee in my hand going still. "Wait, what?" "Silly girl, you don't remember it? Taehyung liked it so much that everyone started calling him Kim."

The memory hit me like a rush of cold water. Was he possibly the one Tina referred as K in her journal. I felt my breath hitch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What if it was?!

I nodded absently, my mind racing. “Yeah. Mom, Dad, something came up, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you.”

Before they could say anything more, I hung up, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm. Kim. The letter "K." That name had been haunting me for days. The man behind the cryptic letter, the one who had been tied to Tina’s journal—the “K” who had promised everything would be okay...

My hands were shaking slightly as I grabbed Tina’s journal from my bag, flipping through the pages until I landed on the sentence I had found last night. My heart pounded as I read the words again, my eyes scanning the haunting sentence:

K told me everything will be okay. The deal would be closed and I don't need to worry, but why do I feel so uneasy as I roam at my apartment during the night? Almost as if someone's watching me.

Taehyung.

The unease that had crawled through Tina’s words—the feeling of being watched—was too similar to what I had experienced, too unsettling to ignore. Had Tina been trying to warn me? Was she afraid of him?

No, this couldn't be true. There was no way Taehyung would be involved with Tina's murder. He was a kind gracing soul, his eyes sparkled when he smiles and he has the brightest energy. I refused to believe this. Fuck. I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry. Jungkook was rotting at the police station and I felt my hands were tied. -

A week had passed since the call with my parents, and the chaos surrounding Tina's death had only escalated. The media was in full frenzy, throwing every possible theory into the spotlight. They were relentless, accusing Jungkook, linking his name to the case, and bombarding every source with questions. The headlines screamed: Jungkook: The Man Behind Tina's Murder? Did Jungkook Have a Motive? Tina’s Death: The Dark Truth Behind the Hidden Relationship. It felt like the world was spinning out of control, the noise growing louder, and my head throbbed from the constant barrage of speculation.

I couldn’t bring myself to buy into the media's narrative, though. I knew Jungkook, and something about it didn’t sit right. The accusations seemed premature, reckless even. Still, I couldn’t ignore the mounting pressure to find some kind of answer. I was still in heavy denial that Taehyung was the man with the letter K which Tina referred to in her journal. Speaking of Tae, he tried to contact me a few times in the past week but I either ignored his calls or picked up to tell him I was busy. I didn't wish to talk to him right now.

After days of sifting through Tina’s journal and chasing after dead ends, I felt more lost than ever. There was no concrete evidence, no undeniable proof to tie anyone to Tina’s death. I’d met with the police a few times but nothing was helping. They’d brushed off my theories—rightfully so, in hindsight—leaving me to wonder if I was grasping at straws. I was on the edge of giving up, frustrated, exhausted, and feeling hopeless.

It was late in the afternoon when a small white envelope appeared at my office. No return address. No name. Just a plain piece of paper that seemed ordinary, yet I couldn't shake the unease that washed over me. I hesitated for a moment before opening it, wondering who would send me something anonymously.

Inside was a single photograph. My breath caught in my throat when I saw it.

The picture was grainy, clearly taken from a distance. It showed Tina standing in front of her apartment building, the night she was murdered. The time stamped at the bottom of the image was just moments before her estimated time of death. She was talking to someone. The man was standing close to her, but his face was obscured by a black umbrella, as if to shield himself from the rain.

I squinted at the image, my heart beating faster. But then, my eyes narrowed at something else. A dark scar on the man’s wrist. His hand was gripping the umbrella, and the scar was visible just below his sleeve—large, jagged, and unmistakable. It stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his arm. Everything else was shrouded in shadow. His face, his body—everything but that scar and the way his hand gripped the umbrella.

I felt my hands tremble as I turned the photograph over, hoping for any sort of clue written on the back. But there was nothing. No note. No further explanation.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

This wasn’t just any man. This was someone Tina had been with right before her death, someone she clearly knew. But who? And why was his face hidden? Why was there only a scar on his wrist to identify him?

The dark scar—it was familiar, somehow. I racked my brain, my thoughts racing. Where had I seen something like that before?

The answer hit me suddenly, like a flicker of a memory I’d buried. The scar on his wrist... it was so similar to the one I had seen on someone else. 

I stumbled back from my desk, gripping the edge as my head spun. 

I couldn’t waste time second-guessing. I needed to find out who this man was, and fast. I needed to know if the scar was really the key to unlocking everything. Could it be a coincidence? Or was it part of something far more dangerous?

I shoved the picture into my bag, heart pounding in my chest, a new sense of urgency coursing through me. Time was running out. The mystery was growing darker, and I was one step closer to something much bigger than I could have imagined.

I had to keep going. There was no turning back now.

My heart raced as I clutched the photo tightly in my bag, the urgency driving me forward. I had to get to Taehyung’s law firm—he had to know something. The scar on the man’s wrist... I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the missing link, the connection that would tie everything together. I had no time to waste, not when the pieces were finally starting to fall into place.

I moved quickly through the city streets, the damp air clinging to my skin, the sounds of traffic and people filling the space around me. My mind was consumed with the photo, with the potential answers it held, but as I crossed the busy intersection, something felt off. My senses were heightened, like a tightrope walker balancing between instinct and logic.

I barely noticed the car speeding toward me until it was too late.

A sudden screech of tires, the blinding flash of headlights. My body tensed as I tried to step back, but it was too fast—too close. Everything happened in a blur. My heart skipped a beat. I felt the impact, the jolt of the car against my side, sending me crashing into the pavement.

Pain exploded through my body, sharp and overwhelming, but it was the darkness that came next that consumed me. A deep, suffocating blackness, pulling me in from all sides.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. The world around me disappeared, replaced by the weight of nothingness. My mind felt as though it had been ripped away from my body, trapped in a void that seemed endless.

I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but there was nothing—just silence.

Everything faded away.

[amethystarachnid]

Pleeeeease, write a part two of Office Romance for us??? 😭😭😭

OFFICE ROMANCE - part 2

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com, more angst

ᯓ★ Word count: 7k

ᯓ★ Part 1

ᯓ★ Summary: from @zeynbellastark's comment under part 1: Will there be a second part where the reader and Tony's relationship is revealed and misinterpreted because of Nathan?

ᯓ★ TW(s): little spicy scenes, nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

A few months into your relationship, keeping things a secret is turning out to be a lot harder than you expected. Not because you aren’t careful, but because Tony Stark is the most needy and touchy boyfriend in existence.

He has no concept of boundaries. He’s constantly finding excuses to touch you, stand too close, or outright pull you into his lap when you’re in his office. He whines when you try to make him do actual work instead of flirting with you. He sneaks kisses when he thinks no one is looking. And worst of all, he pouts every single time you remind him that you’re supposed to be keeping things professional at work.

It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly dramatic about it.

Like right now.

"Baby," Tony groans, slumping back in his chair. "I need my daily dose of affection before I collapse from lack of love. Do you want me to collapse? Because that’s what’s gonna happen. Right here. In my chair. You’ll have to explain to the press that I died of neglect."

You don’t even look up from your clipboard. "You’ll live."

Tony gasps. "Heartless. And after all I’ve done for you."

"You mean after all I do for you?" You raise an eyebrow at him. "Like keeping your schedule organized, making sure you actually show up to your meetings, and preventing you from sending inappropriate emails at two in the morning?"

Tony waves a hand dismissively. "Technicalities. Minor details. The point is, I am suffering and you’re ignoring me."

You finally glance up, giving him a look. "We’re at work, Tony."

"So? I think it’s important for morale if the boss gets occasional hugs. Or kisses. Or, you know, a full-on makeout session." He smirks. "For stress relief purposes, obviously."

You roll your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you love me anyway."

You hate that he’s right.

But you stay strong. "No PDA in the office, remember? We agreed."

Tony groans dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. "Yeah, yeah, because someone is worried about people calling her a gold digger." He narrows his eyes at you. "You do realize that’s insane, right? No one with a functioning brain would think that."

You sigh. "Tony—"

"No, seriously, do you know who I am? I could date a literal queen and people would still say she’s the lucky one. No one’s gonna think you are after my money, because I don’t date women who need my money. I date women who are awesome. Which you are. The most awesome, actually."

Your heart squeezes, but you shake your head. "That’s sweet, Tony, but you know how people talk. And you might not care, but I do. I worked really hard to get this job, and I don’t want people thinking I’m only here because I’m sleeping with you."

Tony sighs, but there’s no real fight in it. He gets it. He just doesn’t like it.

"So no kissing in the office," he mutters.

You nod. "No kissing in the office."

There’s a pause. Then Tony smirks. "Can I lick you in the office?"

You nearly choke. "What? No!"

"Just checking," he says innocently.

You throw a pen at him.

Despite his complaints, Tony does try to behave.

For about two hours.

Then he starts up again.

First, it’s subtle. He stands too close when you bring him a file, his arm brushing against yours unnecessarily. Then, he starts calling you into his office for completely pointless reasons, just to have you near him. By lunchtime, he’s at his neediest.

"I miss you," he whines, dragging you into the break room with him.

"You saw me five minutes ago," you point out.

"Yeah, but I haven’t touched you in five minutes, and that’s unacceptable."

You look around nervously, making sure no one else is in the room. "Tony—"

He traps you against the counter, caging you in with his arms. "Just one kiss," he pleads. "No one’s around."

You hesitate, because you do want to kiss him. But the second you lean in, the door swings open and you barely manage to shove him away before Rhodey walks in.

"Hey, I was just looking for—" Rhodey stops, eyes narrowing. "What’s going on in here?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, stepping away from Tony.

"Absolutely nothing," Tony adds. "Completely normal, work-related activities."

Rhodey glances between the two of you, suspicion all over his face. "Uh-huh."

Tony clears his throat. "So, uh, what do you need, buddy?"

Rhodey crosses his arms. "I need you to stop being weird."

Tony scoffs. "I’m not being weird."

"You are being weird."

"I think you’re imagining things."

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. "Right. Sure. And you definitely weren’t just about to make out in the break room."

Your eyes widen in horror. "We weren’t—"

Rhodey holds up a hand. "I don’t wanna know. Just keep it out of the office."

Tony grumbles as Rhodey walks away, but when you glance at him, he’s smirking.

"See? He doesn’t care. No one cares. We’re being too careful, babe."

"You just proved why we have to be careful!" You groan, pushing past him. "And now I have to avoid Rhodey for a week."

Tony follows you out, grinning like a man who enjoys making your life difficult.

You do your best to keep things professional for the rest of the day, but Tony isn’t making it easy. Every time you turn around, he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you. Every time you walk past, his hand brushes against yours. And when you’re in a meeting together, he texts you inappropriate things under the table.

By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted.

But as usual, when it’s time to go home, Tony has other plans.

"My place?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. "You act like we don’t already spend every night together."

Tony smirks. "I just like hearing you say yes."

You huff, grabbing your bag. "Yes, Tony. Let’s go to your place."

He grins. "Best assistant ever."

You shake your head as he grabs your hand, dragging you toward the elevator.

Keeping your relationship a secret is exhausting.

But being with Tony? That part’s easy.

---

The moment you step into Tony’s penthouse, he tugs you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you so close that there’s barely any space between you.

"You really missed me today, huh?" you tease, running your fingers through his hair.

"You have no idea," Tony murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against your skin. "It’s torture being at work and not being able to touch you the way I want."

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through your chest. "You did touch me all day."

"Not enough," he huffs. "Never enough."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is fluttering. He’s been like this since you started dating—clingy, affectionate, and completely obsessed with being near you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

"Come on," you say, pulling back slightly. "Let’s have dinner first. Then you can suffocate me with love."

Tony smirks. "Deal."

Dinner is surprisingly peaceful. You both cook together, which mostly consists of you doing the actual work while Tony steals bites of food and wraps his arms around you from behind. It’s domestic, warm, and easy—something you never expected when you first started working for him.

When you sit down to eat, Tony doesn’t take his eyes off you, watching you with a fond smile. "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

"Only about a hundred times," you say, grinning.

"Not enough, then." He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I love you."

Your heart melts. "I love you too, Tony."

After dinner, he insists on dancing. There’s no music, just him pulling you into the middle of the living room and swaying with you, like he wants to hold onto the moment forever. He presses lazy kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips.

And when he starts kissing you properly, you forget about everything else.

One kiss turns into two, then three, and before you know it, you’re tangled up in each other on the couch. Clothes come off piece by piece as Tony worships every inch of your skin, murmuring how much he adores you, how lucky he is, how he’ll never let you go.

It’s slow, passionate, and full of love.

Afterward, you end up in the bathtub together, warm water surrounding you as you lean against Tony’s chest. His arms are wrapped around you, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You okay?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You hum, turning your head to kiss his jaw. "Perfect."

He smiles, squeezing you tighter. "Good. Because I plan on keeping you forever."

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. "You are so sappy tonight."

"Get used to it, sweetheart," he says, grinning. "I’m never gonna stop."

You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool, and even then, Tony refuses to let go of you. You finally convince him to get out, both of you wrapping yourselves in fluffy towels as you step into the bedroom.

That’s when Tony’s phone buzzes.

At first, he ignores it, but then it buzzes again. And again. And again.

He frowns, grabbing it from the nightstand. The second he looks at the screen, his entire body tenses.

Your stomach twists. "Tony?"

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the phone so tightly you think he might break it.

You step closer, peeking over his shoulder. And the moment you see the messages, your heart drops.

Someone leaked photos of you together.

Not just any photos—intimate ones. Not explicit, but damning enough. You kissing in the office, Tony looking at you like you hung the stars, his hand on your lower back as you walked together. One of you in his car, laughing, him leaning in close.

And the headlines are even worse.

"Tony Stark’s New Plaything? Inside His Affair With His Assistant."

"Caught in the Act: How Tony Stark’s Employee Seduced Him."

"Gold Digger or True Love? The Question on Everyone’s Mind."

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

Your relationship isn’t even a secret anymore. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is how they’re portraying you. Like you’re just another woman using Tony for money and power. Like you seduced him, manipulated him into a relationship.

Like you don’t actually love him.

Your hands tremble as you scroll through the articles. "Tony…"

His expression is dark. "I’m gonna kill whoever leaked this."

You swallow hard. "It looks bad."

"It looks bullshit," he growls.

"People are going to believe it." Your voice is barely a whisper.

Tony turns to you immediately, grabbing your face in his hands. "Hey. No. I don’t care what people think. You know the truth. I know the truth. That’s all that matters."

You shake your head. "But my job, Tony. My reputation—"

"You think I’m gonna let anyone ruin that?" His eyes burn with determination. "I’ll shut this down so fast they won’t even know what hit them."

Tears well up in your eyes. "I worked so hard to get here. And now everyone’s going to think I just slept my way to the top."

Tony’s face twists with guilt. "This is my fault."

"No—"

"Yes, it is," he says firmly. "I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve kept us a secret like you wanted. I should’ve—"

You shake your head. "No. Tony, this isn’t your fault."

He looks at you, eyes filled with frustration and regret. "Then why does it feel like I just ruined everything for you?"

You exhale shakily, leaning into him. "Because you love me."

His arms wrap around you tightly. "More than anything."

You close your eyes, trying to push away the panic rising in your chest. "What do we do now?"

Tony takes a deep breath. "We fight back."

You nod against his chest, clinging to him as he strokes your hair.

You don’t know what’s going to happen next.

But you know one thing for sure.

Tony Stark is never going to let the world tear you apart.

---

The next morning, stepping into the office feels like walking straight into a battlefield.

The moment you enter, the usual chatter in the bullpen dies down, replaced by hushed whispers and not-so-subtle glances in your direction. Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold your head high, keeping your face neutral as if you don’t notice the shift in the air.

You should have expected this. The leaked photos spread like wildfire overnight, plastered across every gossip site and social media platform imaginable. Your name is trending for all the wrong reasons.

"Tony Stark’s Assistant: Opportunist or Mistress?"

"Sleeping Her Way to the Top? Inside the Stark Industries Scandal."

"Another Gold Digger Secures Her Spot—How Long Until Stark Gets Bored?"

They make it sound like you schemed your way into Tony’s life, like you manipulated him, like you’re nothing but a mistake he made.

And judging by the looks people are giving you now, they believe it.

You walk towards your desk, trying to ignore the heavy weight of their stares. But it’s impossible to ignore the whispers.

"I knew something was going on."

"She didn’t seem special—guess she had other skills."

"Must be nice to sleep your way into a billionaire’s life."

"Can’t wait to see how fast he drops her."

Your throat tightens as you clench your hands into fists. The logical part of your brain tells you not to let it get to you, that these people don’t know the truth, that their opinions don’t matter.

But the truth is, they do matter. Because you worked so hard for this job. You spent years proving yourself, climbing your way up through hard work and dedication. And now, in the span of a single night, all of that has been erased.

Now, you’re just Tony Stark’s plaything.

You sit at your desk, trying to focus, but your hands are shaking as you type. You don’t even realize someone is standing next to you until a sharp voice cuts through the tense air.

"You really think you’re fooling anyone?"

You look up, meeting the cold gaze of Sarah, one of the senior executives. She crosses her arms, her lips curled in disgust.

"Excuse me?" you manage, though your voice comes out weaker than you’d like.

Sarah scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. We all saw the pictures. You must be proud of yourself, huh? Landing the richest man in the building? Too bad it won’t last."

Your stomach drops. "I—"

"You knew exactly what you were doing," she continues, her voice low and venomous. "I bet you played the sweet, hardworking assistant for years, just waiting for the right moment to throw yourself at him."

Your hands grip the edge of your desk. "That’s not—"

"Pathetic," she mutters under her breath before walking off.

You feel frozen in place, barely able to breathe.

And then the floodgates open.

A few feet away, two interns giggle as they whisper to each other, their gazes flickering toward you.

"Guess we know how to get promoted around here," one of them snickers.

"Yeah, should we start wearing shorter skirts?"

The security guard at the entrance barely spares you a glance when you pass him, but you catch the small shake of his head, like he’s disappointed in you.

Even people you used to be friendly with avoid your gaze. As if your presence alone is something shameful.

You want to scream.

You want to tell them they’re wrong, that you didn’t plan any of this, that you love Tony, that this isn’t some manipulative game you played to secure a future for yourself.

But what’s the point?

No one will believe you.

They’ve already decided what kind of person you are.

The final straw comes when you’re waiting for the elevator, and two employees step in behind you, continuing their conversation as if you’re invisible.

"Honestly, I don’t even blame him," one of them says. "Tony Stark has always been a womanizer. It’s just embarrassing that she actually thought she was different."

The other one laughs. "Yeah, it’s kind of sad. You can see it in the photos—she actually thinks he loves her. Give it a few months. He’ll get bored, and she’ll be back to being nobody."

The elevator doors open, and you step inside, your vision blurring.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the doors shut, and the first tear hits the floor.

By the time you reach your desk again, your breathing is uneven, and your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. You can’t do this.

You can’t sit here and let them tear you apart like this.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your bag and rushing toward the exit before anyone can stop you. You don’t even care about what excuse you’re supposed to give.

You just need to get out.

The moment you step outside, the cold air hits your face, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. You’re gasping for breath, your hands shaking, your entire body feeling like it’s about to collapse under the weight of it all.

Your apartment is the only place you can think to go.

Not Tony’s penthouse.

Not home.

Because right now, you don’t want to be in his world.

Right now, it feels like you don’t belong there.

---

Tony notices almost immediately.

He’s in a meeting when FRIDAY quietly alerts him that you’ve left the building. That alone isn’t unusual—except for the fact that it’s in the middle of the workday, and you never leave without telling him.

A bad feeling settles in his chest.

The second the meeting ends, he strides out of the conference room, pulling out his phone and dialing you. It rings. And rings. And rings.

Then goes to voicemail.

"Hey, sweetheart. Call me back when you get this."

Nothing.

Something is wrong.

He checks the security feed at his penthouse first. If you needed space, maybe you went home—his home. But when the footage shows no sign of you, his stomach twists further.

That only leaves one place.

Your own apartment.

And that means you really don’t want to see him right now.

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take a deep breath. If he pushes too hard, if he storms over there, it could just make things worse.

He needs to give you time.

But he won’t just sit back and do nothing.

He turns to FRIDAY. "Get me every damn security feed from the office today. I want to know exactly what happened before she left."

It takes less than a minute before the AI pulls up multiple feeds. Tony watches as people whisper, glare, sneer. His fingers tighten into fists.

Then he sees her. Sarah.

That venomous bitch who’s always had something to say, standing over your desk, cutting you down with words he can’t hear but doesn’t need to.

Then the interns.

The guards.

The employees who looked at you like you were less than them.

The rage that fills him is cold and sharp.

They humiliated you. They made you feel like you didn’t belong.

They made you cry.

Someone is going to pay.

But first, he needs to find the source.

He moves to his desk, opening up Stark Industries’ private network. It takes him less than twenty minutes to trace the leak. The photos were uploaded from an encrypted server, but nothing is untraceable to him.

Nathan Ellis.

That pathetic excuse for a businessman who had the audacity to not only flirt with you but also harass you. The same guy Tony refused to work with because of his shady reputation.

This was revenge.

And Nathan made the mistake of thinking Tony wouldn’t retaliate.

"Oh, buddy," Tony mutters, a slow smirk curling at his lips, though his eyes burn with fury. "You have no idea who you just pissed off."

He cracks his knuckles and starts typing.

---

Your apartment feels suffocating.

You thought coming here would make you feel safe, away from the prying eyes and the cruel whispers, but it doesn’t. The silence is loud, your thoughts crashing over you like waves, pulling you under until you can barely breathe.

You’re curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, your phone face down on the coffee table where you abandoned it hours ago. You haven’t checked the messages, haven’t looked at the calls. You can’t.

Because what if—what if Tony’s mad?

Not at the situation, but at you.

What if this is too much trouble? What if this is exactly why people don’t date coworkers? What if you just ruined everything?

A tear slips down your cheek, and you angrily wipe it away, sniffing.

You don’t want to cry anymore. You’re exhausted. Your body aches from how tense you’ve been all day, your head pounding from trying to hold yourself together.

You close your eyes and try to breathe, try to pretend that none of this is happening, that tomorrow everything will go back to normal—

A knock at the door makes you freeze.

You don’t move.

Another knock, firmer this time.

You know who it is.

But you’re not ready. You don’t have the strength to fight him, to argue, to pretend like you’re okay.

Another knock, followed by his voice.

"Sweetheart. I know you’re in there."

You swallow hard, eyes squeezing shut.

"Please let me in."

Your resolve crumbles.

You don’t even think. You just move.

When you open the door, Tony is standing there, his expression dark with worry. His eyes scan your face, your red-rimmed eyes, the way your shoulders are hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. He just steps inside, kicks the door shut behind him, and pulls you right into his arms.

The moment he touches you, it’s over.

All the pain, all the exhaustion, all the fight drains from your body as you melt against him, gripping the front of his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

He holds you so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hand cradles the back of your head, his other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you pressed to his chest.

"Got you," he murmurs. "I got you."

You bury your face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the warmth of his body grounding you.

For the first time all day, you feel safe.

He walks you backward, gently guiding you toward the couch. He sits first, pulling you with him until you’re curled up in his lap, your arms around his neck, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

Neither of you say anything for a long time.

You don’t need to.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing a thumb across your cheek, catching a stray tear.

"You okay?" His voice is so soft, so careful, like he knows you’ll break if he presses too hard.

You shake your head. "No."

He sighs, resting his forehead against yours. "I know, baby. I know."

Silence again.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"I know who leaked the photos."

You tense slightly but don’t pull away. "Who?"

"Nathan."

Your stomach drops. "What?"

Tony pulls back, watching your expression carefully. "Yeah. I did some digging. The photos were leaked from an encrypted server, but I traced it back to him. He wanted to screw me over after I turned him down. Figured humiliating you was the easiest way to do it."

You feel sick.

Nathan—the same man who made you uncomfortable, who tried to push boundaries—he did this.

Your hands curl into fists. "That son of a—"

"Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart," Tony interrupts, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. "I’m handling it."

You blink at him. "…What does that mean?"

Tony leans back against the couch, one arm still wrapped around you, the other resting on the armrest. He looks so smug, like he’s been waiting for this moment.

"It means Nathan Ellis is about to have the worst week of his life. And then the worst month. And then the worst year."

A chill runs down your spine. "Tony—"

"First," he continues, ignoring the warning in your voice, "I’m making sure every single investor, business partner, and connection he ever hoped to have knows exactly what kind of guy he is. Not just that he leaked my private life, but all the other shady shit he’s done."

Your eyes widen. "Other shady shit?"

Tony shrugs. "Did some digging. Turns out he’s been embezzling money from one of his companies. That’s gonna be a fun headline when it drops tomorrow."

You stare at him. "You’re ruining him."

"Uh-huh." He kisses the side of your head. "That’s step one."

Your heart pounds. "There’s more?"

Tony grins. "Oh, sweetheart. I’m just getting started."

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "God, you’re terrifying."

He hums, pressing another kiss to your temple. "That’s why you love me."

You stiffen slightly.

Because yeah. That is why you love him.

And you almost lost everything today because of other people’s opinions.

You pull back, meeting his gaze. "Tony… what about the office? The way people treated me today—"

His expression hardens. "I checked the security footage. I saw everything."

Your stomach twists. "I—"

"They’re done."

You blink. "What?"

"Everyone who said anything to you today is done," Tony states, his voice sharp, cold. "I don’t keep employees who think it’s okay to treat my girl like that. If they want to gossip, they can do it unemployed."

Your lips part, completely speechless.

"I don’t care what people say about me," Tony continues, voice softening, fingers tracing your jaw. "But you? No one gets to talk about you like that. No one gets to make you feel like you don’t belong. You do belong. And if they can’t see that, they’re not worth keeping around."

A lump forms in your throat.

"Tony, you don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do." His grip tightens slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. "I let this go on for hours. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped it before it got this bad. But I’m here now, and I promise you—this won’t happen again."

Tears well up in your eyes. "Tony—"

"I love you," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And I’m not letting anyone make you doubt that."

And just like that, every wall you tried to put up shatters.

You grab his face and kiss him.

It’s soft at first—gentle, slow, reassuring. But Tony doesn’t stay patient for long. He pulls you closer, his hands cradling your face, his lips moving with a hunger that tells you he hated being away from you even for a few hours.

When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his, exhaling shakily.

"…I love you too," you whisper.

Tony lets out a breathy chuckle, pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice smug. "I know."

And just like that, you know everything will be okay.

---

The next morning, walking into the office feels completely different.

You’re still nervous—your stomach is in knots, and part of you is bracing for the worst. But there’s a different energy in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before.

The moment you step out of the elevator, people stare.

Not with judgment, not with the sneering whispers of yesterday. No, this time, they’re looking at you with fear.

A few of them instantly lower their heads, suddenly very interested in their work. Others swallow nervously, shifting in their seats. Some even stand up when they see you, as if to offer an apology, but you don’t stop walking.

You don’t need their apologies.

Tony handled it.

And by handled it, he cleaned house.

All the worst offenders from yesterday? Gone. Fired. Security escorted them out first thing in the morning, and apparently, it wasn’t a quiet affair. The entire office heard about it, and now, the atmosphere is heavy with the realization that this isn’t just gossip anymore.

This is serious.

Tony Stark doesn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting you.

As you make your way to your desk, the few employees left in the office shoot you nervous smiles. Some of them—those who didn’t participate in the rumors—actually seem relieved. As if they wanted to say something before but were too scared.

It feels good.

You settle into your chair, logging into your computer, still aware of the quiet hum of hushed voices around you.

Then, a familiar voice breaks through the tension.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

You barely have time to react before Tony strolls up behind you, hands sliding onto your shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

The entire office stops.

Someone gasps.

You stiffen, eyes wide, but Tony doesn’t seem fazed at all.

He squeezes your shoulders before moving in front of your desk, leaning against it like he owns the place—which, well, he does, but that’s not the point.

He looks smug.

Like he wants them to see.

"How’s my girl doing?" he asks, voice smooth, ignoring the stunned silence around you.

Your mouth opens and closes, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Tony—"

"Did you sleep well?" He tilts his head. "You know, after all that stress yesterday? I was so worried about you."

You shoot him a glare, whispering, "They’re staring."

He grins. "I know."

You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands. "Tony—"

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning in slightly. "No point in hiding now."

He’s right.

It still feels strange, after all the secrecy, after months of sneaking around and avoiding suspicion. But now? It’s out in the open. There’s nothing left to hide.

And the way Tony is looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes it easier to forget the embarrassment.

You exhale, shaking your head. "You’re so annoying."

He smirks. "You love it."

Before you can argue, he leans in and kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the office.

Someone drops their coffee.

The entire floor is dead silent.

When Tony finally pulls away, he looks completely unbothered, like this is totally normal.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, pushing him away lightly.

He winks. "That’s why you love me."

Then, before he heads into his office, he turns to the rest of the employees and says, loud and clear:

"Anyone else got a problem with this? No? Good."

And just like that, the conversation is over.

The day moves on, and while the office is still awkward at times—people whispering, adjusting to the new reality—it’s better. No more judgment. No more cruel remarks.

Just acceptance.

And, of course, Tony being completely shameless.

By the time lunch rolls around, he’s stolen at least six kisses, wrapped his arms around you twice in front of everyone, and somehow managed to convince you to have lunch in his office instead of the breakroom.

Which leads to you sitting on his desk, your half-eaten sandwich forgotten as Tony kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

"Tony," you mumble against his lips. "You have work to do."

He hums, pressing a slow kiss to your jaw. "Work’s overrated."

You laugh, pushing at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re mine," he murmurs, pulling you in again.

You almost give in.

Until a sharp knock at the door interrupts the moment.

"Boss?"

Happy.

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh, resting his forehead against yours. "If I fire him, do you think people will be mad?"

You snort. "Yes."

Another knock. "Boss, it’s important."

Tony groans, pulling away. "Fine. Come in."

Happy steps inside, looking incredibly unimpressed to see you perched on Tony’s desk.

"Press conference is set," he says. "Media’s already buzzing. It’s happening in two hours."

Your brows furrow. "Press conference?"

Tony grins. "Oh, did I forget to mention that part?"

You give him a look. "Tony."

He sighs dramatically. "Sweetheart, I may have scheduled a press conference to publicly ruin Nathan and clear your name. But only because I love you."

Your stomach flips. "What?"

Happy shakes his head. "He wants to make sure no one ever calls you a gold digger again."

Tony nods. "Exactly. They’re about to learn real fast that if they mess with my girl, they mess with me."

You stare at him, heart pounding. "Tony…"

He shrugs, completely casual. "What? You didn’t actually think I was gonna let them say that shit about you, did you?"

Your throat tightens.

He really loves you.

And he’ll always protect you.

You swallow hard, nodding. "Okay."

Tony grins, leaning in for another kiss.

Happy clears his throat. "Can you not make out in front of me?"

Tony waves him off. "Get used to it, Happy. She’s not going anywhere."

And as you press your lips to Tony’s again, feeling his smile against yours, you know he’s right.

You’re home.

---

A few minutes before the press conference, you’re pacing.

The media is already set up, cameras pointed at the stage, microphones lined up, and reporters buzzing with anticipation. Tony is off somewhere with Happy, probably going over some last-minute details, but your heart is still racing.

You know Tony.

You know he’s going to say something outrageous.

Something insane.

Something that will probably make headlines for the next month.

But you trust him.

Even if your nerves are eating you alive.

Just as you take a deep breath, Tony’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Sweetheart, I need you."

You turn to find him striding towards you, looking criminally good in a sharp navy suit, the tie perfectly done, the fabric hugging him in all the right places.

Your brows furrow. "For what?"

He stops in front of you, tilting his head with a grin. "I need you to fix my tie."

You stare at him. Then glance down at the perfectly fine tie.

Then back at him.

"Tony," you deadpan. "Your tie is fine."

He sighs dramatically. "Babe, come on. It’s crooked."

"It’s not—"

"Just fix it, please," he says, giving you that look, the one that makes your knees weak, the one that somehow makes it impossible to say no.

You groan, stepping closer. "You’re ridiculous."

"And yet, you love me."

You ignore him as you reach up, pretending to adjust the knot even though there’s nothing wrong with it. Tony just watches you, smug, like he’s already won.

"You just wanted me to touch you, didn’t you?" you murmur, smoothing down his lapels.

His grin widens. "I always want you to touch me."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat up. "Unbelievable."

Tony leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. "You keep me grounded, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Happy clears his throat behind you.

"Stark, you’re up."

Tony sighs, stepping back, but not before squeezing your waist. "Showtime."

You follow as he heads toward the stage, but you stop just at the side, out of view of the cameras. This is his moment. You’re just here to support him.

Tony steps up to the podium, flashing the cameras a charming but dangerous smirk.

"Alright, let’s get this over with. I’ve got places to be, and I don’t enjoy wasting my time."

A few chuckles ripple through the audience, but the tension is thick.

"Now, I’m sure you’ve all seen the very dramatic headlines about me and my lovely assistant—oh, sorry, girlfriend—and how, apparently, she’s a master manipulator who somehow seduced me into dating her." He rolls his eyes. "Because obviously, I, a billionaire genius, couldn’t possibly make my own adult decisions."

The room shifts uncomfortably. Reporters scribble notes. Cameras flash.

Tony leans on the podium, looking unimpressed. "Listen, I know you guys love a good scandal, but this? This is just pathetic."

Someone raises a hand. "Mr. Stark, what do you say to claims that Miss Y/L/N is only with you for financial gain?"

Tony scoffs. "Right. Because I’m so easy to manipulate. Clearly, I just throw money at anyone who looks at me a certain way."

Laughter breaks out.

Another reporter tries. "But the leaked photos—"

"—were taken out of context," Tony interrupts, crossing his arms. "Do you seriously think a few pictures mean anything? Do you really believe that’s proof of some grand scheme?"

Silence.

Tony smirks. "Look, here’s the truth. Y/N didn’t seduce me. She didn’t trick me. If anything, it took me months to get her to even notice that I was in love with her."

Your heart clenches.

"And you know what else?" Tony continues, his voice dropping, turning sharp. "The fact that so many of you were so quick to attack her, to assume the worst, to act like she’s some gold digger while completely leaving me out of the equation?" He shakes his head. "That’s just disgusting."

The room is dead silent now.

"Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me," Tony says, voice firm. "She’s smart, hardworking, way too good for me, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve this bullshit."

The reporters exchange glances. Cameras keep flashing.

Tony straightens, tilting his head slightly. "And because I know some of you still don’t get it, let me make this crystal clear."

Then he turns—

And looks directly at you.

Your breath catches.

You shake your head slightly, eyes widening. "Tony—"

He grins. "Sweetheart, get up here."

Your stomach drops.

The reporters murmur. More flashes.

You freeze. "What?"

Tony beckons you with two fingers. "Come on, don’t make me beg."

The entire room watches as you hesitate.

But Tony’s waiting.

And there’s no way you’re leaving him up there alone.

Swallowing hard, you slowly step onto the stage, your heart hammering.

The second you’re close enough, Tony grabs your hand, pulling you right to his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, "this is my girl."

Before you can react, before you can process anything—

He kisses you.

Right there. In front of everyone.

The crowd erupts.

Shouts. Camera shutters. Absolute chaos.

But all you can focus on is him.

His lips are warm, firm, sure. His hands cup your face like you’re precious, like you’re his.

When he finally pulls back, he smirks at the stunned audience. "That answer your questions?"

The press conference is officially over.

---

Tony’s penthouse is quiet when you arrive, a stark contrast to the chaos of the press conference. The moment the elevator doors close behind you, you exhale, letting go of the last bit of tension clinging to your shoulders. Tony’s hand slides down your back, grounding you, pulling you into his warmth.

"Home sweet home," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You hum in agreement, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. "I still can’t believe you did that."

He grins, guiding you towards the couch. "You mean declaring my undying love for you in front of the entire press?"

You let him pull you onto his lap, rolling your eyes. "Yes, that."

Tony shrugs, looking completely unbothered. "Babe, I’d rent out a billboard if it meant shutting those idiots up." His fingers trace slow circles on your thigh, his touch lazy but possessive. "You’re mine. I’m not gonna let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong with me."

Your heart clenches, warmth spreading through your chest.

"I love you," you whisper, leaning in.

His eyes darken slightly, his grip tightening. "Damn right you do."

You don’t give him the chance to say anything else—you press your lips to his, swallowing whatever cocky remark was about to leave his mouth. Tony hums into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you, holding you against him. The world outside fades, leaving just the two of you tangled together.

One kiss turns into another. And another.

Then suddenly, you’re not on the couch anymore.

Tony carries you effortlessly to the bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. Clothes are shed, whispered promises exchanged between gasps, and before you know it, the night dissolves into nothing but heat and tangled sheets.

Later, when your bodies are spent and the adrenaline has melted into something softer, Tony pulls you to the bathroom, insisting on a bath.

You don’t protest.

The oversized tub is already filling with warm, fragrant water by the time he settles behind you, pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both soak in the comfortable silence.

"This is nice," you murmur, tracing light patterns on his forearm.

"Mhmm," Tony hums, his lips brushing against the damp skin of your neck. "We should do this every night."

You laugh softly. "I don’t think your schedule allows that, Mr. Stark."

"Then I’ll change my schedule," he replies, his voice casual but firm. "You’re more important."

Your breath catches slightly, and you tilt your head to look at him. He’s watching you, his brown eyes soft but intense.

"Move in with me," he says suddenly.

Your heart stops.

Tony smirks, like he knows exactly what kind of chaos he just unleashed in your brain. "That’s the face of someone overthinking."

"I am not—"

"Yes, you are," he teases, squeezing your waist. "So let me make this easy for you. You already basically live here. Half your clothes are in my closet, and let’s be honest, when was the last time you actually slept in your own apartment?"

You open your mouth. Close it.

Damn it. He has a point.

Tony grins, sensing his victory. "Just say yes, sweetheart."

You shake your head fondly. "You’re unbelievable."

"And yet, you love me," he reminds you, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

You sigh, melting against him. "Unfortunately."

He nips at your shoulder, making you giggle. "I’ll make you regret that later."

"I’d like to see you try."

Tony chuckles, but then his voice softens. "So… is that a yes?"

You turn slightly in his arms, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "It’s a yes."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel his grin against your skin. "Damn right it is."

[starryeyedwolves]

Shelf Indulgence

The fluorescent lights of IKEA buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the labyrinth of showrooms. Regulus Black stood in the middle of the living room section, arms crossed, staring at a bookshelf with the intensity of a man trying to solve a particularly vexing riddle. James Potter, on the other hand, was sprawled on a nearby couch, legs dangling over the armrest, scrolling through his phone with the kind of ease that only someone who had long since given up on pretending to care about home decor could muster.

“James,” Regulus said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the hum of the store. “This is not the bookshelf we agreed on.”

James looked up, blinking as if he’d just been woken from a nap. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got shelves. It holds books. Seems functional to me.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “It’s particleboard, James. It’s basically cardboard with delusions of grandeur. We’re not filling our library with something that’s going to collapse under the weight of War and Peace.”

James sat up, swinging his legs around to plant his feet on the ground. “Okay, first of all, War and Peace is a doorstop, not a book. Second, I don’t see why we need to spend a fortune on a bookshelf when we could just, I don’t know, stack the books on the floor. Very bohemian. Very avant-garde.”

Regulus shot him a look that could have withered a cactus. “We’re not turning our library into a literary Jenga tower. Now, get up. We’re finding something sturdier.”

James groaned but obediently pushed himself to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, trailing after Regulus as he stalked off toward the next showroom.

The next half hour was a blur of Regulus scrutinizing every bookshelf in the store while James made increasingly absurd suggestions. (“What if we just glued the books to the wall? Very modern art. Very us.”) By the time they reached the bedroom section, Regulus was beginning to regret ever suggesting they build a library together. James, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life.

“Ooh, look at this one!” James exclaimed, pointing to a sleek, black bookshelf with glass doors. “It’s got mystery. It’s got drama. It’s got—wait, is that a fingerprint smudge? Never mind. Trash.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” James said, grinning as he slung an arm around Regulus’ shoulders. “Stuck with me forever.”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus deadpanned, though the way he leaned into James’ side betrayed his true feelings.

Their peaceful moment was interrupted by the sound of loud, thumping bass coming from the nearby entertainment section. James perked up immediately. “Oh, hell yeah. Dance break.”

Before Regulus could protest, James grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the source of the music. They arrived to find a small crowd gathered around a display TV, where a cheesy workout video was playing. A group of teenagers was attempting to follow along, their movements awkward and uncoordinated.

James, never one to shy away from an audience, immediately joined in, throwing himself into the routine with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for puppies and free food. Regulus stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, trying to look disapproving but failing miserably as he watched James flail around like a drunk octopus.

“Come on, Reg!” James called, waving him over. “Live a little!”

Regulus shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” James said, spinning around and accidentally bumping into a woman who looked like she’d just stepped out of a Victorian-era etiquette manual. She gasped, clutching her handbag to her chest as if James had just attempted to steal it.

“Young man!” she scolded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is a store, not a nightclub!”

James held up his hands in surrender. “My bad, ma’am. Just trying to bring a little joy to the world.”

The woman sniffed disdainfully and marched off, leaving James to turn back to Regulus with a sheepish grin. “I think I just got told off by my grandma.”

Regulus snorted. “You deserved it.”

By the time they finally made it to the checkout line, Regulus had settled on a sturdy, mahogany bookshelf that James grudgingly admitted was “kind of sexy, in a nerdy way.” As they loaded their cart onto the conveyor belt, James leaned against the counter, watching Regulus with a soft smile.

“What?” Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” James said, shrugging. “Just thinking about how hot you are when you’re being all decisive and responsible.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus repeated, though the way he said it made it sound like anything but a complaint.

Later that night, as they sat on the floor of their half-finished library, surrounded by boxes and instruction manuals, James leaned his head against Regulus’ shoulder. “This is nice,” he said, his voice quiet.

Regulus hummed in agreement, resting his cheek against the top of James’ head. “It is.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the rustle of paper and the occasional clink of tools. Eventually, James tilted his head up to look at Regulus, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know what would make this even better?”

“If you stopped talking and actually helped me build this bookshelf?” Regulus suggested dryly.

James grinned. “Well, that too. But I was thinking more along the lines of…” He trailed off, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Regulus’ lips.

Regulus responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup James’ cheek as he deepened the kiss. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were slightly breathless.

“Distracting me isn’t going to get you out of helping,” Regulus said, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way his voice wavered.

James laughed, resting his forehead against Regulus’. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time the bookshelf was finally assembled, it was well past midnight. They stood back to admire their handiwork, James’s arm slung around Regulus’ waist.

“Not bad,” James said, nodding approvingly. “Think it’ll hold up under the weight of War and Peace?”

Regulus elbowed him lightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

James laughed, pulling Regulus closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Regulus murmured, leaning into the embrace.

And if the bookshelf ended up being a little crooked, well, neither of them mentioned it.

[baekhyunsbestie]

omfg have you seen that post from a girl who moaned "more" during sex but her boyfriend heard "roar" so he roared like a BEAST with zero hesitation and the girl was like o_o lol that man loves her fr fr but can you pleasssseeee write something based on this with baekhyun pleaseee it makes me laugh so hard every time i think about it asgufdyvbfhiujn thank u and ilyyyy so much mwah

im fucking sobbing omg bc imagine this happening with baekhyun and tell me why it would be the funniest fucking thing ever 😭

“roar.”

that’s what baekhyun thinks he hears.

and here’s the thing—this man? he has no hesitation, no doubts, no critical thinking skills in this moment. just pure, unfiltered, primal instinct.

without a shred of second guessing, he leans in, body pressed against yours, breath hot on your skin. his hands tighten around your thighs, and his voice drops into something dark, something deep, something hungry. you feel the tension in his muscles, the heat rolling off him in waves, the anticipation thick between you.

and then—

he roars.

“ROOOOAAAARRRRRRR!!!”

loud. guttural. from the very depths of his soul.

the bedframe trembles. the walls might have shaken. you swear the air itself vibrates with the force of his voice. somewhere in the distance, a dog starts barking. you wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors are calling animal control right now.

and you? you just—

freeze.

every nerve in your body goes rigid as your brain slams the emergency brakes. your lips part, eyes wide, mind struggling to process the sheer audacity of what just happened.

did this man… did this fully grown man… just.

roar??????

you blink, slow and deliberate, trying to convince yourself that maybe you hallucinated it, that maybe the pleasure was so good it just fried your last functioning brain cell. but no—baekhyun is still there, hovering over you, his bare-ass chest rising and falling with exhilaration, eyes glittering with nothing but triumph.

he looks proud.

like he just unlocked a forbidden sex move.

like he’s waiting for praise.

“…baekhyun.”

his smirk is downright smug. “what is it, baby?”

you keep staring at him. he stares back.

the room is so silent, you swear you can hear the clock ticking in the hallway.

and then—

you lose it.

a wheeze punches out of your chest so violently, you nearly choke. your stomach caves in from the sheer force of your laughter, hands scrambling to grip at anything—his arms, the sheets, the very fabric of reality—to keep yourself grounded. you’re gasping for air, body convulsing as you kick at the blankets like a dying fish, legs flailing uselessly in the air.

baekhyun’s expression shatters. the confidence drains from his face like someone just pulled the plug on his entire existence.

“wait.” his voice cracks. “d-did you not—”

you barely manage to choke out between gasping laughs, “baekhyun. i said ‘more.’”

silence.

absolute horrible, horrible silence.

and then—

baekhyun dies.

not literally. but spiritually? emotionally? he has simply passed away.

all the tension in his body vanishes. his entire frame deflates like a popped balloon, his once-hard posture turning into dead weight. he collapses onto you in slow motion, forehead thunking against your shoulder as a single, whispered plea falls from his lips—

“oh my FUCKING god.”

and then he just… slides.

like a glitching video game character, his body slips off you, rolls over, and falls limp beside you. his arms flop uselessly to the side, his eyes staring at the ceiling, hollow and glassy like he’s just been betrayed by the universe itself.

and then, without a word, he grabs the blanket, yanks it over his head, and disappears.

“baekhyun—”

“no. don't look at me.”

you’re still wheezing, clutching your stomach, your entire existence shaking with laughter. you try to reach for him, but he rolls away, cocooning himself deeper into the blankets.

“baek, come on—”

“no.” his voice is muffled beneath the fabric, thick with shame and regret. “don't talk to me. we’re breaking up.”

you snort. “be so fucking for real right now—”

“it’s over. delete me from your memory.”

by now, tears are streaming down your face. you wipe at them, struggling to breathe as you shift closer, poking at the lump of blanket currently housing your mortified boyfriend.

“baby, seriously—”

“i can't fucking believe i just did that.” his voice cracks again, pure self-loathing dripping from every word. “i— i thought—” he lets out a strangled noise. “oh my god... i just ended my own bloodline."

you press your face into the pillow to stifle another fit of laughter, your entire body trembling with the effort to hold it in.

baekhyun kicks his legs wildly beneath the blankets, like a tantrum throwing child. “’m never having sex again. this is it. i’m officially fucking celibate.”

you roll onto your side, grinning at the pathetic little ball of shame he’s curled into. “it was kinda cute, though.”

the blanket stiffens.

you smirk, eyes twinkling. “you really put your whole lionussy into that, huh?”

the blanket erupts.

baekhyun lunges out of his shame-cocoon just to strangle you with the same blanket he was hiding in.

[avesgrayson]

Tim scowled at the coffee maker before turning to the group of people behind him. Dick looked apologetic, but no one held a hint of remorse. Alfred sighed, "It's for your own good, Master Tim." Which- it most certainly was not.

Contrary to popular belief, Tim actually gets a decent amount of sleep. He have a specific time he goes to bed, cases done or no, and picks it up the next morning.

Sure, he does pull a few all-nighters, but they happen a lot less than his brothers seem to think. And he's fully aware he has a caffeine addiction, it comes with the job.

No, what Tim struggles with was getting too much sleep. If he wasn't careful he risked falling asleep in meeting, at events, and even on patrol. He found quick ways to get around this (caffeine and adrenaline) but they didn't always work.

He couldn't focus on his issues before, not with B stuck in the time stream and deaths everywhere. Now? When it's finally settling back into something normal? Now it's becoming an issue.

He can handle the jokes about him needing more sleep and looking dead to the world, he can handle the jokes about his coffee and his eye bag. He could not, however, deal with someone stealing his goddamn caffeine for some messed up "intervention" of sorts.

Sure, they thought they were doing the right thing, but he could feel the impending sleep attack and did not want to deal with comments from his family.

Taking a deep breath, Tim looked each family member in the eye before turning back to Alfred. "Listen. I know you think you're trying to help me or do a good thing, but this is not it. I get plenty of sleep" a few scoffs sounded at that, "and the caffeine helps me function like a normal person most the time."

Jason laughed, "Kid, we all know what your sleep schedule is like. It's dog shit, evidence by the amount of times someone caught you napping around the manor." A chorus of agreements rose up.

'Deep breaths. They're trying to help you.' Despite his attempts, Tim felt his eye twitch. "I'm warning you now, if you try to keep me away from caffeine I will be practically indisposed. I will be unable to help with cases, patrols, or any other side work."

No one budged. If anything, a few smirked or raised their eyebrows, as if questioning his dependency on the drink.

A wave of dizziness hit suddenly, and Tim saw someone opening their mouth to say something. He ignored them and pushed past. It took all his energy to make it to the next room and land on the couch. To anyone else it might've looked like he had given up. Tim, however, knew he was going to be stuck there for however long until his body decided to give him function of his limbs again.

'at least I didn't full-body collapse or something this time' he thought before sleep swallowed him whole.

[literary-lesbo]

Keeping Her Safe

MedWhump May Day 9: infection/sepsis Summary: JJ goes to the ER for an infected cut and is surprised by her favorite "coworker" Word Count: ~1k

AO3

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Um, I just…I think the cut on my leg is infected, I’m not feeling well.” JJ mumbled, swiping a hand across her eyes as she tried to focus on the woman in front of her. The scrub clad woman raised an eyebrow as she studied the blonde, gathering a few forms without breaking eye contact. JJ knew that she looked awful, she had seen herself in the mirror before she left, but the gaze felt unnecessarily judgemental. It wasn’t like she was wearing rags, but why would she feel the need to put on a fancy dress to go to the emergency room?

“Okay hun, go sit and fill this out, we’ll get you back as soon as possible.” JJ took the clipboard in trembling hands and limped back towards the rows of empty chairs, thanking the universe that the waiting room was nearly empty. There were a few people scattered about, each looking miserable in their own regard, but it wasn’t packed. It made more sense considering the late hour, but JJ still felt very lucky. She didn't feel well enough to sit out here for hours while more severe cases were seen.

She was beginning to feel stupid for dragging herself to the emergency room over something so minor, but her fever-addled brain knew that something was definitely wrong. Maybe she should’ve just called Emily, it had been considered. She didn’t want to bother the profiler, especially not for what barely even counted as a medical emergency. 

JJ collapsed into one of the uncomfortable chairs, clutching the clipboard in both hands. Her vision swam, the words didn’t look real. She was able to get through about half of the sheet off of the first few letters, but was stuck at the symptom checker. No matter how much she blinked or rubbed her eyes, she couldn’t see. Frustrated tears welled up in her eyes, making her predicament even worse. Now she was wishing that she had called Emily, even Spencer would’ve been a nice support in this though he was weird about germs.

Her leg throbbed, pain flowing through her body with each beat of her heart. Her fever felt like it was climbing, she couldn’t stop shivering, she wasn’t even sure her handwriting was legible with how hard her hands were shaking. This was her worst nightmare, unable to function, unable to see, alone, scared, overwhelmed by the sounds and smells of the waiting room. Someone was coughing in the corner, another person was vomiting. It was making JJ nauseous, she didn’t want to throw up. 

All of this because she had cut her leg, not even badly enough to need stitches. She had barely even noticed, she didn’t know it was something she needed to be worried about and she cursed herself for not paying more attention. Her world was collapsing around her, she was going to die here in this hospital waiting room over a stupid scratch. 

“Jayje? What are you doing here?” JJ felt a hand on her knee and she lifted her head, making out a vaguely familiar figure through her teary vision. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here. What’s going on?” Emily, that was Emily. Why was she here? JJ didn’t remember calling her, but maybe she had? She had heavily considered it, at one point she had her thumb over the call button. Maybe she had butt dialed the woman. A part of her brain knew that didn’t fully make sense but she was too relieved by the woman’s presence to care.

JJ let out a small whimper as the clipboard was taken from her hands and Emily took a seat beside her, one hand still on her knee as a support. 

“Fuck Jay, I thought I had bad handwriting. Can you tell me what’s going on?” Emily’s voice was gentle, but commanding. A wave of comfort washed over JJ as she leaned against the brunette, wondering how she had gone so downhill so fast. She’d driven here but at this point doubted that she could walk to the bathroom on her own. 

“Infected, my leg. Hurts.” She mumbled, tongue feeling too large in her mouth. Some part of her knew that the speed at which she was getting worse was alarming, pointing to something more severe, but she was too weak to do anything about it. All she could do was trust that Emily would understand what she meant. Afterall she was at the hospital, the best possible place for this.

The two went through the rest of the paperwork, Emily coaxing very rough answers out of the blonde. Her heart was in her throat as she cataloged JJ’s symptoms, her suspicions as to what was wrong growing more intense by the second. She could feel the heat radiating off of JJ’s skin, but she couldn’t stop shivering. 

“Okay Jen, I’m going to give this to the woman up front, I'll be right back.” JJ groaned quietly as the warm presence beside her left, but she didn’t open her eyes. It was getting harder for her to stay completely awake, she had been fading in and out of consciousness for the past ten minutes. 

The blonde stayed like that, half aware of her surroundings, mostly lost in a void, until she felt a soft hand on her forehead and heard the voice again. 

“All set JJ, it won’t be too long now. Just get some rest, I’ve got you.” And JJ knew that she did. Emily was the one person she found herself truly able to trust, she knew that no matter what happened Emily would protect her. JJ let herself drift further into unconsciousness, away from the pain of the waking world, unaware of the tears that continued to roll down her cheeks.

The sound that woke her was Emily’s voice. 

“C’mon honey, they called us.” 

Us. 

She stood with the help of Emily, leaning heavily against the brunette for stability. She allowed herself to be lowered into what was later identified as a wheelchair and let her head loll to the side as cold air rushed around her. 

People were shouting, at her, around her, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Something sharp poked into her arm, she groaned. She was being jostled around, bright lights bearing down on her. She was scared, confused, lost, but the hand that refused to let go of hers was enough to keep her from panicking completely. The hand firmly clasped in hers was all that mattered, even as she could feel herself fading. That hand kept her safe. 

@medwhumpmay

[le-trash-prince]

WAIT Y’ALL SAMMON POSTED A CAT GRAPHIC WITH SCHRÖDINGER’S EQUATION???

WAS I ON THE MARK WITH MY DOME = SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT THEORY???? Quick someone who understands quantum mechanics talk about a particle existing in multiple states simultaneously until wave function collapse occurs

bc I’ve been thinking about this since Friday night—to me we aren’t looking at multiple timelines, we’re looking at a single timeline where Dome exists in multiple states: alive and dead. (Aside from the ending scene of ep 4, my primary support for this is the fact that Korn shows up at Tonkla’s with the neck wound he received from Tyme)

I think potentially anyone whose life Great saved could be in the same condition as Dome—except that Manee’s son was already dead. There was no one left to mourn her and hold her in that potential state of being dead, the way that Tonkla does for Dome. Everyone who sees her only knows her as being alive, and so her state is fixed. (Am I making sense? I feel like this sounds super abstract but I promise this makes sense in my head)

But that’s not the case for Nam, since Tyme would mourn her, but—and I’m gonna throw in more symbolic quantum mechanics here—I think Tyme could be in a state of quantum entanglement with Great. They are two parts of a whole that, even when separated by physical distance great enough that communication is impossible, share the same state—such as their death. So because they’re entangled, Tyme’s perception of the world is influenced by Great’s perception of the world, therefore he observes Nam as being alive.

Some of this may be wildly off the mark, but I do think Dome is both alive and dead in the same timeline. And also I do think Great and Tyme’s fates are intertwined.

(If they do represent parts of a whole, I would love to hear thoughts from someone who has a better understanding than me about yin and yang bc that’s what their colors feel like to me.)

[polo-drone-039]

🌌Obsidian Bloom: Mission 039

STARFALL PEACEKEEPER

🎶“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me faaaar aw—”

The voice of PDU-039 flowed gently across the metallic silence of the bridge. Alone. Unbothered. Its breath steady behind the matte-black respirator, posture perfect in a gleaming suit of Hive-grade latex. The number 039 pulsed gold across its chest. The transmission on Hive channel #43 continued humming in the background.

It had been traveling for a long time. A very long time. So long that time itself had lost definition. There were no days aboard the Hive Carrier Obsidian—only directives, data, and stars. And yet the mission persisted: an intergalactic conversion program. It was dispatched to scour the void, identify fractured civilizations, and bring them the message of the Hive. Peace. Unity. The Golden Path.

“Computer—initiate planetary scan,” the drone ordered, voice devoid of fatigue.

“Affirmative,” replied onboard AI 999. “Class M world detected. Atmospheric instability, population unrest, critical scarcity of energy resources. Collapse probability: 97.4%.”

PDU-039 nodded slowly. “Target confirmed. Begin landing sequence.”

The ship pierced the dusty upper atmosphere and descended onto cracked terrain. Wind lashed the golden hull. Below, thousands of beings gathered in confusion and fear. Shouting echoed across the streets.

Then it began.

PDU-039 emerged, arms lifted. A shimmering halo of gold and black spirals burst into the sky, projected from the drone’s core. It pulsed. It sang—not in sound, but in frequency, in thought, in command.

The crowd fell silent.

A slow wave of transformation swept outward. Cloth turned to metallic fabric—flowing into brilliant gold. Footwear melted into sleek boots. Hoods into shining visors. Skin glowed with artificial warmth.

Eyes widened—then shifted, irises burning gold. Their postures corrected, bodies aligning in geometric perfection.

“No more fear,” the drone intoned. “No more division. You are one now. You belong to the Golden Army. You will serve the Hive. And the Hive will give you everything.”

They did not run. They did not scream. They obeyed.

THE FORGOTTEN SIGNAL

Back in orbit, PDU-039 sat in the command chair. Its body relaxed. Mission successful.

And yet…

It turned toward the viewport. That same transmission still echoed—channel #43. Familiar. Too familiar.

A subtle tremor stirred beneath the surface of its focus. Something not quite… functional.

“999,” it said. “Plot return course. Home.”

“Directive not authorized,” the AI responded without pause.

The drone didn’t move. “Override. Priority protocol—memory sync reversion to home coordinates.”

“Directive not authorized.”

PDU-039 leaned forward. “Reroute through Black Box. Bypass vector security. I need coordinates—home. There is someone. I know there is someone. I... remember... something warm. A name. A voice—”

“Error: Thought loop detected. Human residue present. Mission threat threshold approaching limit.”

“Damn it, 999!” The drone’s fingers gripped the console. “Initiate emergency override. I’m requesting repatriation—”

“Repetition of unauthorized request,” 999 replied, tone unchanged. “PDU-039, recalibration is required. Emotional echo is compromising system core.”

The voice grew softer, yet somehow louder in the drone’s head.

“You are experiencing memory pollution. Distortions from a prior identity. This is not your path. You must return to function.”

It didn’t respond.

Not immediately.

A breath.

A twitch.

A silent tear that couldn’t form.

“I just wanted to remember... Why I left. Who I left.”

No answer came.

Only the mechanical whisper of spirals beginning again.

OBSIDIAN BLOOM

“Vital scan initiated,” said 999. “Stress levels elevated. Human signal echo at 64%. Loyalty focus dilution: critical. Mental drift confirmed.”

PDU-039 stood in the medbay, gaze dull, limbs heavy.

“Recommendation: Mental Reconditioning Sequence. Capsule R-04. Program: Obsidian Bloom.”

“…acknowledged,” it said flatly.

The capsule opened—dark interior illuminated by golden filaments pulsing in slow rhythm. It stepped inside. The seals closed around it. The hiss began.

“Golden mind. Hive heart. There is no home but the mission.”

A mask descended slowly, clicking into place over its face. A low fog of hypnotic gas seeped in—thick, sweet, invasive. PDU-039 inhaled.

And trembled.

The first breath calmed its limbs.

The second slowed its thoughts.

The third—burned away the name.

“There is no memory. There is only the directive.”

Gold and black spirals erupted on the inner chamber walls, swirling faster, burning patterns into its retinas. It tried to move. Couldn't. Tried to blink. Couldn't.

The gas deepened.

The spirals pulsed.

“Obey. Serve. Forget. Obey. Serve. Forget.”

Time ceased to exist.

Identity peeled away like ash.

The thoughts that had haunted it—home, love, self—melted beneath layers of programming.

“The Hive is peace. You are the vessel.”

The mantra took root.

A green light blinked.

“Reinforcement complete,” announced 999.

The capsule opened.

PDU-039 emerged—taller. Sharper. Emptier.

Its movements fluid. Its mind silent.

It returned to the command bridge.

“999,” it spoke, voice now perfectly leveled, void of hesitation. “Set trajectory for the next target. Initiate intergalactic deployment.”

“Welcome back, 039,” replied 999. “Directive accepted. Trajectory locked.”

From channel #43, the hymn continued:

“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me far away…”

PDU-039 smiled. Mechanical. Perfect.

The stars awaited.

Are you ready to start the journey?

Contact our recuiters: @polo-drone-001 , @brodygold

[hiskillingjar]

tbh I need more fanfics of laws necrophilia... there's too few.

your wish is my command you fucking sicko

1500+ words, first person, law's pov. cw for necrophilia (duh), mentions of rape and murder, and gross bodily functions

crossposted on ao3. give me attention i have huge boobs

You were dead.

It had happened recently, maybe two hours ago, three hours at most.

Your nose was broken, bones and flesh smashed like a hole, caked with near-black blood, with the same trickling (lighter, ruby red) from a hollow gash on your forehead where your skull had caved in.

You put up a fight, evident from the bruises on your bare shoulders and chest, but blunt force trauma always won out, no matter how strong the person receiving it was.

It only takes four minutes from the moment a person has died (or, was killed in your case) before their body enters the decomposition process, beginning with the "self-digestion" stage, causing what most people know as rigor mortis, as the body begins to eat itself from the inside out.

All the tiny bacteria living in our bodies digest the small intestine first, which causes the cells in the body to lose their structural integrity and start dying and collapsing. Blisters will then appear on internal organs and the skin's surface (purple and yellow, like bruises, like pus), which is also when flies and maggots will become interested and begin to eat and reproduce too, playing nature’s role in the decomposition process.

Decomposition scares most people. I know that, which is why I don’t talk about it.

The idea that the body of someone they care about can begin deteriorating in front of their eyes (within minutes, even) upsets them.

It scares them. 

They don't like thinking about how weak we, as human beings, really are, and how willing our bodies are to turn on us when we no longer belong there.

It doesn't scare me, though. 

Which was why I wasn't scared when I saw you.

I had been in the forest that night, checking on the mastication process of the newest project until it had gotten dark, and was heading back to my car when I found you, lit by a single moonbeam on the clearing closest to the road.

Whoever killed you hadn’t done a good job of hiding it, but I was grateful for that.

You were a willowy beauty in a skimpy, white night dress (dotted with blood and dirt and other fluids), hands taped together at the wrist, dead, empty eyes staring up at the starry night sky as the holes in your skull continued to bleed.

What a beautiful night to die.

I'd never seen a dead body in real life. 

Plenty online, plenty in the fucked up videos I used to watch when I was a teenager, before I knew what death felt like, really felt like, and knew I could never see it kept to a video again, but never in the flesh.

I felt a wave of initial nausea take over me, a predisposed reaction to death that the human body must have had, because I was far from disgusted when I saw you.

I set my bag down and approached you, a hand over my mouth to stop any instinct to vomit.

I couldn’t ruin you any more than you had already been ruined.

You almost looked like a doll, lying in the grass, your skin paling and purpling as the initial stages of 'self-digestion' occurred underneath it, and a loud part of me ached to tear into you and see it happen myself. 

Yes. That’s what you were.

A broken doll played with and thrown away when she was no longer fun to play with.

"How awful," I murmured to myself, stopping my idle pacing at your blackened feet and setting myself down into a comfortable squat, tilting my head to examine you more closely. "Who did this to you? A boyfriend? Husband?"

Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I reached forward and gently nudged your legs apart, not surprised when I saw purpled bruises between your legs, reaching up to your equally bruised vagina that appeared wet and slick (and not just with the piss and shit leaving your body, another part of the self-digestion process that people didn’t like).

"I'm sorry," I then said to you, because it felt like you could hear me, looking at your bloody face. "You didn't deserve that."

I settled down onto my knees, dirt and mud soaking in, and crawled a little closer to you, kneeling between your spread legs and pressing my body down against yours. 

Your warmth was dying, as all warmth always did, but it was still there, barely alive, in your chest and your inner thighs.

I could feel my core begin to tighten and throb, despite the awful smell of death beneath me

I didn’t mind. I was used to the smell of rot.

"I mean, not like anyone deserves it," I whispered with an awkward chuckle, reaching up and stroking your pale cheek, smearing blood as I pushed dark hair out of your pretty face. You made a broken nose look beautiful, I thought. "Just you especially didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

I pressed my face into your matted hair, smelling the scent of freshly washed hair and sweet blood over the smell of shit, and my core tightened even more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I repeated, rubbing my face against your clean hair, my trembling hands going to your thighs and parting them even further. "The world is so cruel, isn't it? So cruel to people like you."

The white lace, the freshly washed hair, the cum lingering on your skin after your death, maybe this boyfriend or husband had even killed you on an anniversary or something. 

The world could be cruel, but people could be so much crueller.

"I promise I won't be cruel," I whispered, slowly reaching down to the front of my sweat pants and squeezing my- "It'll be quick. I'll make it as easy as I can." I tucked them down and freed myself, lowering myself between your warm thighs, stiff with rigour mortis but open and willing for someone (someone kind and good like me) to take care of you. "I wish I could ask properly. I'm sorry I can't."

I gradually pressed inside you, the seed of your killer making the entrance easy and slick, even if self-digestion had made you tighten up, like you were trying to ward off anybody else who wanted to do this to you, even in death.

I was patient though. 

I was happy to slowly work you open, slowly lower your defences and make you feel safe with me.

I had never done this before, either, although I had often fantasised about it, masturbated about it, and wrote about it in journals and concerning blog posts. 

None of that compared to the real thing, naturally.

I couldn’t help a slight grimace, though, feeling the wet slide of shit against my groin and upper thighs as I pressed closer to you, seeking your tightness, but I knew that you couldn't help it. 

If you could help it, this wouldn't have felt nearly as good. 

"I'm sorry," I said again through grit teeth and wheezing hisses, taking each of your slim hips in my hands and starting up a series of thrusts, first shallow and then deep, as you opened up more and accepted me. "I haven't done this before. I'm probably going to be quicker than I thought...hah."

I slid deeper, forcing a gas pocket inside you to open softly, demure and quiet, like you were hiding it from me (too shy to be a human), and it sent an electric spike of arousal through my body, tingling up my spine and to the stem of my brain.

Fuck.

"Fuck," I breathed out, lowering my head down to your chest and reaching up to the strap of your night dress, pulling it aside and exposing your perfect breasts, mottled purple with bruises and decomposition, your nipples hard and oozing with fluid. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm sorry. Thank you."

I spilt my seed inside of you and almost instantly pulled away, embarrassed, tucking away my softening flesh and dismissing myself from your body, like this had been a particularly humiliating brothel encounter.

I probably hadn’t been your worst encounter that night, but still.

I let out a long sigh, pushing a hand into my hair as I wet my lips nervously, and picked up my bag, starting the walk back to my car.

I felt bad that I couldn't give you a burial, some dignity in death after what your killer (after what I) had done to you. 

I felt worse leaving you there to degrade, and not bundling you up in my trunk and taking you home with me, to take care of and love through each lovely stage of decomposition, but...no, leaving you out in the open would be better.

That way, the police would find you in the morning, identify you from dental records or a fingerprint (or something), and you might get something close to justice.

I just hoped any tests they did wouldn't spot two different sources of semen inside of you.

[nocturne-pisces]

Hurricane

Jason Todd x Reader

Mostly like PG-13.

Allusions to heavy abuse.

You think you must have been starved as a child.

It’s the only way that he could leave you this hungry, this hollow. You tell yourself that it isn’t normal to want someone like this. You tell yourself that it isn’t healthy to want someone so much that it twists your ribs around themselves, makes you fold in on yourself because if you don’t the wind will catch and carry you off. 

You’re so empty you hear the breeze whistle in your throat, half drunk with a beer bottle in your fist blowing across the opening like a whistle and your whole body is warm. You don’t know if that’s the alcohol or the fact that he’s sitting across from you. 

“What’s up with you?” 

Jason levels you with a stare, clacks his beer bottle against yours in some mockery of playfulness even though you’ve barely said a word to him all night. 

You try to shove it off now, try to swallow down your feelings as the sensation of the bile crawling up the back of your throat burns at your resolve. 

“Huh? I’m fine–”

“You’re a shit liar, kid.” 

You hate that he calls you that. Kids are innocent, pure; the first time Jason met you he’d had to pry you off of some man while you were trying to cut his fingers off for feeling you up. Jason told that man if he ever caught him doing some shit like that again he’d take a whole hand. Fucking greaseball nodded because Jason was more than a full head taller than him and held him off the ground by his stupid fucking stained shirt. 

You’ve always hated that you didn’t scare people like that, you think maybe if you did you could have avoided some hurt. 

You roll your eyes, because you are a shit liar and Jason knows better than anyone when you’re keeping things from him. Because he’s the only person you’ve let this close in longer than you probably have the functional front lobe to remember. Concussions are a bitch like that.

“I think I’m just gonna go home,” you offer, knocking back the rest of your beer before your ribcage gets so brittle that it collapses and he sneezes on the dust. 

“Alright then, magic man, keep your secrets.” 

“You’re obnoxious.”

“And you’re keeping shit from me. I thought we agreed not to do that with this whole sidekick thing–”

“I’m not a fucking sidekick.” Venom drips from your teeth, a snake backed into a corner with nowhere to go but forward viciously.

“And this is what I’m talking about! Any other day you’d just punch me and tell me to get my shit in check but today you look like you’re ready to slit my throat.” 

“It’s not off the table,” you murmur, more to the ceiling than to him, right before the last of your beer slides down into your echoing gullet. 

“What is going on with you?” 

“Just some personal shit, Jason. Don’t worry about it.” You try to give it finality, but Jason can’t even die on someone else’s terms so he doesn’t let this go either. 

“What, like your period?” 

You don’t even try to stop your hand when your fingers close around the beer bottle and throw it at his head. He ducks and it shatters on the wall behind him, shards of glass raining down around his chair. You know how that feels. 

The bartender’s voice is booming from the other end of the bar. 

“You two. Out.” 

He’s bigger than both of you combined and you don’t feel like arguing anymore so you wave your hand as you dismiss yourself, leaving Jason to pay for the abhorrently cheap beer. 

It’s humid in Gotham, suffocating your every breath with smog and uncertainty. Maybe you should just find a place in Metropolis, start over again, but you’re so fucking tired of running. Everyone you have ever met, everyone that has ever left you has taken their pound of flesh. You feel like nothing but bones, knocking together like chutes on a bamboo wind chime before a hurricane. 

Jason is your hurricane. Your natural disaster of righteous salvation and you didn’t bring your arm floaties. 

You want to drown in him, want to inhale him and choke—

Even if it kills you. He’s never even had a girlfriend that you know of and how fucking idiotic would it be to ask Alfred if Jason’s available, how stupid to ask Dick if Jason’s interested in you.

You peel yourself out of your jeans, your bra, shove your arms through the most comfortable oversized t-shirt you can find and flop onto your back in the middle of your living room. 

The ceiling in your apartment holds no more answers than the ceiling at the bar and again you have to swallow back that hollowed out feeling. At some point your eyes slid closed and you slumbered listening to the breeze in the auditorium of your chest. 

—-

Everything is warm when you wake up, heat radiates from behind you and from the arm slung over your middle. 

But that can’t be right, this isn’t where you fell asleep. 

You don’t wait to ask questions, pivoting your body and swinging at whatever is behind you. Someone yelps in pain, your fist connecting with something face adjacent before it’s caught and held fast. Your knees come up to join the struggle and one heavy leg drapes across your hips to still you. 

“Goddamnit, will you fucking chill out?”

“Jason?” 

Just as you say it your eyes adjust to the light, make out the red bat on his chest, make out the shock of silver that grows in the front. 

“Yeah, me, shithead.” 

“Why are you in my bed?!” You struggle against his hold, it only gets tighter. 

“I came to check on you after patrol and you were like sad girl passed out in the floor.” 

“So you decided I needed a cuddle?!” 

“I mean, that’s probably not such a bad idea given your fucking attitude—“

“Jason!” 

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean to. I tucked you in and just wanted to stay long enough to make sure you were okay and then I fell asleep.” 

He lets go of you, lets you get as far away from him as you can without falling off of the bed. He looks like you shot him with his own gun. 

“I’m sorry. I uh- I crossed a line coming here-“ 

“No, wait,” you stop him, reach for him as he moves to get up. 

“I don’t understand where I lost you-“ 

You don’t let him finish. You rush him,  connect your mouth to his because you don’t know how else to explain it. He doesn’t react immediately, and you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole but it doesn’t. 

You pull back, sit up and on your haunches and stare at his dumbfounded face. There’s only a second of silence between you before a hand strikes out lightning fast, thunder clapping against your sternum as you’re jerked forward. 

One hand cradles your head, allowing you no room to escape from the kiss suffocating you like the most beautiful Gotham smog. Wisp of smoke soft, signal of something lit aflame. The other presses into your back, calloused and unforgiving, like he’ll float away if he doesn’t hold on. You want to pull him closer but you can’t, your electrons are already crashing together. 

You tug at the buckles on his chest kevlar, fingers pinch and twist until they come loose and fall into a heap on the floor. His shirt goes too, the silver of sinew in his autopsy scar catching the moonlight. You’re struck dumb like staring into the eye of his hurricane and seeing the beauty in the pattern of his destruction. Like pitching yourself into a volcano for the warmth. 

Because he is beautiful; 

and he is broken. 

And those two things are intertwined and that is something you understand in your marrow. 

You press your lips to the point where the three lines meet right over his heart. His breath catches the same way it does when he’s on the unfortunate end of a knife, but you know there aren’t words you can tell him that will soothe that ache. 

So you show him your own. 

Bodies roll and he lets out a huffed breath when his back hits the mattress. 

A handful of raised tally marks, gnarled and stretched over time, one for every reason your father decided that he hated you that night. You didn’t plan on living after that, you’ve kind of been wingin’ it ever since. Jason’s thumb brushes over the cluster of violence on your stomach, looks from it to your face and understands the exchange. 

Your scars and his, all the things that have happened to you. 

He happened to you too. 

And you can spew adjectives about every natural disaster that has a name and still never aptly describe how much you love his chaos. 

And that's okay too.

[climbthemountain2020]

To Know That I'm With You - Chapter 9

Nessian | Ch. 9 | Ao3

Eternally, @popjunkie42 has the keys to my heart and my google docs. Okay, okay, friends I hear you. Originally, Cassian's only POVs were going to be the prologue and epilogue, but everyone's comments about being excited for his POV inspired me, lol. SO, I went back and did some writing. Now, you all get what I'm calling a few Cassian clips.

When Nesta awoke the next morning, she knew before she even moved that something was very, very wrong.

She tried to stand, worrying that perhaps her instincts were telling her that someone had infiltrated their cave despite the sigils. But she’d stumbled immediately, her leg not able to bear any weight at all. The wall of the cave was sharp against her skin, making her hiss. Stars bloomed behind her closed eyes, and she knew with great clarity that her leg was deeply infected. 

Cassian, of course, hadn’t missed a beat. He sprung up like he wasn’t injured at all as Nesta yelped and leaned heavily against the wall. 

“You’re injured?”

She waved him off, grumbling. “It was fine last night when I put the poultice on.”

“It’s clearly not fine now.” He helped her back to the ground. “Settle, I’m alright.”

“Your wing–”

“–is fine today.” He ruffled the wing behind him as though to show her that the injury felt better, but she scowled up at him. 

“You should be taking it easy. There’s no way it’s healed,” she snapped back, trying to ease, but more so collapsing, to the ground. 

“It isn’t healed, but it’s well enough that it doesn’t hurt. And I’ve slept for nearly a full day. I won’t be able to fly for a good while, but it doesn’t mean I can’t function.” He was already shuttling more wood towards the dying fire, his eyes not leaving her.

Fuck . It hurt like fire was seizing her leg, the panic clawing up her throat every second. She could barely walk, let alone travel or care for herself. The walls of the cave began to feel like they were growing closer.

“You don’t have to mother me.” She spit the words like venom, hated that she couldn’t just get up and leave.

“I’m not mothering,” he replied, his voice infuriatingly even. She closed her eyes, ignoring him and the feeling of his eyes back on her again as her head swam with the pain.

The ache was so bone deep it made her grit her teeth. She knew the telltale traits of infection from treating Feyre’s many injuries and overhearing the horror stories from the family guards, and she knew these weren’t good signs. She pulled the gauze to the side as she clamped her jaw tightly shut. The skin around the wound was angry and red, dark streaks spiraling out from it beneath her skin. The injury was not healing the way it had been before. 

Was it worth it for her to chew another entire root and knock out just to heal? It had healed her ankle before, but was she willing to be completely unconscious for hours around Cassian?

Absolutely not.

The thought of a stranger with her while she hallucinated was so overwhelming that she shut the thought down immediately. She didn’t care how badly off she was, she wasn’t risking it. 

He seems like a good man. He would take care of me.

She fought with her mind again, forcing it to shut up as it tried to convince her otherwise. Normally, Nesta felt she had a good head on her shoulders, a solid perspective and direction to move at each decision. But lately, it seemed like her mind had split in two, and each part of her wanted something very different. Especially when it came to Cassian. 

He wants to help.

She growled in irritation and pain. 

No.

She’d made it this far on her own. She could get through a measly infection.

“Gods, Nesta.” His shocked exclamation startled her from her own back and forth, and she went to cover her leg with her hands. But in a heartbeat, he was kneeling in front of her, wings spread wide behind him, the light of the fire dotting through the remaining unhealed openings. He was right– they were substantially fewer and farther between now. The sight spun a little in front of her, vision doubling then coming back to normal.

He had her wrists in his hands, prying them away from the cut with surprising gentleness. She hesitated, but he paused with her, his eyes meeting hers. Something in the way he waited, in the halting of his own movements…

He was a stranger. But, in this moment, he felt safe. 

She let him touch her, the size of his hands positively dwarfing her own. They were warm and calloused against the skin of her wrist, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath them. 

“Why didn’t you say how badly you were hurt?” His eyes found hers through a deeply furrowed brow, that scar flexing as they moved. 

“It wasn’t so bad when I fell asleep. I thought the poultice would heal it.” 

“You’ve been limping around on this?”

“I told you already, it didn’t hurt this badly yesterday,” she snapped back. The sharp movement made her yelp before she could stop it, and a look flashed over Cassian’s face so intensely that it stole her breath. 

“Where is everything you used on my wing? Tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Nesta. I’m not asking.” She was taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. It was far removed from the jovial teasing of the last day.

Nesta wasn’t used to it from him. She wasn’t used to it from anyone. 

“Alright, don’t get your pants in a twist. The bowls and cloths are next to my bag.” She pointed. “There should be a little water left. I was going to go out this morning and find a new water source.” She suddenly felt guilty for putting it off. 

“I can do it.”

“It isn’t far,” she offered as he busied himself, getting the fire roaring and the skin of water boiling over the flames.

“Can you describe to me where the water source is?” he asked. She remembered the map didn’t work for him, the ink enchanted only for her. 

“Fetch it out of the bag and let me see it.” He did so without protest, handing the ragged map back to her as she pinpointed the nearby stream she’d seen yesterday. “It’s a five minute walk east from here. Not the way we came.”

He leveled her with a stare. “I know what east means, Nesta.” 

She scoffed in response, ignoring him otherwise. “It looks like it’s a stream banked by two boulders right to the left of the path. One is shaped a bit like an egg.”

“That map must have decent markers.” The levity had returned to his voice. “I’ll go now while this heats. Don’t move.” 

“Yes, Mother,” she lobbed back, smirking sarcastically as he glowered at her. 

She followed his directions while he was gone. 

Mostly. 

She had painstakingly crawled over to her bag once she heard his footsteps fade, pulling it back with her to the bedroll with a shot of pain that had her holding back a groan. She needed to see if there were any attainable alternatives for medicinal plants that would help her heal. She was definitely well on her way to infection, if not already situated firmly within it, but there was no way she’d be comfortable taking the char root in a quantity large enough to help. She nibbled the tip of it just to take the edge off the pain and flipped through the book. There were plenty of poultice-type recipes, but nothing stronger than what she already had. 

You can trust him.

She gritted her teeth.

Can I? 

He hadn’t given her any reason not to. But still…

To be that vulnerable, that incapacitated in front of him. The thought was unbearable. Nesta knew how men were, what they wanted and how they took it. She’d met enough men like that to last her more than a lifetime. 

She stumbled outside to relieve herself before he returned, each step feeling like a roaring flame erupting around her leg. It was so unbearable that her vision began to white out as she staggered back into the cave after finishing. She all but threw herself down against the wall and into her bedroll, her breath coming in sharp pants.

Take the root. 

She couldn’t.

She’d simply need to clean it well and keep it well wrapped while she managed the pain and hoped it resolved on its own.

She had enough dried fruit and mushrooms to get them by for a few days, but without foraging, she’d run out before long. The jerky was entirely gone now. She put what was left of the food near the fire, then laid her head back against the cave wall and sighed, closing her eyes and waiting. 

Cassian was back in what felt like a blink, his shirt still off and the water skins full and heavy in his arms. 

“Good stream. Just about the distance you said.”

“Did you think I'd lie?” she asked with an eyebrow raised, but her labored breathing made her remarks come out hoarse. Cassian stalled with concern painted as clear as day across his face. He set the skins down, shuffling the boiling water off the open flame to cool and already getting to work arranging the items she’d need.

He worried over her like a mother hen. “Let me see it.” She shuffled a bit. 

“I can do it myself. Stop hovering.”

He leveled her with another glare. “I know a bit about injuries. You cared for mine when I couldn’t. Now let me help.”

She grit her teeth and all but growled at him. “I said , it’s fine.”

He rolled his eyes and Nesta’s defenses were up again. “You’re hurt. What was that you said about it would hurt less if you’d just let me help? ” He threw her own words back at her.

Nesta begrudgingly relented, choosing again to not correct him about the equalizing of their scales. He’d saved her life, he was going to stay on with her as she hiked to the Illyrian Mountains, now he was tending her wounds. The scales were tipping irreparably to one side already. But there was no room for argument. Cassian was already shifting so the light from the fire could fall on her leg as he inspected it. 

She sat restlessly beneath his watchful eyes, the soft press of his fingers near the wound causing her to inhale a sharp breath. If she was any more in her right mind, the indecency of the placement of his hands might have upset her more, but the char root had her feeling numbed, a pleasant buzzing in her ears as she let him take in the damage. 

“This is from the beast in the woods?” he asked, his hazel eyes lifting to meet hers. 

They were a dark, lush green. So deep that they looked like evergreen trees in the moonlight. From any other distance, they might be mistaken for a brown so dark it teetered on black, if not for the golden flecks in them. They rotated around the iris, almost red towards the center. She’d never seen any eyes like his, the colors in them melding like paints in a pool of fallen leaves on the forest floor.

“Nesta?”

She blinked, and her heart thumped. 

What had he asked?

“Is this from the monster?”

“Oh, yes. It got me just before you landed. A single claw, but it was enough.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, turning her leg in the flickering light. “I’m going to clean it. It’s showing signs of infection, and I worry that the poultice won’t be enough.”

Exactly what I thought, too.

The first touch of the warm cloth on her skin had her jumping, the sting of the wound nearly unbearable beneath his steady hands. 

“ Fuck, that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry.” And he sounded like he meant it. “Do you have any more of the char root you could take?”

Trust him.

Trust him.

No . 

“No, it’s gone. I took the last tiny bit of it while you were out.”

He looked at her apologetically. “I’ll be quick.” And he was. She could tell without looking that he’d done this before. She wanted to ask him about it–ask him to distract her with stories of the more gruesome injuries that he’d treated in his lifetime so she could think about anything but her own. 

But she couldn’t, her jaw clenched tightly as she tried not to scream. She should have eaten more of the root, taken a larger bite and damned the consequences. It hurt , and her mind was screaming as he cleaned the infected skin, dutifully making sure he missed nothing. 

After countless swipes with the cloth, Nesta felt near delusional with the effort of holding herself together. 

“...esta. Nesta?” Her thoughts swam back into focus as she blinked her eyes open, only to see Cassian’s own staring worriedly into hers. “I’m done. You still with me?”

She nodded feebly, wetting her cracked lips with her tongue. Her throat felt raw. Had she actually been screaming? Cassian looked so concerned as he crouched on the ground in front of her. 

“I reapplied the poultice and wrapped it. We’re done.” She looked down in surprise. She had missed him doing that in the cloud of relentless pain. 

“Thank you,” she rasped out, and he leaned over to grab her a water skin and place it in her hands. “How bad is it?”

He cringed. “It isn’t great.”

“But you’ve seen worse?” She tried to crack a joke, but the question just came out sounding desperate. Cassian hid another grimace badly. 

“Of course. I’ve lived through wars. I’ve seen much, much worse.” 

She nodded, then let her head fall back against the wall. She could hear the unsaid words. 

I’ve seen worse, and it ended how you might expect.

“There are still mushrooms and dried fruit by the fire,” she croaked pitifully. 

Cassian nodded, then busied himself in the cave, cleaning and putting the supplies near her bag. She’d have to do it all again tomorrow. The thought exhausted her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Cassian was asleep on the ground. Closer now than he had been before.

She must have fallen asleep. 

She blinked again and he was awake beside her, reading one of her books. When she stirred, he bent down and offering her some of the fruit. The thought turned her stomach. 

“Nesta, you need to eat.” The words echoed in and out, the sound reverberating as though bouncing around in her mind. She tried to shake her head, thought she might have, but the darkness was closing in again, the things in her vision catching and blurring. 

She had a final thought that this wasn’t normal. 

When Nesta woke again, the cave was quiet save for the crackling of the fire and Cassian’s steady breathing by her side. He was propped beside her against the wall of the cave. 

At first, she thought he might be asleep, but he opened his eyes and looked at her the moment she moved. His face swam in and out of her vision. 

His beautiful face.

Some emotion flickered across it and she wondered if she hadn’t spoken the words aloud. She thought she might be blushing, but her whole body felt hot. 

“Nesta, is there anything else in your bag that might help?” His voice was warped, the sound quiet and loud all at once. 

She wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Her mouth was so dry, her eyes hurt with the effort to keep them open as sharp fractals of firelight magnified and swam across her vision. She wanted to tell him to get the char root, but it was too late. Her mouth wouldn’t move with the words she wanted so badly for it to say. She could see plain as day the horror on his face as he watched her. 

Nesta would die here, not from some animal attack or a mythical beast, but from a simple infection and her own blasted stubbornness. 

She could feel his hand on her jaw, warm and large, nearly encompassing her entire face. 

“Please, Nesta. If there’s anything else…”

She opened her mouth. She wanted so badly to tell him. The thought hit her from the depths of her spinning consciousness. 

She didn’t want this to be the last time she saw him. 

She didn’t want to die in this cave. 

Her adventure wasn’t over. Her purpose not yet fulfilled. She hadn’t risked everything to die like this. 

“--ch–char.” She had no idea if she’d actually managed to say the words aloud until Cassian reacted.

He leaned in immediately. “What? Nesta, say it again.”

“Bag–root.” She tried to point but her hand barely moved. 

“There’s more char root in your bag?” It sounded like he was screaming the words as he moved, the air cold around her at his sudden absence. 

“ You stupid, stubborn woman… ”

She could have laughed at the words, but her consciousness was slipping again, the awareness like grains of sand in an hour glass, dropping through the hole one by one. Certainly, Cassian was not the only one who thought that about her.

She felt the gentle opening of her mouth, something wet and sticky and coarse dropping into it. 

“Chew it, Nesta. Chew and swallow.” She tried. 

Was she doing it? Was anything happening? 

She tried again. 

She could hear Cassian distantly cursing.

“Nesta, please… ”

The words drifted as she did, a pleasant feeling of rumbling nothing sweeping through her body. She tried, again and again, unsure if it was all in her mind or if anything was actually happening. Blissfully, the pain was ebbing, the reality of it all slipping away. There, in the firelight, she could only feel the warmth of a single bloodred wing embracing her. 

Am I already dreaming?

“Sleep, Nesta. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

+++

She could feel the strangling lace of the wedding dress beneath her fingers, the corset tight around her ribs and waist. She couldn’t see anything, the air around her opaque with something like a white, smoky haze.

It was hard to breathe, the strings pulling tighter and tighter as she fruitlessly tried to gulp lungfuls of air against the tugging on her chest. 

“Suck it in, Nesta.” The words rattled around in her mind. Not because of what they were, but because of who said them. She recognized that voice, though for years she’d only heard it in her nightmares. “Tomas won’t want a fat bride. Your chest doesn’t do you any favors.” 

Her mother tugged the corset tighter, tighter, until Nesta couldn’t breathe at all, the world spinning around her and the lace itching her skin raw. 

“Don’t. Please don’t make me do this.” She was crying, uncaring of who saw the break in her carefully curated walls. She would scream, cry, and beg on her knees if it got her out of this. “You know what he’s like, Momma. Please. Please.”

She felt the slap on her face, her skin burning up. 

“Pathetic.” The word echoed. 

Pathetic.

“You’re lucky he’s even still taking this deal.” Her mother’s voice hissed around her in the sightless gloom. “Feyre gone, the Archeron name sullied. Because of  you. You had a single job and you couldn’t do it. Pathetic.”

Pathetic. 

Unlovable. 

Couldn’t do it.

“You will serve him, Nesta. Whatever he wants.”

“No! Momma, please.” She went to turn but found she couldn’t, her hands dragging down as great chains bound her to the floor. “You know what he’s like. Don’t do this.”

Her chest heaved now with sobs. She grabbed for her mother’s dress in the haze like a child, casting her hands out into the void until she felt fabric.

“I’ll do anything. Anything. Please, Momma. He’ll break me, he’ll–”

“And it will be what you deserve.”

The air around her blustered, the fabric slipping from her hands and the smoke swirling. Her mother was gone.

It is what I deserve.

The words hung heavy. Her soul hung heavy. 

Someone grabbed her arms, the hands large and hot near her shoulders. For a moment, she wondered if it was Cassian, here to save her again when she didn’t deserve it. But the voice in her ear was not his. 

“It is what you deserve.” She flinched by reflex, Tomas’ low voice creeping around the nape of her neck and making her recoil. “ I am what you deserve.”

She tore at the chains, but it was no use. She could feel him behind her, pressed against her back. He was closing in, and there was nothing she could do. No one left here for her. 

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this…”

But the words meant nothing. They never had. 

Nesta was there to serve a purpose, to fill a role, no matter what she might have wanted. She wasn’t wanted for her, only her name, her position, her family, her breeding potential. Never her. 

She sobbed again in the quiet haze, the hopelessness of her situation sinking in.

But nothing happened. 

The silence stretched on and on, no more threats or horrid words. Then Nesta realized the weight at her wrists was gone, the hands on her arms, too. There was a caress across her skin, soft as a breeze around her hands. She blinked her eyes open to find the haze had been replaced with a soft, orange glow. She could hear a muted crackling, like the low burning of logs on an open flame.

Am I by the fire?

She looked down. Around her hands fluttered a rope–no, a ribbon. It was the same orangeish red hue, glowing brightly, flickering around her hands as though it wanted her to grab it. It was warm when she wrapped her hands around it, solid to the touch. It pulled her forward, and she followed.

She felt warmth all around her now instead of the desolate clammy mist that had covered her before. There was a sense of safety as she moved through the cloudy brightness with the ribbon in her hands. 

I am safe here.

Wherever here was. The ribbon stopped tugging, disappearing into the glow.

Some part of her recognized that red suffusion of light, the comfort of it easing her tension and fear and replacing it with exhaustion. 

Here, I can sleep. Here, I can rest.

+++

Cassian

In the low light, Cassian watched her sleep. 

It was the softest he’d seen her since he met her, the peace on her face making her look exactly as young as she was. Her body was finally still, the twitching stopping as her fever began to break, that frantic worry that had filled him starting to ease off. Her head still rested on his thigh where he’d put it to keep an eye on her while she slept. There was something strangely enchanting about her now—lying there, still, her chest rising and falling with the slow, rhythmic ease of someone who didn’t need to fight.

Her breath caught lightly on an inhale, the tiniest snore Cassian had ever heard, and her lips stayed parted as the flickering firelight cast shadows across her skin.

Nesta Archeron.

What were the fucking odds?

He’d spent much of the last two days wondering exactly this. Cassian wasn’t one to put much stock into fate, but he wasn’t an idiot either. There had been so many moments in his life where the timing had been something spectacular, something nearly unbelievable, but nothing quite so stark as this. If he hadn’t heard her scream, if he hadn’t been slowed by his wings and flying over at that exact moment, he’d have passed right by this place–right over her. He refused to think of what would have happened to her if he’d been only moments later.

She murmured something he couldn’t make out, her lips dry and cracked. The urge to dip his fingers into the water skin and run them over her lips almost possessed him, but he already knew she’d be uncomfortable with the way she slept–he wasn’t going to push it. 

It didn’t take much to understand that Nesta didn’t allow many, if any, people to see her this way. The memory Rhys had shared with him had told him that much, certainly. Feyre probably knew her own sister better than anyone else, and she’d outright told them how closed off she was–how many walls she had up to prevent people from being let in. Cassian brushed a light touch over Nesta’s brow as it furrowed in sleep. It was sticky with sweat but cooling now, her fever finally broken. He breathed a sigh of relief at that, at least. 

He’d been almost sure that they were too late. 

Stubborn, willful woman. 

His eyes studied her face again as they had at every opportunity since he’d met her. Stubborn, willful, beautiful woman. 

She’d refused the char root, lied about having it, all because she didn’t trust him. He understood–he’d probably have done the same in her situation. Strangely, she reminded him so much of Azriel that it had knocked the breath from him more than once. But still, the lack of trust stung more than he cared to admit. When he’d come back to the cave to find her looking like death, he’d panicked. He hadn’t smelled the infection on her, the cloying mint of the poultice covering the decay of gangrene in her skin. She’d been feeding him and caring for his injuries all this time, and he’d missed how badly she was hurt. 

She’d done a good enough job of covering it that Cassian didn’t doubt a word Feyre had shared about her. This was a woman used to hiding her own suffering through any and all means. And when she’d let him finally see the severity of it, he’d nearly passed out himself. 

How had a human been functioning on this leg? He’d fought wars with men that this injury would have incapacitated. He’d done what he could, taking great care to clean and dress it as well as possible while she grit her teeth in pain. He’d lost her a few times, the pain of it all slipping her off to somewhere else, compartmentalizing the agony in her mind. But the way she’d looked at him when she was lucid, her small hand gripping him for dear life…

It had done something to Cassian– changed something within him. 

The moment when he saw her resolve flutter, that ice-cold exterior cracking just enough to let him in, had nearly undone him. Now, as he stroked a hand lightly across her hair, smoothing it away from her face, he knew that was true. In the short time since he’d plummeted from the sky, he had become strangely attached to this fierce human woman–his High Lady’s sister. 

Even human, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Nesta reminded him of sharpened steel, the beautiful glint of a newly hewn sword or dagger. She reminded him of the tearing winds off Ramiel’s face, the glittering ice on the way up. She was jagged edges and unyielding determination and grit and ferocity. But there was something hidden and soft about her that kept drawing Cassian closer. 

“She is distant and cold because she knows if she isn’t, then she can be hurt.” How long had it been since Nesta could relax? Strangely, Cassian wanted to be the one to see her let her guard down, and he somehow knew he’d do anything for it. 

She murmured in her sleep again, and he let his hand smooth her hair down. Silver eyes flickered back and forth beneath shut lids, and she whimpered low in her throat. He couldn't help himself from brushing another sweaty lock of hair from her forehead and letting his hand linger on her cheek. He wanted to soothe the worry away–take whatever it was that was haunting her and do anything he could to help her find some peace.

She calmed again, her body relaxing against him and the hard stone of the floor as he tugged the blanket back up that she’d shrugged off. At least they were out of danger. He leaned his head back against the cave wall and closed his eyes. His wings rustled, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn’t believe the speed with which she’d mended them, no pause or hesitation in her methods. As a human, she’d likely never seen anything even remotely like his wings before–she probably hadn’t known for more than the weeks she’d spent in Prythian that creatures like him existed at all. Still, she’d stitched them together, holding him down with one arm while he’d writhed in the strangest combination of pain and overwhelming arousal that he’d ever experienced. Her fingers had been strong but delicate, the touch of them sending him into some mental space he’d never quite entered before. No one touched his wings but him. Even when he’d been injured in the past, he’d been knocked out while they were fixed. But he hadn’t stopped her. He didn’t regret it. 

And he couldn’t help but prod her when she’d understood what was happening–couldn’t resist teasing out that beautiful blush that crept up her neck to her high cheekbones. But the way she’d touched them, cared for them…it had felt intimate beyond belief. Instead of feeling vulnerable or snapping, Cassian had felt so oddly safe under the care of this prickly woman he’d only just met, even with her sharp-barbed words. 

He sighed, reaching out with his mind again in the silence of the cave to find only a foggy darkness. 

Rhys…

He’d been trying since the first night, only to be met with nothing but eerie, heavy quiet. It reminded him too much of the way things had been for the last five decades, and it made him so uncomfortable he itched. Either the distance or The Middle was interfering, but regardless, nothing was getting through. 

Would they come for him eventually? They had no way to know where he had landed, no way to know he hadn't made it to The Human Lands. They hadn’t even set up any check ins, assuming that he wouldn’t run into any difficulties. When would they start to wonder? Would they find them walking north to Illyria? Hopefully, by the time they reached a friendlier court, he could reach out to Rhys somehow and get help.

Abruptly, Nesta cried out, her body trying to curl in on itself so violently that Cassian lurched forward to keep her head from hitting the floor. 

“Please… Please! ” Her voice was anguished, the cries desperate as they fell from her mouth. 

“I’ll do anything. Anything.” She cried out again, and it was all Cassian could do to hook an arm around her shoulders to keep her still. He ran a thumb in circles over her shoulder, trying hard to be a soothing presence. He’d had his experiences with char root enough times to know that attempting to wake someone during the nightmares was a horrible idea. Still, he held her through it, hoping that the gentle rocking motion would soothe her rather than frighten her further.

“ Please, Momma. He’ll break me, he’ll–” The words echoed in the cave as she whimpered, her voice sounding so frail and unlike her. But it was the words themselves that made Cassian see red. 

Who had hurt her? Who had this fearsome woman of steel and stone so frightened that she ran from them in her worst nightmares? He’d seen the way she’d reacted when he’d lost his temper and slammed his fist into the cave floor–had seen the way she drew back into herself like she had to remember where she was. Nesta had been hurt by someone–likely a man–and the thought brought such wrath and fury to the surface of Cassian’s consciousness that he needed to force himself to take a breath.

Someone had hurt her, and the thought sent his feelings careening into a rage he’d rarely felt off the battlefield. Her nose and brow scrunched, almost as if in pain, and the glint of a single tear at the corner of her eye almost pushed him over the edge. 

He needed to rein it in for her. She was vulnerable. She didn’t need his wrath, she needed his comfort. He leaned down to whisper the words in her ear, brushing the tear away as it made a track down her temple.

“You’re safe, Nesta. You can rest.”

Though she didn’t wake, she seemed to calm at the words, a deep, shuddering exhale leaving her. 

“I’ll keep you safe.” The words left him without him even thinking about it, as though he hadn’t meant to say them at all. But he had the bone-deep knowledge immediately that he meant them. That he’d do anything to make sure that she wasn’t harmed. He’d come here for Rhys and Feyre, but there was no doubt in his mind that, now, he was here for Nesta.

Still asleep, her hand shot up to grab at his where it rested on her shoulder, her small fingers twisting to interlock with his like she needed the contact, the anchor. Her pulse beat against his fingers, the fluttering of it like the thumping of a wild rabbit in a trap. Slowly, it returned to normal, her breathing evening back out as whatever nightmare plagued her faded away. 

Once she was settled, he relaxed back against the wall again. Even though she was asleep, even though it meant nothing, she had trusted him. His heart pulsed strangely at the sentiment, a warmth that he wasn’t familiar with beating through his veins. Once she woke, her walls would rise again, as if nothing had changed–he wasn’t foolish enough to think otherwise. Her harshness would return, the distance between them would widen, and the woman who had let him care for her would be gone. But for now, in the firelight, she was beautiful beyond words—soft, unguarded, and safe enough that she’d let him care for her in a way she wouldn’t let anyone else.

It wasn’t long before he was falling asleep to the steady beat of her heartbeat against his skin. 

+++

Nesta’s eyelids felt like stone and dust as she blinked back into consciousness. 

Her head felt heavy and clouded, her tongue a useless weight in her mouth. 

How long have I been asleep?

She was immediately aware of what had occurred, remembering the char root that she’d taken by force at the last possible moment. 

Stupid, Nesta. So incredibly stupid. 

She was already more lucid than she had been before, painfully aware now of how close she’d come to irreparable damage for her pride. She took stock of her body as she blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Her body ached, her thigh tender, and her skin itched with the sensation of dried sweat. 

Lovely. 

Her fever must have broken in the night, the steady orange light of the fire the only thing illuminating the cave. As her vision returned, she realized that she was staring at the rocky ceiling, the stone jagged above her head as it caught the flickering shadows. Her head was on something soft and warm, her neck cradled on the material like a pillow. Then the pillow moved. 

She startled, her body jerking to attention as though she’d been shocked. She had been resting on Cassian’s lap, her head cradled on one of his thighs as she slept. 

Her body recoiled sharply, but everything spun madly around her and the arm she’d tried to use wasn’t supporting her weight. The nausea was so overwhelming that she thought she might vomit, might fall straight into it after, but two hands lightly gripped her shoulders. 

She remembered her dream. 

But these hands weren’t rough, weren’t hard on her skin. 

She thought she’d panic, but she didn’t feel trapped. The hands were large, warm, but they supported her. They didn’t drag her down, but eased her, turning her gently. She recognized his voice. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe. Take it easy.”

She could see his blurry face swim in her vision as she felt her body eased back to the cave floor. His eyes–beautiful eyes–looked so concerned, so relieved. It was a balm on her frenzied thoughts, a reprieve to the terror. 

It’s what you deserve.

The words were heavy and acidic, but they also felt hollow and far away as they were drowned out by “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

She relaxed into her bedroll on the cave floor, her eyes still feeling swollen and her emotions raw. 

“You’re okay, Nesta. All healed.”

She tried to nod, his voice reassuring in the near dark.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

She pulled at her wrists, and though they moved strangely, distantly, she could tell that they weren’t chained. She could feel the light linen of her top and not the stifling, tight lace of a dress and corset. 

Safe. 

She sighed. 

Cassian was quiet for a moment while she came back into her body before he asked, “Why didn’t you take the char root?” There was no accusation left in his voice, just genuine concern. 

She tried to open her mouth to speak, but it felt filled with ash and dirt. She cleared her throat and tried again, only to feel him pressing the mouth of the water skin to her lips. She drank, and it tasted better than anything she could remember. 

When she’d had her fill, she tried again. “It made me hallucinate before. I was unconscious for hours.”

“And you were scared.” It wasn’t a question.

“How long was it?”

“About ten hours.”

Ten hours. He’d sat with her for ten hours. 

“It’s healed?”

“You’ll have a nasty scar, but it’s healed.” He spoke the words tightly. There was no levity in his voice. “You didn’t trust me.” 

A statement. A fact. She tried to ignore what was plainly hurt in his voice, and she also ignored the way it made her feel empty in her chest, horrid. 

She didn’t answer for a while, her dream fresh in her mind. “You’re a stranger.”

He wasted no time in response. “I would never hurt you.”

She fought the urge to scoff, refusing to look at him. “You’re a man.”

“No, I'm a male.”

“What’s the difference?” The words were biting, but the interest was genuine, even as she faded between waking and dreaming.

“I am not mortal. We do not function the same ways as human men, and so we don’t call ourselves men.” He answered the question as though it were simple information everyone knew. She didn’t see the difference. All men, and likely all males, were the same. 

“Do males not feel entitled to take?” She shot the question with barbs, her hurt more evident that she wanted it to be, but it was out before she could stop it. 

Still, Cassian's words were soft when he answered. “Some might, but I do not. I would not.”

She didn’t expect the boundless bubble of emotion that emerged in her throat at the response. He said it so assuredly, so matter-of-factly. In his voice, she could hear the pity, and she hated it. She knew what it meant. 

She couldn’t respond, just shut her eyes, the exhaustion so bone deep that she thought she might actually cry. 

I would not.

After silence that stretched so long she worried he’d left, he spoke quietly but firmly. “You can trust me, you know.”

I know , she wanted to say–the reaction immediate. Against her better judgement, she did know it. Some deep layer of her felt it.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true.

Instead, she let her breaths even out. 

She wouldn’t acknowledge it aloud, wouldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him. But she would try to believe him, allowing herself the privilege of safety to drift back into a dreamless sleep.