#expressing that something would make you feel strange is hard to do without sounding like there's a negative connotation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

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It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.

So sure, until you're not.

Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10.9k

“I get… dreams.” You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynor’s head. It’s always better than looking her in the eyes. “They’re weird.”

“The very nature of dreams is to be strange.” You can see the shrug of Raynor’s shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. “Although if you feel they’re worthy of note-“

“They are.”

Raynor hums. She’s probably raising her brows. You still won’t look.

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am.” You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. “It’s- They’re not new.”

“Ah.” Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. “This conversation may be easier if you would look at me.”

“No thanks, I’m-“

She says your name again. A little harsher. “We’ve discussed this. You’re here of your own volition-“

“That’s not true.” You mutter. “Court-ordered isn’t volition.”

“Well you could’ve chosen the inpatient ward.” Raynor’s shrugging again. “Look at me.”

You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. You’d been right. She was raising her brows.

“Good work.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. “Tell me about these dreams.”

It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you don’t have them, but because you’d never expected to use them. You’ve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didn’t need another reason to be called crazy.

“I’ve had them my whole life.” It’s easiest to start there. “But it’s- they’ve changed. Over time.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

You scowl. “I am trying, Christina, but there’s kind of a lot to say-“

Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. “How about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?”

It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. “I was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream I’d ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It was…” You swallow, and there’s a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. “Really vivid.”

——

This isn’t your body. It’s too big, too tall, and you’re not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You can’t even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.

But this doesn’t really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically you’d think it was a machine if you couldn’t hear its heartbeat in your ears. There’s a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.

You’re pretty sure it's a he. There’s hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the body’s arms swing into view they’re big and muscular. You’re also pretty sure there’s something between your legs that wasn’t there when you went to sleep.

And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, he’s bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. He’s roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skull—his skull—and it all goes quiet.

You can see another man in your line of vision. He’s on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if there’s a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.

A gloved fist that’s attached to your body—but not yours to control—reaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes.

He’s desperate. Locked down and furious, the ‘he’ who you’re possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop.

But he doesn’t.

And there’s a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.

——

Raynor’s looking at you like you’re insane. You don’t love it.

“Did you…” She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. “Did you see the hand?”

You blink at her. “Yeah, I just said-“

“Without the glove.” She clarifies. “The one that snapped the man’s neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.”

It’s an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor she’s never looked so obviously invested in a story.

“Not for a while.” You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. “He always wore the gloves. And when he didn’t, he wouldn’t look at his hands-“

Raynor frowns. “So how did you know he wasn’t wearing the gloves?”

“Because he knew.” You shrug. “I lived in his brain like, every night.”

“Every-“

“Night, yeah. That’s what I fucking said.”

Raynor hums, and you think she’s going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. “You said you didn’t see the hand for a while. When did you see it?”

“When I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.”

“Changed from-“

“Being in his head.” You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if they’re your dreams. He’s a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if you’ve realized turns out to be the truth, you don’t want to ruin anything. “It’s- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-“

“Everything?”

You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like it’s a lie.

“All the murders.” You mutter. “There were a lot of murders.”

Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.

“One night I went to sleep and he was… attacking some blond guy. We couldn’t really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.”

——

You can see him. You’ve never seen him before.

He’d never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like he’s a Wattpad character. He’s only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didn’t seemed thrilled with what was happening either.

But you’re not in his head, or his body. You’re standing in a bathroom—in your own body, wearing the same clothing you’d been wearing when you’d crawled into bed—and looking at him.

He’s a lot more attractive than you’d anticipated. And you’d anticipated attractive. You’d built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders he’d been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but you’d also been so goddamn sure he wasn’t real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life.

But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like they’d been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame that’s somehow bigger when you’re looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair that’s really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.

Because he does not look okay.

He’s gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. He’s bent like there’s a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know how to shake off, and that’s impressive, because you’ve seen him pick up a car.

The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.

His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. You’d always thought blue eyes were overrated—big whoop, you’re more sensitive to light—but there’s something silver in this man’s eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm you’d like to chase.

He’s really pretty.

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly that’s burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand.

One metal hand.

——

Raynor looks worried now. You wish she’d go back to thinking you’re just batshit crazy.

“Do you-” she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. “His name. Did you ever learn his name?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

It’s a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat.

“I-“ You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way you’ve always practiced. “I didn’t, for a while-“

Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. “Stop telling me something didn’t happen for a while. If I ask a question, it’s because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.”

You frown. “Need to know?”

“It’s…” Raynor sighs. “It is very important that you give me a name.”

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

You give her a flat look. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is. Name.”

“If you need the name,” you say, raising your chin slightly. “You have to sit through my for a while.”

Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I can’t take two of them, before raising her voice. “Fine. What was for a while.”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” You explain. “For like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldn’t see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And it’s not like he was just walking around telling the air I’m Bucky-“

“Bucky?” Raynor looks downright distressed. “His name was-“

“It’s Bucky.”

He still is. He’s not a was, Bucky is.

That’s part of the problem.

“And how-“ Raynor swallows. “How did you learn this?”

“He told me.”

——

This is new. You’re not on a street or in a half-empty apartment—the two places you’ve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleep—but in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

And there he is. His hair isn’t greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it. He’s standing taller than before, like the weight you’ve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.

His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hats—you too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the ‘Doggers’—and shitty polyester t-shirts.

You’re taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain could’ve possibly taken you this time, when he does something you’d never expected.

He turns and looks at you.

Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

You’ve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.

It’s smooth and richer now. You don’t know if that’s because it’s directed at you—setting off small sparks over your ribs—or in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.

“Hi.” You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.

He’s right in front of you. Staring at you.

He’s always gotten prettier every time you’ve seen him. This is different.

This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because there’s a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.”

He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.

“That’s a weird name.”

He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. “I guess, yeah. Never thought about it. It’s just a nickname.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “Sorry. That’s- I just never thought you as- never mind.”

Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouth—likely ask you what you mean by that—but you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.

He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours.

“Why can you see me?” You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth.

Bucky frowns at you. “Should I… Not be able to see you?”

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue.

You’re holding his gaze. You’ve never held anyone’s gaze before.

It’s kind of electrifying.

“I’ve dreamt about you before.” You mumble. “And you’ve never seen me.”

“About me?”

He doesn’t sound like he believes you. You get that. It’s not really a reasonable or believable statement.

“Yeah. But you had two arms. And there weren’t goats.”

Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you don’t get to be privy to.

It’s enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile.

“Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?”

You blink at him. You’d expected more questions, or some doubt. But he’s just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.

“Are they...” You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. “Your goats?”

“They’re community goats.” He shrugs. “But Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I don’t really want to connect with people.” His voice lowers, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “They don’t really like connecting with me.”

You don’t know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. “So goats?”

He gives you another odd look, like he’d expected you to say something else.

“Yeah. Goats.”

“Did you name them?”

He frowns. “They’re goats. They don’t need names.”

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Wrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.”

“You named your phone?”

“Yep.” You grin at him, and it’s a wide, teasing grin you haven’t given anyone in years. “Bertha.”

“That’s…” Bucky’s still staring at you–he seems to do that a lot—but there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “Bertha is not a good name.”

“Better than Bucky.”

He chuckles at that, and it’s a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.

It’s the sort of thing that could be addicting, if you’re not careful. Worse, it’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind being addicted to.

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

“Yep.” You shrug, ignoring how ‘doll’ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. “And I’ll be meaner if you don’t let me name your goats.”

He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm you’d see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, you’d like to do a little more than chase it.

You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it.

“Will you come back if I let you name them?”

He keeps saying things you don’t expect. Of course you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Only if you promise to actually use the names.”

He nods, giving you another smile. “Deal.”

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

You shake your head. “I never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called ‘Bucky’ and we got off topic.”

“One… point?” Raynor’s words are slow, and you’ve really never seen her looked lost like this before. You’d be proud of yourself if it wasn’t a bad sign. “Exactly how frequently did these dreams occur?”

———

“You’re back!”

Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like it’s truly odd and lovely to see you here.

Like you’re not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.

You’ve worked out that you’ve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because you’d seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy T’challa Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. You’d almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferences—the ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasn’t ringing in your ears—and your brain had just decided to run with it.

At least, you think it’s just your brain. You’ve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. He’d never really changed, for six years. He’d had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but now—as you actually get to know him—he seems dangerously like a real person.

He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.

The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of ‘made up in your brain’ if he couldn’t be so annoying.

He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesn’t get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.

But he doesn’t.

And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole.

That’s cruel. He’d been right. You could be mean.

He never seemed to mind.

And he’s more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.

You like his company. You like his voice. You like that he’s annoying and you like more that it’s your exact type of annoying.

You like that he’s really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit.

You mostly just like him.

“Of course I’m back.” You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. “I’m always back.”

“Yeah. So far.” You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, he’s staring again. “Could change.”

“Won’t change.” You counter, giving him a pointed look. “Sorry, Buck. You’re stuck here until I die.”

That’s the first time you’ve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

“Not right now, no.” You hum. Another rock gets kicked. “Death doesn’t agree with me.”

He chuckles. “Don’t think it agrees with anyone, doll-“

“Shut up.” Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. “Shit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-“

“Bubs will be.” Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. He’s standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. “And I still can’t believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.”

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

“You think that’s funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,” he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like it’s some sort of answer. “I had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-“

Your eyes widen. “You let the goats get pregnant?”

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

He gives you a dry, amused look. “Would you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?”

You blink at him. “You know what cockblock means?”

Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You don’t know why, but you stopped asking questions like “why” and “what” a long time ago. You just know that he shouldn’t know what cockblock means, for consistency.

“Of course I know what it means. You taught it to me.” He winks at you, and you’re pretty sure you’re flushing.

This is meant to be a dream. You shouldn’t be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.

This seems less like a dream every night.

You’d be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.

“Are goats births gross?” You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter.

“They’re fucking disgusting.” He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isn’t going to make your fall over. “But if you let me show you one in here, I’ll let you name the babies out there.”

You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barn—goat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus you’d like to see re-aimed in your direction—and four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.

———

“So you’d see him in… Wakanda.” Raynor takes another long breath. If you didn’t think it would make everything worse, you’d tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. “Did the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?”

You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You haven’t seen Bucky kill anyone since you’d been trapped in his brain. He’s a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-

“It’s important that I know,” she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. “So I better understand what’s been happening to you. Please,” she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. “Answer my questions.”

You nod, letting out a slow exhale. “No murders. But he did start coming into my brain.”

Raynor frowns at you. “Was he not always-“

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that would’ve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.

“Hey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-“ He frowns, glancing around your apartment. “Where the hell am I?”

You don’t answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like-

“What, uh,” Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. “What’s happening here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

“No.” You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and you’ve never been this close before, but you don’t have any urge to move away. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You’ve never been here. It’s been ten years, and you’ve never been here.”

“I know, doll. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to-“ He pauses, giving you an odd look. “Ten years?”

“Yeah.” You mumble. There’s not much else to say.

He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. “Huh. You gonna tell me where I am?”

“My apartment.”

“Your-“ He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. “You live in this place?”

You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home.

The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. You’re asleep. You’re pretty fucking sure you’re asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so you’re asleep. Bucky’s never been here before, but he’s not really here because this is a dream and he’s not real.

You think.

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-

“It’s very… you.” He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.

He’s right. You’ve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.

And you’re not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.

“Can I get the grand tour?” He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.

And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.

And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until you’re twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid it’s the only thing that still tells you:

None of this is real.

———

“It was split after that.” You say. ”Half the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.”

You’re watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like she’s ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

You frown at him. “Stop calling it that, it’s just my face-“

“No. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.”

He’s touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. You’d smack his hand away if his touch wasn’t soothing and flaring all at once. If you didn’t really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.

“But it’s not like that now.” He finishes, giving you a pointed look. “You got moose-face.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Moose-face is worse, Bucky. And it’s still not a real thing-“

“Yeah it is. Most people got a moose face.” He shrugs. He’s staring again. It’s taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. “Tight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think they’re too good to be in the headlights. They’re gonna go down fighting.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Can I see your moose face?”

“I don’t have a moose face-“

“Liar.” You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. “You said everyone has one-“

“I said ‘most people.’” Bucky shrugs. “Moose face means you’re gonna get hit, you just don’t believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.”

“Sounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.”

He chuckles. You’re sitting down, and you’re going to fall over. “No luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.” He frowns at the air. “Never could afford to have one.”

There’s suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. It’s suffocating and crushing and rotten, and it’s just an expression but everything feels worse when you see it—when his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroom—so it needs to stop right now.

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“You said no moose face.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “Do you have a wolf face?”

“I don’t know what that is-“

“So suddenly you’re the only one who’s allowed to make up expressions?”

You hold is gaze for a long second—you’ve gotten really good at doing that, but only when you’re dreaming of Bucky—until his lips twitch slightly.

And everything feels alright again.

———

“How much of New York appeared in your… dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?”

You frown at the air. Raynor’s indulging in this, but not like you’d hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that you’re crazy. You’d really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.

“Not really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.”

“And what did you-“ Raynor’s whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. “What did you show Bucky?”

You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. “Stuff. In my apartment.”

———

You don’t know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.

Maybe it was that you’d finally mentioned all the murders, and you’d never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadn’t mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.

Maybe it’s that you always tell him about your day. That this—whatever this is—has shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now that’s how most nights are spent.

Bucky’s reports are short. The goats are being goats—that’s all they know how to do—he doesn’t like a song someone tried to make him listen to because it’s too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.

Maybe it’s how he always hangs onto your every word. Like it’s gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood you’ve imagined on his hands.

And maybe that’s it.

Maybe it’s how you really don’t believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that he’s not real. That he’s just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need.

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

But you’re certain it’s a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way you’re supposed to be wherever he is.

And now you’re here.

You’d started it. You’d slammed your mouth to his, and he hadn’t moved. There had been a brief moment where you’d been worried you’d made a mistake, but the second you’d tried to push back on his chest and apologize, he’d kicked into gear.

And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.

But you can really feel this.

And it’s heaven.

You’d expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. It’s how you’d always seen him move and speak, and you hadn’t been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Bucky kisses you like you’re air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and it’s all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.

It takes effort to pry your mouth from Bucky’s. He doesn’t want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pants—smiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent request—he hisses against your lips.

“You-“ He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. “You don’t- Shit, doll, you don’t know what you’re doing to me-“

You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. “Maybe. I’d like to do more.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. “Think you could take more, sweetheart? Cause I’ve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-“

It’s easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.

“Want more.” You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. “Want you.”

Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes he’s staring again. Looking at you like you’re glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like he’s checking that you’re not going to vanish.

“You want me.” He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. “You sure about-“

“Yes.” You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. “Only if you do, obviou-“

Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know what’s happening he’s lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.

You don’t know when you ended up naked. You can’t really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that aren’t his name.

It’s another point in favor of this being a dream. Bucky’s mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly real—licking and biting and eating you out like he’s been starved for a hundred years—but this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until you’re squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way that’s driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-

“Bucky-“ You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. “Please- I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m so close-“

He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.

He’s ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and you’re panting and flushed and drunk on him. You don’t know how you’ll manage to move on from this in real life.

You don’t really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.

He’s naked now too.

And he’s perfect.

His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-

Bucky’s hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.

He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. You’re going to lose your mind.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He mutters, pulling you a little further back. “Need to be inside of you, doll. Please.”

You’d have to be insane to say no.

You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in.

“You-“

“I’m sure.” You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. “God, I’m so fucking sure, please-“

He’s shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.

“I do that,” he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. “Legs open, doll, want to see how wet I’m making you.”

You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. “Fuck, Bucky-“ He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- I- Please-“

“You want my cock?” He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. “Come on, tell me you want it-“

“Want it,” you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, Bucky, you said- You said you’d fuck me-“

He clicks his tongue. “I said I’d be inside of you-“

“But- But I want you to fuck me.” You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. “Please, Bucky-“

You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but it’s a short-lived pain.

Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and you’d been wrong again.

He hadn’t ruined you. He’s destroyed you.

You’ve never been so full in your life. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Bucky’s every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but he’s pressed his body over yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world, and he’s groaning your name down your throat like it’s a hymn.

You’d say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Bucky’s hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and you’re so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, you’re sure you’re going to fly out of your skin.

Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.

You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.

“That was…” He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually you’ve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where there’s still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and you’re so happily trapped under the warmth of Bucky’s body-

Happy.

You’re happy.

This isn’t real, but under Bucky’s body you’re safe and warm and happy. And you don’t want to go.

Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. “Needed this.” There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. “Needed you. And I know it’s dumb to thank you, because-“

“It’s not.” You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “And I needed you too.”

He lets out a dry laugh that you don’t understand, but doesn’t push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like you’re a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.

And you really don’t know why he’d laughed.

You do need him. You’re growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That he’s more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.

He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm.

He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasn’t really the best guy either, for a really long time.

He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues.

You know he’s not telling you everything, but you also know he’s not lying.

And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.

———

“I see.” Raynor swallows, and she won’t stop staring at you. “Did those, ah, occurrences happen again?”

You nod, staring at your hands. “Pretty much every time after.” A smile tugs at your lips. “One time we used the barn.”

“I-“ Raynor sighs. “Understood. How long, exactly, did this continue?”

“They never stopped, not until-“ Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. “The, uh, the blip.”

———

These have been the worst five years of your life. And they haven’t been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.

And that’s selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces.

But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But he’s gone.

And you don’t know how to move on.

It’s odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. It’s as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You don’t want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body can’t just admit he’s gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like it’s only doing just enough to keep you alive.

What’s worse is that you can’t tell anyone why you’ve become a sunken, hollow shell. You’d sound insane. You’re already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyone’s loss and said ‘see, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like I’ve been cleaved in half’, you’d be locked up in an asylum.

You hate that you’re only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That you’d fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. You’d basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that you’d rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.

And the dreams still happen. He’s just not there, and it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and there’s a little ash that’s always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.

It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like you’ve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now you’re stranded at the bottom of the ocean.

Alone.

You’ve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but you’ve never felt more alone.

———

“And after the blip?”

“He came back.” You’re going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynor—she always tells you it’s going to be okay, and you fucking know that—but you can’t stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and it’s still the best thing that ever happened to you.

———

During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because that’s just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.

So it took a while to pass out. You’d curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every ‘how to fall asleep fast’ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.

When the dream takes shape around you, you’re not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you don’t recognize.

And he’s there.

Bucky’s right fucking there.

You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant.

He’s moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck.

“Hey,” he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. He’s putting together why you’re crying. Why you’re scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. “You’re alright. It’s all good, doll, everything’s good now-“

You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head.

He has two hands again. You don’t really care why.

Because Bucky’s rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothing’s ever mended. You’ve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when he’d been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.

But he’s back. And you feel real again.

———

There’s a long silence in the air, and you know what’s coming. The question. You’ve known she’s going to ask it the whole time—you’d honestly expected it a lot sooner—and you’ve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed again—short hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jackets—and that he’d told you how much he hated some guy named John.

He’d said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hated—you’d had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadn’t be quite ready to it yet—and nothing sounded better than punching his lights out.

And you’re ready to explain that you’d had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, they’d run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain America’s best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider.

You’d mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into place—you’d looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia page—before calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.

But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you can’t think to say is the truth.

“May I ask,” Raynor says carefully. ”Why are you only discussing this now?”

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

He dreams about Her. She’s the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and She’s not even damn real.

Bucky’s pretty sure She’s not real. It wouldn’t make any sense for Her to be real. He’d spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreams—needed Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skin—more than he’d ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what he’d never have.

A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried.

He didn’t know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didn’t feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.

Bucky understood that. He wasn’t exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side.

He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from him—She seemed to like being close to him—and Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, he’d wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.

A very small part of him needed this—needed Her—to be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasn’t something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.

She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didn’t get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadn’t heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasn’t so certain that he simply wasn’t that creative.

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like She’d been molded to, teasing him in ways he’d never thought of and kind to him ways he couldn’t be kind to himself.

She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure that—if She was only a part of his mind given shape—she would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But he’d had to explain all he could to Her, and when he’d left certain, darker parts out She hadn’t said but that’s not the truth, is it, James.

She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.

So She had to be real.

Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real.

It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didn’t want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasn’t sustainable or logical, but logic didn’t really matter here, because Bucky’s gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didn’t fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms.

He asked Shuri—very vaguely, he didn’t want his brain to be poked and prodded again—what reoccurring dreams could mean.

“Reoccurring?” She’d frowned at him over the video call. “You’ll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.”

“Uh,” Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. “A dream you have every night. And it could change, but it’s always the same person in it?”

Shuri had given him an odd look. “Have you been having a dream like that?”

“No.” His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. “Sam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but he’d never met her before. Thought I’d do him a favor and ask about it.”

It wasn’t the best lie he’d ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication. But she bit, and kept moving.

“Well, it looks as if Sam,” she’d given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. “Has found his soulmate.”

Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuri’s words sank in.

Soulmate.

“I thought, uh,” Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. “Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Of course they’re real.” Shuri had shrugged. “Soulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.”

Bucky had frowned. “But I- uh, Sam said he’s only had these dreams about four years-“

“Sam’s brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.” Shuri’s voice had been dry, her expression flat. “He would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.”

Oh.

The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When She’d appeared to him for the very first time, She’d said she’d dreamt of him before.

Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.

But when he thought about it—clenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldier—there had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t really foreign. Just was.

“Could the-“ Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. “Sam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?”

“If Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.”

Bucky had felt himself pale. “What do you mean, full maturity-“

“You are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.” Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. “There would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmate’s youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my father’s death.”

“So she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?”

He knew She had. She’d told him She had.

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.”

“But-“

“It is not something worth protesting, Bucky.” Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. “This is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.”

And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuri’s face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word.

Soulmate.

She’d made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate.

He didn’t deserve a soulmate. Not one he’d likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Solider.

And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his.

He’d liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasn’t a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and she’d catch it.

But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart that—since She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal with—She wouldn’t want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.

He shouldn’t find Her. She’d be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.

He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.

It was the third one that got his attention—buzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screen—and the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.

Bucky didn’t bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didn’t have the time or energy for this, not right now. “Doc, I’m not due back for another four days-“

“I’m aware, James, I keep a calendar.” Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. “However, I am going to have to request you come in today. It’s an emergency.”

He scowled. “What emergency, I haven’t done anything emergency worthy-“

“It’s not only about you.” Raynor snapped. “And I’m changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.” There was a long pause, and then a whispered, “Please.”

That wasn’t good.

“Did I get in trouble?” Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. “Cause I’ve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something he’s just being a dramatic dick-“

Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. “You are not in trouble, James. It’s not- I can’t explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.”

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

Raynor couldn’t make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.

He was a little curious. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how he’d face Her tonight.

So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldn’t imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole I’m not brooding, I’m just sick of Sam’s blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then he’s kick Sam’s ass, and everything would be fine.

Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didn’t need this.

All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.

Her.

In person.

Very, very real, and in Raynor’s office, and here.

Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name.

It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so he’d have to save that thought for later.

“Meet James Barnes.” Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldn’t be sure though, because he couldn’t stop staring at Her.

She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Bucky’s fingers.

She wasn’t mist. She wasn’t an illusion, or a coping mechanism.

She was real.

Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp he’d ever heard.

“You’re real.” He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.

“I’m real.” She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “I’m here.” He paused, scanning over Her open features. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.”

Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky.

There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.

“Good.” Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. “Because I’m not either.”

End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@Ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

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lovegasmic · 2 months ago

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˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 — ‘ preparing a birthday surprise for Sylus without him knowing turned harder than expected ’

𖹭 Sylus x f!reader fluff ◞ thanksies to @ramonathinks for forcing me to write ily .

“do you seriously expect me to believe you are working today?” the amusement in Sylus voice could be caught miles away, the soft and rich chuckle followed just adding onto the situation where you had to bite your bottom lip so as not to laugh.

in return you huff, keeping the phone between your shoulder and cheek, “I’m telling the truth” trying to keep your voice as steady as possible as you carried a box in your hands, “I had told you there was a strange influx of wanderers we needed to investigate”

“... I suppose you did..., can’t I take you to work? my bike is right outside”

the way he tried, under any circumstances at least see you for a little warmed your heart, and crushed you at the same time as you had to reject him, why are surprises so hard?

“I’m already there, sorry” you drag the last word, the box in your hands now resting on the nearby table, allowing you to pick the phone on a hand and use the free one to instruct Luke and Kieran where to hang the large “Happy Birthday” paper banner you bought a week ago, right above the couch so it would be the first thing Sylus sees.

there is a moment of silence, and although it pained you to lie to him, especially on his birthday, you hoped he would like the surprise, “i will send Mephisto” he instead says a bit later.

even though he is not looking you still raise a brow, “send Mephisto where?”

“to your apartment”

“I told you I am at work”

“I don’t care, sweetie” there was that tone again, the one concealing a grin, “unless you are hiding something and don’t want Mephisto to see”

“tsk, of course not, do whatever you want” you sound nonchalant, mentally remembering where you hid some of those colored paper bags Mephisto loved and stole from you last time, that will be enough to distract him, “I have to admit it’s strange you told me, usually you just send him to—” suddenly a loud pop echoes behind you where the twins stay frozen as if you won’t see them standing with their hands on their back hiding a confeti popper and the whole floor covered in colored paper pieces, “talk to you later, Sylus!”

“wait—” and the line goes silent.

it’s as silent as his home, strange, by this time the twins would have been making ruckus outside with one of the many board games you introduced them to, but suspiciously they weren’t around.

Sylus was not stupid, neither were you good at keeping secrets, but something, an awful feeling at the bottom of his belly grew, truly you could not have forgotten his birthday, right?

that could not be, he trusted you, but also knew you were a little distracted due to the busy season at the hunters association. and he loved you enough to not let the fact that you probably forgot his birthday bother him in the slightest, but he did miss you badly.

an hour or so later and the place was still not ready, not with you being the only one inflating the balloons while Luke and Kieran fidgeting with the party hats and trying to get them to keep their shape, not to mention Mephisto was currently held hostage, cawing weakly —almost begging to be freed from the ‘prision’ of your apartment— atop the table with one of the messed up party hats on his head.

meanwhile Sylus was restless for a different reason, it’s 6 pm and you have not texted or called him, his phone felt heavy with the need to call you at least once, perhaps grab an early dinner together, unless you’re busy with some of your friends.

he did not like that thought, so pushing it away he fetches for his phone, but as soon as he is about to dial, the twins come rushing from the front door, expressions concealed behind those masks, but as soon as they repeat the words, “boss, she’s hurt!” followed by the missing crow’s loud caw, Sylus does not ask further, rushing outside to hop on his bike and drive to your apartment.

it’s almost a record how fast he drives there, the key you gave him burning on his hand as he is quick to almost run to your floor, and once he pushes into your apartment, his expression shifts.

“surprise!” there you are, in all your stunning glory, looking like a vision in the beautifully decorated room and a board of multiple snacks and wine suited to his taste gently placed on the table, but it’s you all he sees, his heartbeat erratic and the concerned look now turning into a full grin.

“I have to confess...” he starts, taking long strides until there is no distance between you both, his arms hook under your thighs and in a second is carrying you to the couch to place you on his lap, “... for once, you got me, sweetie”

“I thought you already guessed” you say soft, having an arm around his neck.

“not completely, no, you had me fooled” a hand of his come to gently trace the shape of your cheek and jaw, looking at you like the most precious thing in the world, “but next time, don’t worry me so much, you should know my only wish, is you”

he tastes like cherries when you kiss, sweet and tender, so him, not paying attention to the sound of his phone beeping with an incoming text that said:

“happy birthday, boss-man!” attached with a tiny emoji of himself and the picture of an embarrassed Mephisto in the party hat.

#lads fluff #lads x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace x reader #Sylus x reader fluff #sylus x reader #Sylus fluff #l&ds #l&ds sylus #l&ds sylus fluff #sylus fic #sylus x you #lads fic #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace Sylus

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satori-runa · 7 months ago

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—Pretty in color

Summary: You returned from work only to find your new boyfriend struggling with your make-up.

Tags: Established Relationship, Blissful Love Life Ending, fluff

Words: 1k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It was evening when you got home. The sky was already dark, and you had rushed all the way from work down the streets back to your flat, knowing that Mr. Crawling was waiting for you. You always felt terribly guilty whenever he couldn't come along, and you promised yourself you’d make it up to him by cuddling him all night.

But when you stepped inside, it caught you by surprise that he wasn't behind the front door, waiting as he always did. The small hallway felt strangely empty without his presence, leaving you puzzled.

"Mr. Crawling?" you called out, and before long, you heard the familiar giggle from the living room, sounding almost... proud.

You hurried in, only to step on something small. Was this... your lipstick? You lifted your foot, picking up the tube and frowning, wondering if you had dropped it this morning. But as soon as you looked up and met Mr. Crawling's face, you realized the truth.

His face was smeared with various types of makeup—lipstick messily smudged across his lips and cheeks, eyeliner drawn in strange places where it clearly didn’t belong, and streaks of your foundation unevenly spread across his pale skin. He continued to giggle, almost preening, as if showing off his new look. It was hard not to laugh, and you beckoned him over. Had he tried to copy your makeup routine from this morning? He looked ridiculous, but his effort was adorable.

"You trying to look like me?" you asked, amused, gently stroking his colorful cheek as he leaned into your touch with a pleased hum. "Would you like me to put make up on your face properly?"

You hoped he understood, because if he really wanted to imitate you, then you might as well help him.

He tilted his head, as if considering your offer. The giggle quieted, replaced by a soft hum of curiosity. You took that as a yes. Smiling, you guided him to the couch, sitting down and patting the spot beside you. He crawled over, careful not to knock anything over, and settled at your feet, looking up at you with what you could only assume was anticipation.

You reached for your makeup bag, pulling out a few items. "Alright, let’s clean this up a bit first," you said gently, grabbing a makeup remover wipe. You softly dabbed at his cheeks, wiping away the smudged colors. He sat still, surprisingly patient, his tall form hunched close to you, almost like a child getting pampered by a parent.

"There we go," you murmured, smiling as his face was slowly revealed. It was an odd comfort to see him like this—so unguarded, so willing to trust you. You believed that he had no eyes, yet you felt as if he was looking at you, his head tilted slightly, his expression almost tender in its strange way. You knew how easily he could frighten people, with his twisted, lanky form and the way he moved, yet here he was, letting you paint his face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You leaned in closer, applying a light layer of foundation. "This will feel a little cold," you warned him, and he flinched ever so slightly before settling down again, his giggle returning, this time quieter, like he was enjoying the cool sensation on his skin. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, brushing your fingers against his jaw as you blended the makeup in.

"You really are beautiful, you know," you whispered without thinking, and he giggles once more for a moment before pressing his head against your hand, making a soft, contented noise like a purr. You had never seen him like this before, so vulnerable and sweet. It made your heart squeeze with affection.

Next, you picked up the lipstick. "This time, let me do it for you," you said, smiling. You carefully applied the color to his lips, smoothing it out with your thumb. He leaned forward as you did, pressing closer, almost nuzzling your hand. When you pulled back to look at your work, his lips curled into a smile—soft, genuine, as if he was pleased with how he looked.

"Me… like," he murmured, his voice hoarse and crackling like broken glass, but the words were clear enough. It was rare for him to speak in your language, and the sound of it made your eyes soften.

"You do?" you asked quietly, and he nodded, his tall form curling around you protectively, like he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. You reached up, cupping his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm, his smile widening.

"I like you too," you said, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. "You don’t need makeup to be beautiful, Mr. Crawling. You already are." You glanced at him full of love. “Me like you. You cute. You pretty.”

He let out a breath, almost like a sigh of relief, and leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. You closed your eyes, resting there with him, feeling the cool press of his skin against yours, the way his form seemed to wrap around you like a shelter. He didn't speak, but there was no need to. His touch said it all—the way he held you so gently, like you were something precious, the way he stayed close, even though he could easily rise and tower above you.

"Rest together," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. He let out another quiet giggle, nodding, his agreement clear without words. He shifted, curling up beside you on the couch, resting his head against your lap.

You stroked his hair, watching as his body relaxed, his tall form folding in on itself until he seemed almost small, almost vulnerable. He nuzzled into your touch, letting out a contented hum, and you couldn’t help but smile.

"Goodnight, Mr. Crawling," you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. He let out a soft, happy sound, cuddling closer as he drifted off. You stayed like that, holding him close.

Maybe he couldn’t come with you during the day, but you knew he’d always be there, waiting for you to come home. And that was enough.

#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks #⊹₊⟡⋆writings #mr crawling x reader #mr crawling #homicipher mr crawling #homicipher #homicipher fanfiction #homicipher x reader #homicipher fluff #mr crawling fluff #mr crawling fanfic #mr crawling x you #homicipher x you

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coyotelip · 5 months ago

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starchaser microfic: break || old married couple || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 682

When you've been together for twenty years, thirteen of them married, everything seems familiar and can't be surprising, especially when it comes to sex life.

However, as soon as James crosses the forty-year mark, officially entering the risk zone of a midlife crisis, instead of getting unhealthy obsession with motorcycles or reality TV shows, he discovers a new passion. Although, to be more precise, it's a long-forgotten passion that's gaining strength again - James is a morning sex addict.

He adores any kind of sex - it would be strange for a star player to have a low libido - but with years of stable family life, his passion has faded. So it came as a surprise to Regulus when James started making these little gestures again. Pressing him against the kitchen counter for a deep kiss. Pulling him up and putting him on his lap when Regulus just walks by the couch. Abruptly picking him up under the hips and carrying him to the bedroom when they have some wine. It makes Regulus feel like he's in his mid-twenties again, and they've only just started living together. In his mind, he calls it a new honeymoon.

However, Regulus' favorite part is waking up. Because now it's not the alarm clock or a headache that wakes him up, no.

Now he wakes up to the feeling of hands on his hips, sliding under the covers over his bare skin. For the first time in many years, Regulus stopped putting on his pajama pants to feel skin on skin.

He wakes up to hot breath on his neck where James leaves subtle kisses. As soon as Regulus' first (fake) disgruntled moan escapes his lips, the kisses become more expressive, his lips pressing against his skin longer. James' thigh confidently squeezes between Regulus' knees to rest between his legs, pressing against his noticeable morning hard-on.

The urge to start rubbing himself against the hard thigh that presses so perfectly against his boner is strong, but Regulus tries to be reasonable. This behavior doesn't seem very appropriate for his respective age – even no matter how sexy his man looks with his morning bush of hair and soft kisses.

“Mmm, Jamie… I have to get up,” he says, the same thing he says every morning now. Knowing in advance that it won't work, but sometimes marriage is about the desire to always create at least a little conflict. A life without conflict at all always seemed too boring, especially for people like Regulus and James.

“Noooo.” James replies, somehow not even breaking away from his neck. His kisses slowly descend to his collarbone, exposed out of his shirt. “Don't leave me.”

“I just want to make coffee and breakfast, I'm not even leaving the house today, James. It's Saturday. I'll be with you all day,” a smile spreads across Regulus‘ lips as James’ grip tightens on his hips, as if to hold him down by force. If Regulus had wanted to, he would have been out of bed long ago.

“But you'll leave me in this bed alone and it will break my heart. You don't want to break my heart, do you?” and James looks him in the eye for the first time that day.

The sparkle in those big brown eyes is something Regulus never gets tired of. It's consistently one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen in his life - better than even the many travels they've had behind them. The man's skin might have acquired new lines, his hair might have changed color, but James' eyes would forever remain the same as those of the young man who made Regulus fall in love with him.

That's why Regulus' voice sounds weak and unbelievable when he says, “I won't fall for your natural charm, Potter. You'll need something better to get me into bed.”

“Oh, I don't need to get you into bed, because you're already here,” his smile is a predatory, smug grin. “I just need to keep you here. And I'm going to make you feel so good you'll want to stay longer.”

#marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #married jegulus #jegulus microfic

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yanderestarangel · 1 year ago

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HEADCANONS JKK | DILF!NANAMI KENTO

A/N: It was very strange writing this to the sound of "snowy", sometimes I question my musical choices for inspiration ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

TW: afab anatomy, ftm reader, fluff, soft!dom nanami, hard!dom nanami, gentle sex, rough sex, v!sex, fingering, praise, body worship, age gap, vulnerable!kink, degradation, daddykink, eat out, mild bdsm.

♡ SFW :

He is a man so tired of the life of working and being a wizard at the same time that he just needs a release. You are his younger partner, a few years younger than the forty-year-old man. He was afraid at the beginning of the relationship because he didn't think he was as attractive as men his age, but as time went by he saw how much you loved that he was older than you, there was a charm in every dark circle cold expression on his frown that was too sexy in your eyes.

You'll also have to keep him updated on things that happen in your social circle ── he doesn't really mind but seeing you smile and talk so excitedly about a certain topic also makes him happy and much more relaxed from the daily routine. He doesn't understand half of the slang you and Gojo say when you get together, but he doesn't mind at all (just don't call him 'boomer' Satoru already does that a lot and it gets on the blonde's nerves.)

He likes to be greeted by you when he gets home. It may be a simple gesture but it fills your chest with a warm and fulfilling feeling as he kisses you on the top of your head, smelling you while an almost invisible smile appears on his tired face. "Did you behave while I was gone baby?" Nanami spoke with a hoarse and low voice, listening attentively to you about your day while smiling when he saw that at least his daily effort was worth it because it could give you a more tolerable and comfortable life. Even though he was tired, he would help you with dinner, lightly rambling about how tiring his day was and what you could do at the weekend.

If you mention that you saw something you liked in a store, Nanami will immediately write down the address and go buy what you want ── even if he works extra hours to pay all the installments, your smile is more important to him. "All for my boy right?" He would speak in a calming voice to your nerves, while his fingers tilted on your shoulder as a gesture of tender affection coming from the older man.

♡ NSFW :

The first few times you two fuck he will be a gentleman to you ── calling you "my sweet", "pretty little thing", "darling", "prince", "pretty boy"; talking about how your moans are the most beautiful thing he has heard. "Keep moaning boy... I want to hear everything from you." "What a beautiful voice you have, moan my name darling and let me hear more, say my name when you cum ok?" These would be some of the several phrases that Nanami would say while inserting two thick fingers into your swollen and wet pussy from the exaggerated stimulation he would do to your body.

He likes to eat out you, seeing you tremble and suffocate him between your soft thighs makes the blonde's cock practically cum without even entering you. He sucks your clit running his tongue in circles while his calloused hands keep your legs wide open for his warm ministrations ── Kento will whisper praises against your pussy making you shiver with each vibration welcome to your sensitive flesh. The blonde finds it cute the way you rub your hips desperately against his lips, making him place kisses on your abdomen and connect your lips, separating the kiss seconds later and looking directly into your eyes, watery with pleasure.

"Looks like you're in a hurry boy... Come on, come and ride my face, don't worry about your weight I can really handle it." Nanami moaned as he watched you obey his request and sat gently on his face ── your sweet smell and wet juices, the sound of your voice begging him 'not to stop' was like heaven to him. Nanami just wanted to make you ready for his cock.

When you reach your second orgasm of the night ─ crying and turning into a beautiful, stimulated mess for him, Nanami will finally shove his cock in your little pussy, moaning hoarsely and privately in your ear. "You can handle this, can't you little boy? You're going to cum on my dick again." Kento would groan, hands resting on the sides of your head on the mattress as he looked directly at every reaction you gave him ── from your breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips, to the sight of your open mouth salivating and smearing your sheets, until your wet hole sucking his cock back into your throbbing heat. "Desperate to get fucked but too shy to do anything about it... my pretty little angel can't do anything but blush. Do you love my cock in you so much?" He smiled, as he accelerated his movements, intertwining your hand with his, feeling his balls hit your ass, making a slow, lazy wet noise.

However, if you want him to be rude and take out all the anger and stress on your body, Kento will do it with all the strength he has suppressed for years. Tying you with his tie and gagging your mouth with your own underwear ── you are not allowed to speak or ask for anything, at that moment you are his personal toy.

You saw Nanami's veins stand out from his forehead, neck and arms as he approached the edge of the bed, roughly opening your thighs ── your once gentle and sweet boyfriend gave way to a sadistic and cold dominator. He couldn't help but laugh when he saw your little fucked face just looking at him ── dazed and shaking, your pussy milking the air as he slapped your thigh hard, going to squeeze your breasts as you moaned against the fabric and tasted it of your own humidity. "That's what you get for being such a good boy." His voice was serious, as you watched him take the panties out of your mouth and take his cock out of his pants.

Kento would also have vulnerable!kink, meaning you will be totally naked while he will be clothed yet just taking his member out of his clothes and fucking you ── completely trapped by the weight of his body, gripping the sheets and whimpering as he pounds into your cunt, treating you like a personal cum dump. He would be rude and say the most vulgar things you had ever heard from anyone, the gentleman in him was gone with every thrust he made on your body. "You're nothing more than a pathetic cum dumpster," he hissed, his voice filled with biting contempt. "Do you like being degraded, my obedient whore?" he taunted, a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

He would fuck you to the point where you couldn't feel your legs anymore. With final painful strokes he breeds your pussy as he watches you cry his name. "shh... I got you boy, you were a good boy for daddy ok?" He spoke, returning to normal, holding your trembling body. After the rough treatment, you will be looked after like a prince by him ─ he will clean your body by giving you hot kisses on your face and offering you water. Kento would take you to the bathroom and clean up the traces of sex, while stroking your hair. "Sleep now, honey, I'll be here when you wake up." You knew he would be there like he promised.

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missadangel · 8 months ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XI. The Accusation (+18, Mature)

gif --- ayo-edebiri

“Ad astra per aspera”

To the stars though difficulties…

Villa…

"I need you to help me to kill Caracalla.”

You stared at Julia's face in astonishment, trying to make sense of what you just heard. Her dark brown eyes were serious, but you noticed something in her expression that you couldn't identify – it was somewhere between fear and unease.

"You came to my house to ask me to help you kill your son? Is that correct?”

“He is no longer my son. Macrinus has made him a mere plaything. He pretty much does whatever he wants. He had his relatives killed, without any hesitation. I can't let him kill Geta too. It's only a matter of time. I can't lose Geta.” She sounded upset when she mentioned him. "I lost everything to Macrinus. First he took my son, then my reputation. My own son won't listen to me, he sent me into exile, which is unacceptable." Her tearful voice suddenly turned serious. "I have no one left to go to but you which Acacius had a hand in this, of course.”

‘What are you sa-?’

"He wiped out my men in Legates. They were my last remaining stronghold. I did everything I could to keep them on my side for all those years. Did he tell you how he killed them? I'm sure he didn't, so as not to startle you."

You took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "My husband doesn't hide anything from me. But even if he did, I'm sure he has his own reasons." You said confidently.

"Sure he has!" she said sarcastically.

She was testing the limits of your patience. "Cease talking nonsense about my husband!" You barked. "Simply say whatever you came to say then take your leave.”

"Fair enough.” She crossed her legs. “Caracalla must die before Macrinus returns to Rome. Before he appoint him as Praetorian prefect (commander of the Imperial Guard)." She took a deep breath. "I'm sure of that he will take action against my sons once he assumes command of the guards. This could potentially lead to him ascending the throne. However, if Caracalla dies, it might weaken Macrinus' position. It would be more feasible to defeat him when Geta is emperor.”

"And you needn't worry about being hidden away in the shadows, as it seems unlikely that Geta will exile you like his brother did? It sounds like you're saving yourself.” She averted her eyes which meant you were right. "But why do you need my help exactly?"

"I believe you care about Geta, don't you? He also cares for you in some way. Perhaps more than you realise.”

“There’s nothing—“

You were about to protest, but she silenced you by raising her hand. “I am his mother, so I know him well and I know you don't wish him dead too. Besides, it would be better for everyone if he rules Rome alone. So Caracalla must die as soon as possible before harms him. You're a medicus, aren't you? You could make a concoction of herbs that will kill him painlessly.”

Her words were sharp, but her gaze was unwavering, declaring that this was the path she had to take. But it was still strange that she said it so easily. It felt wrong.

"I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't have to. It's only a matter of time before he finds out, accuse me of betrayal, and send me back. This is our sole opportunity before Macrinus's return."

‘Our? There is no ‘our’, there is no we. Furthermore, it is not a decision that can be made alone. You present this as an easy solution, but I am a married woman and my husband is a Roman general. What will happen to my husband if your plan fails? Have you ever considered this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Isn't that why you should help me? Once he's dealt with my sons, Macrinus' next target is General Acacius. To get you.” You knew exactly what she meant and she realized that. "I imagine your husband feels very regretful about not taking Macrinus out that night. Because I know he won't let him get away with it.”

You swallowed hard, hating to admit that she was right. Julia smiled, seeming amused by your expression. "Oh, poor Aurelia. It must be tough to be caught between three men. Yet you are fortunate. Even if you were to become a widow one day, there'd be another man waiting for you. Since you're a Roman princess, you're worth a great deal.”

That was the last straw. You felt a rush of anger and stood up abruptly. “Get out of my house now! Leave!” You barked, pointing your finger at the courtyard door. Julia stood up, looking insolent.

“If you truly care about Geta, think about what I said.”

“I said leave!” You shouted, then pointing your finger at her. “I'm warning you, don't you ever speak ill of my husband and don't come to my house again!”

Some of the slaves rushed towards you.

“Domina!”

“Escort Lady Domna outside.” You said sharply.

Julia gave you a stern look and turned away. She raised her hand to stop the slave who was approaching her. Then she left the courtyard. You were still pretty angry and tired, which made your head spin even more. Decima put her arm around you and made you sit on the lectus (couch). She grabbed your feet and gently lifted them, helping you lie down. Norell and Tullia were keeping an eye on you from a distance, looking a bit worried. You looked them with a half smile and told them to get on with their work. You leaned your head back and closed your eyes. Decima took your hand.

"Would you like me to make you some dittany tea (cretan thyme)?" It was an herb that was usually used for relaxation. Decima was from Egypt, so she was familiar with herbal teas. Well, not as familiar as you are, of course.

You looked at her. "Not that, not if I'm..." you said quietly.

"Oh, you're right. Chamomile then?”

"Yes, that's better. Thank you my dear.”

After drinking your chamomile tea, you fell asleep in the courtyard. The slaves were mindful of your need for rest and made every effort to avoid disturbing you. Those who walked towards the courtyard did so as quietly as they could. Then Mau appeared and jumped next to you. However, you were so deeply asleep that you were unaware that she had fallen asleep on your lap. You were suddenly awakened by the sound of a sword being unsheathed and a man shouting. Mau meowed loudly, jumped out of your lap in fright and sought refuge elsewhere.

Seeing Octavius holding his sword to a man's throat who you had never seen before. Opened your eyes in surprise.

“Sir! Have mercy please!” He begged. You noticed some parchment papers and a reed pen in his hand.

You sat up on the couch. “Octavius, what is happening here?”

"My lady, this rat was attempting to draw your likeness without your permission."

You were taken aback. "Can you clarify what you mean by that?”

Decima turned to you. "This man came for the General, but we informed him that he was not present. I then assumed that he had departed. Forgive me, my lady.”

Your eyesbrows rose. “You came to draw my husband?”

The man swallowed. Octavius shook him. “Lady Aurelia asked you a question. Speak, thief!”

You warned him, “Octavius, please put that sword away and allow the man to speak.”

He obeyed. The man stood up ad bowed. “Yes, my lady. Aventine cloth dyers association are paying me to do a mural of General Acacius and the tiger he fought in the arena, my lady.”

“Explain yourself. Why would they do that?” Octavius barked.

“He’s famous, sir, the city, all the Roman citizens likes him. He’s a hero.”

You smiled, and he was indeed a hero to you. You picked up the fallen scrolls and took a moment to examine them. He had painted you so well, even the mau in your lap, which you found quite remarkable.

"But you drew me, his wife," you murmured.

"My lady, allow me to beat this insolent rat to death," Octavius hissed. The man shuddered with fear.

"Please, sir. Leave him alone," you said, a little harshly.

"My lady, forgive me. You were so beautiful when you slept that I was overcome with admiration and wanted to draw your likeness.”

You felt your cheeks flush involuntarily.

“How dare you!” Octavius roared.

“Calm yourself, sir.” You gave Octavius a warning look. You stood up and approached the man. “Please rise.”

The man stood up looking a little ashamed.

“I'll tell my husband you came by. You are well talented, I liked your drawing,” you said, showing him the parchment. “May I keep this?”

He looked at you and gave you a big, warm smile. "It's already yours, my lady. I'm really pleased you think so.

You glanced at Octavius, who seemed to be losing patience. Then you looked at the man. “You may yet leave now.”

The man bowed his head and gave you a shy look, then turned and walked out of the courtyard. Octavius accompanied him outside. You and Decima studied the painting the artist had created. She then enquired as to whether she might bring you something to eat, and with your approval, she departed. It would seem that Mau was hungry when she returned to you, as she rubbed her tail against your leg. She meowed loudly when she saw Norell approaching you a moment later with a tray in her hands.

"Where's Decima? I thought she was supposed to bring the food.

You noticed that Norell's cheeks flushed. "Well, my lady, she had some more work to do in the kitchen."

"Is she all right?"

She nodded, but her freckled cheeks were still red. You grabbed her wrist as her furtive look and tone of voice made you wonder what she was hiding. "Tell me, what's going on?"

"Um, Decima. She took food to Sir Octavius." She averted her eyes from you and smiled in a way that seemed a little evasive. You blinked in surprise and then laughed.

“Oh, well, well,” you said, amused. “When these two have become so close?"

Norell chuckled. "It has been a while now. She often speaks of him."

You giggled. "Where might they be now?"

She turned her head towards the courtyard. “Over there.”

"Perhaps we could go and take a quick look at them," you suggested, with a hint of mischief in your voice.

Norell let out a soft laugh and followed you behind. The slave at the door was about to speak to you but you silenced him by putting your index finger to your lips.

You and Norell peered out of the door, observed Octavius and Decima by the stables, talking, smiling at each other. The slave at the door looked at them from behind you and grinned too.

As you watched them from a distance you recognized a familiar feeling in the way they looked at each other, love.

"My dear Decima," you murmured, sharing her happiness.

Norell sighed deeply. "I hope that one day I will be in love too.”

You heard the other slave sigh and you both looked at him with surprise. He bowed his head shyly.

“Domina? My lady?”

All three of you were startled by Tullia's loud voice. Decima had heard it too, and when she turned her head towards you three. You blushed and hurried inside.

“Tullia! Why are you shouting?” you snapped.

“Oh, forgive me. I thought…”

You and Norell had laughed loudly running towards the other courtyard. Tullia was looking at you, a bit confused. Decima came into the courtyard and made her way towards your voices.

“My lady?” She then looked at Norell in a rather angry way.

“I didn't say anything,” she said, holding up her hands.

"Come now, why are you keeping this from me?" you smiled at her.

Decima blushed.

“You're already sooo obvious.” Norell said smugly.

“What did you say?” Decima frowned and approached her and Norell turned around to run away. They ran into the courtyard and you followed. Decima cupped water from the fountain and threw it at her. Norell also did the same. They began to soak each other, laughing together. Norell ran towards you, intending to hide, but as Decima attempted to throw water at her again, the water hit you in the face, and you flinched when you felt the cold water on your skin.

“Gods!” Tulla cried out. She ran towards you. “My lady, are you alright? Look what you've done! Cease this nonsense now!” She yelled at them.

Mau had also got her share of a soaking, licking herself like mad to dry. Decima and Norell were looking at you with guilty looks on their faces. But you, far from being angry, approached them with a serious expression and cupped the water from the fountain and threw in their faces. And a fun game began between the three of you. Tullia's grunts mixed with your laughter and echoed throughout the courtyard.

By the time the general arrived, you were still engaged in your game. Octavius was observing you at the door, perhaps not fully aware of his surroundings. Marcus heard the loud, cheerful laughter and dismounted, heading for the courtyard with curiosity. He looked where Octavius was looking and was struck by the difference between this view and the one he saw every time he returned home. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He was at a loss as to how to react. He smiled as he recognized your cheerful laughter. Then he looked at Octavius, who looked like he was stunned.

“What are you looking at?” he yelled.

Octavius startled with his loud voice. “Sir!”

“You may leave Octavius,” he grumbled. How dare he watch my wife? he thought. Well actually he was watching someone else but still.

You all froze when you noticed him. Decima and Norell bowed to him and made their way away from the situation as quickly as they could.

“I'll get you some dry clothes, my lady,” Tullia said and ran out of the courtyard.

How great. They all left you alone with Marcus. He regarded you with interest as he approached. The stone floor was quite wet, as were your dress. You bit your lip, uncertain of his reaction. Fortunately, a smile soon appeared on his face, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

"I must apologise for not realising your arrival."

"No need to apologise, my love. There is nothing quite like coming home and hearing your cheerful laugh, which is music to my ears."

You had a sudden sneeze. It wasn't the most romantic answer. Marcus chuckled. “My Lady. You’re all soaked."

Before long, Tullia appeared with a clean dress and the cotton cloth to drying yourself. "If I may, my lady-“

“Give that to me.” Marcus kindly took the cloth from her hand and wrapped it around you. Upon seeing your feet, you instinctively drew them back, as if to hide them. You hadn't realised how wet they were. He smiled and gently took you in his arms, which made your cheeks flush. After all, Tullia was following you behind, carrying your dry clothes in her hands.

Your hand was touching the golden-edged leather strips on his shoulder. Playing with them by running your fingers between each strip. He smiled in response. Once you had entered the room, Marcus set you down. Tullia then placed the dry clothes she had brought for you on the bed, leaving the two of you alone in the room.

"Allow me," you said as you reached for Marcus' armour, but he gently pushed your hands back.

"You first. I do love seeing you like this, but I'm afraid you might catch a chill." His eyes were roaming over your body.

You held his hands and placed them around your waist. “Maybe you could warm me up then?” You smiled naughtily.

He smirked and his hands were already undressing you with haste. Once he had removed your belt and your damp stola, his eyes lingered on the tunic that clung to your body. You were now very aware of the reason for the sudden change in his eyes. That his gentle hands would soon become more impetuous. Even before you reached for the holster on his waist, his lips found yours. His hands were trying to remove your long tunic and you were trying to remove his armour, but it was difficult. When your wet tunic fell to the floor and gathered around your feet, Marcus pushed it aside with his foot, never breaking the kiss. You couldn't tell him to take off his armour because your lips were completely captivated by his. Grabbing you by the hips, he picked you up and put you on the edge of bed. You pulled yourself back with all your might, kneeling on the bed. His armour touching your wet and naked body was a little strange, although seductive. Marcus thought you were playing a game, so he tightened his grip on your lips, not allowing you to break the kiss. But as he tried to come towards you, putting his knee on the bed, the sword at his holster hit the edge. He looked down at himself in surprise and laughed.

“I tried to tell you,” you laughed and helped him out of his armour.

“I must have been under your spell, princess.” He grinned.

Once he'd taken off his armour, Marcus grabbed you around the waist and laid you back on the bed. You couldn't believe how excited you became each time, as if it was the first time he'd ever laid you down and positioned himself on top of you. Moreover, how could it be that each touch of his lips to yours felt so different from the other? It really amazed you that such a simple touch could evoke such strong feelings. Perhaps it was the endless blending of pleasures that this strong bond between you bestowed upon you. What a treat, what a magnificent and wonderful feeling. His lips and tongue were exploring every inch of your body as your bodies fit together perfectly, and you enjoyed one pleasure after another. It felt like there was no end to the adventure of exploring each other's bodies and their needs. Every time you encountered a new sensation and a lot of pleasure. Even Marcus, who was an expert lover, found this to be true. Despite his extensive experience, he had never made love to anyone before you, not even once. It was more than a sexual fulfilment. It satisfies his soul too, as he inhales your scent, touches you, tastes you, he feels complete, he feels alive. To him, you were made for him. The moment you got into his heart, everything lost its meaning; you and all the other insignificant things. You were born into his life like the sun into a dark, war-torn, blood-stained, boring, lonely world. You brought him light and purpose. From now on, he would live to serve you, to make you happy, to protect you from all evil. With you by his side, he was more likely to put his duties for Rome second.

“Marcus,” you moaned. He bent his head and kissed your lips, where you said his name. He didn't want to hear his name from anyone else's lips; only you had to say it, the others not allowed. They couldn't say it like you anyway. It wasn't even a possibility.

“What do you wish me to do, my love?” He whispered in your ear. His lips were caressing your earlobe.

You kissed his cheek and pulled his head towards you with your hands in his hair, it was your turn to whisper in his ear. “You know already.”

He grinned, of course he knew. His big hands gripped your hips tightly, deepening his thrusts and quickening his pace. As you moaned in response, he kissed you. Not to silence you, but to feel your beautiful voice within his very own mouth. Soon together you reached the overwhelming end of your pleasure, moaning into his mouth for the one last time. You remained in that intimate position for a while, breathing heavily. Feeling each other's hearts beating against your chests under your palms. Savoring this glorious moment.

The bright sunshine streamed through the window, illuminating the room with a warm glow. The soft breeze from the balcony caressed your still damp hair, causing you to shiver slightly and pull the sheet over your shoulders. When you heard the swallows chirping, you decided to open your eyes. Marcus wasn't with you in the bed. You frowned and sat up.

“Morning my beautiful wife.”

You turned your head towards his voice. Marcus was at his desk, looking pretty busy with a quill pen and some papers.

“Morning.” You gave him a smile. “Did I sleep for too long again?”

“Just a little,” he replied turning his head back down to continue writing something on the paper. You got up and put on your tunic. However, you then felt nauseous again.

“Excuse me,” you said covering your mouth with hand. Hurried out of the room. Marcus put his quill pen down on the table and stood up. He walked out of the room and followed you into the latrina, waiting outside the door.

"Aurelia, my love. I'm rather concerned."

As you stepped out of the latrina, he put his arms around you.

“Maybe I should call for another medicus?’

"I don't think that is necessary," you said as you walked back to the room together.Marcus helped you to sit on the edge of the bed. He crouched down in front of you, his hands gently smoothing your dishevelled hair.

"You said that you might get better if you rested. However, I can see you're still not feeling well." His face showed concern.

"I'm actually feeling better today." You mumbled. It wasn't a complete lie. The nausea wasn't as bad as it had been the day before. You felt you had no complaints, knowing what was causing this feeling. Marcus lifted your chin up with his hand. You didn't want to tell him before you were certain, but he was so concerned. He needed to know.

"I sense you're hiding something from me.”

You looked at him, blinking your eyes and inhaling a deep breath. "Marcus, I, um. I wasn't sure if I should tell you until I was certain..."

He looked at you from under his eyebrows. "Continue."

You took his hands in yours and looked into his eyes. "I believe I'm with child.”

Marcus froze. His eyes widened in surprise, his pupils dilated. Then the most marvellous smile appeared on his face. He kissed your lips, and his heart overflowed with bliss. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling towards him. He buried his face between your breasts, then slid it to your belly, planting kisses along the way. You felt his lips on your belly.

"What have I done to deserve you?"

“It might be too early to say for sure. Perhaps we should wait a little longer-“

His lips found yours suddenly. He put his knee on the edge of the bed next to yours and laid you back down. You wrapped your arms around his neck. Without breaking the kiss, he settled right next to you on the bed. He put one hand on your belly.

“My beautiful Aurelia,” he purred. “I love you, with all my heart and all my soul.” His warm breath caressed your face, your heart blossomed.

“I love you, Marcus. I love you much more than words can ever say.” You touched his cheek with your fingers. “I hope that I am carrying your child.”

“Our child.” he corrected you.

You smiled. “Our child,” you repeated.

He kissed you again, your heart beat with bliss, which soon turns into desire. “I shall spend all my days with you." He said huskily as his hands lifted up the hem of your tunic. “I shall spend all my time making love to you, over and over until our bodies become one.” His lips found yours again and soon turned into a hungry, lustful kiss. As he slid into your shaking body, and you moaned with exultation. This was love. This was blessing. Elysium on Earth.

Over the next few days, you tried a series of tests to find out whether you were carrying a child or not.One of the tests was a common one in Rome and Egypt. All you had to do was urinate in two different bags; one filled with barley and the other with wheat. If the grain in either bag sprouted after being peed on, it meant the woman was definitely with child.As it turned out, they were right. You saw the barley sprouting within a few days, and the wheat took a little longer. Decima said that meant you were carrying a boy. That's how you felt, they said it was a maternal instinct. You never thought of yourself as a mother, at least not this early. But it was indescribable happiness. Marcus was treating you with more tenderness than ever. You were delighted to be the cause of this amazing man having such wonderful feelings. It was a pleasure to see him so cheerful, and the others in the villa were equally pleased to share in his joy.

During this time, Marcus had been closely involved in the training of the soldiers at the Campus Martius (Fields of Mars) just outside the city. Macrinus had been absent for over a week and it was to be expected that he would soon reach Libya. As the general of the army, it was his duty to be prepared for any eventuality and to train his troops accordingly. No matter how busy he was, no matter how late he came home at night, at the end of the day, you found him in bed snuggled between your breasts and legs. You never complained as you wanted him so much as ever thanks to changes of your body that had led to heightened sexual desire.

That morning, when you were helping Marcus put on his armour, you mentioned Julia. It seems she was pretty desperate, even talking to him about Caracalla too.

"Geta is keeping her hidden," Marcus said as he checked the strings on his armbands, "It's likely that Caracalla will eventually find her. She may have a point about Caracalla being prepared to assign Macrinus as Praetorian prefect. However, he will need to return to accept it. I must finish him before he arrives in Rome." He said with determination.

"I suppose he will return soon, then?”

"He must be. I'm waiting for the messenger pigeon to come back. If the legion commander in Libya confirms he's arrived, I'll make the necessary preparations."

You swallowed, feeling concerned by the fact that he was about to fight Macrinus again. Marcus took your face in his hands.

"Please, do not be concerned, my lady. I gave you my word that you won't lose me."

You nodded. "You do what you need to do, my love."

"I will. For you." He put his hand on your belly. "For our child. I will do whatever it takes to make sure he grows up in a safe Rome, and with other Roman children.”

“I am certain you will.” You embraced him and rested your head on his chest, running your fingers through the contours of the medusa.

“Speaking of children,” Marcus said. You lifted your head to look at him.

“Hmm?”

“All the kids at the Poorhouse and the people there.” He murmured.

“I haven't been to visit them in ages. What about them?”

"You don't have to go. Please don't tire yourself out. I want you to stay here and get some rest. Besides, It seems that Geta is already looking after them in your absence."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

"Yes, that does astonish me too. I find it unusual that he would spend his coins on something like that."

"He said he would, but I must admit I didn't expect him to keep his promise."

"You might be right about him. Maybe he could be a better emperor.’ You sensed the sincerity of his tone. "However, I tend to agree with Julia about Caracalla." He said, his face suddenly serious. "Every moment he breathes is detrimental to Rome.”

"Julia almost begged me to poison him."

He was checking his sword carefully. "No, that's treacherous. Even for him. He is an emperor, after all. It must be done honorably."

You felt tense. Or was he planning to act soon? He never mentioned it though.

He put his sword in its holster. "Enough politics, I think." He smiled. "I must take my leave now, my lady.”

For some reason, you felt a sudden sense of unease. "Will you be on duty at the Field of Mars today too?"

"That's correct," he replied after adjusting his armour for the last time. "Please don't engage in any risky things during my absence." He said in a commanding tone.

“I'll be making herbal tea, too dangerous,” you said mockingly.

He gave a little laugh and kissed your temple before leaving the room. As you followed him outside, you realised that the uneasy feeling inside you was getting worse. Maybe it was an unnecessary consequence of your new situation: worrying too much about everything. Marcus looked back at you one last time before heading out. You gave him a smile and then he left.

You made your way downstairs to the girls. You had little chat while they were engaged in weaving the carpet. There wasn't much else to do for the rest of the day, except lie down and rest. You visited Unio to feed her and brush her pearly-white mane with your fingers. Marcus had forbidden you to ride, not until the birth. He'd also told you not to go to the poorhouse, and you'd had to obey him on that one too. In the last few days you had become a little better with your knife and Marcus had admired you for it for the first time. But your overly anxious husband didn't want you to pick it up for a while either. Why did carrying a child have to be so boring?

In the evening, you were feeding Mau. Then you heard footsteps approaching from the courtyard.

"Domina!" The slave boy came running to you. He had that look on his face again, hesitation.

"What is it now?"

"The Emperor." He mumbled.

"Sister!"

You were quite taken aback to see Geta appear out of nowhere. He approached you and embraced you while you stared at him with your mouth hanging open.

“What are you doing here?”

Geta made a face. "Is this the manner in which you choose to greet me?"

"Well, apologies. I am simply astonished."

Geta looked around. "So this is your little house.”

You walked towards courtyard together. "Please have a seat, your majesty," you said, gesturing to him.

All eyes in the villa were on your emperor half-brother, who was seated comfortably on the armchair wearing a crown on his head and an overly flamboyant toga. You requested that the slaves bring you wine and fruit. Geta examined the wine glass and took a sip. As you observed him sitting where his mother had sat days ago, you came to recognise the differences between him and her. They were nothing alike. You were surprised that you had never realised this until now.

"It's been almost weeks, I've missed you a lot." He said suddenly. "How are you feeling now?" He looked you up and down.

"I feel better now, thank you." Your hands involuntarily went to your belly. You were unsure whether you should tell him or not. He was so unpredictable that it was difficult to guess the outcome of saying something like this to him. Perhaps it would be best to wait until your belly gets bigger before sharing.

"My mother," he suddenly said in a serious tone. You looked at him. "She's been here. I know what she told you.”

“You do?”

"As she gets older, her behaviour is getting worse. Don't take her seriously."

"Do you think so? What she said to me is something that should be taken seriously."

"You're right, it's horrible. Caracalla really has gone mad, but her intention of killing him... It's simply not right.”

"Is there something new about his madness?"

"Apart from the fact that became Macrinus' plaything? Well, he won't take me to any meetings anymore. He's got a new toy.”

“How you mean?”

"Macrinus' new right-hand man. He's like his shadow, taking care of things while he's away. I've never met him before, but my brother has already assigned him to the important tasks. I hadn't even been informed about it. Can you believe it?"

You thought about what Marcus said to you about Macrinus' spy. "Could he perhaps be one of the legates?"

"No, he's just come from the north. I don't think anyone knows him, not even the general, your husband."

"If Macrinus hid him like Gaius, I don't think he meant well."

"That's what I thought. You're clever, sister. I've missed talking to you. But not politically, of course." He grinned.

You smiled back. "You're helping your mother to hide from Caracalla, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." He snapped, playing with his glass.

"What if he finds out?"

He shrugged. "That prick sent her without asking me, anyway." Suddenly Geta put his glass on the table and leaned towards you. "Aurelia, he's really out of control. I know Caracalla, always was, but this time it's different. He's hallucinating, dreaming, and that worries me. I know he'll hurt someone else, if not himself. Last time he nearly got me killed, all because of a stupid dream he had."

"Did you say hallucinations?”

He nodded. "I'm certain it's her. Mother. She did this to him. I gave her a clear warning, but she refused to listen. I'm asking you because you're the expert. Is it possible for a herb to have such an effect?"

“Many kinds of plants can do that. But how could Lady Domna possibly poison him?"

"Not directly of course. My slave caught her talking to another slave in the street. She is not aware, but I know everything.” He exhaled deeply. “She should never have come back, she'll get herself killed."

It was something that would endanger not only herself, but everyone including his own son Geta. How could she be so irresponsible? She must be mad for sure just like her son.

"If its on his drink or food, if I can examine it maybe I can help.”

Geta smiled smugly. “That's why I came here.”

He gestured to one of his slaves who was holding a small wooden box. Geta reached the box, opened and took out a vial filled with red liquid and handed it to you.

"Here. This is a sample of the wine he drank yesterday. Will that be enough?"

You took it, uncorked it and sniffed. As you were already highly sensitive to smells, this one smelled completely wrong.

"Yes, I think this would be enough. Let me observe this first.”

"You do that. I must return now. I don't want him to realize I left the palace and came here. He's rather mad and unpredictable more than ever." He stood up and put his hands on your shoulders. "If you happen to find out what it is, send me word. I'll send one of the slaves here. It seems that I can no longer trust my own guards. He is about to place them all under the control of Macrinus' rat."

You nodded. "I will see what I can do, brother."

Suddenly he leaned in, wrapping his arms around you. You tried to pull back, but it was futile.

“Geta,” you hissed. “You should not touch me like this. Please-“

“What's wrong with embracing my sister?” he said arrogantly.

You couldn't help but feel that he was right, but it still felt a little awkward. He laughed at the look on your face and leaned his head down to kiss your cheek. "Take care of yourself, sister. Hope I'll see you soon," he said, with a wink, and left the courtyard with his slaves following him behind.

Campus Martius. (Field of Mars).

General Acacius arrived there after completing his other duties at the barracks. The layout of this place is reminiscent of an army camp, with a number of small buildings.

“Attention! The general is here!” Octavius barked at the soldiers. They immediately stood at attention.

Acacius' eyes were fixed on the recruits. Some of them were pretty clumsy. He jumped down from his horse, squinting at them.

"Chin up! Chest out! Shoulders back! Suck your stomach in!” Octavius commanded, touching their shoulders to ensure they were doing it right. Then he ran to Acacius' side as he approached them. "Sir!" he nodded to him.

"Sir Octavius, these soldiers are struggling to get in line properly! This is how you train them?” he yelled at him.

That's what being a Roman General entailed, after all. Keeping an eye on the rookies and their commanders, supervising his second-in-command, training all the soldiers to keep the army ready for anything, constantly meeting with the Legates to assess the situation. Keeping track of the legions abroad was undoubtedly the hardest task. The army pigeon was the most efficient way to communicate. A trained pigeon could deliver a message in two or three days, whereas a soldier would take months to do the same.

He looked the soldiers in the face as he passed, tapping some on the shoulder to make sure they were properly in line. The soldiers saluted him by putting their hands on their chests. Some of them looked nervous.

“At ease!” Marcus shouted and the soldiers got into a relaxed position to continue their training.

Octavius walked with him towards the building where the Genaral's room was located. Cato was there, waiting for him outside his room. He saluted him.

“Cato, why you are not with the recruits?’’

"Sir, I wanted to let you know that the pigeon has arrived. I have placed it in its cage and I am waiting here to ensure its safety." He said it in a very serious manner.

Octavius chuckled. Marcus grinned.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Marcus asked him. They were both looking at Cato.

“I believe this prick using the bird as an excuse to avoid training.”

Cato opened his eyes wide. “Never, sir!”

"Who gave you permisson to talk back?" Marcus shouted at him. "Now get out of my sight before I train you myself!"

“Yes, sir!”

Marcus and Octavius laughed after he hurriedly picked up his sword and rushed out. "This boy is really...” He murmured.

"He's been working really hard lately," Octavius said, opened the door and waited for Marcus to enter.

“Do you believe so?” He entered the room and sitting down in his chair and putting his sword on the desk.

"I think he's ready for the platoon training. If you agree.”

Marcus opened the lid of the cage and took the small sealed paper tied to the pigeon's foot. "I still don't think he's ready. He must to learn to overcome his hesitation first." The seal belonged to the Eighth Legion. It was stationed in Leptis Magna, a likely place for Macrinus to visit. Marcus lifted the seal and opened the thin paper.

“My dear friend, the esteemed General Acacius. I Caius Drusus commander of eighth legion, salute you! I have dispatched my men to the harbour of Alexandria as you ordered, however both ships that came from Rome brought only armoury and provisions. Sir Macrinus or his men were not among those who disembarked. Also, we have received word of a few men gathering in the Syrian sector, which may be in line with your suspicions. We await your orders. Rome Victrix!”

Marcus crumpled the paper in his fist and squeezed it. Octavius figured it was bad news.

“Sir? What does it say?”

Marcus slammed his hand down hard on the desk, his whole body filled with anger. “Damn you Macrinus!”

Marcus found himself somewhat perplexed. He was certain that Macrinus was on his way to Ostia and that the ship was waiting for him there. But why hadn't he been seen in the harbour? Octavius picked up the paper he had crumpled up and read it with curiosity.

“How can this be?" He put his hands on the desk and looked at him. Or maybe he never actually left? Did he play a trick on us?"

Marcus was mulling it over. Why would he do that? What was he trying to act? He was such a clever enemy that he never gave away his trail. For Marcus, fighting was simple. It was easy to move your sword according to your enemies movement and cut him down. But playing mind games was tough. It was exhausting to think like your enemy, to anticipate his next move, to always try to be one step ahead of him. Especially when the enemy was someone who had the emperor in the palm of his hand. Could he be seeking retaliation? Or had he never left Rome? Marcus exhaled nervously.

“Octavius, I want you to place two men outside the villa.” He ordered, turning to him. “Is Felix still on Palatine Hill?”

"Yes, sir. He's positioned there as you ordered." He'll let me know if anything arises.

Marcus put his hand to his face, closed his eyes and sighed again. “We're missing something, Octavius.”

“What could it be, sir?”

“I'm not certain yet. But I'll find out. Make sure all the men are gathered in our usual place tomorrow night, in incognito. We shall talk over. Now leave me alone.”

“Yes sir,” he said and left the room.

Villa…

You had been studying the wine residue that Geta had brought you for most of the day, with the help of Decima and Norell. Despite making a few mistakes and experiencing a few setbacks, you eventually managed to identify the substance as the fruit of the Red Shanglu plant (Phytolacca acinosa). Given its red colour, it was a logical that it would blend well with wine.

“Why doesn't it kill him immediately?” Decima asked. She shook the vial in her hand.

"It's not a particularly poisonous plant. Or maybe the person who made it is inexperienced with it. However, even the smallest amount could cause brain damage. That's more dangerous than death,” you muttered.”

“What kind of fruit is this? Can we find it around here?” Norell asked.

“No, unfortunately not. It's probably a fruit from China or somewhere nearby.”

“Didn't the Empress come here from Syria?” Decima asked.

“Damascus is frequented by Chinese traders, couldn't she have brought it from there?”

“That is true.” When you were in Egypt,your uncle had purchased a number of plants from traders who came from Damascus to Alexandria. This was not an auspicious sign. It would be very difficult to create an antidote without the plant itself.

“So what are you going to do?” Norell asked.

“I need to to speak with Geta. I must inform him of this."

“But the soldiers outside, won't let you.” Decima murmured.

Right. Two of Marcus's men arrived at noon for some reason. You were certain that if you went with them to Geta, there would be tension between those two again. Moreover, it was already dark, and he must be on his way back.

You opened your small leather notebook to review the notes you had taken earlier and consulted the description of this plant. From what you can gather from your notes, it seems that reversing it is not an option. However, there was another fruit that could potentially help to mitigate and cure it. Acorus gramineus (commonly known as Japanese sweet flag). Of course. How you didn’t think of that? You recalled your Uncle Vicius with respect and found that his teachings had proved useful to you in your life. You promptly rose to your feet and took a moment to survey the shelves. This plant is a common genus used in Rome and other regions. You attempted to reach for the jar at the top of the shelves, but it was out of reach. You rose on tiptoe and reached as far as you could. Before Decima had a chance to get up and come over to help, another hand suddenly appeared and grasped the jar.

"I did warn you not to do anything dangerous, didn't I?” Suddenly Marcus appeared next to you.

You looked at him in surprise. When had he arrived? The girls greeted him and left the room. "Jars are now a source of danger to you, General?" You teased, took the jar from his hand and put it on the table.

Marcus smiled and approached you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He planted a tender kiss on your hair and breathed you in, finding your ear. “I missed you.” Then he kissed your cheeks, your nose and your forehead, making you giggle. Then he turned you to him and kissed you on the lips before you could even open your mouth to answer.

“I missed you too, my handsome husband.”

He chuckled and looked at the vials, herbs on the table. "It looks like you had as busy a day as I did.”

You took a deep breath. “I guess I did."

He put a hand under your chin and turned your head towards him. His eyes were already filled with curiosity. "Something has happened. Tell me."

You put your hands on his shoulders. "Geta was here."

He raised his eyebrows. "Your Emperor half-brother Geta?”

“I know no other Geta,” you laughed. But he didn’t.

““What did he want? Why did he come?” He asked in a rather stern tone. Just hearing his name was enough to make him angry. You place your hands on either side of his face. It had an instant calming effect on him, his expression softened immediately.

“You've just arrived, my love, you must be tired. We can talk while we eat."

You picked up a jar of jasmine from one of the shelves.

"I'll put it in our room, it smells nice and has a calming effect."

Marcus put the jar back and grasped your wrist. "There's no need, my love. Your smell is much nicer, and it's the only thing that can calm me down." He led you out of the room.

Once you had entered the courtyard, you requested that Tullia bring the food and walked to your room. Before heading for the stairs, Marcus stopped when he noticed Octavius and Decima talking.

“Why is he still here?”

You chuckled. He looked at you with questioning eyes. You grabbed his muscular arm. It was your turn to tug. “Come now, leave them be.”

“I now understand why he has been distracted lately.” He grunted as he climbed the stairs with you.

“Please don't be angry with him."

“I'm not. But I need to talk to him later.” He said after entering the room.

Your food was brought into the room while you helped Marcus take off his armor. As usual, Marcus sat you on his lap while eating.

"You know, I'm not sure if I'll be able to fit on your lap when my belly gets so big," you said as he fed you a grape.

“Nonsense. There's plenty of room for both of you on my lap," he said, opening his arms. You tilted your head to the side and snuggled into his chest. "As a matter of fact, I can hold three, four, five, or even more," he added, eating his food. You lifted your head to look at his face. "What are you going to do with so many children, General?" you asked, opening your eyes wide.

“I'm going to raise my own army,” he said, laughing.

You laughed too. “Since you are so lascivious husband, it is quite possible.”

“Is it just me? You are too, my sweet wife.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You made me,” you touched his shoulder with yours.

He bent his head and kissed your shoulder. “Pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

“Well, I didn't say I was grateful.” You teased.

As soon as you said that, he looked at you differently. You locked eyes. The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. You were well aware of why his eyes had changed. "Then I'll take you in such a way that you'll be eternally grateful." He bent down and kissed you passionately on the lips. His kiss became more intense as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He put his hands in your hair and drank so deeply from your mouth that you almost forgot how to breathe. But you wanted so desperately that you never wanted him to stop. Even more so now, you wanted him more than you ever had, and he seemed to be quite pleased about it. Marcus helped you lie back against his arm. He pulled the hem of your tunic up your legs and pulled you back onto his lap. As he slid the straps of the tunic down your shoulders, you could feel him getting impatient under your hips. When his lips slid to your neck, you threw your head back to gasp for air. But then you gasped again as he started to play with your already very sensitive breasts. Just the touch of his warm tongue made you feel like it was going to send you over the edge.

“Hmm your breasts are so responsive than ever my love."

You were sure your cheeks were redder than wine. “It's simply expecting for this phase,” you said breathlessly. Your impatient fingers ran through his hair. You were eager for him to take you now.

“It only adds to your beauty. You are so beautiful to be real,” he said huskily. You kissed his neck in response. He grabbed you by the hips, lifted you up and laid you on the bed. Soon he was on top of you. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him to you. Or rather, you tried. He chuckled. “You are very impatient for someone who is not grateful, princess?”

You sighed. “I apologise, I shouldn't have said that. I'm so grateful, please, Marcus.” You squirmed desperately. It was one of your lustful husband's favorite moments. “Please what, my love?” He put his knee between your legs as slowly as he could.

"I want you," you purred.

His lips were on your earlobe, and the feel of his hot breath on your neck made you shudder.

"You want me where?" He teased. His fingers caressed your nipples, his glorious length brushing against your entrance which driving you mad.

"I want you inside me, please," you whimpered.

He smiled wide, like he won a victory. “I shall fulfill my princess’ desire.” And there he was, right where you wanted him most. You felt like you were going to explode with happiness and break into little pieces. You felt proud of yourself for making progress and getting to this point. Now you both knew each other's bodies and desires well. It was a progress you didn't expect from yourself, and it wasn't difficult at all. Everything was easier with him. Desiring him, kissing him, feeling his skin under your fingers – it was like a need for life. You needed him. You needed him inside you, on your skin, in the air you breathed, everywhere. With him, everything was beautiful and complete. Without him, everything was missing and lost. With him, you felt alive.

"I'm afraid I may be a little late tonight,” Marcus said as you tied the strings on his armbands. ”You'll keep your promise, won't you?”

Oh yes, your promise to him. After a lengthy discussion, he agreed to your proposal of preparing the herbal mixture for Caracalla, but he would prefer you to remain at the villa for the time being.

“I've positioned one of my men near Palatine Hill. One of the soldiers waiting outside will deliver it to him. So there's no need for you to go there," he said in a commanding tone.

You nodded. “I shall do whatever my husband says.”

A broad smile spread across his face. He wrapped his arms around you. “Say it again.”

You giggled. “I'll do whatever my husband says.”

“My ears have been blessed.” He pulled you to him and kissed you on the lips. He then sighed breaking the kiss. “I'm afraid I must take my leave now.”

“I know you'll come back to me eventually, so it will be easier to await for your arrival.”

He took your face in his hands. "You will wait my return, then, my lady?"

Of course you will, why did he ask such a question?

“I have waited a long time for you, Aurelia,” he said in his velvet voice. His expression was severe, the brown of his eyes warm, intense. “How could I not come back to you?” He kissed you on the temple. He grabbed a few strands of your hair, burried his nose in them inhaling your scent. You rose on tiptoes and kissed him with all the warmth of a woman in love. And he returned your kiss with all the joy and happiness of a man in love. If only Cato hadn't knocked on the door at that moment, you might have stayed there till night.

Once Marcus had left, you went downstairs to your little clinic-like room to make the herbal mixture. With the help of the girls, you managed to do it in less time than you expected. You did as Marcus told you and handed a vial of the mixture to one of the soldiers who were positioned outside the villa. He mounted his horse and headed to Palatine Hill.

As you sat with the girls until the evening, you found yourself feeling that strange sense of unease you had yesterday. It was just like that dream you had a few weeks ago. No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you couldn't. And it didn't seem to go away until Marcus came back.

It was just after midnight and you were lying in bed playing with your wedding ring. Mau was sleeping peacefully next to you. But unlike her, you were far away from feeling peaceful. You couldn't sleep without seeing him return to you. Soon, however, you heard some horses neighing and murmuring, and your body filled with excitement. You quickly got out of bed. You wrapped your shawl around yourself and left the room, heading for the stairs. But you were halfway up the stairs when you saw the face of a man you didn't know. If you hadn't been holding on to the railing, you would have stumbled. One of the slaves stepped in front of the man, but he pushed him hard. From his clothes, it was clear he was one of the imperial guards. They usually kept their galea on, but not this man. At his command, five or six more soldiers entered the courtyard and all of them stood at attention. They were all dressed like imperial guards. You were wide-eyed, trying to understand what is happening, Decima ran up to you and held your hands nervously. Everyone in the villa woke up to the sounds and rushed to your side.

“You must be Princess Aurelia,” the man said, nodding then smiling weirdly at you. His eyes lingered too long on your body. You felt uncomfortable with the way he looked at you. You pulled your shawl tighter around your body. "Who do you think you are? I will not tolerate you entering my house at this time of night like a raider. I want to know who you are! Speak!"

The man laughed arrogantly. "My name is Flavius, my lady. You do not know me, but your husband does." He took a few steps towards you. "However, even if it's a very tempting idea, I am not here because of Acacius. As for your question, I am here by the command of your brother, the Emperor Caracalla. I shall take you to him."

You were both confused and afraid. "At this time of night? What is so urgent?"

"Oh, true. I forgot to mention the charges against you, forgive me." He smirked, gesturing to one of his men.

The man unfolded the scroll paper to read it aloud. "Princess Aurelia, you are under arrest by the command of the emperor. Your charges are; attempting poisoning of the Emperor himself, conspiracy behind his back, and aiding and abetting the exiled empress."

You swallowed, your heart pounding fast. It seemed likely that the ointment you had sent to Geta must have fallen into Caracalla's hands somehow. "I don't accept these charges! There must be a misunderstanding." you said.

"It doesn't really matter, my lady, I have been instructed to take you to Palatine Hill. And I will." The man came close enough to reach for your arm, but you stepped back.

"Lady Aurelia is the wife of General Acacius and also a princess. When the general returns home, they will go together to the emperor. Perhaps it would be inadvisable to take her by force, sir Flavius?” Tullia said firmly.

They knew each other? You wondered who he was.

”I remember you now. You stood up to me like this back then too. You may have aged but you're still stupid. Get out of my way at once!” Flavius barked.

Wiht Tullia's lead, the slaves and girls moving in front of you as if shielding you. The man sighed and drew his sword.

“No!” you cried.

“The Emperor's orders are final! Get out of my way or I will slay you all with my sword!”

“Do as he says!” You warned them, your voice trembling with fear. They regarded you with an uncertain expression.You held Tullia's hands. "Please, I don't want you to get hurt. I will be fine, I promise."

Then they bowed their heads and, with visible reluctance, withdrewing involuntarily.

You looked at him. “I should dress properly, first,” you said and headed for the room.

“I'm waiting, princess!” He said arrogantly.

How dare he talks to a princess like that? As soon as you walked in the room, immediately grabbed your scabbard and tied it around your ankle. You had to be prepared for anything. You put your hands on your belly, hoping everything would be fine. You put on your stola, look around the room one last time, opened the door and went out. Walked down the stairs, looking at the slaves who looked at you with concern. They were your friends, your family. You smiled at them reassuringly. The man named Flavius held out his hand to you. "My lady.”

You stepped towards outside, choosing to ignore him. Suddenly, you noticed Marcus' soldiers, who were brought to their knees with swords held at their throats by guards. "Put your swords away!" you barked them. But they looked at their commander. Flavius nodded. The men drew back their swords and sheathed them.

"General Acacius has entrusted us with the Lady Aurelia," one of the soldiers said. "We must accompany her.”

Flavius turned to him. "So that's what your General told you, eh? What if I don't let you then?"

The soldier looked at him sharply and drew his sword halfway, the sharp sound of the blade making you tense. "Then we'll have to stop you."

"No, please," you interrupted. You stopped the soldiers by raising your hands.

"My lady, please step aside. The general's orders are certain, and if we die for him, it would be an honour to do so."

Flavius laughed cruelly. “We must give him what he wants then!” He ordered to his soldiers and they all drew their swords once more. You were worried because they were outnumbered. Despite all of your objections, they began to fight. Flavius took hold of your arm and led you towards the carriage.

“Get your hands off me!” You struggled, but he was so strong. "Don't you hear me? I am your princess! You can't touch me!" You shouted at the top of your lungs but it was in vain. He made sure you were seated in the carriage and turned round. After his men killed Marcus' soldiers they mounted their horses at his command. Soon the carriage moved to take you to Palatine Hill. You couldn't stop your tears and sobs as you looked at the soldiers lying lifeless on the ground.

Marcus, where are you? you murmured as you gazed out the window, surveying the dark and gloomy streets.

A place just outside the city…

Marcus and Octavius are waiting in one of the dark streets, which is meant to be a secret meeting place. They're both wearing black cloaks. He had stationed a few of his men at key points in the city to be ready for any move Macrinus might make, and every now and then they hold a small, secret meeting in this gathering place. Secrecy was very important. It had to be late at night because it was an important matter that was only between them. But tonight there was something odd. None of his men showed up. They should have been here by now. Octavius looked down the road but didn't see anyone. They decided to wait a bit more, soon they heard footsteps coming closer. It was one of Marcus's men.

“General! Sir!” The man was out of breath. “Guards. Macrinus.”

Marcus touched his shoulder. “Easy. Breathe.” He told him. “Speak clearly. Why are you on your own?"

"Speak, Aris, what has happened?" Octavius growled.

"The imperial guards arrested all of our men and took them to Palatine Hill."

"On what grounds? What did they say?"

"Have you seen Macrinus there?" Marcus asked.

He shook his head. Suddenly there was the sound of number of horses approaching towards them and they all tensed up.

"You were followed, you fool!" Octavius hissed.

Guards quickly surrounded and circled around them. One of them looked at Marcus. It was Flavius. “Acacius, It's been too long. Strange night, isn't it?” He jumped down from his horse. Marcus looked at him, astonished.

“Flavius?” He looked him up and down. He recognised his rank by his attire. “So you've been appointed commander of the guards? I thought you were up north.”

So he was the Macrinus' shadow man. He knew exactly what he was doing, Marcus thought.

“I returned a while ago,” he took a step closer to him. “Since I have unfinished business here. With you.” His voice sharpened.

Marcus remained still.

“You killed my brother, remember? You took him from me. And for what? For screwing your wife when you're in the south?”

Marcus clenched his fists. His body was filled with rage. He was dangerously on the edge.

"I've been looking forward to this moment for quite some time, Acacius. I have been waiting for the right moment to take what you have from you when you feel happy.”

Marcus grasped hilt of his sword. Octavius and Aris were ready, waiting for his command.

"So Macrinus made you his commander? Is this how you plan to get revenge on me?"

"He's a very clever man, I'll give him that. And he's determined to finish you, though not as determined as I am." He grinned.

"Right, so how do we do it? One on one? You and I?" Marcus drew his sword to half-length.

Flavius laughed. "You've already lost, Acacius, why should I bother?" He gestured for his man to read the emperor's order. The man unfolded the roll of paper. "General Marcus Acacius! You are under arrest by order of Emperor Caracalla! Your charges are; placing men in front of the emperor's house to spy on him, to command the armies for your own benefit, attempting to murder a member of the senate, abusing the title of general, going behind the emperor's back.”

"Right," said Flavius, coming over to him. He held his gaze. “The Emperor wants to see you. He'll be the one to decide your fate.” He approached him. “Just as he will decide your wife's fate.” He grinned with his teeth.

Marcus grabbed his throat with both hands. “What did you just say?”

The guards half-drew their swords and took up attack positions. Octavius and Aris gripped the hilt of their swords in response.

"Speak, or I'll rip your neck off!" he roared, his fingers gripping his throat tighter. Flavius seemed amused.

"Your wife, Aurelia, is a beautiful woman. I took her from the villa to Palatine Hill. I told you it was a strange night.”

Marcus punched him in the face and kicked him in the stomach, mad him fell to the ground. He then quickly drew his sword. In a flash he leapt on him and held his sharp sword to his neck. “If you say her name again, I'll cut your tongue off!” He barked. “Why did you take her there? Speak, damn you!” He was boiling with anger.

Flavius, however seemed calm. “Don’t be a fool, Acacius, if you kill me now, you'll get nothing. I'm only doing my duty.”

Unfortunately it was true, he could kill him and all the guards one by one, but that would only result in a higher charge being brought against him. Furthermore, Marcus's primary concern was you. He had to make sure you were alright, which meant he had to go to Palatine Hill with them.

Flavius ignored sharp sword pressing against his throat, laughing cruelly at him. “Revenge is a son of a whore, isn't it?”

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itsnesss · 2 months ago

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𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | after losing a karting bet to kimi, you owe him a “punishment” date

warnings | fluff, light teasing, slow-burn tension, kissing

word count | 0.8 k

🖇️ more ka12 🖇️ f1 masterlist

“You’re not gonna beat me.”

“Wanna bet?”

“What do I get if I win?”

“And you?”

“A date.”

“A what?”

Kimi just looked at you. That sideways smile. That ‘I’m not joking’ expression you both hated and loved. And you, in a moment of confidence (or temporary insanity), said yes. I mean… “how hard can it be to beat him at karting?”

Spoiler: very hard.

You came in second. By half a second. Half a miserable second. And he didn’t let you forget it.

“Alright. Date. Tomorrow. You’re not the type to back out, right?”

And there you were. One day later. In front of him. At a quiet track in Italy with no cameras, no F2 cars, no pressure… just Kimi. In jeans, a white tee, and that annoyingly calm confidence that always left you breathless.

“So?” you asked, watching him lean against the hood of an old car that looked like something out of a movie. “What’s the plan?”

Kimi gave you a quick glance. Then smiled.

“Plan: a date. I win, you agree, I deliver. Simple.”

“And what if this is just a trap to humiliate me for losing?”

“You think I’d go through all this trouble just to tease you?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. That low laugh he only gave when he was truly amused. Then he walked over to you and handed you something unexpected: an ice cream.

“Stracciatella,” he said. “Saw you order it twice last week. I figured it’s your favorite.”

You took it, slightly thrown off.

“Are you stalking me?”

“I’m observing. Not the same thing.”

“Psycho.”

“Romantic.”

The word hung in the air longer than it should have. And when you looked at him again, he only shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was.

Because you didn’t expect him to notice. You didn’t expect him to be so… thoughtful.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the trees behind the track. “There’s a spot with a nice view. And shade.”

“You’re not gonna make me race again?"

“Only if you want a rematch.”

You walked in silence for a while. Just the sound of your sneakers on the dirt path, birds chirping, light wind brushing your skin. It felt strange seeing Kimi outside of his usual world: no engineers, no radios, no stress. He looked different. Lighter. Real.

You reached a small hill with soft grass and a view that made the world feel far away. You sat down. He sat next to you. Close enough to brush your arm. Close enough to feel him without turning your head.

“Wanna know why I asked for a date?” he said suddenly.

“Because you like winning.”

“Because I like you.”

You swallowed. That caught you off guard. But you couldn’t stop the smile.

“That was direct.”

“You prefer memes or passive-aggressive hints?”

“Depends. Are you good with memes?”

“No. But I’m good at making you blush.”

He said it so calmly that you laughed, defensively. But just as you looked away, you felt his finger brush your cheek.

“There it is,” he murmured. “Told you.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you let me kiss you if I won.”

“I never said that.”

“But you thought it.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because he already knew. And so did you.

And because his lips were so close, it would’ve been ridiculous to say you didn’t want to.

So you let him lean in.

And when his lips met yours, there was nothing punishing about that date. Quite the opposite. It was a reward.

The real one.

The kiss wasn’t explosive, but it had something worse: intention. Calmly dangerous. Soft at first, like Kimi was still giving you the option to pull away. Like he wanted to make sure you wanted it, too.

And you did. More than you expected.

You leaned in closer, drawn by his warmth and the growing certainty that this kiss would be burned into your memory for a long, long time.

Kimi gently cupped your chin. He didn’t push or rush. His lips did all the talking. Slow. Confident. One arm slid around your back, pulling you in, and you realized he could kiss like this for hours. No hurry. Like kissing was his new favorite race and he fully intended to win it too.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, there was an expression on his face you hadn’t seen before. Soft. Open.

“Still think this was a punishment?”

You shook your head.

“No. But… if we bet again, what’s the prize next time?”

“Another date,” he said instantly.

“And if I win?”

“Another date.”

You laughed. Kimi nudged you with his shoulder. You nudged him back.

And for the first time since meeting him, you realized Kimi Antonelli wasn’t just the guy who never lost on the track.

He was also the only one who could turn a simple bet into the beginning of something you didn’t even know you wanted.

#🖇️ kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x you #kimi antonelli imagine #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli one shot #kimi antonelli #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader

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lupinsversion · 8 months ago

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𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐤𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

• summary: aleksander notices that something different is going on with reader, and his suspicions raise. how will he react when those suspicions are confirmed?

• contains: aleksander morozova x fem reader, mention of pregnancy/symptoms, mention of sickness/throwing up, fluff

• word count: 1.1k

masterlist || requests

Aleksander had started noticing subtle changes in his partner. She was constantly tired, nauseous in the mornings, and had a strange aversion to certain smells. His mind started putting the pieces together, and suspicions began to form. Although he didn't have any concrete evidence yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that she might be pregnant.

He would observe her closely, noting her increasing fatigue and the new patterns in her behavior. Each observation further fed his suspicions, strengthening his belief that she was indeed carrying his child.

Days passed, and he could hardly concentrate on anything else but the thought of her being pregnant. He observed her more closely, noting her mood swings, her growing appetite, and the small changes in her body. The possibility of fatherhood was both exhilarating and terrifying, and the thought consumed his mind.

One day, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands on her stomach. She was deep in thought, her expression a mixture of fear and wonder. The sight of her, lost in her own thoughts, struck a chord within him. He walked over to her, his heart beating a little faster.

"Are you okay?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He sat down beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

She stared off into nothing, and when she started to speak, her voice was quiet and hesitant. “First, my breasts started to hurt. Which was strange, I’ve never felt anything like it before…”

“And then, I couldn’t even stand the smell of my favorite soup. My favorite soup, Aleksander.” She exasperated as if it were a crime.

He nodded, his mind racing. The changes she mentioned were classic signs of pregnancy. The nausea, the aversions to once-favorite foods, even the tenderness in her breasts. It all pointed in one direction.

“I’ve been throwing up the past two days…” She continued once she knew he wasn’t going to speak. “It wasn’t much, but it was still awful. I went to the healers, which was probably foolish because what could they have done for me?”

His stomach churned at the mention of her vomiting. The healers at the Little Palace were knowledgeable, but it was true that without knowing the cause, they could only offer general advice or remedies. "Why didn't you come to me first?" He asked, his voice a mixture of concern and irritation.

Her brows furrowed together, as she shook her head slightly. “What were you meant to do? Massage my breasts? Make my soup smell better? Hold my hair?” She rambled.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her sarcastic comments, the sound of his laughter breaking the tension that had settled over them. "Those are all important tasks, you know," he teased, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

She couldn’t help but playfully roll her eyes. “They may have been nice gestures, yes. But that wouldn’t help me out much, would it?”

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, his smile turning more suggestive. "My hands are very skilled, and I have been known to be quite calming."

She nudged her shoulder into his, a small bit of laughter coming from her as she felt the tension between them lift. This reminded her of why she loved him, how he always made her feel better.

He relished the sound of her laughter, the way her smile lit up her face. He loved the way she responded to his teasing, the way she always softened his hard edges. Leaning into her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

She looked up at him through her lashes as she whispered the words that would change everything. “I’m pregnant, Aleksander.”

The moment the words left her lips, time seemed to freeze. His breath caught in his chest, his eyes widening in disbelief. He had suspected it, but hearing her say it out loud, confirming his suspicions, was a shock he hadn't fully prepared for. Thousands of emotions swirled within him, each one fighting for dominance. Shock, joy, fear, and uncertainty all vied for attention, leaving him speechless.

His thoughts raced as he tried to process her revelation. A child. A life, one they had created together, was growing inside of her. It was a prospect both thrilling and terrifying. He took a moment to regain his composure, his arm still around her shoulders, his hand gently stroking her hair.

"Are you sure?" He finally managed to ask, his voice rough with the weight of her confession. He needed to know for certain, needed to hear her confirm it again.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t certain.”

His heart hammered in his chest at her words, the confirmation settling heavily in his mind. A thousand thoughts and fears flooded through him, but he fought to keep his emotions in check. He exhaled slowly, his eyes studying her face, searching for any sign of uncertainty.

She knew why he was looking at her as if he were studying her very soul. “I’m certain.” She repeated.

His eyes locked onto hers, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. He believed her, trusted her completely. If she said she was certain, he had no reason to doubt her. The realization that she was carrying his child, their child, settled within him, a mix of awe and trepidation. His hand moved to gently rest upon her stomach, his palm flat against her abdomen.

"A child," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Our child."

The words slipped from his lips like a reverent prayer, filled with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. He had never imagined himself as a father, never thought he would want to become one. And yet, now that the possibility was before him, he felt an unexpected tenderness in his heart.

“Our child.” She repeated, her hand covering his, a small smile tugging her lips upwards.

The touch of her hand on his, the sight of her smile, sent a new wave of emotions coursing through him. He had never allowed himself to dream of a family, always believing his path was one of solitude. But here she was, carrying their child, and the possibility of a future he had never dared to imagine seemed within reach.

He gently intertwined his fingers with hers, a silent acknowledgement of what was now undeniably real.

As they sat together on the edge of the bed, their hands intertwined and their minds wrapped around the news of her pregnancy, a mixture of emotions coursed through Aleksander. Excitement, anticipation, fear, wonder - it was all there, swirling around in this moment they shared. He looked down at their hands, his fingers gently tracing the back of hers.

"Our child," he repeated once more, the words tasting sweet on his tongue. He smiled then, a genuine smile of happiness. "We're going to be parents."

#shadow summoner #aleksander morozova x you #aleksander morozova smut #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander #aleksander morozova #the darkling x reader #the darkling smut #the darkling #general kirigan smut #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #grisha #grishaverse

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champagneher · 10 months ago

Text

DRABBLE

BASED ON | YOUR BOYFRIEND KEEPS ASKING STRANGE EXISTENTIAL -OR WAY TOO DEEP FOR 1AM- QUESTIONS AND YOU JUST WANT TO SLEEP.

PAIRING | NAMJOON X F!READER

WARNINGS | NSFW - +1k words

The dim light of your shared bedroom cast a soft glow over the space, a warm and familiar heaven that usually lured you to sleep with ease. Tonight, however, sleep was elusive, chased away by the gentle but persistent voice of your boyfriend, Namjoon, who lay beside you, his head propped up on one hand as he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Do you think the universe is infinite?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the room. "And if it is, does that mean there are infinite versions of us, living out every possible scenario?"

You blinked sleepily, rolling over to face him, half-buried in the warmth of your comforter. "Nam," you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion, "it's 1 AM. Can we save the existential questions for the morning?"

He chuckled softly, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "I can't help it," he said, his tone apologetic but laced with curiosity. "Sometimes I just get caught up thinking about these things."

You sighed, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your fatigue. This was a familiar routine—Namjoon’s mind was always active, always questioning, even in the late hours of the night when all you wanted was to drift off to sleep in his arms.

"Okay," you murmured, shifting closer to him, your body pressing against his side. "Let's say the universe is infinite. That would mean there are versions of us where you don't ask deep questions at 1 AM, and I actually get to sleep."

Namjoon laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter. He turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "But where's the fun in that?" He teased, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You couldn’t help but smile, your irritation melting away in the warmth of his gaze. Namjoon had a way of making even the most frustrating moments feel like something special. It was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still, your body craved rest, and you couldn't resist a playful groan as you buried your face in his chest. "You're lucky I love you," you grumbled, your words muffled against his skin.

"I know," he replied softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "And I love you too, even when you're sleepy and grumpy."

You sighed contentedly, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a state of drowsy comfort. For a moment, it seemed like you might actually get some rest, but then Namjoon spoke again, his voice a hushed whisper in the quiet room.

"Do you ever wonder if we were meant to find each other?" He asked, his tone contemplative. "Like, out of all the people in the world, how did it end up being us?"

You lifted your head, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes. His expression was serious, his brow slightly furrowed as he stared at you, waiting for an answer. It was hard not to get caught up in the intensity of his gaze, the sincerity in his question.

"Maybe we were," you said softly, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Or maybe it was just luck or coincidence. But either way, I'm glad we found each other."

He smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Me too," he murmured, his lips lingering against your skin. "I don't think I could ever imagine my life without you in it."

A warm flush spread through your chest at his words, a mix of affection and desire that stirred something deep within you. You tilted your head up, your lips seeking his in a slow, tender kiss that quickly deepened as Namjoon responded, his hand slipping to the small of your back to pull you closer.

The kiss was unhurried, a slow exploration of familiar territory that left you both breathless. When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

"You're such a sap," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, though the affection in your tone was unmistakable.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "You love it," he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I do," you admitted, your eyes locking with his, the air between you charged with an electric tension that made your skin tingle.

For a moment, neither of you moved, simply soaking in the closeness, the warmth of each other’s bodies. But then Namjoon shifted, rolling you onto your back as he hovered over you, his gaze darkening with desire.

"And I love you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, the promise of more lingering in the air.

Your breath hitched, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you pulled him down into another kiss, this one more urgent, more insistent. Namjoon responded in kind, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy.

He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, his hands wandering over your body, mapping out every curve and dip with a reverence that made your heart race. You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a blazing trail of heat in their wake.

"Namjoon," you breathed, your voice laced with need, your body aching for more of him, more of his touch, his warmth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you as his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers skimming over your bare skin, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he slowly inched your shirt up, his lips following the path his hands had taken.

You could feel the weight of his gaze as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire, but there was something else there too—something tender, something that made your chest tighten with emotion.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, as if the words were too heavy to speak aloud.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, your heart swelling with affection for the man above you. "So are you," you murmured, your hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat, and then he was kissing you again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both passionate and tender, a perfect blend of love and desire.

The world around you seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in him, in the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the way he whispered your name like a prayer.

Your clothes were discarded in a flurry of movement, your bodies pressing together in a way that felt so right, so perfect, that it took your breath away. Namjoon’s hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of your body with a familiarity that only deepened the connection between you.

He moved slowly, deliberately, as if savouring every moment, every touch, every kiss. There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, lost in each other, in the warmth and comfort of your love.

When he finally entered you, it was with a tenderness that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He moved with a slow, steady rhythm, his lips never straying far from yours, his hands cradling your face as if you were something precious, something to be cherished.

You felt the world tilt on its axis, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the sound of his breath in your ear, the way his body moved against yours with a grace and fluidity that left you gasping for air.

His eyes never leaving yours, his breath caressing your nose and mouth. His right hand caressed your body moving down to your ass, taking a large part of it to keep you even closer.

Your legs closed around his hips, wanting to keep it that way forever. He smiled feeling the pleasure run through his body. Letting out a shaky sigh he brought his hand to your clit where he agreed to take you with him to the end.

And when you finally reached the peak together, it was like nothing you had ever experienced before—a rush of warmth and light that seemed to flood every corner of your being, leaving you both trembling, breathless, and completely spent.

Namjoon collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as you both lay there, your bodies still entwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal. The room was quiet now, the only sound the gentle hum of the night outside, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you nestled against him.

"Do you still think about the universe?" You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you traced lazy circles on his chest.

Namjoon chuckled, the sound of a soft rumble in his chest. "Not right now," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Right now, all I can think about is how much I love you."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you, the man who always seemed to have a question, always seemed to be searching for answers, even in the quietest moments.

"I love you too," you whispered, your eyes drifting closed as the exhaustion finally caught up with you.

And as you drifted off to sleep in Namjoon’s arms, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the universe had a way of bringing the right people together at the right time, in the right place.

Maybe, you thought with a smile, you were meant to find each other after all.

#bts imagine #bts #bts writing #bts fic #min yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #bts namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #writing #champagneher

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stylesispunk · 7 months ago

Text

"Silent Strain" | Last part

Outbreak!Joel miller x f!reader

previous part

summary: Joel and you knew that bringing a child into this mad world was a mistake, but he wanted to give you the best that was left of that world, and perhaps he did.

w.c: 9k>

warnings: established relationship, age gap (Joel is 43 and Reader 32) angst, fluff, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, mentions death, not proofreading.

a/n: Before continuing to write or post anything else, I had to end this story. I don't know if this end makes justice or if it meets the standards I had settled myself for this. I don't know why it was so hard for me to express myself during this week, perhaps I need a break from thinking. I hope you like it. Thank you for your support. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

It was one of those night when the weight of this endless agony you called life, was keeping you at edge, only the dim lights of the QZ casting long shadows across the small room you and Joel shared, with only the sounds beyond the window were the only noise breaking the suffocating silence that had enveloped you and Joel.

Joel was sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing his boot or fidgeting with his knife, something to keep his hands busy while the silence threatened to consume him too.

You rolled over onto your side, watching him, your thoughts a jumble of questions you couldn’t quite keep to yourself.

“Joel?” you murmured softly.

“Hmm?” His voice was gruff, low, as if he wasn’t really sure how to act around you yet.

“What do you think the world would’ve been like, if it hadn’t ended?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and longing. “What would’ve happened to us? To you? To me?”

Joel’s hands stilled; the rhythm of his movements broken by your question. He didn’t answer right away, his shoulders tensing as he mulled it over. Finally, he exhaled, turning to look at you.

“Don’t reckon I know,” he said, his tone cautious. “Never been much for what-ifs.”

That’s it. The avoiding in his tone. All over again. You hate it. Ever since he had kissed you, you thought things would change but he still got this wall built around him.

“But you must’ve thought about it,” you pressed, propping yourself up on one elbow. “What you’d be doing. Where you’d be. Would we have even crossed paths?”

The question hung heavy in the air between you. Joel’s expression softened, but his brow furrowed, as if the thought of it pained him. He finally moved closer, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his knee brushing yours.

“I don’t think we would’ve,” he admitted quietly. “Different lives. Different paths.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of never meeting him leaving a strange ache in your chest. “Then what do you think would’ve been of me?”

Joel’s gaze locked onto yours, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch. “I don’t know what would’ve been of you,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet certainty, “but I know what’s been of me since I met you.”

Your lips parted, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. There was softness, but tinted by the nostalgic memories that seemed flashing before his eyes.

“My world was done for,” he continued, his hand brushing yours, calloused fingers grazing your soft skin. “Ended the day the outbreak happend. Then you came along... and it started again.”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, the pain, the loss, the hope he didn’t think he’d ever feel again.

Your heart twisted, a lump forming in your throat as you reached out, your fingers curling around his hand. “Joel,” you whispered, his name feeling heavier on your tongue than ever before.

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “A world without you... that ain’t a world I’d want, no matter how it looked.”

You leaned into him then, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, finding comfort in the solidness of him. His arm came up to wrap around you, pulling you close.

“Maybe the world ending wasn’t all bad,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

Joel chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Don’t go romanticizin’ it, darlin’,” he teased lightly, but there was a warmth in his voice that told you he understood exactly what you meant.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, your hand still resting over his. The words were on the tip of your tongue, heavy and raw, but they demanded to be said. Your voice trembled as you spoke, but you didn’t care if it made you seem weak, it was the truth.

“I feel the same, Joel,” you said softly, your gaze steady despite the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Now that I’ve found you… I don’t know if I could survive losing you.”

Joel’s expression faltered, the tough exterior he always wore cracking just enough for you to see the man beneath it, the man who had carried so much pain and loss, and yet somehow, against all odds, had let you in. His jaw tightened as if he was trying to fight off the emotion welling up inside him, but his eyes gave him away. There was a flicker of something, perhaps love.

Joel was madly in love with you.

He reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “You won’t lose me.” he said.

He promised.

The memories of Joel felt so vivid right now. They felt like you were back there at the QZ wrapped around his arms, with him whispering things because he learned romanticism with you. How to take care, how to love, how to protect. You almost felt his lips on your temples, his breath on your neck, his hands roaming all over you. The kisses, the countless nights bare after making love.

It felt like the string had been pulled off and cut.

It hit you again, the chances of losing him were always there, but now. You couldn’t bear the thought of that chance becoming a reality.

The throbbing in your skull was the first thing you felt as you regained consciousness. You blinked, trying to piece together the blurry shapes around you, the hazy edges of the room sharpening into focus. The familiar warmth of Jackson’s walls surrounded you, but something felt terribly, painfully wrong.

Joel wasn’t there.

And then it hit you, all at once, like a freight train—the knock at the door, the words Tommy had spoken, the devastating reality you had been trying to deny. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. Every bit of it.

Your chest tightened, rage bubbling up from the pit of your stomach. You sat up abruptly, ignoring the ache that screamed through your body, and scanned the room. Maria was standing near the doorway, her arms crossed, concern etched into her face. Tommy sat in a chair across from you, his elbows on his knees, his face heavy with guilt.

“Where is he?” you demanded, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with fury.

Tommy’s eyes lifted to meet yours, and that was all it took. That look, the regret, the helplessness. It ignited something primal in you. You pushed yourself to your feet, the room swaying for a moment before you found your balance.

“Where the hell is he, Tommy?” you repeated, louder this time.

He didn’t answer fast enough. Or maybe he did, but you didn’t want to hear it. The rage boiling inside you took over, and before you could think, your fist connected with his jaw.

“Damn it!” Tommy staggered back, holding his face as Maria rushed forward, grabbing your arm. “Stop it!” she snapped, her voice firm but not unkind.

You yanked your arm away from her grip, glaring at Tommy with tears burning in your eyes. “You idiot!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “You put his life on risk!”

Tommy straightened, his hand still pressed to his jaw, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. His face was a mix of guilt, anger, and something softer,understanding. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even raise his voice.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. “You think I don’t know that?”

Maria stepped between the two of you, her hand on your arm, trying to calm the storm brewing inside you. “Listen to me,” she said firmly.

“No” you interruped. “I’m going to look for him by myself,” you said, your voice sharp and unwavering.

Maria stepped forward, her face showed frustration “You can’t just go out there alone,” she argued. “And what about Rosie? What if something happens to her while you’re gone?”

Her words made you falter for the briefest moment. Rosie, your everything, your reason for holding on. The thought of leaving her behind, even for a moment, felt like carving out a piece of your soul. But the image of Joel out there, possibly hurt, possibly worse, pushed any hesitation aside.

You turned to Maria, your gaze sharp as steel. “Well,” you snapped, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury, “at least do something useful now and take care of her.”

Maria’s mouth opened to respond, but you didn’t give her a chance. You were already moving, grabbing your things. Your gun, your backpack, your jacket while walking towards the door.

Tommy moved to block your path, his hand outstretched. “You don’t even know where to start lookin’,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “You go out there blind, and you’re just gonna get yourself killed.”

You squared your shoulders, meeting his eyes with a glare that could cut through stone. “I’ll start where I need to,” you said coldly. “I’ll figure it out. Because sitting here, doing nothing, isn’t an option.”

Rosie’s faint coo from the other room made your chest tighten, a stark reminder of what you were risking. But in your heart, you knew this wasn’t just about Joel. It was about all of you—your family, your survival, your love.

Maria’s voice softened, though her resolve didn’t waver. “Think about her,” she said gently. “If you don’t come back, what happens to Rosie? You’re all she has.”

You hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on you. But the memory of Joel’s face, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world, burned brighter.

“I am not all she has,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “She still has her father”

Without waiting for another argument, you shoved past Tommy and Maria, stepping out into the cold, unforgiving world beyond Jackson’s walls. Your heart raced as the wind bit at your skin, but your mind was set. Joel was out there, somewhere, and you’d tear the world apart to bring him home.

As you stood at the front door of your home, the cold wind biting at your cheeks, you turned back to face them one last time. Tommy and Maria both looked at you, their expressions a of concern, frustration, and fear. You tightened your grip on your gun, the weight of your determination solid in your chest.

“If I see Paul…” your voice was low, trembling with barely contained rage. “It’s over for him.”

The room seemed to still at your words. Tommy’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for a way to talk you down from the ledge you were standing on. But there was nothing he could say that would douse the fire burning inside you.

“Don’t do somethin’ you can’t come back from,” Tommy warned, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp. “I already told you,” You said, stepping out the door, “there’s no coming back from this.”

Maria stepped forward; desperation etched into her features. “Think about Rosie,” she said, her voice cracking. “Think about what kind of world you want her to grow up in.”

You froze for a moment, Maria’s words slicing through you like a knife. But instead of wavering, they only steeled your resolve. “I am thinking about her,” you said coldly, not turning back. “And I won’t let this world take Joel from her.”

With that, you walked into the sunset, the weight of your promise heavy on your shoulders. The faint cries of Rosie echoed faintly from behind the door, and for a brief moment, your steps faltered. But the thought of Joel out there, possibly alone and hurt, propelled you forward. Paul’s face flashed in your mind like a target, and you clenched your jaw.

If Paul crossed your path, it wouldn’t be a question of mercy. It would be the end.

“I don’t care about the damn rules!” you yelled, your voice cracking as frustration and panic clawed at your chest. “Open the gates, or I’ll climb over myself!”

The guards hesitated, murmuring to one another, when Tommy appeared at your side. His boots thudded against the ground as he strode up, his expression hard as he met you gaze.

“Open the damn gates,” Tommy ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

“But—” one of the guards started to protest, only to be silenced by Tommy’s glare.

“I said open them!” Tommy snapped. “We’re wastin’ time.”

Your mouth opened as his ordered the guards. The gates creaked and groaned as they slowly opened, and you didn’t waste a second. You stormed through, your riffle secure in your grip, and your heart racing against your ribcage.

Tommy caught up quickly, falling into step beside you. “You aren’t doing this alone” he said, his tone softer now but still carrying an edge of frustration.

He had spending years trying to kept his humanity, but as the tables had turned, he felt the need to gave up and doing justice with his own bared hands.

You didn’t respond, your jaw set tight as you pushed forward, the snow crunching beneath your boots. The wind bit at your face, but the fire in your chest burned hotter than the icy chill around you. All you cared about was finding Joel, bringing him back, and making whoever was responsible pay.

"He’s my brother," Tommy said noticing your demeanor, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of shared pain and loyalty. "We’re both doin’ this, like it or not."

After a while, Tommy broke the silence. “Look, I know you’re angry,” he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “Hell, I’m angry too. But you can’t let it eat you alive. Joel wouldn’t-”

“Don’t tell me what Joel would or wouldn’t want,” you snapped, cutting him off. “You’re not the one bleeding out in the snow because someone decided to make a point. You’re not the one…” Your voice cracked, and you stopped walking, pressing a hand to your chest as the weight of it all threatened to crush you. “You’re not the one who might…might not make it back.”

Tommy stopped beside you, his expression softening. “He’s tough,” he said quietly.

You turned to him, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “It’s cold Tommy,” you sobbed “I can’t lose him, Tommy,” you whispered. “I can’t. He’s…he’s everything.”

Tommy glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “I know,” he replied softly.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, your voice gaining strength. “I don’t think you really understand. Joel… he’s the reason I keep going. The reason I survived what I went through before Jackson. He gave me a reason to live again.”

Tommy’s expression softened, but he remained quiet, letting you speak.

“Rosie… Ellie… I love them with all my heart. But Joel? He’s… he’s my heart,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I love him in a way I didn’t think I was capable of after everything that happened. If he’s hurt or worse, and I didn’t do everything in my power to find him, I don’t think I could live with myself.”

Tommy stopped walking for a moment, his hand lightly gripping your arm to halt you as well. You turned to face him, your emotions raw and exposed.

“I know my brother can be stubborn,” Tommy said, his voice low and steady. “But he loves you just as much, if not more. And if he’s out there, we’re gonna bring him back. Together.”

His words brought a brief flicker of hope, and you nodded, swallowing hard. Then, without another word, the two of you pressed on, the snow falling softly around you.

The forest seemed endless; the towering trees shrouded in shadows as the two of you trudged forward. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a branch made your hand tighten on the gun, your senses on high alert. Tommy kept pace beside you, his silence heavy but steadying in its own way.

The night enveloped the landscapes and the moonlight already filtered through the branches, casting an eerie glow over the snow-covered ground. The cold bit at your face, but you barely felt it, your thoughts consumed by Joel.

“How far do you think he could’ve gone?” you asked, your voice strained, breaking the suffocating silence.

Tommy hesitated before answering. “Depends on what he ran into. Joel’s smart… if he’s injured, though, he wouldn’t make it far without help.”

The thought of Joel hurt and alone twisted like a knife in your chest. “He wouldn’t just leave. Not without trying to come back,” you said firmly, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

Tommy gave you a sidelong glance. “He wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But sometimes out here, things happen that we can’t control.”

His words hit harder than you wanted to admit, but you swallowed the lump in your throat and pressed on.

The two of you continued, the silence punctuated only by the sound of snow crunching beneath your boots. Then, up ahead, you noticed something, a faint trail leading off to the left.

“What’s that?” you asked, stopping abruptly and pointing.

Tommy crouched down, his gloved hand brushing over the disturbed snow. “Tracks,” he confirmed, his voice tense. “Could be his.”

Your heart leaped, and without thinking, you started forward, your pace quickening.

“Wait!” Tommy called, grabbing your arm. “We don’t know what’s ahead. Could be anything.”

“I don’t care,” you snapped, pulling your arm free. “If there’s a chance it’s him, I’m not waiting around.”

Tommy sighed, his shoulders tense, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he adjusted his rifle and fell in step behind you.

The tracks led deeper into the woods, winding through dense thickets and over uneven terrain. The farther you went, the more your heart raced, a mixture of fear and hope driving you forward.

Finally, you came to a clearing, the moonlight illuminating what lay ahead. Your breath caught in your throat.

There, slumped against a tree, was a figure. Your heart clenched as you broke into a run, Tommy shouting your name behind you.

“Joel” you whispered into the night as you dropped to your knees beside him.

He was barely conscious, his face pale, blood staining his jacket. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, and a weak, pained smile tugged at his lips.

“My baby” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

Tears streamed down your face as you cupped his cheek, your fingers trembling. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Tommy knelt beside you, already assessing Joel’s injuries. “We need to get him back to Jackson. Now.”

You nodded. “We’re not losing you,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears.

Joel’s hand weakly reached for yours, his eyes seemed heavy with exhaustion. When his gaze met yours, and a faint smile flickered across his lips despite the pain. “I needed to see you,” he murmured again, his hand weakly lifting to rest over yours. “Needed to know you were okay. That Rosie… Ellie… they’ll have you. Tommy’ll take care of y’all.”

“Stop it,” you choked, tears streaming down your face as you clung to him. “We’re getting you back to Jackson. Tommy and I-we’re going to fix this. You’re going to be okay.”

Joel’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing weakly against your hand. “You’re stronger than you think, darlin’. Always have been. But sometimes… sometimes you gotta let go.”

“Don’t ask me to do that,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.

“You can,” he interrupted, his voice firm despite the weakness in his body.

Tommy’s voice cut in, tight with urgency. “We don’t have time for this. He’s fading fast. We need to move now.”

Joel’s eyes filled with tears, the sight of them breaking something deep inside you. His lips trembled as he tried to utter a word, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

“Don’t you dare to close your eyes, baby,” you pleaded, your voice raw and desperate as you held his face between your hands, your thumbs brushing over the scruff of his jaw. “We’re gonna leave Jackson, Joel. We’ll get that farm you wanted. We’ll watch Rosie grow up happy. We’ll get older together.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It is easy,” you insisted, though your tears betrayed your own doubts. “You just have to stay with me, Joel.”

Joel’s hand lifted, trembling, to rest against yours on his face. His eyes closed for a moment, as if drawing strength from your touch. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of something there.

"Who did this?" you asked, your voice trembling with rage as you looked between Joel and Tommy. The words clawed their way out of your throat, sharp and raw, demanding answers.

Joel’s head lolled slightly, his strength waning, but his hand gripped yours weakly, trying to ground you. He didn’t speak, his face twisting in pain and something that looked like shame.

Tommy hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Joel, then back at you. “Could’ve been raiders. Could’ve been Paul.”

“Paul,” you hissed, the name like venom on your tongue. The fire inside you ignited, blinding and all-consuming. “If it was him—”

“Don’t,” Joel rasped, his voice barely audible but firm. His eyes opened just enough to meet yours, a flicker of desperation shining through the pain. “Don’t… go down that road.”

You shook your head, the fury boiling over. “He did this, Joel. I know it. And if I find him-”

“No,” Joel interrupted, his voice hoarse but unyielding. His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, as if begging you to listen. “Don’t give him… the satisfaction. Don’t lose yourself.”

Tears blurred your vision as you knelt closer to him, your forehead pressing against his. “He hurt you, Joel.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and his eyes glistened as he whispered, “You’re better than that. Better than me.”

The weight of his words crushed you, but the rage remained, burning in your chest, threatening to consume you. Tommy placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, his voice low. “

Tommy’s voice broke through the moment, urgent and filled with worry. “We’ve got to move now. He’s losin’ too much blood.”

You nodded, your focus never leaving Joel as you and Tommy worked together to support him. But as soon as you started walking, a bubble of rage consumed you, burning your chest.

You stopped in your tracks.

"Tommy, take him back to Jackson," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

Tommy froze, his eyes narrowing as the weight of your words hit him. “What’re you sayin’?”

You turned to him, your jaw clenched, eyes ablaze with fury and determination. “You know what I mean.”

Tommy shook his head, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re not thinkin’ straight. This ain’t the way.”

Your gaze hardened, your fists clenching at your sides. “It’s the only way, Tommy. Take him back. Make sure he gets home safe.”

Tommy hesitated, looking between you and Joel. Joel, who was barely hanging on, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Then Tommy’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as he realized there was no talking you out of it.

He let out a sharp exhale, his voice quiet but firm. “If you’re gonna do this… make sure he doesn’t come back.”

The words sliced through you, and for a moment, everything felt too real. You glanced at Joel, his eyes fluttering open for just a second, his lips moving faintly as if to protest.

But you couldn’t falter now.

“I will,” you said, your voice cold and resolute.

Tommy stepped forward, carefully lifting Joel’s arm over his shoulder. Joel weakly muttered something incoherent, but you couldn’t let yourself linger. You turned away, gripping your gun tighter, the rage and purpose consuming every other thought.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Tommy called out after you, his voice tinged with worry.

“I’ll finish this,” you replied without looking back.

As they disappeared into the distance, you turned on your heel, the fire in your chest burning hotter with each step. You didn’t even feel the cold anymore; all you felt was the rage coursing through you.

“Paul!” you shouted into the empty woods, your voice echoing into the silence. Your hands gripped your gun tightly, the weight of it grounding you. “You wanted me—here I am!”

There was no immediate response, but you didn’t stop. You kept walking, scanning the trees, your every nerve on edge.

“Come out and face me, you coward!” you yelled again, your voice breaking with fury.

A branch cracked in the distance, and your eyes snapped toward the sound. Your heart raced as a figure emerged from the shadows. Paul. His smirk was as cold and calculating as you remembered, his weapon slung lazily over his shoulder.

“Finally,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Took you long enough.”

You raised your rifle, your hands steady despite the storm raging inside you. “You don’t get to walk away from this.”

Paul laughed, a low, menacing sound. “And what’s the plan, sweetheart? I’ve already taken plenty from you.”

Your grip tightened, your finger hovering over the trigger.

"I told you, Joel wasn't strong as it seems I made sure that wound would kill him" he said, as he thought he was stating a fact.

“I told you,” he sneered, his smirk widening. “Joel wasn’t as strong as he seemed. I made sure that wound would kill him.” His voice dripped with malice, his arrogance filling the air between you.

Your grip on the gun tightened, your knuckles whitening as the rage coursed through you. “You don’t know him,” you said, your voice low and trembling with restrained fury. “Joel’s stronger than you’ll ever be.”

Paul laughed, the sound cold and cruel. “Stronger? He couldn’t even protect you. And now? He’s as good as dead. Just like I planned.”

You took a slow, deliberate step forward, your gun still raised and aimed squarely at his chest. “You’re wrong,” you said through gritted teeth. “Joel’s alive. And he’s safe because he has something you’ll never understand, people who love him. People who will fight for him.”

Paul’s smirk faltered for a moment, but his bravado returned quickly. “Is that so?” he taunted. “And what about you, huh? Gonna kill me for him? Go ahead. Prove me right, you’re just like the rest of us.”

For a moment, the weight of his words threatened to pull you under. The line between justice and vengeance blurred, the fire inside you demanding retribution. But then you saw Joel’s face in your mind, his voice whispering the same plea he had before.

Don’t let it take you.

You exhaled sharply, your finger trembling on the trigger. “You think you’ve won, but you’re wrong,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “Joel’s alive, and you’ll never break us.”

Paul’s smirk twisted into a snarl as he took a step forward. “You don’t have it in you,” he spat. “You’re weak, just like him.”

Without hesitation, you fired a warning shot into the ground at his feet, the sound echoing through the trees. Paul flinched, his bravado faltering as his eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m not weak,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “But I’m not like you, either.”

You kept the gun trained on him as you backed away, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m relieved, Paul,” you said, your voice soft but cutting like a blade. “Relieved your wife and daughter are gone. Because it’ll make me a hero to send you to join them.”

His smirk faltered, his confidence cracking for the first time. He opened his mouth to speak, but the cold finality in your words left him momentarily speechless.

“Go ahead,” he finally managed, though his voice had lost its edge. “Do it. You’ll prove you’re no better than me.”

You stepped closer, the barrel of your gun now level with his chest. “I’m better than you because I fight for the people I love,” you hissed. “You have no one”

For a moment, the air between you was still, heavy with tension, the world holding its breath. Then you lowered your weapon, your decision made.

“You don’t get to win,” you said firmly. “Not like this.”

Paul’s laugh returned, but it was weaker now, tinged with uncertainty. “You’re letting me go?” he said mockingly.

But before he could continue, the sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the cold, silent woods. Paul staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he crumpled to the snowy ground. The crimson stain spread quickly across the pristine white snow, a grim reminder of what you’d just done.

You stood frozen for a moment, your gun still raised, your breath forming frantic puffs in the icy air. You lowered the gun slowly, your fingers stiff from the cold and the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to look away from the body. You weren’t proud of what you’d done. This wasn’t who you wanted to be, but the mere thought of losing Joel, of seeing his life slip away because of Paul’s madness, had driven you to the edge. And you’d stepped over it.

Your feet pounded against the icy ground as you ran back toward Jackson, your lungs burning with every sharp intake of the cold air. You didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, even as your legs begged for rest. Every step was fueled by a single, desperate thought.

Joel, Joel, Joel

By the time you reached the Jackson, your heart was hammering so loudly in your chest that you could barely hear the world around you. You walked through the doors, running towards your house, the warmth inside contrasted the freezing outdoors. Tommy was standing near the door, his hand on his hair, his expression unreadable as his eyes met yours.

“Is he-?” you gasped, barely able to get the words out.

Tommy stepped forward, his hand gripping your shoulder firmly. “He’s hangin’ on,” he said, his voice low but steady. “He’s fightin’. Doc’s with him now.”

Relief washed over you in a wave, but it didn’t erase the worry gnawing at your insides. “Can I see him?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Tommy hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Go ahead. But he’s out cold. Just... be there for him.”

You didn’t wait for another word. You moved past Tommy and into the room where Joel lay. The sight of him stopped you in your tracks. He was pale, his face drawn with pain even in unconsciousness. His shirt was gone, replaced by clean bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. The sight of the bloodstained rags on a nearby table made your stomach churn, but you forced yourself to focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You stepped closer, your hands trembling as you reached for his. “Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m here.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. His skin was cool to the touch, but the faint warmth radiating from him eased the knot of fear in your chest just a little. You lingered there, your lips brushing against his brow as if your touch alone could bring him back to you.

“I’m here, Joel,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? You promised me that farm, remember? And I’m holding you to it.”

The words felt fragile as they left your lips, but speaking them out loud steadied you. You sank into the chair beside the bed, still clutching his hand. It was rough, calloused, familiar—the same hand that had guided you through so many dark moments, now limp and unmoving.

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears as you studied his face. His usually strong features looked so vulnerable now, and the sight made your heart ache. “You have to pull through this, Joel,” you murmured, your thumb brushing gently over the back of his hand. “I can’t do this without you.”

The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the rhythmic sound of his breathing. For a while, you just sat there, clinging to his hand as if it were an anchor keeping you from drifting away. Your mind raced with everything you wanted to say, all the things you’d held back for too long.

“I was so scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I found you out there... I thought I’d lost you. And I don’t know what I’d do if I did.”

You reached out with your other hand, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’ve been my strength for so long, Joel. I need you to keep being that, okay? I need you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that he could hear you, that somewhere deep inside, he knew you were there. You leaned your head against the edge of the bed, resting it against his arm as exhaustion and emotion threatened to overtake you.

“I love you,” you whispered, the admission soft but certain. “So much. And I’ll be here when you wake up. No matter how long it takes.”

The days blurred together in a haze of waiting, worry, and whispered words of encouragement. You stayed by Joel's side, unwilling to leave him even for a moment. The chair by his bed became your home, the steady rise and fall of his chest your only anchor.

Ellie came to the bedroom every day, always with Rosie in her arms. The toddler babbled endlessly, her bright energy a small beacon in the quiet room. Ellie would sit beside you, sometimes talking to Joel as if he could hear her, sometimes just watching him with sadness in her eyes.

"You know," Ellie said one afternoon, her voice soft as she adjusted Rosie in her lap, "he's too stubborn to go anywhere. I mean, this is Joel we're talking about. He doesn't give up."

You offered her a faint smile, your hand still resting on Joel's. "He better not," you said quietly, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "I won't let him."

Rosie reached out toward Joel, her tiny fingers brushing against his arm.

Ellie laughed softly. "Yeah, kiddo. Papa's just resting. He’ll wake up soon."

Hearing those words from her made your throat tighten. Ellie was trying so hard to stay strong, for you, for Joel, for Rosie. You reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you," you whispered.

Ellie shrugged, though her expression softened. "We’re a family," she said simply. "We don’t leave each other. That’s what Joel would say."

Rosie started to fuss, and Ellie stood, bouncing her lightly. "I’ll take her for a bit, give you some quiet time," Ellie said.

You nodded, watching as Ellie left the room, her murmured reassurances to Rosie fading down the hall. Alone again, you turned back to Joel, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his hand.

The passing days were agonizing, but you clung to hope. Ellie kept returning, always checking in on you as much as Joel. Sometimes she brought food, other times just her quiet presence.

One night, as you were lying beside Joel with your head on his chest, Ellie appeared in the doorway. She didn’t say anything, just stood there for a moment.

"You need to rest too," Ellie said, her voice soft but firm.

You turned your head slightly to look at her, exhaustion etched into every corner of your face. "I’m fine," you murmured, though the dark circles under your eyes and the slump of your shoulders betrayed your words.

Ellie stepped closer, leaning against the doorframe. "No, you’re not," she said bluntly, but there was no harshness in her tone, only concern. "Joel’s tough, but he wouldn’t want you running yourself into the ground for him."

You let out a shaky sigh, your fingers lightly tracing the back of Joel’s hand. "I can’t leave him, Ellie. What if he wakes up and I’m not here? What if..." Your voice cracked, the fear you’d been holding back spilling out in those few words.

Ellie crossed the room, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. She reached out, her hand lightly touching your arm. "You’re no good to him if you collapse," she said. "Go lie down for a couple of hours. I’ll stay here. Rosie’s already asleep, so it’s just us."

You hesitated, torn between the aching need to stay and the undeniable exhaustion pulling at you. "What if he—"

"I’ll wake you the second anything happens," Ellie interrupted. Her gaze was steady, a glimmer of the fiery determination that reminded you of Joel. "Promise."

Finally, you nodded, though it felt like your heart was being wrenched away. You pressed a kiss to Joel’s forehead, lingering there for a moment. "I’ll be right back," you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were saying it for his sake or your own.

As you left the room, you glanced back to see Ellie sitting beside Joel, her hand resting on his arm. "You better wake up soon, old man," she muttered, her voice soft but resolute. "We need you."

The sound of boots on the wooden floor made you turn as you stepped out of the bedroom. Tommy stood in the doorway, his hat in his hands, his face shadowed with weariness. His eyes flicked to you, taking in the exhaustion you carried like a second skin, and then toward the closed door behind you, where Joel lay.

"You look like hell," Tommy said, his voice low but laced with concern.

You let out a tired chuckle, shaking your head. "Feel worse."

Tommy nodded, stepping inside and setting his hat down on the nearby table. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his hands fidgeting as though he wasn’t sure where to start. Finally, he looked up, his expression heavy with guilt. "I should’ve stopped him," he said. "I knew he was dangerous.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. "Tommy, it’s not your fault," you said, though the words felt hollow even to you. You’d been cycling through anger and guilt yourself, blaming everyone and no one at once. “Well...maybe it is but that’s not the main issue now.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Feels like it is. I’ve been tryin’ to keep people safe for so long, and when it came to my own damn brother..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away, his jaw tightening.

You stepped closer, your voice softening. "Joel made his choice, Tommy. Just like he always does. You know him—there’s no stopping him when he’s got his mind set on something."

Tommy met your gaze, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "And what if this is the one time it costs him everything? What if I lose him for good this time?"

The question hung heavy between you, the weight of it settling in your chest like a stone.

"You’re not going to lose him," you said, though your voice wavered with the uncertainty you couldn’t fully hide. "He’s strong. He’s fighting. And we’re here, Tommy. That has to count for something."

Tommy nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I just..." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I can’t imagine a world without him, you know? He’s my brother, and I’ve already lost too much."

Your heart ached at his words because they mirrored your own fears, the ones you’d been trying to push down ever since Joel got hurt. "We’re not losing him," you repeated, more firmly this time.

Tommy straightened, his hands resting on his hips as he took a steadying breath. "You’re right," he said. "He’s too damn stubborn to give up."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Exactly."

Tommy looked toward the bedroom door, his expression softening. "He’s lucky to have you," he said.

As you paced the hallway with Rosie cradled in your arms, her soft weight against your chest was both comforting and heartbreaking. Joel’s daughter—your daughter. She was the perfect mix of the two of you, his deep brown eyes staring up at you with a look so familiar it made your chest ache.

“You know, baby girl,” you whispered, brushing a thumb over her tiny cheek, “your daddy... he’s the strongest man I’ve ever known.

“You’re his whole world, you know that?” you continued, shifting her slightly so you could press a kiss to her soft curls. “Even when he’s grumpy, even when he doesn’t say it... you’re everything to him.”

Her little face scrunched, and then the cries started—small at first, then growing louder, the kind of wail that tugged at your already frayed nerves.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmured, bouncing her gently. “I’ve got you, Rosie. Mama’s here.”

But she wasn’t calming down, her cries sharp and insistent. You tried everything—rocking, humming, even pressing her close to your heartbeat, but nothing seemed to work.

“Ellie!” you called out, desperation creeping into your voice.

Ellie appeared in the doorway, her hair a mess, her face tired but alert. Her eyes darted to Rosie, then to you. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice trembling. “I think she’s tired, or maybe hungry. I just—”

Ellie was already stepping forward, reaching for Rosie. “Here, let me.”

You hesitated for a moment but handed Rosie over, watching as Ellie cradled her with surprising ease. “Hey, squirt,” Ellie murmured, swaying gently as she bounced Rosie in her arms. “What’s all the fuss about, huh?”

The cries began to taper off, and Rosie stared up at Ellie with wide, curious eyes. Ellie grinned. “See? Told you. Magic touch.”

You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Guess she likes you better right now.”

Ellie glanced at you, her expression softening. “She just knows her dad’s a fighter,” she said, her voice quiet. “And you... you’re keeping it all together for her. For him.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “I have to. For both of them.”

Ellie shifted Rosie slightly, holding her closer. “You need to rest more, ” she said firmly. “I mean it. Joel wouldn’t want you to burn out.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” Ellie interrupted. “Rosie’s fine with me for a while. Go lie down. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and you knew she was right. With one last look at Rosie, you nodded, your exhaustion finally catching up to you.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’ll rest besides him

“I’ll rest,” you said softly, glancing at Rosie one last time in Ellie’s arms. “But I’ll do it next to him.”

Ellie opened her mouth to protest, but you gave her a look that stopped her. She nodded reluctantly. “Alright. Just... take care of yourself too, okay?”

You gave her a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I will. Thank you, Ellie.”

Turning away, you walked back to the bedroom, the air feeling heavier with each step. The moment you entered, the sight of Joel lying so still in the bed nearly made you falter. But you forced yourself forward, the ache in your chest pulling you toward him.

Carefully, you eased yourself onto the bed beside him, mindful of the bandages and the bruises that marred his skin. Slowly, you rested your head on his chest, the faint, steady thrum of his heartbeat reassuring you that he was still here, still fighting.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you carefully draped your arm across his torso. Your fingers brushed against his side, and you held your breath, as if your warmth alone could coax him back to you.

“You feel that, Joel?” you murmured, your lips barely brushing against his collarbone. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat guide your own. Tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into his skin, but you didn’t care.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breaths mingling with his. You tightened your hold on him, as if your presence, your love, could anchor him to this world.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you whispered, your lips pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “So you can’t give up on me.”

And there, in the quiet of the night, you let exhaustion take over, your body curling closer to his, your heart willing his to keep beating, to find its way back to you.

It was a few hours later when Joel’s eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the room casting blurry shadows across the ceiling. His head pounded, and his body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain. He tried to piece together where he was, his mind foggy and disoriented.

The faint warmth of something pressed against him made him pause. Slowly, his senses sharpened, and he became aware of the steady rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by a gentle weight.

His gaze lowered, and there you were, curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped over his torso.

His heart clenched. For a moment, he forgot about the pain, the fear, and the chaos that had brought him here. All he could focus on was you, your face, peaceful in sleep, your body pressed close to his as if you were holding him together.

Joel’s lips curved into a small, weak smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt something so grounding, so comforting.

He shifted slightly, trying not to wake you, though the movement made him wince. The sharp ache in his side reminded him of how close he had come to losing everything. His smile faltered, replaced by a deep, simmering gratitude.

You stirred at the slight motion, your fingers twitching against his side. Joel froze, watching as your eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused at first.

“Joel?” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep and disbelief. You sat up quickly, your hands gently cupping his face as your eyes searched his, tears pooling in your lashes.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady enough. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re squishin’ me.”

A choked laugh escaped you, half a sob, as you shook your head, tears spilling freely now. “You—oh my god, Joel—you’re awake.”

“Guess I am,” he murmured, his hand lifting weakly to brush a tear from your cheek. “What’d I miss?”

You laughed again, the sound trembling with relief as you leaned down, pressing your forehead to his. “You scared me,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Joel muttered, his eyes softening as they locked onto yours. “Not sure I’ve got another one of those in me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him fully, your hands still cradling his face. “I don’t care. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, as if trying to memorize the feeling of him here, alive, under your touch. The fear that had haunted you for the past few days seemed to melt away with the warmth of his presence, replaced by a deep, overwhelming relief.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down, pressing your lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, hesitant, as though you were both unsure if the moment was real. But as the seconds passed, the kiss deepened, fueled by the raw emotions that had been building since the moment you thought you might lose him.

His hand lifted slowly, weak but determined, to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer. His lips moved against yours, steady and grounding, as if he was trying to reassure both of you that everything would be okay.

You parted briefly, breathless, your foreheads still touching. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

You looked at Joel, a smile breaking across your face despite the lingering fear. "You must be thirsty, oh my god," you said, suddenly realizing how long it had been since he had been able to drink. "Ellie!" you called out, laughter bubbling in your chest. "Come here, he's awake!"

There was a pause before Ellie appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from worry to disbelief as she saw Joel’s tired but very much alive face.

"Is he—?" she started, her voice trailing off, too stunned to finish the question.

You nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "He's awake."

Ellie's eyes softened, and she stepped into the room quickly, her face lighting up with relief as she moved toward the bed. “Joel,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Joel looked up at her, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. “Guess I’m not dead yet,” he said, his voice hoarse but stronger now.

Ellie couldn’t help but laugh, brushing a tear from her cheek as she sat down beside him. “Damn, you really had us all worried, old man.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, feeling the tension from the past few days start to ease. “You had me worried, Joel,” you said softly, your hand still resting against his chest.

Joel glanced at you, his gaze soft and sincere. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from disuse. “But I’m here now. And that’s all that matters.”

Ellie shifted, giving you both some space. "I'll go get some water," she said, already rising to her feet. "You two need it more than me right now."

You watched her leave, the weight of the last few days finally starting to lift. It was just the two of you now, and as Joel’s hand reached for yours, you realized you didn’t need anything else.

A few weeks had passed since Joel had woken up, and every day had been a reminder of how fragile everything was, but also how deeply you and Joel had fought to stay together. His strength slowly returned, and with each passing day, he was more and more like himself. His voice, though still raspy at times, was steadier.

This morning, as you stood at the window of your small home, watching the sun rise over Jackson, you felt a calm settle in your heart. You knew today would be different. You knew this was the day.

Joel entered the room behind you, his boots making soft noises on the wooden floor. He stepped up beside you, his hand reaching for yours, and as he stood next to you, you both watched the town slowly come to life.

"How are you feeling?" Joel asked, his voice low, but full of warmth.

"Good," you answered, smiling as you turned to face him. "Better than ever."

He squeezed your hand, a smile forming on his lips. "Ready for today?"

You met his gaze, the weight of the last few weeks finally hitting you. Everything had led to this moment. "I think I am," you said softly.

Later that day, in the warmth of the afternoon sun, the ceremony took place in the heart of Jackson. There wasn’t a big crowd, but the people who mattered were there—Ellie, Tommy, and a few of the others who had become your family in this broken world. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh earth, and the world felt peaceful in a way it hadn't in a long time.

You stood beside Joel, your heart racing as the small ceremony began. It was simple—a few words spoken by the person who’d been given the honor of marrying you both, followed by the exchanging of vows.

Joel’s voice was steady when he spoke, though there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he looked at you. "I don’t know what I would’ve done without you," he said, his words so raw, so honest. "I never thought I’d be standing here, but here we are. And I’m glad for it. You’re all I’ve ever wanted."

You smiled through the tears threatening to spill, squeezing his hand. "I was lost without you, Joel. You pulled me from the dark. And no matter what comes, I’ll always be by your side."

The vows were simple, but they were everything.

When the ceremony ended and the small group clapped softly, Joel turned to you, his hand sliding into yours as the others gathered around. His smile was brighter than you’d seen in weeks, a true reflection of how far he’d come.

"Guess we’re officially stuck with each other," Joel said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You laughed, your heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

Joel's gaze softened, his thumb still gently stroking the back of your hand as he took a small step closer. The warmth of the sun seemed to pause for a moment, the world holding its breath as he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It was tender, a promise more than anything, a promise of love, of survival, and a future.

When he pulled back, his eyes held a depth that spoke volumes, and his voice was barely a whisper, but full of meaning. "I promise, no matter what comes, I’ll give you the best of me.”

You could feel the weight of those words settle in your chest, grounding you in a way nothing else could. In that moment, with Joel standing in front of you, the world seemed right again. The chaos, the pain, everything that had tried to pull you apart, faded into the background.

"I know you will," you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion. "And I’ll fight right alongside you."

He smiled, that crooked, half-smile that had become so familiar, and pulled you into his arms once more, holding you tight against his chest as if the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

And in that embrace, you realized something. In a world that had taken so much from the both of you, he had given you the best of this world.

And soon after you would leave to that farm...

Tags 💌: @jasminedragoon @orcasoul @missladym1981 @hiroikegawa @eleganthottubfun @lumpypoll @cuteanimalmama @thespookywookies @goodvibesonly421 @karaslqve @greenwitchfromthewoods @somedayheaven @bambisweethearts @joelsteinfeld @guelyury @biapascal @picketniffler @mrsyixingunicorn10 @httpvomitello @kulekehe @callmecath1 @persephone-girl @colmiillo @pedroswife69 @keileighr @capswife @fallout-girl219 @sullyselena @cymbalta-slut @my-tearsricochet @hermionelove

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shuenkio · 4 months ago

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Please ? — 현진

Paring: Hyunjin X M!reader

Synopsis: Making your boyfriend mad? He had enough from bottled up ever since, now you'll pay the price.

Genre : Smut — no plot. Cw: smau.

Non proof read | Eng is not my first.

Note: A drabble smut.

The bed cracked, by the impact of the masculine hot man pounding his enormous length into his lover's ass. His boyfriend had been a very bad boy, ever since and didn't even admit that he was wrong. Hyunjin was bottled up by his anger, and frustrated whenever M/n doing that that upset him, such like touching other guy hand, clinging to their friends a lil much than usual.

"You little piece of shit, MMHA— take it you fucking slut, know your place that you're only mine, you're my god damn boyfriend, not the slave to put up for good to the others than me M/n! Fuck"

Hyunjin growl like a husky while balls deep down into M/n's hole relentlessly, pressing his hip to the hilt inside, rough pounding him with no mercy to punished M/n for good, making sure he'd remember who he belong to. M/n can't put his fingers on anything, his wrists are being tied by one hand due to his lover. Your world has become Hyunjin's toy — His own personal toy, this was the consequences of doing bad, something that Hyunjin had already been saying countless times that he doesn't like M/n to make contact, touching, and clingy to everybody a lot however M/n didn't listen now here we are, M/n's anal is being destroy and abused by Hyunjin's cock non stop.

"I'm sorry kiwi— I'm so surry— w-wont happened ever.... Again" Feeling guilty along with how rough he is fucking without any rest, M/n left no choice but to beg for mercy, to spare, to breathe. Yet Hyunjin only gets more turned on with the way you beg for him, the puppy doe eyes never fail to melt Hyunjin's heart ever, it was one of the reasons why this relationship started.

Hyunjin's chuckle, his voice vibrates through the body of M/n with his sly and chucky smirk. Your whimpers and squirming is like music to his ears which he can't stop pulling his sensitive dick out of M/n even though the moment the latter said sorry— all anger in Hyunjin faded like a dust.

"Puppy you think by saying sorry is over? How funny because you're not only fueling me more but making yourself so fuckable rn!!

Shit— why are you so MITHERFUCKING tight owchh mhmm like that— I'm gonna

No—No— Ahh Ahh I'm coming m/n, this is insane I can't stop— so fucking STRANGE I'm FUCK— CUMMING" Gurgle sound were heard, it was crazy that Hyunjin nut so hard to this point of him, shooting lot jazz of hot cum rope inside of his boyfriend's inside, painted them from flesh to tacky smelly white. As Hyunjin's expression contours in pleasure, results him to hold onto M/n's waist for his dear life that could leave hands prints, whilst his throbbing rock hard cock pulsing to the vast unable to pull it out due to his overstimulated sensitive, he throwing his head facing the ceiling where in his eyes were nowhere to be seen except white. The sensation never failed to turn Hyunjin into a lifeless demon, by your tight hole clenching him like a vice every single time.

M/n's also turn into a sculpture, his boyfriend's orgasm is almost too intense which clicked instantly, triggered the small latter's penis as a load of cum, spurt out staining on the black mistress. He's fucked up.

"Never make me mad again my forever — this is how I punish you okay? You know how much I fucking love and would burn the world for you. Please."

Funtalk: How was it... It's another experiment ;_; would you ever want to leave Hyunjin? I hope you say no.

#hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x male reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin smut #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin #skz x male reader #skz x reader #stray kids x male reader #stray kids #straykids x reader #straykids fanfic #kpop x male reader

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ju-nebugg · 6 months ago

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moments from trb that make me lose my mind (pt. 2)

- “once your balls drop, that beard’ll come in great. like a fucking rug. you eat soup, it’ll filter out the potatoes. terrier style. do you have hair on your legs? i’ve never noticed.” ronan lynch i love you so much

- ronan panicking and letting the mask slip when gansey was staring down that wasp

- ronan being jealous that gansey was leaving henrietta with adam and saying “do you not want me to come” and gansey responding with “i would take all of you anywhere with me”

- “the sky as blue as death above him” like WHAT

- “i didn’t realize that ‘midget’ was the adam parrish type” ronan your yearning is showing

- gansey’s smile being “complicated” when he notices adam and blue holding hands

- “…blue’s dress had gotten hitched up and gansey could see a long, slender triangle of her thigh. adam’s hand was braced a few inches away on the seat, knuckles pale with his hatred of flying. there was nothing particularly intimate about the way they sat, but something about the scene made gansey feel strange, like he’d heard an unpleasant statement and later forgotten everything about the words but the way they had made him feel.” (long quote i know but holy fucking shit)

- obligatory “i’m always straight.” “oh, man, that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

- gansey doing his little indie film main character scream to god in a field

- gansey pointing at people. so much pointing. what a dork. i love him so much

- also his vocabulary. what a NERD <333333

- ronan pissing all over the state of virginia

- gansey calling blue “the table everyone wants at starbucks”

- “i just fed chainsaw but she’ll need it again.” “this,” gansey replied, “is precisely why i didn’t want to have a baby with you.”

- adam’s immediate thought when holding blue’s hand is to worry about crushing her fingers :(

- ronan forgetting to be “cool or surly” when translating cabeswater’s latin, and apologizing over and over again good lord and gansey only responding with “it’s okay, you’re doing really well”

- the whole “coincidence because it wasn’t” trend

- gansey being SO NERVOUS to ask blue to hang out at the church, and then sounding “fourteen shades brighter” when she accepts

- gansey’s arms being super fucking ripped from rowing and blue Noticing

- “aquamarine is a wonderful color, and i won’t be made to feel bad for wearing it”

- “gansey’s voice, when he replied, was a little rough. ‘well, if you killed adam, i’d be quite upset.’”

- “on the inside, he sort of wished he looked more like the camaro. which was to say, more like adam.”

- gansey planning out his “cunning thing to say to blue when he saw her next”

- ronan walking in on adam and blue flirting and immediately shoving chainsaw in their faces. hm.

- “no matter how hard he tried, he kept becoming a gansey”

- “out of the blue?” “i’d prefer if you didn’t use that expression.”

- BUTTERNUT

- blue being reluctantly attracted to gansey’s glasses

- ronan trying so hard to give adam an excuse not to go home, and then going absolutely apeshit when adam gets hurt

- neeve’s voice sounding like a “computerized voicemail menu” (can you tell i’m in love with maggie’s descriptors)

- “gansey was just a guy with a lot of stuff and a hole inside him that chewed away more of his heart every year.” oh god

- ronan carrying all of adam’s possessions into monmouth on his back

- gansey saying things like “excelsior” and “yee haw” for no one but himself

- gansey being miserable and blue liking him better that way

- ‘“crushed and broken,” gansey said. “just the way women like ‘em.”’ correct!

- “cabeswater was just as literal as ronan was” HMMMMMMMMM CURIOUS

- ronan writing “remembered” on the red mustang and walking away without a word shut UPPPPPP

- ganseys first question after adam sacrifices himself being “was i so awful?”

- “they didn’t even have the authority to choose an alcoholic beverage. they couldn’t be deciding who deserved to live or die.”

(pt. 1)

as soon as i can stumble my way to a bookstore, dream thieves will be annotated to hell and back. expect more yelling very soon <3

#ughghghghhhhh everyone read this series right this second #trc #the raven cycle #the raven boys

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mrs-kodzuken · 8 months ago

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empty promise ⟢ kenma k.

synopsis: you notice that your boyfriend, kuroo, of almost three years has been acting strange lately. you confront him on it and then suddenly you’ve made the decision to leave him. luckily, your best friend is always there for you.

other: cheater!kuroo x fem!reader, best friend!kenma x fem!reader, angst, break up, little mention of ED, comfort, manipulation, gas-lighting, asshole!kuroo, best friend!kenma helping rebuild reader, therapy, best friend!kenma has loved reader since 4eva eventual fluff

"Kuroo, I know it’s happening again.” You sighed, knowing this wouldn't end well, just like last time didn't end well per say either. You stared at the man across from you in the kitchen decorated with picture frames of the both of you as he hovered in front of the fridge, probably wondering why you didn't cook tonight.

“What are you talking about?” He sounded snippy; his demeanor changed as he peered his sharp gaze back at you, immediately becoming defensive. His slick, black suit that he wore leaving for work this morning was hardly as neat as it was, adding on to your suspicion.

“You’re hiding something from me, I know it.” You finally got out, your heartbeat quickening as it usually did when you would have to confront your boyfriend of three years. It was upsetting that you would have this anxious-riddening feeling that made you sick everytime you defied him.

“Seriously? This again? You’re fucking kidding me,” He snapped, slamming the refrigerator door shut, into which you jumped at the loud, sudden noise—eyes widening.

“Yes, Kuroo, this again. I can't set it aside any longer; the feelings are tearing me apart.” You attempted to say, “I just want trust, and—and I feel like I’m not getting it from you,” You stammered, trying to reason with the man; his expression held anger as if he couldn't believe you felt this way, especially about him.

“There you go with your crazy talk; are you sure you’ve been talking with the therapist Y/n?” He accused you, the scoff apparent in his voice as he rolled his eyes.

Furrowing your brows, you couldn’t believe that he would ask something like that. “Yes, at every appointment, and sometimes I text—“ You were abruptly cut off, the anxiety ate away at you, making you chip your nail polish.

"I just think you’re being dramatic. Honestly, I think you’re the one who's making this relationship go without trust,” He hammered in on his accusations. The kitchen light flickered as a few beats of silence passed between you two.

The absolute quietude in the house was almost deafening. The living room TV wasn't on; no soft music, nothing. No noise except the small buzzing from the refrigerator that you have always, always hated.

You took a deep breath and tried to collect your thoughts, you followed the steps your therapist gave you for moments like this.

“Kuroo, where were you tonight? You’re home extremely later than you said.” You purse your lips, wanting to know, but the ache in your stomach was becoming too much. At this point, it hurt to love him, to question him. You knew what he would say, you could probably even guess the exact words that would come out of his mouth.

His taller frame stood across the kitchen; the usual loving eyes now turned cold and hard and it was all directed at you.

“At the office, I was working.” He snarled, “Oh, you think I’m fucking someone at my job now, huh?” He raised his voice, your eyes widening at the thoughts your mind crept to, but you wanted to discuss it first. Wanted to calmly talk about it, this is what your therapist told you to do.

“No, Kuroo, I don’t think anything; I didn’t say anything like that. "All I said was that I had a feeling and I wanted to talk with you about it.” This is what your therapist had specifically told you to do; you could feel the crease between your eyebrows becoming more apparent with every sharp word Kuroo said.

“Oh yeah, because I’m totally cheating on you. I told you that last time would never happen again; why are you having these ‘feelings’?” He rudely said, as if you didn't notice the signs.

The late nights, the alcohol on his breath, the lack of physical intimacy with you, the ruffled, messy state of his clothes and hair. It was painfully obvious at this point. You felt ashamed for not saying something sooner.

“..There was just one night where you came home smelling like another woman and I—I just don’t know Kuroo. I wanted to make sure that last time wasn’t happening again.” You averted your gaze, not being able to stand the hatred in your boyfriend's eyes. You felt small against his larger frame and even larger, hurtful words.

“Ha! Isn’t that something? You’re probably cheating on me with how much you work from home.” He dryly chuckled, throwing accusations as if they were sharpened knives now.

“Kuroo, why aren’t you listening? You saying things like that hurt me, you know? I've been faithful since we agreed to be in this relationship. I'm just worried that history is repeating itself.” You try to get his attention back on the topic; he just wasn't listening to you.

You could feel your eyes starting to water, the buildup of arguing, the ache in your stomach, and the painful incriminations he was throwing. It was beyond hurtful, it ached.

“You’re delusional if you think you smelled another woman on me. There was no one at the office; nothing has happened since last April; nothing.” The bellowing of his voice was meant to try and beckon you to listen to him. And you were finally silent; you knew your pathetic voice would waver if you said something, anything right now.

You watched Tetsuro open a bottle of alcohol, not caring that he just openly hurt your feelings without any regard to how you might actually feel and didn’t try to console you either.

Opening your mouth to try and say something to reason with him, you couldn’t even say a singular syllable.

“Just fucking drop it,” He muttered before trying to slide past you into the cupboard to find something to eat.

"I’m leaving you.” Your voice harrowingly got out, and you glared at the floor, hating that you got dealt these shitty cards. You carefully took off the promise ring that you now realize was nothing more than just an empty promise and set it on the cold counter.

"Fine, you'll realize that you're the problem. The toxic, insecure, crazy one and then come crawling back to me,” He said without a hint of remorse; you knew though. You knew that he wasn't your caring, sweet, helpful boyfriend anymore; he was someone's. And you damn sure were not going to fight for him.

You watched as he left the house through the back door; you didn’t bother to check Life360 as you probably knew where he was going. You were right, unfortunately yet again.

Not being able to take the heartbreak, you decided to pack. You wanted to leave this home; you wished Kuroo made you happy like he did in the beginning of the relationship, but instead all he does is make you stressed and upset.

You gather your at-home work supplies, main toiletries, important documents, sentimentals, and clothes to last you three whole weeks. You could replace everything else; hell, you were a working woman, not some rando he could kick to the street to make you fend for yourself.

You figured he’d clear out the rest of your things before he invited his new girl here.

You carefully put your personal belongings in your car before leaving the key to the house under the front door mat. You decided to take a few minutes to give yourself a cry; you needed it. Your entire life of what you thought you knew was completely destroyed within thirty minutes; you had to cry or else you wouldn't be okay.

When you pulled out of the driveway, you called Kenma from your car. Kenma has been your best friend since college; he actually introduced you and Kuroo to each other.

And look how that turned out. Although, you had hardly spoken to him in a few because Kuroo cut off your contact with anyone that wasn’t him—mostly any male.

Once the dialing ended, Kenma picked up. You tried to gather what to say in a few short moments, watching the streetlamps pass you by as you drove.

“Can I stay at your place for a few days?” You asked before he could ever say 'hello'. You cringed at your voice, which was raspy from the argument and the tears you shed.

“Oh, yeah, sure. What happened?" Concern laced Kenma's voice for you; he was always so observant of your emotional state. But then again, you did sound horrible right now.

“Kuroo cheated on me again; I left him this time; I should've—I just should’ve left the first instead.” You tried to keep it together and not have to pull over and cry about the situation.

There was silence over the phone for a few minutes except the small sniffles and clearing of your throat. "I’m sorry, Y/n. You deserve better than someone who easily breaks your heart like this.” You could tell that Kenma felt guilty because he was the one who set the both of you up on a date.

"I’m sorry that I’m going to crash at your place to get my life together; I know I’m a lot.” You sighed, parking in his driveway. His house was as huge as ever; living the rich life did suit him though.

“No, you’re not a lot. Things happen, and I’m glad I’m someone you can lean on.” He genuinely reassured you, peeking out of the living room curtains and seeing your headlights, then ending the phone call.

You gathered your things and headed inside to Kenma's house, not having been here in a couple. It was just as admirable as the first time you were here.

“Were you just streaming right now?" You called in the house curiously; you could hear gaming sounds in the background of the phone call, they were much too familiar to listen to.

Kenma came from around the corner of the kitchen; he was in his typical comfortable merch that he made. His hair was pulled back, and he had a bowl of curry in his hand.

He paused, taking your form just like you did to him, except he was wary of your blotchy face and red eyes.

"..Yeah—yeah, I was. But don’t feel bad; I was supposed to get something to eat anyway.” He half smiled at you, a small crinkle in his eyes.

“You can make yourself comfortable in any room in the house; I'm going to finish my stream. If you need me, you know where to find me.” He turned away from you with a glance that you didn't see as you got familiar with his home again.

“Thanks, Ken,” You mumbled as he was already gone. You were going straight for the room that has always brought you comfort—Kenma's bedroom.

Collapsing on his fluffy bed was the highlight of your night, letting the feelings of the breakup wash over you. You knew that it would be something you'd bring up with your therapist this week; she would help you and talk you through your mind process like she always did.

Your eyes wandered as you controlled your breathing, grounding yourself with the distant memory that you last had about Kenma's room. It was always your safe space back then. You sighed and rolled over onto your back.

After lounging around and letting your emotions process thoroughly, you finally got up, the heartache from the past few hours still fresh.

"I didn’t expect you would pick my room, but that’s okay. It brings back memories of our sleepovers.” Kenma's voice rang out, opening his black-painted bedroom door, effectively startling you, which made you jump.

You regained your posture and gave a small, worried smile. “Are you sure? I can leave. Sorry, this just, just brings me comfort, you know?” You softly smiled, gazing around the room that you both would always share.

Back then, if Kenma hadn't introduced you to Kuroo, you would have probably confessed to him. The thought made your eyes widen a bit, and you blinked it to the back of your mind because anything else could come of it.

He leaned on the door frame and said, "No, it’s okay for you to stay. Were you about to sleep or something?” He raised a brow, not knowing that you planned to sleep with him. Nevertheless, he didn't care because, after all, he's missed you.

You winced, not fond of the idea of sleep right now. “Not really. I know I shouldn’t mess up my sleep schedule like this, but life kind of got in the way." You dryly chuckled, gathering your comfortable clothes that you would usually sleep in at your now-old home.

You sighed with despair, not being able to keep it in. The silence only egged you on as Kenma waited, his gaze only on you.

"I just keep feeling sorry for myself. How I should’ve been stronger to leave instead of being so lenient with him cheating on me so easily.” You were getting teary-eyed again, hating the situation you could've left from but didn't.

A soothing voice and an even more soothing hand surrounded your senses, trying to calm you. “That's normal. You thought you could trust again, so you tried it, and he proved you wrong. It just shows that you both weren’t compatible, a shitty thing for me to say, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you; you know me.” You could even hear the smile in his voice at that last part.

However, you were oblivious to the painstakingly ache in his posture due to the guilt of him putting you through that.

“Yeah, I do. Thank you for always being honest with me. I really appreciate it, Kenma. It means a lot. You’re practically the only person I trust—to always give me the truth.” You paused at that bit, realizing how awfully true it was.

“Always. I don't think I’d lie about anything; I don’t really see a point in it.” Kenma pondered out loud before going to light a few candles and turn on a warm-colored lamp for you since you’d be in here.

“Don’t worry about finding someplace to go yet. It’s okay for you to recuperate from life for a few days first.” He finished, his kindness for you glaringly obvious, but that's all you took it for, was kindness. You nodded, physically there but mentally not.

“What are you doing?” Broke you out of your trance-like state; staring at a computer screen for hours on end didn't do your eyesight any good.

“Working..” You mumbled out, knowing he was able to scold you about this. You never stayed up late to do work, to party, to drink, anything. You felt like you were boring and this was a way to combat it, especially with you feeling guilty for yourself.

“Why? You’ve had like three hours of sleep; I thought you were going to recuperate from life.” Kenma asked, he had noticed that you were knocked out earlier. He came into his room to check up on you, but you were sound asleep, peacefully. Knowing you were finally safe from harm in any way made him feel good inside.

"I tried; it didn’t work.” You turned back to your screen, wheeling around in Kenma’s office chair. You didn’t bother pretending like you didn’t know what you could and could not touch or act new with him.

“Have you thought about trying harder?” He snorted, but he genuinely cared about your wellbeing right now. He flicked on the above light, it was better than nothing right now, he also cared about your eyes.

"I’m only joking Y/n. want me to stay here with you or at least bring you something?” You saw his reflection on the screen, being able to notice his change of clothes now that you were sitting in complete darkness with the only light from your computer shining.

“No, I’m fine.” You said, earning yourself a squint from Kenma, not that you could see it as you were still typing away.

“You’ve been here at my house for almost eight hours and have yet to eat or drink something. Restricting your body from things like that as a poor coping mechanism isn’t healthy.” He scolded, being actually serious. Ironic how he learned that from his best friend in high school, however, Kenma wasn’t even sure he wanted to call Kuroo his best friend after what happened tonight.

"I—I know that, I wasn’t going to.” You stammered, trying to think of an excuse with him standing right there, taking a few small steps to further his point. “Okay, maybe I was going to, but now I obviously won’t.” You rolled your eyes, not bothering to lie to him.

"I’ll bring you something, and then we’ll see if you change your mind about working.” He patted your head like he used to, it brought you back to an easier life, a simpler life where you were actually happy and didn’t live your life anxiously.

Being with Kenma was like breathing, it was simple.

You didn’t feel insecure because you didn’t have make up on, or that you cried, or probably didn't look the best right now. Kenma wasn’t Kuroo, Kenma cared.

You knew he always had and probably always would. It was beyond palliating to know that Kenma cared about the important things like whether you were okay, if you had eaten or drank anything, if you needed someone to support you emotionally or help you vent.

He didn’t care about the other things like pressuring you to always look perfect or to stray out of your comfort zone for business parties with people who made you uncomfortable.

That brought you back to the present. “This, my god, this is so good Kenma. I'm stuffed.” You groaned at the last bite of the delicious meal Kenma made you. The pristine glass plates that Kenma knew you loved, he plated your food on that like he always used to do when you stayed over.

"I’m glad you like it. You can have the recipe if you want it.” He offered, sitting comfortably on the extra chair he pulled up so he could make sure you ate and finished the meal.

“That’d be perfect, thank you.” You smiled an actual happy smile, you loved when Kenma did things for you without you having to ask.

“How do you feel now?” He took your plate in his hands, standing up and wiping off the desk with your unused napkin. You watched him and yawned before responding.

“Kind of sleepy; I just want to lay down or something.” You mumbled, rubbing your sleepy eyes, your body finally going into relaxation after he had pulled you out of the state you were in.

“Told you.” Kenma pointedly said, “Go on, I’ll shut this stuff down for you.” He resisted the urge to kiss on your temple, watching your figure sleepy shuffle into the hallway.

“Thank you, Kennie.” You sleepily said before leaving, hoping he would come sleep with you too, you missed those nights. The gloamings you spent with him was comforting, you wished you didn’t trade that up for someone like Kuroo who hardly ever wanted to be away from work for you.

That night, you went to bed sound asleep. Unfortunately, Kenma couldn’t bring himself to

“You make me feel like my breakup wasn’t the end of the world.”

“That’s because it wasn’t the end of the world. How long have you gone without basic human decency?” Kenma asked you, already knowing the answer to that.

Between the last few days, Kenma’s been your listener, besides your therapist, to help you overcome your breakup. The way he has cared for you without expecting anything else in return was endearing, almost too endearing that it hurt your heart.

You knew your feelings by the end of the few days of staying at Kenma’s, the feelings that came back from when you both used to be close. However, even if he was ready for you, you weren’t for him. You had to go.

Moving the conversation along away from the awkwardness that surrounded you both, "I’m glad I got a therapist a while back because between you and her, I think I’ve helped myself a good amount from the breakup, and it’s only been almost two weeks.” You surprisingly said, grateful for the fact that you mentally checked out of the relationship a while ago but still needed to process it.

You continued, not watching Kenma but your phone to show him. “That reminds me; I’m going to start looking for apartments so I can be out of your hair soon. You’re amazing for letting me stay so long, Ken.” Smiling, you pushed the lit up screen towards his view, showing the apartments that were way nicer than you expected. It even had an elevator! You were fondly surprised at that.

As you kept raving about all these fancy apartments you found, occasionally scrolling through the apartment list to remember the details, you were interrupted abruptly by Kenma.

"You can stay." Was all he said, that’s when you finally looked at him. The room seemed to still as you met eye contact with him too, in his eyes…you could tell he didn’t want you to go.

He wasn’t ready for you to leave after he finally just got you back. Unable to eventually stop you from going, he had to tell you how he felt about you leaving.

You were speechless when it came to responding to him. Of course, you wanted to stay but it would go against what you planned, however you knew what you would say. Besides, you haven’t even put a payment in for the apartment number yet.

Kenma scratched the back of his neck, a random habit he never got rid of when you were around. "If you'd like, it's nice to have you around more often." The tenderness in his eyes was just so familiar now to you that you just had to accept his offer.

Living with your best friend who you may have a slight simmering crush for, knowing that it was requited too wasn’t the worst idea. Quite frankly, it seemed like one of the better options at this point.

And so, you happily agreed, you finally got the taste of comfort again and you desperately wanted to keep it. Your mind felt at peace, not racing with horrid thoughts all the time about whether or not Kenma had ill will towards you. You loved, and needed, your best friend because the nights he brought you were everything you lacked without him.

The warmth from the lamps that he turned on every evening as soon as the sun went down because he knew you loved them. Kenma would always light a small candle or two before you both got comfortable on the bed that you now sleep in with him. He even kept your Nintendo switch that he bought for you because you expressed interest in it once.

You always wondered where it went too, however, nights with Kenma dwelled on animal crossing and your favorite sweet treat. You didn’t have to worry about restricting yourself to no end because you were told to keep your shape up.

Looking up from your switch, you watched Kenma’s concentrated face, loving the little details you could see up close, especially his blue light glasses. You also adored how he kept his hair long, sporadically putting it in a pony.

The face framing pieces of hair, that you now play with every so often, were your favorite.

“Ken…thank you, for letting me come back into your life. I wish I never left.” You paused, letting him hold eye contact with you.

“It was worth it though, because now I know.” You hinted, but didn’t say anything else. Relishing in the fact that Kenma’s response was purely just to pull you closer to him.

a/n: requests are open! hope you like & this is all my work <3

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