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More LADS as a K-Pop Group Headcanons Because I need to get it out of my system pt. III:

ALL of the members do not strictly follow the “Idol” diet (which is basically highly restrictive, low-calorie diets, typically lean protein, vegetables, and minimal processed foods and sugar.)

Caleb and Sylus teeter on the edge of being full carnivores with how much protein they eat. Because of how similar their diets are, they often cook together (rare occasions that they don’t compete or disagree with each other.)

Caleb doesn’t like veggies if they’re not in some type of soup or stew. Their managers always struggle to make him eat fermented veggies, at the very least, to help digest all the meat he’s eating. Thus, he takes probiotics before each meal without fail (because, loathe as he is to admit it, the boy gets constipated a lot.)

Sylus loves premium food. Tomahawk, ribeye, sirloin—give him a bottle of complementary wine and he’s all for it. The members complained that he was draining their food budget, especially pre-debut. Caleb used to chide him every day for buying such expensive meat, but when Sylus had enough and gave him a portion to taste? Caleb still complains, but nowadays it’s because Sylus only bought enough for himself.

Zayne’s diet is the most balanced out of the boys. Equal protein, veggies…if you don’t question the crumpled-up pastry boxes he kicked down into the trash when he thinks no one is looking (Caleb knows…he always knows.) And the members wonder why he gets more frequent visits to the dentist.

Xavier’s one of those people, the ones who eat whatever they want, but never gain any weight, and he takes full advantage of it. He eats the packed meals given to the members, yes, but when they’re allowed to choose what to eat, that man presses fast food delivery with the quickness. That or he takes a trip to the convenience store (only if it’s walking distance), and gets instant food. He gets away with it because it doesn’t affect his performance at all, and Rafayel pouts so much about it.

Rafayel is the resident seafood lover of the group. He knows which grocery stores and markets to pick the freshest seafood and the best seafood places in the area. He goes to Busan and Jeolla very often, because he knows a handful of grandmas who would gladly spoil him with the best seafood cuisine they can cook up. Also a drain on the group’s meal budget because any seafood that doesn’t meet his standards gets thrown out. They once had King Crab, and Rafayel complained about the quality until Caleb had to physically restrain Sylus from strangling their bratty maknae.

Thoughts.

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Additional LADS as a K-pop band Headcanons because I need to get it out of my system part II:

When it comes to appearing in variety shows, the boys are very picky. It's not because they're snobbish or anything, it's just that none of them are really..."variety show" types. The closest one is Caleb, but only because that man exudes Golden Retriever energy in front of a challenge. Otherwise, their humor can be very dry, whereas variety shows usually rely on slapstick and pranks.

But while they don't choose to conform to the idol process of being scrutinized or picked on for television, they engage in very active livestreams with their fans.

Sylus is surprisingly the most active Vlive streamer. He likes to treat it as if he's on a date, flirting with and talking casually to his fans, answering questions and sharing his thoughts about certain topics. Contrary to his role as the group's "bad boy," Sylus is actually very humble, and always thanks his fans for the endless support they get.

Caleb is a close second, usually engaging in livestreams while he works on lyrics or music production (he has headphones on while he mixes the music so he doesn't spoil anything; the viewers only really see his side profile illuminated by computer screens as he sits in the studio.) He'll pause every ten minutes to talk to the fans, answering questions too. He does workout livestreams too, and THAT's always a hit.

Xavier does mukbangs, and the fans very quickly find out that he eats like a broke college student. Instant ramen, street food, sweets, chips, fast food...then he falls asleep for an hour straight before waking up just to turn off the Vlive. There are now thousand of pictures of his sleeping face, bedhead and all, circulating on the internet.

Rafayel does Vlive streams as he paints or visits places that give him inspiration, like the beach or museums. Aside from their official photos, most of their album art is his handiwork, whether it's an abstract painting or sketch. He calls his fans his "muses," which always gets a swoon. He also likes to livestream when they're in hotels, barging into the members' rooms uninvited and forcing them to be in the live. He has had a pillow hurtled at his face more than a few times.

Zayne doesn't stream much, which is why it goes so viral when he does. He streams himself playing videogames, mostly RPGs or online PvP games, and he's very very good at it. He isn't very talkative in general, but he makes an effort to answer questions. He likes to review patisseries, and whichever he recommends triples in sales. He tells his fans about his experiences studying while training to be an idol, gives advice, and offers words of encouragement to his fans.

Thoughts.

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Additional LADS as a K-pop band Headcanons because I need to get it out of my system:

Sylus, Zayne, and Rafayel are the most multilingual members

I'll subscribe to the headcanon that Zayne actually finished school, and debuted. He took additional language classes in Chinese, Japanese, and English, and is fluent in all. Boi is sMART

Sylus grew up in Canada, so he knows English, French, and as part of his idol training, he also took up Japanese and Chinese. He's most fluent in English, Korean is a close second. He knows enough Chinese and Japanese to survive on his own, but he can't properly call himself fluent either.

Rafayel got scouted in America, specifically when he was sketching faces at the subway. His family's Chinese, but he grew up in the USA, so he's native-level in both. He learned Korean when he was training, and he's picked up some Japanese phrases here and there, but he still needs a translator (read as: Zayne).

Xavier is Japanese and he, like Rafayel, learned Korean as a trainee. When the company started prepping them for their debut, their manager had Zayne teach Xavier some English vocabulary. Zayne complains Xavier falls asleep halfway through each session.

Caleb is fluent in Chinese, both speaking and writing. He can understand English, but finds it difficult to speak. He's currently studying Japanese, and feels a lot of pressure in learning more languages as they reach the global sphere. He's the leader, after all, and he takes great responsibility in being able to represent the group well. Zayne supports him heavily in interviews by translating.

Thoughts.

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Lil burst of inspiration from an AU from @koyagifs.

(c) mshunter0531 on Pinterest

LADS bois as a K-pop band Headcanons:

Main Vocals: Zayne, Rafayel

Rappers: Sylus, Caleb

All-arounder (Can sing and rap well): Xavier

Main dancers: Rafayel (think Jimin from BTS or Taemin from SHINee) , Sylus (Dude is a b-boy, or a power dancer like Jaebom from GOT7. Those shoulders rip costumes, lawd),

They're all visuals, obvs

Sylus is the eldest

Caleb is the leader

Rafayel's the youngest and the aegyo guy

Zayne is the mysterious, introverted one, but his facial reactions (mostly subtle shifts into judgemental stares or grimaces) are some of the most meme-d by the fandom.

They write and produce their songs, but often butt heads when it comes to the vibe they wanna bring.

Sylus and Rafayel always lean toward a saucy, sexy vibe heavy on the bass. Sylus specifically wants to work with rock and metal elements with an overall bad boy vibe.

Rafayel, despite being the "cute maknae" of the group, is the biggest fan of the slutty schtick. He also makes these dark, very personal tracks with heavy lyrics (think "Stigma" by BTS' V)

Caleb goes for either one of two genres: hip-hop, or acoustics. Dude is responsible for the majority of their soft, romantic acoustic songs that get the girls swooning, but his lyrics are packed with double meanings and can come across as a little...intense sometimes. But his hip-hop tracks are bangers, especially with his raspy voice spitting hard-hitting bars that can often be perceived as digs to societal issues, rebellious despite his reputation as the composed, steadfast leader of the group.

Xavier likes lo-fi stuff, or very reflective ballads. He likes using astrology and celestial metaphors in his lyrics. However, he's known to occasionally put out a really funky track straight out of the 70s.

Zayne likes classical-leaning tracks, think piano and strings-heavy stuff. His songs are often featured in K-dramas, and he's the member who acts on the side.

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hope you're keeping well, friend!

(greeting cards here)

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Come on now

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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We need more posts like this, not just because it gives Astarion much more depth and food for thought, but just for awareness in general. CPTSD is much more difficult than it sounds and very hard to spot if you don't know where to look, and devastating if misunderstood or left as is. Thanks OP

Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

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Vergil and his s/o training together

Or Vergil and his s/o spar for foreplay fun!

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: With your sword recently broken, Vergil gave you a new devil arm to get used to. He is also your mentor when it comes to fighting - but being his lover doesn't mean he's going to go easy on you. Quite the contrary.

Restrictions: None, BUT I should tell you: lots of sexual tension in this one. What can I say, Vergil is a weird guy, sparring with his lover does things to him. Nothing explicit though, you know how I roll. Also, reader gets bruises from training/sparring. He's rough and doesn't hold back, I mentioned it before I think Vergil has this "only the strong survive" mentality, and I do think he gets ruthless as a sign of respect for his lover's abilities rather than anything else.

Author's Notes: I blame @yanderebishforlevi for this one after they dropped an ask I just answered :) I'm focusing on the Halloween specials, but that made me go through my unfinished, discarded, short stuff on limbo and rehash/put it together to post something new here.

Simple stuff, not really much of a story, just some training with sexy, bared arms, ruthless, emotionally constipated man. That's why I never thought about posting, it felt like it was missing something a plot so I was going to put it in Nemesis but, oh well. Hope you guys like it xD

“We’re done for today.”

Vergil’s words sounded final, as he lowered the Yamato after a devastating blow that had you tumbling back and struggling to fall on your knees – scraping them in a way you would have some bruises to display for a couple of days at least.

“Given it’s my training session, love…” You growled while pulling yourself back on your feet, using your sword as a crutch for help. Vergil observed you with those cutting silvery eyes, almost as if questioning your resolve to pull yourself up. Again. “I say when we are done. And I am not done.”

“You are being terribly stubborn, that is.” Vergil had Yamato back in its sheath, arms crossed while curiously watching you take your coat off, having only your training clothes underneath.

“Well, at least we got that in common, Dark Slayer.” You carefully watched as Vergil mirrored you and took off his own long coat, leaving his arms bare for the first time that night. He only did that when he was about to get rough during training – and you had to huff a laugh. “I’m only standing down when I master this damned sword, and apparently I’m not even close to that.”

“You are closer than you were when we started.” He took a deep breath, already choosing a fighting stance since you were doing the same – walking slowly in a circle, observing him with a pair of predatorial eyes. Vergil was used to be under that scrutiny around demons, but when it came to your eyes, they were threatening… And bewitching.

“And I would be even closer, if you hadn’t been cheating this whole time.” You narrowed your eyes, allowing a smirk color the corner of your lips as Vergil froze in place – you could even bet he stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.

“Cheating…?” His voice was dangerously low, words alarmingly taking their time, savoring every syllable of that little word. You knew you had struck a nerve – but, in your defense, Vergil had been striking your nerves ever since you started training a few hours prior.

It had been a couple of weeks you had a new sword in your inventory: big, heavy, resembling a claymore. Dante and Vergil had killed one particularly powerful demon that ended up becoming the sword now in your hands: brimming with demonic power, ready to be wielded to bring doom to its enemies. You had your previous sword broken into shards while protecting Nero during one of your jobs – a story for another time – and Vergil thought the claymore of sorts would be a nice replacement.

A new weapon, though, meant a lot of new things: new grip, new balance, new weight, new powers… So much to master, but you had to learn soon in order to keep up with your devil hunter job. Halloween was approaching and, given how chaotic the last few years were, you had to at least master the basics soon enough.

Vergil, being the thoughtful partner and lover of knowledge that he was, offered to help you train and master your new sword – all his arcane teachings would surely come in handy when dealing with a devil arm.

You had a problem, though. Learning and mastering things on your own was almost a given, and you always expected to do it at your pace – meaning, you didn’t have much patience to not be at least good and easily fighting after a few hours of practice. With a mentor like Vergil, though, that process was taking double the time.

He was relentless. You being his lover just meant he would go twice as hard on you – in his dictionary, it probably meant how much he adored you; but in your dictionary, you were absolutely and infinitely vexed that, by now, you hadn’t been able to at least get to a tie with him.

And that was something you always proudly said you could do.

“Yes. Cheating.” You held your sword with only one hand, throwing it behind your body and having your eyes fixed on your lover. That way, when you or him decided to attack, you could use all your strength to lunge forward. “You got exponentially worse every time I lost and got back on my feet again; you haven’t made it easier nor remained with the same level of fighting from the beginning. You are making it more difficult for me. If you hadn’t, I would’ve already had my sword on your throat by now.”

“Tsk.” You smiled as Vergil finally had that nonchalant attitude, but his eyes burned like the coldest circles of Hell. With a swift move, he unsheathed the Yamato and attacked you – as you had already prepared before, you threw your sword forward, immediately able to parry. He quickly tried another attack, but you managed to grip your sword with both of your hands and hold him back. You found Vergil’s silvery eyes staring at you sharply between the blades of your swords. “Don’t expect demons to have mercy just because the sight of you eclipses even the moon herself.”

“If we weren’t sparring, I’d take that as a compliment.” You had a small laugh hidden amidst your words, clearly seeing the shadow of a smile Vergil tried to conceal before he pushed you back with only half of his might – still having you stumble back and use whatever energy you had left to keep your body balanced.

“Your human body won’t be able to take it for too long.” And even if Vergil was trying to convince you to stand down, he still circled you, keeping his own predatorial gaze on your form and tense shoulders to quickly get into a fighting stance. You weren’t one easy to convince when you had your mind set on something, that he had to admit. “We should call it a day and tend your wounds. Your body doesn’t have the same resilience a devil’s body has.”

“I would have a lot more if you hadn’t been ruthless with me, love.” You pointed at some slight marks on your body – nothing too jarring, but still making an appearance here and there. “These bruises are on you.”

With those words, it was your turn to lunge forward and attack first. Vergil easily defended with a swift move from Yamato, trying an attack right after. You managed to defend as well, holding him still for a few seconds.

“They will make you stronger.” Were the only words he managed to answer before you attacked again. Vergil seemed to fight effortlessly, while you had to muster all your strength to wield your new sword – Vergil was right to say your body wouldn’t last for too long: you were already tired, thanks to his training, but your pride wouldn’t allow you to back down. And he knew that.

Even if Vergil worried about your stamina, he couldn’t deny how much he admired – and had a pang of pride in his own heart – every time you displayed that much willpower.

With a calculated attack to disarm you, Vergil was certain your playing would come to an end and he would have the final word on that argument – he did not expect, though, a graceful move from your side, spinning such a heavy sword in one of your hands and making it face down, coming between you and him and completely breaking his stance, foiling Vergil’s attempt to end your resolve.

You quickly threw your sword a little on the air in front of you in order to let go from the grip and hold the blade itself – strong enough to be able to wield it, but careful not to hurt yourself in the process – which gave you the perfect opportunity to spin around him and smack the hilt of your sword on his back.

Vergil slowly turned his head around, still impressed by your swift move after being so tired, only to find you with a smug smile on your lips.

“It will make you stronger.” You pointed at him with the hilt of your sword, throwing it slightly in the air again so you could grab the hilt with one hand and then another.

Vergil kept his back at you, calmly walking to the other side of the room so you could take your initial stances again – but this time you saw him shaking his head and heard a low chuckle coming from him.

Vergil was a survivor, one that lived the law of the jungle for so long that sparring and teasing his partner was one of the best ways to entertain him. To say you were both having fun was an understatement.

“Apparently, I haven’t been ruthless enough with you.” He turned around, holding Yamato’s hilt with both of his hands. You had to hold back a smile – that was one of his stances that usually meant Vergil was starting to lose his patience and considering going all out.

And that usually happened when he recognized you were starting to get the upper hand – which meant he saw your playful sword smack as a sign you were starting to get the hang of things.

After all, you only did that sort of thing with your old sword. Comparing to the way you both used to spar, he was going considerably easier on you tonight.

“Let’s remedy that.” His voice was almost a growl as his feet moved like lightning on the floor.

You had to put all your concentration in that fight – your eyes never leaving the Yamato, quickly finding the blade in the air from its shimmer and parrying with your heavy claymore. Using your weight, you pushed Vergil back – which only worked because he saw it as an opportunity to power another heavy attack to try to get you off-balance. You stumbled a little, but quickly gained your balance once more, holding back another quick attack from your lover – something quite frustrating for him, as you observed in his furrowed brows.

Even if he wasn’t going easy on you, it was the first time Vergil was tapping into some of his demonic abilities – strength, speed and power, for starters – and you took that as a compliment. If he wasn’t going to cut you some slack, he could at least fight you the same way he always did – and Vergil never really held back when fighting you.

As he said before, it would only make you stronger. And that was why you could easily fight some of the most frightening demons of Hell without even breaking a sweat.

Vergil didn’t take long to attack you again. He had that look in his eyes he only used when he was hunting, leaving no room for mercy. You held your sword in a vertical position right in front of you, having the Yamato hit the flat blade of your claymore with enough power to have you and Vergil recoil a little from the impact.

Thankfully, your sword was sturdy enough to take a powerful blow from a legendary blade and its less than formidable wielder and not shatter. That was something you would remember later, for now Vergil attacked again and you defended, holding back a series of lightning quick attacks that required all your attention, strength and speed – as well as both of your hands holding your new sword in order to be able to avoid all of the attacks.

As expected, though, you hadn’t mastered your claymore yet. Your grip faltered in one of your hands, and Vergil’s predator eyes were quick enough to notice that and see a window of opportunity. Spinning the Yamato on his hand, Vergil gripped its hilt and used the butt-end to hit your hands and make you lose your grip on your sword.

As you tried to recover without losing too much of your stance, Vergil took the chance to spin around you – as you did before with him – and use the sheath of the Yamato to smack your back. A bit lower, and he would’ve smacked your ass – at least, he allowed you to keep a little of your pride, as you allowed him when you chose not to do that as well.

You immediately leaned the tip of your sword on the floor, side-eyeing your lover – only to find him with his head held high, that convinced expression he would always wear whenever he had the upper hand, along with a ghost of a smile you knew very well.

“Shall we continue…?” His words were crowned with his usual slight tinge of arrogance, as you turned around and adjusted your grip around the hilt of your sword. “Or will you finally yield and allow me to take care of those wounds?”

“As my lover, you should know, Vergil…” You sighed and snapped your neck from side to side, getting back into position to fight. He had to raise one of his eyebrows, ever so impressed with your resilience. “I do not yield.”

His only answer was a smile before your powerful attack, holding you back with the Yamato still sheathed, using one of his feet behind his body as an anchor so he wouldn’t fall over. Even in his wildest dreams, Vergil could never had imagined he would find someone who would give such flawless answers. Yes, he wanted to care for you. But how could he deny the fire he saw in you when you said such things? It was the same fire that kept him alive for so many years; the same fire that made him get back on his feet even when defeat was certain, when all hope was lost, and only death and blood were expected. The same fire that made Vergil defy all odds and save himself, over and over again.

He didn’t know how he had found you neither how he could deserve you, but he did hope you remained for as long as he could have you.

With another attack, he took the opportunity to unsheathe his sword, using both the blade and the sheath to defend himself from a string of attacks as ruthless as those he had attacked you before. You didn’t see an opportunity, but you knew Vergil relied on a few tricks up his metaphorical sleeves, so you acted quickly to do the same he did before – and with the hilt of your claymore, you weakened his grip on the sheath, quickly spinning your sword and hitting it with all your might, making the blue sheath fly across the training ground. Vergil immediately held Yamato’s grip with both of his hands, trying not to let his surprise show on his face.

You could see it in his silvery eyes, though. You already knew how to expertly access them, to find Vergil’s emotions underneath the icy façade he used to wear. You had an advantage that made your heart swell and bolstered your resolve – and that Vergil was also able to read in your eyes. He fought back, putting a little more of his strength and power into a few riposte attacks, stopping your advances and making you fall a few steps back.

It wouldn’t be fair if he started using his demonic might when your body was almost giving out – but Vergil had to recognize you were lasting a lot longer than he expected. He thought, by now, your physical body wouldn’t be able to keep going, completely unrelated to your willpower. But there you were, proving him wrong – and making him fall even more in love with you, if that was even possible.

Your hands trembled a bit, though. You kept your eyes locked in his, reading his every move, his every emotion – and Vergil did the same, as if your fight didn’t rely on your swords anymore. As he got ready for another devastating attack, your sword found his in the air and, spinning your blades together, you brought them down with a flick of your wrist, having them rest together a few inches inside the ground.

You turned your back for a few seconds to catch your breath, pain starting to ebb through your arms. Vergil took some steps back in amazement, since that move was a first: you had never taken a break from a fight by disarming him as well as yourself, even if for a few seconds; you only asked with words and it usually took a few minutes. He observed you carefully – part of him reading if your body was going to give out and part of him reading if you would jump on him unexpectedly. Vergil didn’t know what to expect, but he could feel his blood tingling at his fingertips, ready to take action with whatever it is that you had for him.

After a few seconds, you immediately turned around, locking your hands around the grip of your sword once more and lifting it from the ground. Vergil couldn’t believe you still wanted to fight – and even win – but mirrored your speed and had Yamato back in his grip once more.

A few more attacks. He could see your hands trembling. A few more steps. He could hear your shaking breaths. A few more swift moves. He could see the relentless fire inside your eyes.

Vergil didn’t make it easier because of your crumbling endurance – if you broke, it would serve as a lesson on assessing your own energy and how far you could go. As you knew right from the start, Vergil wasn’t a forgiving mentor and would push you to your limit – he didn’t exactly expect you would do the same thing with yourself as he did to himself in order to improve his fighting to perfection.

A flick of his wrist. A powerful move from your hands. You found yourselves drenched in sweat, in the middle of your training space, the Yamato touching your neck, and your claymore touching the skin on Vergil’s throat.

You had your eyes locked into his silvery gaze, the gleaming blades of your swords ignored as the only thing that dictated that fight was your willpower – yours and Vergil’s. As you looked into each other’s reflections, you stated something you didn’t have to say out loud to be understood: neither of you would ever yield.

As that knowing reached Vergil’s heart, that was only one thing he could really do – something his logical mind and demonic pride could never fathom as the proper response to that situation, but his human heart burned to have him do it. His free hand cupped your face, pulling you into an immediate kiss.

When your lips found his, you used your free hand to anchor yourself in place by holding the back of his neck, pulling Vergil towards you. It was a kiss that burned with the very same fire he saw in your eyes, the one he mirrored in his soul and rarely let out as something other than willpower to keep on surviving. That fire was a will to live, a will to keep going, a will for life… A lust to experience, to burn bright and intensely, to take everything existence had to offer. A lust you could only safely explore with each other, not having to channel that only into surviving, but also into living life as it should be lived.

One of the things Vergil would always tell you, was to never let your guard down. You could be calm and collected, apparently unprepared, but always aware of your surroundings – and ready to kill at every waking moment.

Anything could be a distraction, anything could be a weakness. Being that close to you, in the middle of a fight, with that whirlwind of emotions stirring like a lightning storm that had to have its energy released somehow… Even if you had your sword still in one of your hands as he had Yamato in his, your blades were lowered - you had your grip almost letting go, ready to forget it on the floor.

You had your guard down.

“A demon would have killed you by now.” Vergil’s voice was but a rough whisper as he broke the kiss, his lips barely away from yours, hot breath still ghosting on your skin.

“A demon wouldn’t have kissed me.”

Both of your swords found the floor in unison, as your hands found each other with your lips locking in another breathless kiss.

Fortunately, you were both imperfectly human.

[red-letter-imagines]

This whole thread should be flagged for Criminal Intent.

APPALLED I AM, MADAM, THAT YOU WOULD EXPOSE US IN THIS WAY

Oh? You’re a Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley lover? Hm.. okay tell me more about your deep and haunting desire for someone at their worst to choose to stay with you at yours, protecting you from all harm and hurt like a big scary dog.

[red-letter-imagines]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓. (final part to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.)

in the painful memory of what once was, sylus learns that love can't be bound where it was never meant to stay.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. sylus's pov, reader is not l&ds!mc, sylus might be ooc, main story spoilers, razor's dance spoilers, nightplumes spoilers, lots of timeskip, fast-paced, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, sweetie), espionage, jealousy, brief smut, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation kink, mentions of accidents, suicide attempt, injuries, blood, usage of guns, usage of knife, killings, death, my own theories incorporated into the lore, sylus groveling bcos yall want him to

♱ notes. 9.5k wc. l&ds!mc is referred to here as 'diana'. THIS IS A REPOST of the original post i accidentally deleted. i already posted this several hours ago, so if you’re seeing this new one again, blame my dumbass 🤧 oh well life is life.

Sylus had a part of him that wished things could be different. 

Ever since he turned away and left you that night at the alleyway, he didn’t really realize the chain of events his decision would set into motion. He simply underestimated how strongly your threats were backed by the grudge you had on him for bringing the hunter girl from Linkon into his base.

After all, you were just an assistant of his. And her, she was everything to him. It wasn’t just about the Aether Core, too—their bond stretched back into his distant past, into another planet where two of them ruled before the inhabitants of Philos came to ruin everything. Him and Diana had a connection he couldn’t sever no matter how much you had come to mean to him. And he spent years, centuries even, just to search for her. 

So, how could a mere assistant he had known for less than a decade have such entitlement to her role in his life? 

Eventually, days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. With your prolonged absence from the Onychinus base, Sylus’s business transactions and illicit deals had become increasingly unruly. He had grown too dependent on you as his right-hand woman, relying on your meticulous management to ensure all his illegal activities ran smoothly. Yet now, without your oversight, things were falling apart.

And while he was contemplating how to fill the void your absence had created, the office door slammed open. A subordinate soon rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed. “Boss, she’s betrayed us!” Luke exclaimed. “She’s gone to the Hunter’s Association. We got word that she was a high-ranking intelligence agent there!”

“A.K.A a spy!” yelled the other twin, Kieran, who looked equally hurt at your betrayal. “She fooled all of us. And here, we treated her like family.” 

That was how Sylus learned that you had left the N109 Zone, seeking refuge in Linkon City, and had exposed critical intel on Onychinus. At the time, rage naturally exploded within him. Didn’t he take good care of you while you were here? He had given you everything, trusted you, and you had thrown it all away. Four years of falling into his trap. Four years of being his partner in crime, his right-hand woman, his lover. People even saw you as the modern day Bonnie & Clyde. Sylus couldn’t understand the root of your betrayal, couldn’t imagine how letting you slip away from his grasp would cost him so much in return.

When you vowed to do everything in your power to kill Diana, was this just a part of your grand scheme? What other machinations were you orchestrating in your pursuit of revenge?

“She’s a wild animal on loose.” Sylus looked up at the twins, maintaining a calm yet ruthless mien as he sat on the couch. He might be idly tossing a coin like he didn’t care, but inside his brain was chaos ensuing. “Where’s she now? Any news?”

It was Luke who shrugged in response. “She hasn’t been seen anywhere, boss-man.”

“We suspect the Association is hiding her,” Kieran added. 

The hunter girl, Diana—the very girl you were jealous of, was sitting next to Sylus throughout the conversation. Their hands were connected by a strong energy linkage that was seemingly ignited by the Aether Cores in their bodies. They couldn’t separate themselves even if they wanted to. And God forbid you would have lost your mind tenfold had you seen their situation right now. 

“That g-girl,” gasped the hunter girl, eyes wide in bewilderment at what she was hearing. “Sylus, your assistant. She did all that? She was a spy from the Hunter’s Association?” 

Luke tilted her head at the girl, his beaked mask mocking her. “Oh, miss hunter! Haven’t you heard about the HIS? You should know them better than us.” 

“Well.. what is the HIS?” 

“Hunter Intelligence Services.” Sylus was the one who answered, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his temples. “They’re top secret. Regular hunters wouldn’t have known about them, because they only deal with people like me.” 

Diana looked between him and the twins, rubbing her wrist before moving closer to the boss of Onychinus. Her close proximity allowed him to smell her familiar sweet scent. “Is she… after me? But I don’t understand. If she’s part of the Hunter’s Association too, then shouldn’t we be colleagues?”

Kieran cleared his throat. “Ever since you came—”

“Place a bounty on her head,” Sylus interrupted the twins, and also ignored the question of the girl next to him. She didn’t need to learn the history behind you and him, or why you chose to target her. “Make sure to bring Y/N back to me. Alive.” 

“Roger that, boss!” 

It was his last desperate attempt to draw you back to him. Now that you had the Hunter’s Association protecting you, Sylus knew that locating you wouldn’t be as simple. Otherwise, he would have easily captured Diana long ago. He convinced himself that the bounty was to punish you, but deep down, he knew it was because he couldn’t bear to lose you to his enemies completely.

~~

It took you a year to return to the N109 Zone.

Did you forget he had eyes and ears everywhere? He was the boss of that infamous No-Hunt Zone. Even if you leaked intel about his residences and the Onychinus base to the Hunter’s Association, Sylus still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had hideouts in places that even you weren’t aware of, and the residents of the N109 Zone were loyal to him. Too loyal that they wouldn’t give any information to anyone no matter the consequences. 

And how foolish were you to forget about Mephisto’s existence?

“Caw! Caw!”

The mechanical crow’s eyes glowed with the same red hue as Sylus’s as it landed on his arm, projecting visions of you entering the underground fight club disguised in an Onychinus uniform. It was almost farcical that you thought you could infiltrate a place Sylus frequented unnoticed.

But then, the vision shifted to you speeding on a motorcycle with a truck in hot pursuit. Sylus quickly recognized the truck’s decals—it was the hitman he often employed for dealing with his enemies, now terrorizing you in a high-speed chase. Without hesitation, Sylus grabbed his leather jacket and mounted his own bike, racing to your location in sixth gear.

He arrived just a minute too late. And what was meant to be a dramatic reunion turned into a scene of you lying unconscious and injured on the road, while the hitman grinned nearby with an expression of triumph. If it hadn’t been for your helmet, Sylus would have been met with the gruesome sight of your shattered skull.

“Mr. Sylus!” the hitman exclaimed, jumping out of his truck with arms outstretched in petty victory. “Can I get the $500,000,000 in cash?”

As Sylus’s gaze fell on your unconscious, injured body sprawled on the ground, a surge of anguish overwhelmed him in ways he couldn’t understand. But it was quickly replaced by seething rage—rage that made him summon his black-red mist, enveloping the hitman in its dark tendrils.

“I said not to harm her,” Sylus growled, his red eye glowing ominously against the desolate highway backdrop. “You failed your task.”

“P-Please, Mr. Sylus! I thought you—”

Without another word, Sylus scooped you up in his arms while his mist dealt with the hitman behind him. The hitman’s desperate cries were soon drowned out by the expanding tendrils, which tightened around him until he was engulfed. Then, in a violent burst, the mist exploded, reducing the hitman and everything around him to dust.

Sylus brought you to his underground hideout immediately after. And an unfamiliar—or perhaps strange—pang tugged at his heart as he gently laid you in bed, his gaze lingering on the road rash you obtained from the crash. The injuries were severe, with patches of skin nearly stripped away in the most brutal fashion he could think of. He could only imagine the burning pain you had to endure as soon as you skidded along the gravel, and Sylus felt his own frustrations knocking at the door knowing that he didn’t have the power to extend his fast-healing abilities to you.

“Tch. My kitten’s reckless as always, riding without the proper gear,” Sylus grumbled, looking at your unconscious body. “You’ve never been one to follow the rules, have you?”

To make up for his inability to save you on time, he applied a potent medicinal ointment all over your body and placed you in an anesthetized state while you healed. His mist enveloped you like a protective shroud the entire time you laid in bed unconscious. Every single day, Sylus tended to your wounds, changing your clothes and bandages, and applying the ointments over your bare body. He even took special care to ensure the twins did not enter your room without his permission. 

Despite the care he showed, a persistent question echoed in his mind: Why am I doing this for you? You were his enemy, a traitor, and a woman who had betrayed him. It didn’t make sense. 

That afternoon, feeling suffocated from this internal conflict, Sylus decided to leave you in the care of Luke and Kieran while he went to Linkon. He knew he needed space to grapple with the feelings that were driving him to care for you in the first place.

He needed to see the real woman he should be caring for. 

Because you had not only exposed intel on Sylus and Onychinus to the Hunter’s Association, you also asked for them to isolate Diana so she would have no way to see or contact him. Who knew that mere feelings of jealousy would spark you to do such trivial things? 

Frankly, you were insane. You were dark and twisted like him. 

But in a way, it only underscored how similarly deranged the two of you were. Perhaps, in your madness, there was a strange compatibility—one that Sylus found unsettlingly fitting. The suggestion of you two being more a suitable pair than he and Diana gave him an unease that he couldn’t simply shake away. 

It should be her. Her. Just her and her alone. He dedicated his whole life into finding her, yet you came into his life to ruin the foundations he had built to meet the person he was supposedly destined for. He had repeated it over and over in his mind like a broken record—the voices in his head telling him to let you go, to hurt you, to make you suffer. 

However, as he stood across the pedestrian crossing, watching Diana from afar, a realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. There she was, oblivious to his presence on the other side, but the spark that once ignited in his heart whenever he saw her was gone. Now, his pulse remained steady and his heart stayed still.

With a wary glance around, mindful of any watchful eyes, he decided to pick up his phone and ring hers. It was a good thing he was able to seamlessly blend into the crowd, with his practiced nonchalance making him invisible among the throng of people. After all, he was Sylus Qin, the mastermind of Onychinus—disguise was second nature to him.

“Sylus?” Her voice came through the line, tentative and filled with a mix of emotions as she scanned the faces on the other side of the crossing.

“According to the conditions set by the Hunter’s Association, we shouldn’t be meeting again.” His voice was steady, almost detached, as he kept the phone pressed to his ear. “Or if not, you will be marked as a Tenebra.” 

Her eyes eventually found him amidst the walking crowd, keeping an expression on her face that showed both longing and forlornness. “Not the first time someone has been marked a Tenebra because of you,” she managed to slip in a snarky remark in her worried expression. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he nonchalantly asked, watching as she stepped off the curb when the light turned green. Each step was a step closer to him, but nothing changed the pace of his own heartbeat like it should have. Nothing stirred within him as it once did.

“You have the audacity to use a phone when you’re right in front of me,” she snapped, frustration flaring as she yanked the phone from his grasp. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm, dragging him along with her to escape the dangers of being seen in public. They ended up in an alleyway, a place hidden from prying eyes, an irony that made Sylus chuckle under his breath. The alleyway. Why has that become such a memorable place to him? “Sylus, what’s so funny? I was so scared something happened to you! You couldn’t even call me back or text me the past few days?”

He remained expressionless as he observed her outburst. Strange. In her frantic worry, she reminded him of you, and it was a discomfiting parallel that sent chills down his spine. “I said I’d need to disappear from your life completely, so I have to tie up loose ends,” he began, each word seemingly a dagger to her heart. “We haven’t been able to resonate either way, sweetie. There’s no reason for us to keep meeting.” 

“No!” she adamantly denied the thought, pulling him into an embrace. “No, you’re not allowed to disappear just like that! We need to find a way to get—”

“It’s a dangerous gamble to be caught in my world,” he said in a low voice. 

But she was stubborn. “I’m already caught in it! So, please, Sylus, take me with you. Take me to the N109 Zone or wherever you’re hiding. I want to be where you are.” And in spite, she uttered words that made Sylus think twice about his perception of you. “It’s her fault that this is all happening. She’s a traitor to you and to the Association. Her loyalty isn’t with anyone but herself, Sylus. She’s the one who needs to disappear!”

~~

Back at his hideout, Sylus was careful to ensure that Diana remained oblivious to your presence in another room. He was already grappling with how to manage the situation—torn between the woman he loved and the woman he had wronged who, ironically, were both now under the same roof. The thought of you two crossing paths was a nightmare he didn’t want to deal with, so he gave strict orders to the twins, notorious for their loose lips and loud mouths, to keep Diana far from you.

Because when Sylus returned to your room, he knew you were awake. The dark classical music playing from the vinyl record had likely stirred you from unconsciousness. It had been nearly a week since the crash, but thanks to his meticulous care, your wounds had mostly healed, leaving only faint scars behind.

“You can’t hide from me forever.” Sylus hovered over you to whisper into your ear, summoning his protective black-red mist to slowly release you. “Wake up, kitten. We have unfinished business.” 

When you finally opened your eyes after what felt like an eternity, Sylus told himself it was natural to feel relieved, that it was only right for his heart to soften at the sight of you returning to consciousness. But as you awoke, the voices in his head—the damned, relentless voices—grew louder, mocking him, provoking him, and luring him into darker thoughts. His right eye began to glow like a flickering candle, and when he saw the fear on your face, the words that followed weren’t his own. They were driven by the unforgiving side of him he couldn’t control, a side that thrived on your terror. The beast that couldn’t be tamed. 

She’s a traitor.

Punish her. 

Hurt her. 

Devour her. 

While in a heated, dramatic exchange with you, Sylus was spewing words he didn’t mean. He was doing actions without regard. He was mocking your pain. Your jealousy. Your heartbreak. The drive to hurt you was strong in his head, but he fought desperately against it. The demon inside him that tried to consume his every thought. He tried to battle his own self just to protect you. 

“I betrayed you because of her!” 

His laughter died down, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened, replaced by the wicked smile on his face that enjoyed seeing you suffer. “It’s always been about her, hasn’t it? You see me with her, and you can’t stand it. It eats at you, makes you act out.”

You tried to move away, but Sylus pressed his foot firmly on your wrist. She betrayed you, Sylus. Punish her. 

“I’ve seen your struggle,” he continued, his voice soft but laced with corrupt satisfaction. “The way you watched me with her, the way it gnaws at you. It’s almost poetic, really.”

It wasn’t until you reached for the gun on his nightstand, pointing it at yourself, that Sylus snapped out of his dark trance. The horror in his eyes was a stark contrast to the sorrowful shine in yours as you stood there, sobbing in front of him. Each word you spoke was tailed with the pain of a heart shattered by everything he had done and said. 

“...All I wanted was your love,” you choked out with tears cascading down your face, “I j-just wanted you to love me. I turned my back on the H.A. for you. I left all my friends and family for you.” Your breathing was still for a moment, but your heart had already been blown into smithereens. “All I had was you. I loved you. I devoted all my body and soul into loving you, Sylus. Why c-can’t I have even a little bit in return?”

Even as his gaze softened and a flicker of regret passed across his face, you had already made your decision when your finger tightened on the trigger. The recoil jolted your wrist, but before the bullet could find its mark, Sylus’s hand shot out and expertly deflected your aim. Instead of ending your life, the bullet shattered a window, ricocheting off the glass and disappearing into the night.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sylus roared, his voice a thunderous mix of fury and disbelief.

You were barely responding to him as he cupped your cheeks and forced your lachrymose eyes to lock into his crimson ones. It was as though you had already resigned yourself to reality, that ending your own life would have been a better option than being with the man you hopelessly loved. 

“Y/N,” Sylus tried to shake you awake, desperate for you to look into his eyes. “Y/N! Enough. Let’s end this game.” 

“...I was never playing one with you.”

Sylus was overwhelmed by a profound, indescribable pain that pierced his chest. It was a pain that mirrored yours but was infinitely more intense. “I warned you many times before to never fall in love with me,” he said in a low, softened voice, “It’s for the best, and it’s what will keep you safe. Why don’t you listen?” He longed to pull you into his arms, but the crushing reality was that he only now realized how deeply he cared for you. It was devastating that his awakening had come at the cost of your near-suicide, forced by a love he was unable to return.

Was it truly too late for him to come to terms with his feelings for you? Was it too late to accept that he had fallen in love with you rather than the woman he believed he was meant to be with?

His answer came in the form of a gut-wrenching realization. It manifested in the frantic voice of Diana—the woman he believed he loved, piercing through the haze of his thoughts by yelling, “Sylus, step back!”

“No!” he shouted, his black-red mist swirling to intercept the bullet.

But his efforts came too late. The bullet had already been set in motion, and it tore through the side of your head. 

It penetrated your skull with a cruel precision, not just once but twice. And the warmth of your blood seeped through his fingers as he caught your head before you fell onto the floor. 

Sylus’s mind raced with the enormity of what had just happened. His face grew ashen as he looked at your bloodied head and lifeless eyes, a wave of acid welling up his chest until he couldn’t breath. But the reason for his suffocation was because of his own guilt and grief. It was at the force of a sledgehammer when he was hit with the admission that he had always been in love with you. All along, despite your tangled mess, it was you who had captured his heart in this world.

His chest tightened, his breaths coming in ragged, broken bursts, while he held you close in his arms. And your last three words, your very last words of “I… love… you…” as you stared despairingly at him was icing on this bitter cake. 

No… no! 

He couldn’t fucking accept it. He was losing his mind, he was going insane. He was plunging into madness. Utter hysteria. “Y/N, please,” he begged, his voice breaking as your eyes, once full of life and light, were now glazed over with the sheen of death. “Don’t leave. No, I can’t let this happen!” For the first time in a long time, he once again felt hot tears leaving his eyes. It was an emotion so rare it only ever showed toward the people he deeply cared about. “I love you too,” he struggled to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

Sylus held you close, disregarding the blood staining his clothes while he was consumed by agony and regret. He had driven you to this, pushed you away, and then drawn you back into his orbit only to lose you forever. 

Though he may have conquered your heart, in doing so, he had only destroyed the both of you. The memory of your love and the warmth of your touch would haunt him for the rest of his days. And as he held your lifeless body, he knew that he would never be whole again.

But it shouldn’t be too late. No, it shouldn’t! He didn’t know if it was the hysteria or adrenaline kicking into him, but he had thought of an idea—no matter how immoral—that would return you back to him. He just couldn’t weigh which strong emotion he had to deal with first; should he grab the gun and shoot Diana out of anger? Or should he ignore her presence entirely and just focus on you?

Sylus chose to proceed with the latter as he carried you through the corridors of the base, his steps heavy with guilt and his shirt drenched in blood as you remained unconscious in his arms. The hunter girl had followed him in his spiritless steps, her eyes wide with confusion over his anguish.

“Sylus, why are you doing this?!” she demanded, grabbing his arm to halt his progress. “She would’ve killed you. That girl’s a traitor!”

Although he stopped in his tracks, he couldn’t really return her gaze. His eyes could only look at your lifeless ones. “That girl you shot in the head,” he spoke low and in despair, “is my woman.” 

Diana was horrified. “But… but you never said—” Before she could finish, the twins intervened, holding her back from pursuing Sylus further. “What about me?”

He had already turned away. “I’ll fulfill my promise to protect you from afar, but this is where our paths part. Do not come near me again.”

~~

Sylus stood over your unconscious body, his eyes bloodshot and tears-streaked, while his heart pounded with a mix of grief and desperation. He had summoned Philip and the finest surgeons he knew to his hideout, where you lay in a medical bed, exposed and vulnerable, as if you were a subject in a desperate experiment.

Philip arrived with a grim expression, his eyes scanning the scene with both skepticism and professional detachment. Sylus could barely contain his desperation as he demanded, “Do everything you can to save her. Even if it means infusing a high-grade protocore in her brain.” After all, he had plenty of that. Sylus had all the resources, protocores of the highest grade, each with their own purpose and capabilities.

Yet Philip hesitated, his face contorting with concern. “Mr. Sylus, you know I can’t do this. She’s gone. The best thing to do is accept—”

That was when Sylus’s composure cracked. He kicked the nearby chair out of rage, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “You’ve done it before. Do it again! Please, I need her to live!”

The sight of Sylus, usually so imposing and dominant, breaking down in front of him was shocking. Philip felt a pang of sympathy toward the Onychinus boss who was willing to do everything for a woman who was already dead. His hands trembled as he spoke, “I-I can try. But I’m warning you, Mr. Sylus… even if she survives this, there’s zero chance her memories will be the same. They may even become altered, and it will be out of our control.”

Sylus’s gaze never left you. “I don’t mind. Just do it.”

~~

Weeks later, Sylus found himself in a secluded alleyway, meeting with a deepspace hunter who was also an enemy of his from another planet. Of course, the atmosphere was tense as both men stood in front of each other, eye-to-eye, carrying a defensive stance from one another. 

They were never friends. But that day, they weren’t enemies either. 

“How’s she?” Xavier broke the silence first. 

Sylus answered with a low voice. “She hasn’t woken up, but she’s stable.”

“Why’d you ask to meet?”

“I want you to look after her,” the Onychinus leader began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of desperation, “Speak to the Association about taking Y/N back and forgiving her for her betrayal. In return, I’ll step away from Diana’s life. She’s all yours. I just want Y/N to return to her normal life.”

Xavier’s expression was serious. “You’re forgetting you still have a bounty on your head.”

“And you’re forgetting you and your backtrackers destroyed the planet where I was living,” he replied in equal disdain, but only enough to trap Xavier into a wall of guilt and obligation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lumiere—or, in his current form, the deepspace hunter, Xavier. “The HIS will be easy to convince. But what if she wakes up and wants to go back to the N109 Zone?”

Sylus felt a tug of deep sadness pulling at his heart. “She won’t. Her memories of me are gone for good.” 

~~

If this was his karma for hurting you, then it was definitely the worst kind. 

Sylus maintained a distant watch over you after you returned to Linkon, observing from afar as you rejoined your life with the support of the Hunter’s Association and former colleagues. Each day, he sent Mephisto to monitor your whereabouts, carefully tracking your interactions and daily activities. The mechanical crow often returned with glimpses of your life, which Sylus scrutinized with intense focus as if he were watching a movie. Each glimpse offered him a sense of relief, happiness even, at knowing how easy you were settling back into your old life. 

You had been officially dismissed from the Hunter’s Association due to a medical condition that rendered you unfit for duty, but they continued to cover your pension and provided free lodging—likely thanks to Xavier’s persuasive influence over the Association. The official story was that you had been sent on a dangerous mission where a Wanderer had placed you in a life-threatening predicament. The narrative praised your honor and dedication to the end. There was no mention of Sylus, Onychinus, or the N109 Zone. No hint of the life you had once led or the truth behind your memory erasure. 

Yet, in a bitter twist of irony, perhaps the story you were told may not actually be farther from the truth.

After all, Sylus was the dangerous monster that sent you to that life-and-death situation.

But at least now, you were well cared for. So much so that Sylus fought to contain his jealousy whenever Mephisto’s eyes relayed visions of you sharing lunch with a physician named Dr. Zayne. He struggled to mask his irritation as he saw the man drape an arm around your shoulders while guiding you out of the hospital or wrapping a scarf around your neck to keep you warm. He would often even drive you home and send you gifts that were masked as tokens of “recovery.”

Bullshit.

Sylus clenched his fist, his thoughts of jealousy consuming him. My girl, he thought in despair, my beautiful girl is cherished by other men, while he remained imprisoned in the desolate shadows of the N109 Zone, longing for you.

Eventually, Sylus felt an overwhelming urge to see you in person. After discovering that you had taken a job at a café in Bloomshore District, he convinced himself that observing you from a distance wouldn’t cause harm. He just wanted to be near you, to ensure your safety, and to protect you from any potential threats.

As he sat on a nearby bench, Luke joined him with a comment. “Boss, you said we needed to disappear from her life.”

Kieran, taking a seat on Sylus’s other side, added, “Do you think she’d recognize us if we walked into that café? If she doesn’t, I’ll give her a hard time with my orders ‘til she remembers us!”

“Ha ha! Let’s do that!” 

“Boss, let’s go!” 

“Leave her be.” Sylus took a deep breath, adjusting his sunglasses and setting aside his newspaper—part of his disguise—as he watched you through the café window. He noticed the subtle traces of familiarity in your actions, but the connections that once bound you were now distant memories. “...I’m just here to make sure no one’s bothering her.”

The truth was, he wrestled with his emotions each time he visited the café you were working at. He wanted to approach you, to speak to you, but he hesitated each time because of the fear of rejection and the pain of seeing you not remember him holding him back. There were so many what-ifs in his head that it drove him insane to think about. 

Because if anything, what if you were already seeing someone else? What if you were already in a relationship with that scumbag doctor from the Akso Hospital? 

It was petty jealousy that drove Sylus into stepping into the café. And the first time your eyes met since you resurrected, his heart initially froze, then raced uncontrollably. His heart swelled with hope as you looked up at him, but it was quickly replaced by the lack of recognition in your eyes the moment you spoke from the counter. 

“Hi. What can I get you?” you asked, treating him no differently than any other customer. 

Sylus was caught off-guard, but he knew he had to play the part. “I, uh, I’ll get an Americano. Large.” 

“Alright, sir. And your name, please?” you asked, following your routine without any real interest in the man before you. 

But in a way, this was a relief for Sylus. It confirmed that the protocore embedded in your head was functioning as intended, and that any dark memories from the past had been completely erased, even if it meant he was no longer part of your life. 

“Skye,” he said with a soft smile. “That’s my name.”

~~

There wasn’t a single day Sylus missed visiting the café. 

At first, he worried that his constant presence might seem odd, or that you might think of him as a stalker. But as the days passed, seeing you became an essential part of his routine. A day without catching a glimpse of you felt incomplete, almost maddening. Seeing you was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

Initially, you found his regular visits a bit strange, but gradually, the small interactions between you two evolved. Sylus began to appear at the café just when you needed him most—whether it was fixing a broken coffee machine, addressing rude customers, or simply offering a helping hand. These acts of kindness somehow transformed your view of him. What started as a customer-service relationship slowly became more personable, and in recent days, you often greeted him warmly and smiled whenever he walked in. If only you knew how badly it warmed his heart that he got to do things for you without making him feel like he was intruding in your life.

And to be honest, Sylus even felt like he might be—as Luke termed it—foolishly ”crushing” on you. 

“Who knew our boss-man could be a hopeless romantic~?”

There was a time when he visited the café, only to find out from your manager that you called in sick from work. Sylus knew where you lived, but going to your place uninvited was a different story. He had to put some boundaries no matter how worried he was for you. But that was when Mephisto became useful; the mechanical crow would simply fly off to your place and observe you from outside. Then, an idea to drop a box of medicines and chocolates at your balcony was something he had thought of at the last minute. 

Back in the N109 Zone, Sylus anxiously looked at his crow. “Are you sure she didn’t see you?” 

“Caw! Caw!” 

“Did she eat the chocolates?” he asked, exhaling a deep breath he didn’t think he was holding.

“Caw! Caw! Caaaw!” Mephisto responded, fluttering its wings as if to reassure him.

~~

And then, that day happened. 

The day Sylus finally gathered the courage to ask you out, fate had other plans. And what began as a simple gesture to offer you a ride home during a stormy night quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Because one moment, he was offering you a ride. The next, he found himself in your bed, having the most passionate sex he had ever had with someone. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it that, because it felt more like he was making love to you, even if to you, he was probably just an attractive guy you unexpectedly hooked up with. 

So, he had to make himself known. He had to hear his real name leaving your lips. “Sylus,” he breathed into your ear, hands tracing your curves, “Call me Sylus, kitten.” 

That night, he was an insatiable man who could only be satisfied by his woman. 

When he was buried far too deep inside you, he enjoyed the sight of ecstasy on your face and lavished at the sounds of your titillating moans with his every thrust. Not only did he miss the feeling of your walls tightening around his shaft, he also remembered how badly you used to want him to cum inside you. 

And so, he did just that. At his climax, he released hot spurts of seed into your womb, fulfilling a wish from the past that he used to deprive you of. 

But as the night progressed and the heat of the moment faded, the conversation shifted to a more profound and emotional terrain. Sylus wrestled with the urge to reveal the truth about his true identity—every painful detail and the secrets he kept from you. Yet, he knew that doing so would only complicate matters further and risk causing you more pain. The idea of hurting you again, after such a meaningful connection, was unbearable to him, especially now that you were still fragile as glass, ready to shatter at any moment. 

“Why do I get the feeling that I was the one who experienced a one-sided love before?” 

“No, you were loved. You were very loved. There was no one else,” he pressed, forcing you to believe the narrative with his rueful eyes staring back at you. “I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you… But I’d like to try and win your heart again this time. If you allow it.” 

“Sylus… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not recognizing you before. I just… I lost a chunk of my memories, and I don’t know if it’s been altered or what, but…” He caressed your back as you took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember, okay?”

“Please don’t.” He shook his head, crestfallen as he thought of the past that was rightfully erased. “And there’s no need for apologies, sweetie. There wasn’t anything you did wrong.” 

~~

Your relationship with Sylus remained unclear since that night. And it seemed as though the roles had reversed—now he was the one left wondering where he stood in your life. Because on the surface, it did seem like you were willing to work on building a relationship with him again, but every encounter you two had were always physical rather than emotional. 

Sylus found himself at your apartment frequently, three or more times a week, engaging in intense, passionate encounters. He had lost track of how many times you two could do it in a single night, exploring every possible position, in every corner of your home. He had tried his hardest to make you feel like he was the only man who was more familiar with every inch of your body than anyone else. Yet, despite the physical closeness, he sensed that the emotional barriers between you remained intact.

No matter how deeply intertwined your bodies became, the walls around your heart remained firmly in place, and Sylus knew that there was a part of you he still couldn’t reach.

That, and the fact that he was still seeing you interact a little too closely with that doctor from Akso. 

It somehow didn’t surprise you when Sylus’s car showed up outside the hospital to pick you up, and you got on with a guarded look. 

“How’s it for my kitten today?” Sylus asked as he secured your seatbelt, his lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. “You didn’t mention you’d be at the hospital.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, I just... didn’t think I needed to inform you of my whereabouts.”

Dammit. He knew you weren’t officially together, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. And it didn’t help that Sylus’s pride couldn’t naturally take it, so he probed more. “That doctor. He’s not your neurologist, is he? It seems a little inappropriate for him to always be around you like that.”

“Well, I’ve known Zayne for a long time,” you merely replied, eyes focused on the view outside rather than the driver of the car. “I’d also appreciate it if you'd be less territorial over me, Sylus. I know you said we have a history together, but I don’t remember a thing, so… I hope you won’t rush me.” 

The Sylus you knew back then would have been enraged. Who were you to order him around? Who were you to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do over someone he rightfully owned? But he was a changed man now, and it was all because of you. You were the beauty that tamed him into a powerless beast.

“I understand,” Sylus replied, swallowing his pride as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead. “I apologize.”

He heard you sigh beside him, and a part of him wondered if it was out of sympathy. But before he could dwell on it, you spoke up, your tone more serious. “I was at the hospital today because I had a pregnancy scare.”

Sylus hit the brakes at the red light a bit too abruptly, his heart racing in excitement. “Are you?”

“No, thank God,” you breathed out in relief. “But... can you please stop doing it inside? I really don’t like it. It’s not smart for me to get pregnant by a man I barely know.”

His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t describe. The old you nearly begged him for a baby so he could be yours forever, but he was aware that this version of you right now was not the same. It never would be, and that was the price he had to pay for love. 

“I won’t do it again.” Once again, swallowing his pride. “I’m sorry.” 

You still invited him to sleep at your apartment that night, and your reason being to work on the memories of him you had lost. Time and time again did Sylus tell you it was better you didn’t remember them, but he could also understand your dilemma when you told him that you always felt like a piece of you was missing ever since that “accident”. 

“And this ugly scar on my temple,” you pointed it out, settling into your side of the bed. “What kind of Wanderer did I fight for me to get a traumatic brain injury?”

Sylus placed a tender kiss on your scar. “Perhaps it was a heartless monster more terrifying than a Wanderer.” 

Like me. 

“Oh, well.” You pulled the sheets over your body, suggesting you two would have no action tonight. “Good night, Sylus.” 

“...Sleep tight, kitten.” 

You didn’t need to worry, though, because he wouldn’t have touched you even if you had explicitly asked him to. After hearing your words that afternoon—about not wanting to get pregnant by him and asking him to stop being so territorial—Sylus felt the need to pull back and be more cautious in his actions toward you. Your words had cut deep, but he understood you were only protecting yourself from a man who was, essentially, still a stranger to you.

And despite the sting, he had promised himself that he would be patient for the only woman he cared about.

~~

However, that same night was a different story. 

No, it was actually way past midnight when Sylus woke up from an agonizing scream that pierced the silence of the night, chilling him to the bone. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the side of the bed where you should have been, but the sheets were cold and empty. And then panic gripped him, forcing him to leap out of bed, his mind racing with a single horrifying thought: the protocore.

He darted outside of your bedroom and deeper into your apartment space, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. The image of you, eyes wild and frenzied, ravaged by the effects of the protocore, haunted him.

What if it’s happening now? What if I lose her for good?

The horrifying thought of the protocore making you berserk like a wild Wanderer was always there.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw you on the kitchen floor, curled up, your body wracked with sobs. Relief washed over him to have found you, but it was fleeting, replaced by a deeper, more insidious fear. He tried to approach you cautiously, his voice soft as he placed his hands on your shoulders, “Sweetie, are you okay?”

You flinched at his touch, and when you turned to face him, the sight made his blood run cold. Your eyes, usually so warm, were now wide and filled with tears—tears of terror, of anger. And in your trembling hand, you held a knife, its blade gleaming in the low light as you pointed it directly at his throat.

“Don’t come any closer!” you cried, your voice breaking at every word. Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat as your sudden hostility surprised him. The knife’s tip hovered dangerously close to his skin, but it wasn’t the threat of violence that shook him—it was the raw, unfiltered pain in your eyes.

“Kitten, let’s talk about it calmly.” His voice was laced with cautiousness. 

“Stop calling me that!” You swallowed hard, your grip on the knife tightening. “You! I had a nightmare... about you. But it felt real, like a memory. You were torturing me at your base, laughing... and then, you shot me in the head.”

Sylus’s heart dropped into his stomach at hearing your altered memory. He felt his soul tear apart at the edges as he stared into your tear-streaked face. “It was just a dream. It wasn’t real, kitten.”

But you weren’t listening. “But is it also not real? That you…” You uttered each word with a threatening voice, “are the boss of Onychinus?”

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words were stuck in his throat and refused to form. He was trapped. The situation felt like a dead end—he could deny that your dream was a real memory, but admitting he was the leader of Onychinus would only validate that lie.

His silence alone was an answer to you. And your expression crumbled into one of betrayal at that. “You lied to me! You’ve been lying to me this whole time. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

The anger in your voice enforced the stillness of Sylus’s breath. He knew he had no saving grace from this situation, but still, he took a step closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“Get out!” you screamed, the knife shaking in your hand. The sight of you so broken, so shattered, tore him apart. “Get the hell out of my sight! I don’t wanna see you ever again, you monster!”

But Sylus couldn’t leave—not like this, not when you were hurting because of him. So in his desperation, he lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and forced the knife into his own chest. The sharp pain radiated through him as he plunged the blade in and stabbed himself repeatedly, his face twisted in agony, but not from the physical pain. This was nothing compared to the torment of knowing he was the source of your suffering. Again. 

“Even if I can’t die,” he choked out, his voice ragged as he tried to absorb the stinging ache in his chest, “I’ll take all of this pain away from you.”

His own blood soaked his fingers, staining your hands as he released his grip on the knife. It fell on the floor as he stepped back, his heart aching more than his wounds ever could, but those wounds easily healed. The pain of losing you again, on the other hand, would never heal.

He looked at you one last time, seeing his monstrous reflection from your frightened eyes, before turning away. Sylus walked out of the apartment with heavy steps, feeling his soul crushed from your antagonism. He knew he had lost you—perhaps forever—and the realization was more than he could bear.

~~

A haze of cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses filled the air of the bar. Sylus sat alone at the counter, his new glass of whiskey untouched as he stared blankly into the amber liquid. The sting of alcohol was nothing compared to the numbness that had settled in his heart after that agonizing night with you. Every swallow of the hard liquor was a desperate attempt to drown out the torment of recent events, but the pain lingered, and it was damn persistent and unforgiving.

As he poured himself another drink, the muffled sounds of conversation around him blended into a dull roar. That was until a familiar voice cut through the haze—someone he wished he hadn’t come across.

“Sylus?” 

He looked up, squinting against the dim light, to see Diana standing before him. He hadn’t seen him for the past year or so. And surely, her presence was unexpected, but he felt a sudden tinge of irritation at the sight of her. While her, she looked both apprehensive and determined, as if she had just made a hard decision to confront him. 

“H-How have you been?” she asked the question as a conversation starter, but Sylus could see the faint hint of unease in her eyes.

He then straightened up, and his posture became stiff and defensive. “I told you it’s not wise for us to cross paths,” he said curtly, his voice slurred from the alcohol but still holding a note of finality. He didn’t want to engage, not with her, not tonight.

On the one hand, Diana’s eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps. “I… I wanted to say sorry for what happened with Y/N. I didn’t realize how much she meant to you. Xavier… told me everything. About you and her.”

The apology was genuine, but the mention of your name was a fresh wound, and he felt the anger and sadness surge again, bubbling beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He wanted to lash out, to blame her for everything, but he swallowed the words, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. In the end, this was all his doing and he couldn’t point fingers over the mess that he alone had created.

Sylus tried to stand up, the room spinning slightly as he steadied himself. “I’m leaving.”

But Diana stepped closer, her hand reaching out as if to stop him. He simply brushed past her, his movements unsteady but undeniably distancing from her. The desire to remain composed was slipping away, replaced by the harsh reality he faced every day since you were taken from him.

He made his way to the exit, pushing through the bar’s heavy door with a forceful shove. Sylus’s next move was to lean against the wall outside as the cool winter breeze blew on his face. 

“Boss.” Kieran’s voice held a note of concern as he and his twin steadied Sylus by wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “We’ll take you home.”

Luke glanced at his brother with a sad glint in his eyes before leading Sylus toward the car. “Maybe it’s time to let her go, boss.”

~~

February nights were the coldest. And it was supposedly the day for lovers, too. 

Unlike the couples that littered the riverside, Sylus stood alone, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. His dark coat offered little protection against the biting wind, but he stayed committed, his gaze fixed on the empty expanse before him. Four hours had passed since he had sent you the message, and each minute he stood there waiting for you felt like an eternity. The biting cold gnawed at him, but he was determined to wait even if he’d end up getting frostbite. It was the least he could do.

The frozen river’s surface glistened with a thousand points of light as the moon cast its silver glow over the landscape. And for the next thirty minutes that passed, he was still alone. 

She won’t be coming, said the voice in his head. Give up. 

As he prepared to leave, the ache of disappointment settled in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized you, standing cautiously across him, your eyes wide and filled with both curiosity and trepidation. The sight of you, despite waiting in the cold for hours, instantly warmed his freezing body. 

“Thank you for coming.” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “I won’t keep you long.” 

You maintained your distance, wary of his next move. “Why did you want to meet?” 

With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to peel the scarf from around your neck, and he felt a prick in his heart seeing you flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He waited until you allowed him to proceed, his fingers brushing against your skin in a touch that was both gentle and reverent. You looked at him with confusion, the chilly air fought by the warmth of your breath. Sylus was just carefully replacing the scarf with the necklace he had given you long ago, the red Beryl crystal catching the light and sending soft, radiant glimmers into the night. 

Do you even recognize it? 

“I’m just returning a gift, kitten.”

As he fastened the clasp behind your neck, he pressed a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened. That small gesture of his was actually carried by the depth of his affection and regret. And, if you may, it was his silent apology for all that he did to you.

“Sylus…” 

His red eyes shimmered, intensified by the bloodshot whites. Sylus stared at your face with a mixture of love and ruefulness clouding his expression. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, with his voice breaking as he feathered the snowflakes that rested on your hair. “Take care of yourself. Always lock your doors at night and stay warm.” He took the scarf Zayne gave you, and pulled out a new one from his coat. It was a silly scarf with kitten prints all over it, that he soon carefully wrapped around your face and neck. “Wear that whenever you can.” 

Your own eyes were large and rimmed with tears as though you were also hurting inside. “Why are you saying this?” you asked, keeping the weakness inside. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.” 

Sylus’s gaze was suddenly directed back to the river, but it was only because he had to avoid looking at your eyes or he would lose it. “The Association managed to track me here in Linkon and they’re still after me. I just managed to escape, but I can’t stay here,” he explained calmly, “I only came back to this city because of you… But now, I have to disappear, so don’t worry about having me around. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and the tears that had been pooling your eyes finally spilled over. “Are you crazy?” you cried, seemingly unable to comprehend the words he was spewing. “You’re leaving me?”

Sylus’s heart broke at the sight of your tears, but he had to restrain any weakness by giving in. Instead, he reached out, and his hand trembled as he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.” He wanted to be the first one to say it this time. “Even if you regain all your memories of me—good or bad—I want you to know that I regret every pain I caused you. Even if you hate me, I’ll still love you. Today, tomorrow, and in our next lives.”

Sylus took one last, lingering look at you, his eyes filled with a sorrowful haze that nearly blinded his vision. He turned slowly, walking away from the river’s edge, with each step causing distance from the love he was leaving behind.

And you, you stood there, the necklace around your neck feeling heavy as you watched him disappear into the night. A surge of emotion overwhelmed you, and without thinking, you sprinted towards him. You took quick, long strides just to reach him, pulling him into a tight embrace, and crashing your lips against his in a bittersweet kiss.

Both of you cried as the kiss deepened, and you were encasing each other’s lips in a tight lock. The intensity of your emotions poured out in this poignant, intimate moment. And frankly, Sylus had never been this emotional. No one had ever seen this fragile side of him that he had always kept hidden. After all, what dominant, cruel boss of Onychinus would spill tears over a woman?

But they wouldn’t understand it. They never would. 

When you finally pulled away, your eyes were red and swollen from tears. “Be careful,” you sniffled, barely unable to catch the breath you needed for the next. “Keep in touch if you can. And when I’m ready, I’ll find you.”

Sylus’s eyes were also filled with tears, but he managed a forlorn smile as he nodded. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll wait,” he promised softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Until we meet again.”

As he stepped back, the distance between you seemed impossibly vast, but the promise in your eyes and the love in his heart made the separation bearable, if only just. And when Sylus turned away, his heart was heavy but full of the hope that one day, you would find each other again. That one day, this distant love would become a cherished memory that you would look back on as you grow old and wrinkled, yet insurmountably happy and content with the life you had lived. With or without him.

PREVIOUS PART

[red-letter-imagines]

𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

as dawn breaks, a new chapter begins. now husband and wife in the truest sense, both of you embark on the path of happiness together. yet, bittersweet loose ends remain still. will they eventually stay in the past for good, or cast a permanent shadow over your lives?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy & sex, mentions of complications related to pregnancy, brief description of childbirth (c-section), hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here)

note: part 2 to nocturne of twilight. my god, i honestly didn't expect it'd turn out into another 8k fic but here we go :')

Lately, Zayne has come to realize just how much joy you bring to home when you’re happy.

Your smile and giggles simply light up the place.

And moreover, you get happy at the simplest of things—head pats, his snowmen... Even when he responds with jabs just to get a rise out of you, there's always a part of his heart that softens.

Today began just like one of those joyful days. He dropped you off at the Hunter Association base before heading to the hospital, and later, he planned to pick you up and perhaps stop for macarons on the way home—

Or so he thought, until...

"Hello, Dr. Zayne! Sorry for startling you. Can you come to my office? Your wife just collapsed and she is brought here."

. . .

Zayne raced to Dr. Munson's office on the third floor, panic gradually overtook his every step. His mind whirled with all the possible reasons you might end up at—

Ob-gyn office. Wait, what?

The realization struck him just as he flung open the door to his colleague’s office.

"Ah, the man of the hour has arrived!" Dr. Munson greeted him with an ear-to-ear grin.

Zayne gave a quick nod but bypassed him to head straight to the bed where you were.

You looked pale and sluggish, your eyes squeezed shut. He immediately took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers, and you opened your eyes in surprise to see him there.

"Zayne..." you murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and offering a faint smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he gently touched your cool cheek.

"A bit dizzy..."

Seeing you so meek made something inside him lurch. Just this morning, you had been full of life, pouting and playfully teasing him, and now you looked so exhausted.

"Well, maybe you already know this, Dr. Zayne, but still, congratulations!" Dr. Munson clapped his hands merrily. "Your wife is pregnant!"

Pregnant. Zayne stood frozen for a moment. In truth, while the very thought flitted in his mind from the moment he walked in, it didn't make it less surprising all the same. "I see..."

Then he turned to look at you, and to his surprise, you looked away, a shy smile played at your lips, as if you were trying to make yourself as small as possible.

A child. You were with child. His child.

"How far along?"

"Almost ten weeks, give or take. Well, aren't you the one who knows the most?"

"Is she alright? Anything I need to watch out for?"

"Ooh! How sweet!" Dr. Munson laughed crisply. "The cool-headed Dr. Zayne is worrying about his wife! The nurses are going to have a field day when they know this~"

Zayne shot him a look, but didn’t miss a beat as he retorted, "Of course I am."

You looked up at him silently, your heart fluttering at his earnest response. Zayne had always been resilient, but now he seemed more dashing than usual as he fired questions after questions at Dr. Munson about you and the baby.

Baby... both of you were going to become parents. It still felt surreal, but with Zayne’s warm grip on your hand, it began to feel real. You were almost giddy.

But then, it struck you— the baby was around ten weeks.

Then it meant the day of the conception was that night.

. . .

“Here, hold onto me.”

Zayne opened the door to his car and supported you as you carefully stepped out. You were still unsteady on your feet, so he returned you back home to rest rather than heading back to the Hunter Association’s base.

“Have you been feeling unwell these past few days?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you made your way inside. “Usually, the symptoms have been noticeable for a while.”

“Hmmm,” you pursed your lips, feigning coyness. “I... don’t think so?”

Zayne quirked an eyebrow, sending you a withering stare as he realized your ruse. “So you have.”

“Hehe...” you flashed him a sheepish grin, causing him to shake his head in exasperation and pinch your cheek. “Ow!” you squeaked, quickly bringing your hand to your face.

Zayne stifled a smile, then gently guided you to the sofa. He crouched down in front of you, meeting your gaze as he took both of your hands in his.

"You need to tell me these things from now on, alright?" he said, and his steadfast gaze made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"We..." you started, steeling yourself, "are going to have a baby," you gulped, feeling heat spreading to your cheeks.

He was unfazed. "Mm, we are."

You shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze. "Are you... happy?"

Your voice wavered at the end, and your hand felt clammy. Suddenly, your stomach too twisted with nausea. Who would've thought that you would conceive a baby from a night that he called a mistake?

However, Zayne tilted his head, seemingly taken aback. "I am."

"Huh?"

"I am happy," he repeated, blinking back at you. "Are you?"

You gaped, caught off guard by his candid response—but then again, when had your husband ever been anything but straightforward?

"But you don’t seem happy!" you accused, pursing your lips. "You’ve been frowning the whole way home."

He shot you a flat look, his expression unchanged. "This is just my face."

You continued to pout, and Zayne sighed. His frown softened as he gently cupped your face, making you look up at him.

"You silly girl, what husband won't be thrilled when they hear that his wife is expecting?" he caressed your face, before poking it. "I'm just worried about you, you still look pale."

"You..." your eyes found his uneasily, at a loss of words. "But this baby is…" Your gaze dropped, anxiety swelling. "From… the night of—"

Your response stunned him, and you didn't dare to look him in the eye. It was still something that gnawed at you inside, because what if—

What if he thought this baby is a mistake?

In that moment, understanding dawned on him. His ashen eyes widened in surprise. You braced yourself for his reaction, but then—

His hand rested on your head, patting you gently. "You carrying our baby..." he faltered, gazed fixed on your averted eyes and then lips. His voice came almost in a whisper:

"This... is the best thing that has happened to me."

Thump! Your heart soared, warmth flooding through you in that very instant as you met his gaze. On the contrary, Zayne felt a crushing weight seeing the tears shining in your eyes. How deeply had he hurt you before that you’d doubt his feelings?

"I promised you that I’ll treasure you better," he said, pulling strands of your hair behind your ears. "This time, let me prove it to you."

Somehow you felt like crying at the sheer sincerity in his words. "You... like the baby?"

A gentle smile touched his lips as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "I do. Truly."

"I... am so happy too," you finally choked up, the first tear slipping down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, feeling a bit silly for tearing up. "I... have always wanted us to be a family..."

Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out an exasperated but fond sigh. "A certain someone really does like to cry... And now with a baby on the way, am I going to lose my mind worrying about both of you?"

"Hmph," you wrinkled your nose. "A certain dad-to-be better work on his skills to express himself better, then."

"I'm going to focus my energy on more important things, such as thinking of all ways I should do to keep you from getting into trouble."

"...? I don't get into trouble!"

"You stumble even on empty air, I've seen it myself."

Two years ago, you had envisioned your happily ever after with him, and then you weren't sure if you would get it at all. And now, as you walked towards a new beginning together, you were wholly certain.

At least, that was what you thought.

The days following the reveal of your pregnancy were filled with bliss.

Only that, sometimes... you ask for tall order—

"Zayne... I want that plushie..."

"We have tried it three times already. That machine is rigged."

"B-but! Look, that couple won some!"

Some weeks later, the two of you were at an arcade, and your eyes were literally shining as soon as you saw the Happy Snowman plushie in the claw machine.

And ever since, you had been tugging at his sleeve and dragging him to catch it for you... only to no avail so far.

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "With the way you’re acting, no one would believe you’re about to become a mom."

"Isn't that the whole point?" you fired back, puckering your lips, before mustering your best puppy eyes and bringing your hands together. "Please? Baby wants it so much."

He knew you were using the baby card just to get your way, but you looked so adorable doing it that it often worked—evident from how he lined up once more for the long queue at the claw machine.

"This is the last time," he decided, giving you a flat stare when you two reached your turn. "If we lose, we're buying the one in the souvenir shop."

"Teehee~" you giggled in delight. You'd get your plushie either way. Zayne was always listening to you even with his grumbles, and it made you inwardly kick your feet in joy.

Despite being cross, Zayne was better at this than you. He almost snagged some plushies several times, and this time, he skillfully maneuvered the claw, pressing the button with precision—

“Oh!” Your eyes sparkled as the claw secured your prized Happy Snowman. “Zayne! Just a little more!”

"Yeah, yeah..."

Just like that, the claw released the snowman into the hole. As soon Zayne handed it to you, you practically squealed. "Ahh! Finally I got you!"

You were so full of childlike excitement, even though you were just months away from bringing a child into the world yourself. Zayne watched you silently, and despite himself, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Do you want more?" he asked. "We still have three chances left."

"Yes!" You beamed at him. "I want the penguin and crow!"

Apparently, he was weak to your wishes. He then took the machine again, and maybe luck blessed him this time because soon enough, he got you two of them right after the chances ran out.

“Hehe! We’re bringing them home!” You patted each plushie with delight, your giggles drawing the attention of nearby kids.

"Mom, look! That uncle gets many plushies!"

Zayne felt his eyes twitch. Uncle...?

You tried and utterly failed to hold back your laugh.

And you heard another couple bickering nearby as they threw glances at you and your husband—

"I want that crow plushie..." the woman lamented, despondently eyeing the claw machine and the three plushies Zayne had managed to win for you.

Her boyfriend, a scary-looking tall man with red eyes and rider garbs, turned to her with a snort. "Why would you even need that ugly crow for? We have crow at home."

"...Mephisto doesn't count! You're just saying that because your luck and skill are trash!"

"Tch. I can open a whole arcade just so you can tear those plushies into shreds, sweetie... just so you know, there’s a price when dealing with a devil, hmm?"

Opening an arcade only to satisfy his girlfriend's wants? You thought in a passing. Crazy.

. . .

And then your emotions are practically a whirlwind of roller coaster...

“You’re mean!” you sniffled, pointing a righteous finger at your husband and the kitty cards on the table. “You always reduce my kitties whenever you get the chance!”

Zayne exhaled, trying to explain himself. “I just make do with the cards I’m dealt with.”

“But you’re trying to take out my cats all the time!”

“That’s the gameplay. If I let you win, you’d say I’m underestimating you.”

“So, are you saying I’m bad at this?” You looked at the cards with heartbreak etched on your face, your lips quivering. “Am I?”

Uh-oh, he knew what it was. You were a stone throw away from bursting into tears and one wrong word could set you off altogether.

“No, you’re not bad...” he began, carefully choosing his words. “The kitties... they’re just not cooperating with you, that’s all.”

“So, they’re cooperating with you,” you pouted, cross. “Is that what you’re trying to say?!”

Sigh... this is going to take a while...

But ultimately... you’re also incredibly precious.

“I’m going to make an amigurumi for our baby,” you announced, smiling brightly as you settled between his legs with a crochet kit and a snowman pattern in hand. “I just know they’ll like it.”

“You know how to crochet?” Zayne asked, resting his chin on your shoulder and slipping an arm around your waist, gently touching your growing bump.

“Hmph!” You tilted your chin up with a smirk, turning to face him. “Of course, I can!”

“Oh…?”

“It’s a little side hobby,” you explained with a giggle. “I can’t resist having and making cute things~”

Zayne thought he’d laugh, but instead, it was a wave of bittersweetness that washed over him. Because apparently, even after being married to you for two years, there were some things about you he didn’t know.

He was fond of you. He knew you liked a fair amount of sweets, what your favorite food and color were, and that you couldn't sleep without turning off the lights. But then he realized...

"Does it have to be a snowman?" he asked, his eyes fixed on how skillfully you handled the hooks.

"Mm-hmm! It does."

"Why do you like it so much anyway?"

"Ah..." Your movements paused slightly, and you suddenly looked down, a hint of sheepishness in your expression. "Well..."

This way, you looked adorable somehow. Zayne squeezed you gently. "Hmm?"

"You might not remember it... but the first time we met..." you felt heat creeping up to your face but pressed on nonetheless. "I asked you to demonstrate your Evol and you showed me by creating a snowman out of thin air."

Right at that moment, Zayne could've sworn that his heart skipped a beat. That meeting... how many years ago was it? Five? Six?

He could barely remember it until you mentioned it, and yet you held that memory dear.

"Maybe it sounds stupid to you," you puffed out your cheeks. "But I think you’re similar to a snowman. You look cold on the outside, but you bring happiness to so many people. You save lives…"

The way you described him so highly made him flutter inside. Suddenly he felt soft. Soft for you. You were utterly precious, genuine and all this time, he hadn't even truly realized it.

"And to me, you..." you gulped, suddenly self-conscious. "You are... warm, just like the sun..."

The sincerity in your words touched him so deeply that it left him speechless. You had loved him and it was evident in all your actions.

Now the question is, has he done the same for you?

You brightened his life just by being yourself. Most of the time cheery, sometimes snarky, and often times decidedly spoiled... all those sides of you—

He adores them all. And he knows he'll treasure you until the end of time. And now, he's going to show you that.

Before he realized it, he had planted a kiss on the nape of your neck, and you sucked in a breath as you dropped the crochet hooks. "Zayne...?"

And then his lips pressed harder, trailing kisses along your neck, while his hands slipped inside your pajama top, caressing your skin ever so gently. The unexpected touch made you unwittingly moan.

"Can you... finish crocheting another day?" he breathed in your ear, cupping your breasts tenderly, and you almost jolted. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

It felt as if your face had caught fire, your whole body flushing with sudden excitement. Your heart raced wildly at his husky voice, and the very thought that your husband desired you was deeply thrilling.

"But you..." your voice hitched, trying not focus on his fingers. "...are never gentle."

Zayne blinked at you in surprise. "Am... I? That's not true."

"Should I jog your memory?" You pursed your lips. "One time, you threw me on the bed—"

"Well—"

"And that time you had me on all fours—"

"That's—"

"And the night we conceived this baby too—"

"Right. Alright." Zayne’s cheeks flushed with warmth as he released his grip on your mounds. "You might have a point, but this time, I assure you…"

He turned you to face him, and before you could even react, he leaned in close, his breath tickling your collarbone as he whispered:

"I will take good care of you tonight."

He made good on his promise.

This time, his hands moved with a gentleness that took your breath away. Zayne started with peppering your skin in soft, lingering kisses—starting at your jaw, then trailing down your neck, collarbone, and chest.

And when his lips finally reached the slightly visible but firm swell of your belly, he paused, pressing a kiss there that seemed to hold all the love he had for your baby.

The sight pulled at your heartstrings. The very fact that Zayne cherished this little life growing inside you filled you with a happiness so profound, it nearly overwhelmed you.

And soon...

"Ahh... aah!" you writhed, arching your back, your lower body laid bare as his tongue lapped eagerly at your folds. It was, by far, the most erotic thing your husband had done to you— he usually didn’t spend this much time for your pleasure.

But as always, he was not much of a talker during sex. Only dangerous gleam in his eyes as he glanced up from between your trembling thighs that let you know he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

"Ngh!" You gasped when the tight ball of nerves inside you finally burst, mewling helplessly as you yanked on his hair, and he ate you out even more greedily in response. You had always known it, but moments like this made it undeniable—

Zayne turns completely into a different man while bedding you. Who would have guessed that the stoic, straight-laced head of cardiac surgery could be reduced to a man consumed by lust at the sight of his wife's body?

. . .

He had always liked having you on top. This time, Zayne made sure to prepare you exceptionally well before easing himself inside you, yet, just like every other time, you still felt impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, ah... I-I’m—!” you whimpered tearfully, your walls clenching around his girth, face overtaken by sheer pleasure. “’s full...”

It didn't take him long to bust, really. With a beautiful wife sitting on top of him, eliciting sounds like that... how could he resist?

But maybe he pushed you too hard. Lust won against all his senses as he relentlessly slammed his hips against yours, and he distinctly felt the moment you stifled a scream and came hard around him.

"Are you... alright?" Zayne asked in a groan as he reached his orgasm, his release flooding inside your womb in a rush as you clung into him tightly, shuddering and spasming.

You nodded and collapsed against him, savoring the feeling of how filled up you were. In return, he cradled you close as he slowly pulled out of you. "I-I... am..."

You curled into him, and he pressed a tender kiss on your head. In that moment, you truly felt that there were only two of you in this vast world.

Gently, he lifted you—one arm supporting your legs, the other around your back—and carried you to the bathroom to clean you up.

. . .

“Drink.” Zayne held the cool glass of water to your lips, and you obediently took a sip, your gaze lingering on the gap in his bathrobe where his chest peeked out.

He was so, so considerate. He carefully handled you as he washed your body and wrapped you in the bathrobe earlier, soothing you each time you let out a whine.

It was the most comforting aftercare you had experienced. After making sure you weren’t parched, he tucked you under the comforters, joining you soon after and pulling you close.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly, straightening your hair.

“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled closer with a smile, tracing a finger along his chest.

Somehow the way he cared for you now made you remember how your relationship was back then. He didn’t dote on you this much, he was good to you but you knew deep in your hearts that he wasn’t really there. But now…

He is yours. In every sense.

“You’re tickling me,” Zayne tutted gruffly, catching your hand and pressing it to his chest.

“So? What will you do?” you teased with a playful grin. “Will you eat me up again?”

“…” His narrowed eyes made you giggle, and you pressed yourself even closer, relishing the afterglow.

You had promised yourself not to bring it up again, but feeling vulnerable in this moment, you couldn’t help but whisper:

“You… have changed,” you muttered under your breath. “Thank you… for thinking of me.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but his arms tightened around you suddenly. Warmth spread through you, feeling as though he were shielding you from the world itself.

Weeks passed by, and soon enough, you reached the middle of your second trimester.

“We’re going to find out the gender today!” you excitedly noted in the passenger’s seat. Zayne glanced at you with a smile, silently looking forward to it too.

He was relieved that your first trimester had passed smoothly, with only a few bouts of sickness. Now, before he knew it, you were already halfway through the journey.

“If it’s a girl, I hope she won’t be a troublemaker like her mom,” he slyly retorted.

You shot him a glare. “And if it’s a boy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t spend all his time studying and turn into a robot like you.”

The journey to fatherhood still didn’t feel entirely real to him with your chirpy self, but as your belly swelled and rounded with each passing week, he began to realize that the day was quickly approaching.

It made him feel warm, and he wished he could show it to you better just how much happiness you brought to him now.

You rummaged through your bag and exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot the appointment card!"

Zayne sighed, turning the steering wheel with a small shake of his head. "See? The little mom can be so scatterbrained at times."

You slouched in your seat, crestfallen. "Sorry..."

"It’s alright," he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he noticed your expression drop. "I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?"

"In the first drawer of my vanity desk, I think…"

After arriving back at home, Zayne headed straight to your shared bedroom and searched through your drawers. The first drawer only had your perfumes, so he moved on to the second drawer, which apparently only had more makeup supplies.

And so, he pulled the third drawer, and there were a stack of envelopes there. Curious, he pulled one out, thinking it was the card he was looking for—

—but then, suddenly, he was in a state of shock. Never would have he expected to find what he had on his hand then.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur, his entire world reduced to those three stark words on the page. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as the realization hit him.

Petition of Divorce — and your signature... was there.

Something seemed a bit off about Zayne, you noticed later that day.

You were really looking forward to finding out the baby's gender, and you thought he was too. He stood by your side all the while, holding your hand as the ultrasound probe pressed against your skin and you waited with bated breath for Dr. Munson to announce—

“Well, it’s a girl!” he declared with a wide grin. “Whoa, Dr. Zayne is going to be a girl dad, huh?”

“Oh my…” Your eyes sparkled with joy at the news. You were fine with either, but you knew Zayne had secretly been hoping for a girl, and you turned to him with pure elation. However...

“That’s… good.” His response was brief, and although he was smiling, something felt off. You had been observing him for too long not to notice—you knew when your husband was distracted.

What is he thinking? Despite yourself, you began to worry.

“Zayne?” you asked later, holding his arm as you both exited Dr. Munson’s office. “Are you thinking about work?”

He turned to you almost immediately. “No.”

“Then why are you frowning?” you asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood by touching his face. He swiftly caught your hand.

“This is a public place,” he said in a strained voice, causing you to stiffen at his tone. “I’ll take you home first.”

Something was not right. Now you were convinced and it started to bother you.

“Actually… I need to go to the Hunter Association's base first to finish my deskwork,” you said.

His brows furrowed even deeper. “Can’t you just submit your leave?”

“Ah... I’m on half-day leave today. I need to wrap up as much as I can before I go on maternity leave later.”

“Next time,” he snapped, his gray eyes locked on you, “Whenever you have appointments, take a full-day leave. You’re in no condition to be working, especially as you get further along.”

"Zayne, are you... upset with me?" you fired the question then, because it seemed like he really did, and suddenly you felt a bit sick at the very thought.

He was certainly not expecting you to ask that, and for a moment, Zayne froze, before he exhaled and his frown softened a bit.

“…no,” he finally said, his tone gentler. “I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

But ever since that day, you knew something had happened to him that he suddenly he became a little distant towards you.

. . .

Zayne hadn’t meant to snap at you. If anything, knowing you were carrying a baby girl filled him with unbridled happiness.

But still, there was still a part of him that wanted to demand answers from you—that part of him that was deeply hurt by what he discovered.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t take it too hard. No matter how much he reflected on it, he knew he hadn’t been the husband you deserved. He knew his faults and understood how much he had hurt you. From the very beginning, you deserved someone who would see only you and no one else—and he hadn't been that person before.

Even with that understanding, he was left with an unresolved hollowness. You had doubted him enough that you were ready to file for a divorce once. It didn't mean that the same thing wouldn't happen in the future.

Does he have it in him to make you happy? He had promised you he would. While he wasn't the most affectionate, he tried his best, and he intended to keep trying.

But now, after learning this, he found that not only you, but even he too was able to doubt himself.

"Zayne...?"

You peeked your head inside his study one night, several weeks later, a hand resting on your bump. You really didn't want to bother him when he just arrived, but you figured you had to tell him.

For the past week, you’d been throwing up, and it didn’t feel right. He had been at a symposium in another city since the start of the week, and you tried to wait it out. But today, you almost blacked out, and now you were genuinely afraid.

"Y/N?" he turned to you just as he laid his briefcase and the moment he saw you, he frowned at how pale you looked.

Zayne immediately stalked towards you and pulled you closer, feeling your neck to check your body temperature. His eyes widened in realization. "You have a fever."

"I-I... feel lightheaded today," you sputtered, clutching his arm. "And... I’ve been vomiting too..."

"I'll get you checked in at Akso," he decided, grabbing the car keys and led you out of the room by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me in your calls?"

Very lame excuse, but you tried to defend yourself nonetheless. "It wasn't this severe before—"

"You should have told me." His response was curt, but his fury was evident. You almost shrank at his tone, but Zayne didn't reprimand you further as he helped you into the passenger seat.

The drive was tense and uncomfortable, making you feel even worse. The silence only amplified your anxiety, and it didn't help that you had noticed how distant he was lately.

"I'm sorry—" you blurted but then suddenly, you sucked in a breath, wincing and fisting your dress when you felt the start of a cramp just below your ribs. "Ahh..."

Zayne’s panic surged at your pained gasp. He gripped your hand reassuringly, all trace of anger vanishing instantly. "We’ll arrive soon. I promise you’ll be alright."

At that moment, despite all fears you had—for your baby, of his sudden shift of behavior—you held back your sob and squeezed his hand in return.

. . .

You would be staying at the hospital until all the test results came in.

Zayne sat on the chair beside you, gaze fixed on you as you lay connected to an IV drip in the private room. Though he tried to mask it, he was still shaken. He knew better than anyone that fever and cramps at more than 20 weeks often signaled something was wrong with either the mother or the baby.

The thought of ailments beyond his control affecting either of you made his chest tighten. He loosened his tie and let out a sigh, trying to ease the constriction. "How do you feel now?"

You looked at him, managing a smile as you replied, "I’m fine now."

Seeing you bedridden like this was something he hadn’t realized he dreaded until that moment, and yet, there you were, smiling. You... smiled.

He couldn’t understand why the sight he usually adored suddenly stirred this swirling anger in him.

Your answer seemed to hit a nerve in him as his expression darkened, and anxiety struck you again, twisting something in your gut. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before..."

His lack of response only deepened your unease. "Before today, I didn’t feel faint at all, so I think it’s just something I ate."

He still didn't deign you with any answer. Zayne’s apparent disregard for your words frustrated you, bringing you close to tears. "Say something..." you urged, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. "I know you're upset, but now I'm scared too."

You really wanted him to comfort you. You knew the Zayne from several weeks ago would do just that, but now you had a feeling that the man before you now wasn't that same man any longer.

"We’ll see when the results are ready," he said then, facing you with a stoic, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were delivering a diagnosis to a patient rather than speaking to his wife. "Don’t fret too much. Have some rest."

Is that... all he has to say to you? A part of your heart withered at his detached response, the tears frozen in your eyes. What happened to him?

You were about to confront him for an answer when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.

"Hello? Yes, it's Zayne. Who is this?" he questioned flatly, eyes narrowed into a dissatisfied frown, before suddenly his expression lit up with understanding when the person on the other line introduced themselves.

You could hear the faint sound of a man's voice from his phone. And when Zayne addressed him, a sudden chill spread throughout your body.

"Caleb? It's... been a while."

You felt cold. Caleb. You never really knew him but you had certainly seen him. Once at a funeral, and once at your wedding. He too is Zayne's childhood friend, and more than that, he is the brother of—

Why? Why did all emotional suffering you had to go through, somehow or another, always come down to a dead woman who was once your husband's lover?

When he ended this call, you didn't even pretend to be considerate anymore. "What does he want from you?"

Zayne looked taken aback by your sudden hostility but answered calmly, "He’s in Linkon now and asked if we could meet."

"Must you really see him?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I don’t like it," you spat, venom clear in your voice, turning to him. "I don’t like it at all when you have to be involved with people related to her!"

Finally, you said it. You had never made it clear before, but this time, you felt like you were entitled enough to. You were having his daughter, and if he was still entangled in an illusion of his past girlfriend with you, then—

Zayne responded to your outburst with a suppressed sigh, visibly keeping his frustration in check. "He is an old friend, Y/N. You're too emotional right now that you jump into conclusions and stress yourself out."

He was right, your emotions were spiraling, but right now you were too heartbroken to care for it.

"Do you know what I fear the most?" you asked, tears shining in your eyes. At last, you voiced the dark, unspoken curse that had haunted you since the very beginning of it all:

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

Zayne barely got any rest that night.

In the end, faced with your tears, he didn't respond because he didn't want to prolong the argument. More strain for you could put both you and the baby at risk.

Later, he told himself. No matter how much he berated himself for not noticing the signs of your illness sooner, or wanted show you that you and his unborn child meant everything to him now— later. He wouldn't risk you, and it would be better if you talk later with cooler heads.

Little did he know, that "later" would never come.

Numerous missed phone calls from the nurses station after he stepped out of the operating room sealed your fate. And when Greyson burst into his office, out of breath and panic-stricken, it was like being doused in scalding water.

"Dr. Zayne! Miss Y/N! Sh-she has just been rushed to ER for severe bleeding!"

Just like that, his world crashed and shattered beyond return.

. . .

"Dr. Zayne, I'm not sure how I should break this news to you... As a medical professional, you already know how serious this condition is..."

Everything was his greatest nightmare realized. Dr. Munson’s diagnosis struck him with a searing force, paralyzing him on the spot.

"Your wife has preeclampsia."

The nurses said you had been screaming and bleeding heavily. He too had seen it himself—the blood splattered across the pristine floor when he arrived, just moments after you were rushed to the emergency room—and the sight made a chill run through his spine in horror.

"She just experienced a partial placental abruption because of it. This causes bleeding in the mother, and also increases the risk of premature labor."

Dr. Munson’s explanation was crystal clear, yet it sent Zayne into a daze. It felt as if his chest had been ripped open, leaving him hollow as he stared numbly at your figure, peacefully asleep after the emergency treatment you had been put through.

Zayne clasped your hand in his, feeling the invincible knife lodged in his heart twist painfully.

You aren't supposed to be this cold. He gently griped your hand, his face contorted with agony. How terrified must you have been? How much did it hurt? Despite trying to push the memories away, seeing you like this brought back the nightmare from three years ago.

Only that this time, it was you. And not just you, but his unborn child as well. Both of you... there was a chance that both of you wouldn't survive.

The sheer thought made him stagger, because no, if it was the devil’s way to punish him, then it was beyond cruel. He had failed you once already, and he knew what happiness was by being with you, and to lose all of that in one blow—

"Zayne! Can you make me one more snowman?" you pleaded, your eyes sparkling as you pointed to the little gap between snowmen already perched on the window. "Just one more! It’ll make the line perfect!"

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

It was so, so painful. His chest constricted at the contrasting memories and it took everything he had not to give in to his spiraling fears.

With everything I have, I love you. None of it mattered anymore. The divorce papers, whether he could make you happy— what was important was that It was unthinkable to lose you now. He would trade his life if it meant sparing you, because the pain of losing you would destroy him.

You had always loved that little thing he made on a whim. He opened your palm and shaped the ice through his manipulation, placing the palm-sized snowman in your grasp, hoping it would protect you throughout the night.

You remembered the excruciating pain, the primal dread of losing your baby, and the horrifying sight of crimson streaming endlessly between your legs, also how you screamed for anyone for help.

When you regained consciousness, the scent of fresh linen and alcohol was the first thing that greeted you. Dawn had already arrived, but the sky outside remained dark.

Your right palm felt cold, and that’s when you realized you were holding something. At the same time, you noticed the weight in your other hand—

Zayne. Your husband slept on the edge of your bed in such an uncomfortable position while holding your hand, his brows taut into a frown, only with a coat to cover himself.

He is here. You quietly watched him, and despite everything, you realized once again how much you loved him—even more that he was here for you.

Snowman… you stared at the little toy in your other hand, and overwhelming warmth washed over you at the thought of him creating it for you just before he slept.

The baby… what did you go through? Is she fine? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that something grave had happened to you.

You had to know. You pulled your left hand out of his grasp and caressed his face. He has to shave soon, you noted, feeling the stubble that had started to grow there. Still, you couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he was.

Your gentle touch soon caused his eyes to flutter open, and Zayne jerked awake, instinctively catching your hand. "You're awake..." he rasped, his voice rough with exhaustion.

He looked at you as if he was in disbelief, and immediately rose and squeezed your hand. You looked up to him, feebly asking, "What... happened to me?"

His face fell right that moment but you pressed on, "Tell me. I have to know..."

Zayne's reluctance was obvious, but the plea in your voice made him waver. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed.

"The test results have come back," he began, his voice adopting the clinical tone you recognized from when he spoke to his patients. "Your blood pressure is abnormally high, and there was protein found in your urine sample... These are signs of a condition called preeclampsia."

Shock marred your features in that moment, because you had heard what it was and what it meant for your baby.

"The only cure for preeclampsia is delivery. And at the same time the placenta has detached from the wall of your womb. This way, our baby—"

You had watched Zayne deliver devastating diagnoses to his patients before, and he was always steadfast. But this time, even his voice wavered.

His gray eyes seemed to glisten under the light as they held your gaze. "She's being deprived of oxygen and nutrients because the placenta can no longer supply them. You may also experience heavier bleeding, more cramps, and fetal distress. The best course of action now is to deliver the baby as soon as possible."

It felt like receiving death sentence. No matter how you looked at it, the conclusion was the same. "B-but..." you stammered, your whole body trembling, shaken by the enormity of it all. "S-she's just... barely twenty-six weeks..."

The way devastation bled in your voice pierced him. Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out a long, drawn-out breath as he held you close.

"I'm here," he assured, trying to console you. "You don't have to be scared. We'll monitor you closely until it's possible for you to give birth to the baby in around thirty weeks. I'll make sure of that."

The first of your sobs began. "...i-is it me?" you clutched at his coat mournfully. "Did I… p-put the baby into distress somehow— that it causes the placenta to fall away?"

"No," he firmly shushed you. "It's a condition that can flare up anytime. Don't blame yourself for it."

Still, how could you not? More than yourself, you feared for your unborn child. You sobbed harder, and Zayne held you even as his coat had started to dampen from your tears.

Your predicament broke his heart too, but at the same time, he found the perfect moment to finally show you the entirety of his heart.

"You told me you were afraid I'd come to see both of you as a mistake," he murmured, gently running his hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. "But how can our daughter be a mistake when—" his voice caught, choking on the words, "—when I've loved her so much already?"

The strain in his voice made you look up, and you were taken aback by the intensity of his gray eyes that bored into you.

“Both of you... are so precious to me.” Zayne locked his eyes with yours, sincerely meaning everything he said as he cradled the side of your face. “The thought that anything might happen to either of you... is unbearable.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice hoarse, “What if… you continue to bleed and it leads to seizures? What if— you and the baby won’t make it? These are so unbearable for me.”

His words went straight into you, and for a moment, your tears receded as they sank in.

"I can’t give you my past." His voice tinged with melancholy, the expression on his face was torn. "But I promise you, at least in this lifetime..."

He gazed at you with the unwavering look you had fallen in love with, the same gaze you once admired from afar, long ago.

And then, his next declaration took your breath away and made your heart soar like never before. A wave of love surged within you, almost overwhelming you—

"Right this moment and my future—it's for you. For both of you, always."

From that moment on, you knew you would trust him completely. From that moment on, you finally let go of your doubts, knowing that you had nothing to fear with him by your side.

Zayne was by your side whenever he was able to.

You were on bedrest at the hospital ever since, but he always stayed the night here to accompany you, barely going back to home for a change of clothes.

"You’re really making a snowman..." he remarked, observing your fingers and the crochet hooks he’d brought from home so you could keep yourself entertained. "I think you need to add a bit more fluff there..."

Your face brightened with a grin as you cut the yarn. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it extra round."

The weeks in the hospital dragged on, but they also gave you more time to work on your amigurumi. When you finished putting the final touches on it, you proudly presented it to Zayne—the snowman with a blue shawl and black hat, two little round eyes, and a beaming line of smile. "Ta-da! Look, it’s even cuter than the ones you made!"

A happy you was always the sight he loved to see above all. "Yeah..."

"Do you think she'll love it?" you suddenly asked, poking the snowman doll you just made, feeling warm at the thought that your cherished baby will soon play with it too.

You looked so endearing that Zayne felt an overwhelming urge to pull you closer. “She will,” he chuckled, giving you a reassuring pat on the head. “Didn’t you say before she will?”

And soon, you reached the thirtieth-week mark. The time had come to finally deliver your baby.

. . .

"I can't feel anything..." Your voice came out as a soft whine while you lay on the operating table, your lower body numb and obscured by the surgical curtain shielding you from view.

Zayne, standing beside you in a mask and headcap, grasped your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. "If you could feel it, you’d be screaming."

The C-section was the only way to ensure both you and your daughter would survive. It felt surreal to know they were basically cutting you open, yet you were unable to feel anything.

"Will... she come out healthy?" you asked your husband hesitantly, worried about your soon-to-be born baby. "I'm worried..."

Zayne glanced at you and gave your hand a light squeeze. "Don’t worry too much. You should be more concerned about yourself. Think of all the food you want to have when you get home, and I’ll get it for you."

You shot him a glare. "You make me sound like a foodie."

"You are a foodie."

Despite the ongoing surgery, Zayne’s lighthearted jabs were his way of easing your anxiety. Even though they irked you, you appreciated his attempts to lift your spirits.

And soon—

You heard a feeble cry, though quickly drowned out by the cheers of the surgical team beyond the curtain. You gasped and turned to Zayne, who was fixated on the tiny baby in Dr. Munson's hands.

He didn't even blink. It was almost as if he was spellbound by the sight. Nothing mattered because his daughter was here. Really here.

"Zayne…" your voice then broke the spell. He turned to you, who weakly smiled at him with tears in your eyes.

For the first time in your life, you saw tears of happiness glistening in his eyes as he stared at you— the woman who had just given him a daughter to love and dote on.

He immediately leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. Your heart felt so full, even though he wasn’t able to fully express it in words. In that moment, you could feel his profound love for you and the new life you would embark on together.

"She is so small..."

You pressed yourself as close as you could to the see-through glass of the neonatal unit, straining to get a glimpse of your baby daughter. Though you weren't well enough to walk three days after the surgery, you insisted on Zayne wheeling you over in a wheelchair just so you could have a peek.

"She’ll grow big soon," Zayne said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he noticed your sadness. "She’ll stay there for a few more weeks, and then we can bring her home."

However, your expression twisted into a worried frown as you watched the gentle rise and fall of your baby’s tiny chest inside the incubator. Even when he had reassured you that it was by all means just an unfortunate condition, you couldn't help feeling that it was your fault somehow that she ended up there.

She had his tufts of black hair, but you weren’t able to get close enough to remember her face clearly. The fact that you hadn’t held her in your arms yet made your heart ache.

"Mommy is sorry that she can't carry you to full-term..." you croaked out, lips wobbling, a hand tracing the glass separating you from your new baby, and Zayne inhaled sharply at the sight.

It hadn’t been easy, but you had made it through. Both of you had. And to him, that was more than enough. So, you needed to hear it too.

He crouched down in front of you, catching your attention instantly. You tilted your head as his hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“Thank you for delivering our daughter safely,” he said with the softest of smiles, ever so genuine just as you were in all times of the two of you together.

Your eyes widened a bit at his sudden gratitude, and when he took both of your hands together in his, gazed at you with such earnestness in his clear ash-grey eyes, and traced his thumbs over your knuckles, your heart skipped a beat.

“And most of all, thank you... for being safe too.”

Those words brought immense warmth to you, and the prettiest of smile lit up your face then at the way he looked at you as if you were his most prized treasure. Just like that, once again, he cast all your fears and doubts aside.

And deep down, you knew that with him by your side, everything was going to be alright.

taglist

@sillyfreakfanparty @rjreins @enterrandomusername @castellandiangelo @admirablefangirl @luna4mnoon @prettytemis @onliafaze @aviesnapkindoodles @jinniebby2 @mnemeosyne @elliesndg @haichii @pearlymel @kissingtruth @mccutelittlesheep @certainduckanchor @itsbabyabby @thdcre @aerithsthingss

[red-letter-imagines]

constantly torn between wishing i was conventionally attractive and wishing i didnt feel like i have to be pretty to be worthy of anything.

[red-letter-imagines]

I need water

Both at the same time because I'm a whore.THEY ARE SO OPPOSITE YET SIMILAR AT THE SAME TIME I CANT QUITE EXPLAIN IT BUT WE HAVE CHILDREN ON THE WAY

[red-letter-imagines]

Crying

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 30: Butterfly's Wings

Summary: Now that the truth has come out, everyone has a decision to make

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,377 words

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, anxiety, reader has several panic attacks, violation of privacy, vomiting, anger, Simon yells at the reader, Simon does manhandle the reader a bit but it's not in a violent way, lots and lots of crying, sort of interrogation, conspiracy theories, not a lot of comfort in this one

A/N: And so the angst continues. The awaited reveal of what happens next has come. A lot of emotions here, a lot of thinking. I am not sorry for what is going to happen in these next few chapters

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You swallow thickly, squeezing your fingers together as they begin to shake. He knows, he heard it perfectly. He’s giving you a chance to come clean, to admit that you’ve lied to them for months. There’s no going back. You’re panicking again, just as you had in the mess a few minutes ago. 

For the first time in a long time, you’re afraid. 

“I-I...” You try to find the words, trying to put together a coherent sentence under the sharp, scrutinizing gaze of the alpha in front of you. 

He leans over even further across the table, holding eye contact with you. His eyes are so sharp you think they may leave knife marks on your skin, burn scorch marks across your body. He’s pulled taut, even his voice sharp. You’re not talking to Simon anymore. You’re facing Ghost now. 

“I said, do you want to repeat that?” He repeats it slower, enunciating every word as if you didn’t hear him the first time. You almost didn’t with the blood pulsing in your ears, the panic lifting your heart rate higher and higher. He’s pushing you, daring you to try to lie to his face more than you already have. He’s using his status against you, making you feel cornered. 

“I-I found cameras...in my room.” You try not to choke around the nervous lump in your throat. Your voice is quiet, shaking just as much as your body is. Maybe you should let that lump choke you. Death seems less terrifying right now than the angry alpha in front of you. He is angry. You don’t even have to read his body language to know. You can tell just by his eyes and the quickly rising edge of ozone in his scent. “T-The first mission when everyone left...someone broke into my room and put up cameras...I found them and broke them and I hid the bag in my bathroom.” 

He stares at you for a long moment, the silence so tense you can nearly taste it. He slams his hands on the table, pushing himself up so he’s standing. You jump, starting to curl in on yourself, an attempt to protect yourself from his wrath. You know he won’t hurt you, but your brain is screaming at you to run, to hide, to make yourself as small as possible. 

“Get up.” He snaps, his anger freezing you in place. You can’t move, even though you know you should. “I said get your fucking ass off that bench and let’s go.” He yells, forcing your body into motion. 

You nearly fall in your attempt to get off of the bench, your body trembling almost violently in fear. Your breaths are coming in gasps again, the alpha rasping at the edges of his voice melting your brain into a fear-filled mush. His hand wraps around your arm, fingers digging into your skin. If you hadn’t been wearing a sweatshirt, you know you would see the indents from his fingers. You’re going to bruise later.

Your shoulder pops as he tugs you harshly towards the barracks, your feet scrambling to keep up. Passersby stare at you, sensing your fear and his anger, but they wouldn’t dare intervene. It’s not their place, and you can’t blame them for not waiting to face down the giant, angry alpha hauling you to the barracks. 

You’ve fucked up. You’ve royally fucked up. You should have just told them when they got back, admitted to everything then. You should have been honest, should have revealed everything instead of trying to keep it all hidden.

The fear you felt back then is nothing compared to the fear you feel now. 

You’ve betrayed them, betrayed their trust. Admitting to your stupidity would have been nothing compared to the shame burning hot through you now. 

Simon throws open the door, dragging you into the barracks. You know where he’s heading, your feet finally under you on the tile. He lets you go and you scurry to your room, too afraid to even try running for help. None of them will protect you, not after he tells them why you’re so afraid. 

Your hand fumbles with the doorknob, the nervous sweat on your skin making it slide right off the metal. He’s behind you, lingering as you use your sleeve to finally turn the knob and get the door open. There’s no hesitation as you enter the room, going straight for the bathroom. Fear trickles down your spine as you kneel down, hands shaking as you pull everything out from the cabinet. The bag is still there, still tucked in the far corner. It’s like it’s mocking you now, jeering at your fear. The bag that holds your deepest secret, the bag that you had almost forgotten about until now. 

You ignore the mess as you pull the bag out, turning your body to face the alpha in your room. Simon is standing there just outside the doorway, anger still rolling off of him. You’re shaking so badly the bag of broken plastic and metal pieces clinks as you hold it up to him. He takes it from your hand, holding it up to the harsh bathroom light. It’s impossible not to tell what’s in it, especially not to someone who probably encounters these items often. 

“Get up.” He snaps again, and you use the sink to aid you in rising on your shaky legs. They feel like jello, nearly giving out as you stand there in front of him. 

He reaches for you and you expect him to grab your arm or even your throat but instead he reaches around, gripping you by the back of the shirt. He pulls you after him, half dragging you to your door and out into the hallway. Your shoes squeak on the floor, slipping as you attempt to get your weak legs to keep up with his steps. He doesn’t care, and you know he’d drag you if you stopped trying to walk. 

You’re thrown back violently to that time years ago when you had been in a similar position, being dragged from the safety of your room, your father’s fingers digging into your skin as he dragged you down the hall. He was ashamed of you, angry at you for what you were. The shame you felt for months from disappointing him, the ozone-laced scent of alpha anger still burning in your nose even years later. 

The same kind of shame burns in you now. 

Simon’s anger is like a thunderstorm, the familiar scent of ozone pricking dangerously in the back of your mind. You want to sink in there, retreat into the safety in the back of your mind but you can’t. It’s like your omega knows you have to face the consequences, abandoning you in revenge for keeping this secret for so long. 

The squeaking of your shoes has brought Kyle out of the rec room, his brows furrowing as he sees you being dragged along by Simon. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, looking between your teary face and Simon’s angry one. 

“Find MacTavish and meet me in Price’s office.” Simon snaps. It’s the only explanation he gives before he’s turning the corner, making his way towards the half opened door. 

He shoves it open with his shoulder, not even bothering to knock. The door hits the chair pushed into the table in the corner with a bang. John looks up in surprise, his brow furrowing as Simon drags you to his desk, your legs finally giving out as he releases you. 

You kneel there on the floor, tears streaming down your cheeks in shame now more than fear. They’re going to get rid of you, they’re going to drag you from what has become your home and send you back to the CIA, or worse, the institute. All the progress you’ve made is gone, it’s been undone by your choice to lie, to hide this from them. You’re crying from fear, but also from anger at yourself. Why didn’t you just tell them? Why did you think they’d ever be upset for you revealing something so serious, something that could be dangerous? There could be cameras all over the barracks and they wouldn’t know, all because of your anxiety, your fear, your stupidity. 

“Someone bugged her room,” Simon says, tossing the bag of broken pieces on John’s desk. “And she’s been keeping it from us for months.” 

You want to melt. You want to sink into the couch and dissolve into nothing. Your metaphorical tail has never been tucked quite so far between your legs as you sit there, cowering on the couch in John’s office. The alpha is pacing back and forth in the small space, the scent electric with ozone and the bitter stench of your fear. Even the attempts to overpower the scent by the betas sitting on either side of you have failed. They’re too upset. You know it. 

“I want you to run that all by me again.” John says, pausing in his pacing to stand over you. Simon is leaning against the door, arms crossed and still reeling with anger. 

You had felt like you were in an interrogation when they asked you about your nightmares. That feeling is nothing compared to what you’re feeling now. That had been simple probling, the concern of your pack as they guided you into telling them the truth. This is an interrogation, a first-hand glance at their abilities, their skills, who they are in the field and not the pack that you recognize. 

You’ve fucked up. You’ve royally fucked up. 

“I-It was the day before you got back.” You say, looking down at your hands. You can’t handle facing any of them right now, seeing the anger and disappointment on their faces. “A beta, a woman, knocked on my door. She was an American, a-a soldier. She told me General Shepherd was waiting for me. I-I didn’t know what to do and I panicked because I knew I couldn’t just say no, so I went with her. General Shepherd asked me some questions about the pack and how we were settling in and he looked at my mark and then sent me back to the barracks. When I got back I noticed my door was open and I know I closed it when I left. I always close it.” 

You swallow thickly, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. The last thing you need to do right now is distress. You’re not sure John would help you, any of them would help you. They’d just stare down at your pathetic form as you give into your fear, their anger wiping out the instinct to help, to care for their omega. You’ll die while they all look down at you in disgust. 

“I noticed something sticking out of the vent slightly, so I climbed up and it was a camera.” You continue, your voice shaking. “Someone went in and put cameras and recording devices all over the room. I-I looked everywhere for them and then smashed the ones I found and hid them in the cabinet in the bathroom.” 

John lets out a sigh before he starts pacing back and forth again. The silence is almost worse than if he had been yelling at you. “Why did you keep this from us?” He snaps, turning on you again. 

You flinch at his anger, sinking deeper into the couch between the two betas. “I-I thought you might have known.” You say quietly, trying to curl in on yourself. “I-I thought there was no way your superior could have been on base without you knowing, and then I...I panicked about the cameras and I was scared if I told you, something might happen and if you started asking questions you might get hurt or s-something might happen to me, and I was ashamed that I did something so stupid, leaving like that with a stranger and I couldn’t handle it if you were disappointed in me or angry and I just wanted to bury it and forget.” The tears are falling freely now, every breath a sob. “I-I was scared you might send me back or, or do something worse because I was stupid, but I shouldn’t have kept it from you I’m sorry.” 

You’re crying earnestly now, your breaths catching on every inhale. You curl in on yourself, drawing your knees up as you cross your arms, trying to put pressure against your chest. You wish you had your bear, you wish you had something to squeeze, something to try and regulate your mind before you distress. Something to hide behind.

John curses quietly, running a hand down his face. He drops to a knee in front of you, reaching out for you. You flinch out of reflex as his hand closes around the back of your neck. “Look at me.” He says, his voice rough. You’re not speaking to John anymore, you’re facing Captain Price. 

You meet his gaze, looking into eyes that once might have been comforting to you, but the hardness in them, the accusatory glint to them has you curling up tighter. There will be no pity, no mercy. The back of your neck tingles, his hand almost burning where it presses against the skin there. All he has to do is move his fingers just slightly, dig them into your skin and force the truth out of you. It wouldn’t do any good. You are telling them the truth. 

They just need to believe that. 

“Do you know who could have done this?” He asks, his voice softer than it had been just moments ago. “Footprints, a scent, anything?” 

You shake your head, trying to calm your sobs. “T-There was n-nothing. N-No scent.” 

He sighs, releasing you to stand. He turns his back to you, resting his hands on his desk. His shoulders are taut, muscles straining as he tries to hold back his anger. You almost wish he wasn’t, you almost wish he’d take it out on you, give you the punishment you feel you deserve. Shame still burns hot in you, more than it had when you made the decision to lie to them. They’ll never trust you again. 

“Whoever it was had access to high grade monitoring equipment.” Simon says, holding the bag of broken pieces. He steps away from the door, tossing it back on John’s desk. 

“You think it was someone here?” Kyle asks. 

Or someone who came with General Shepherd. 

They’re all thinking it. They just don’t want to say it out loud. 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. The general had seemed very interested in the status of your pack, the bonds that were forming. The way he stared at your mark like it was a trophy, the way he stared at you like you were a trophy. You’re used to being looked at like an object. You’ve been looked at that way since you presented. Yet the way General Shepherd had looked at you...it makes your stomach churn. He wouldn’t have had the cameras put up, would he? What would he gain from it?

If he was so interested in your pack, then why hasn’t he come back? It’s been months since his visit, months since you removed the cameras, and yet you haven’t heard or seen any sign of him. Maybe he was only interested in making sure you had been claimed, that John had done his duty and not faked it or lied about it. Maybe John has been keeping him satisfied with his reports since then, giving them the details they want now that it’s been proven all of you have done your jobs. 

The thought of what the details John has been putting in could be makes your stomach churn.

You need something to hold. You need something to push against your chest, keep the pressure there so you don’t fall into distress in the middle of John’s office. 

“You’re sure you got all of them.” John says, turning back to you. 

The yes dies on your tongue as you take a moment to think about it. The lingering feeling of being watched, the tickling feeling in the back of your mind in the last few days. The soulless black eyes staring back at you. The bumpy seam. 

The bear. 

There’s no other thoughts in your mind as you jump up off the couch, throwing the door open as you race down the hallway. They’re on your heels, your speed the only thing keeping them from catching you. Your shoes squeak as you race down the hallway, shouldering your door open. You go directly to your bed, grabbing the bear. 

The way it’s been sitting there for weeks, almost mocking you. ‘You should have known. You should have guessed. I’ve been watching you this whole time.’ It’s saying to you. 

You sink your fingers into the small hole, ripping the crudely stitched seam up the back. You sink your hand into the stuffing, reaching up towards the head, feeling, feeling until your fingers hit a wire. Nausea churns your stomach, the shaking in your body stilling as you wrap your fingers around it, tears blurring your eyes. 

You yank on the wire, pulling the bear’s left eye out with it. The bear falls from your hand as you begin to hyperventilate, staring at the camera in disbelief. You turn to the others, the camera beginning to shake in your hand as your body comes back to reality, tremors of fear and disgust wracking your form. 

John gently pulls the camera from your tingling fingers, turning to face the others. “Kyle, get her out of here.” 

You flinch as the beta wraps his arm around you, guiding you out of your room, what’s supposed to be your safe space. It’s been violated again, or was it never safe in the first place? 

Your stomach churns, more tears falling again, this time for a different reason. All the times you’ve slept, all the times you’ve fucked one of them in your room, all the times you’ve changed. Your heat. 

You free yourself from Kyle’s hold, racing down the hallway towards the bathroom. You push open the door, slipping on the tile clumsily. Your knees knock into the floor painfully as you barely make it, vomiting into the toilet. Kyle is right behind you, kneeling down in the stall with you. He rubs your back, holding your hair out of the way. 

You vomit until there’s nothing left to come up, dry heaving as you sob. Your stomach hurts, fear and disgust still causing your stomach to churn violently. Kyle pulls you up before flushing the toilet, leading you over to the sinks. He bends you down over one, using a paper towel to clean your face. 

“Easy.” He tries to soothe you, wetting another paper towel in the cold before pressing it against the back of your neck. 

Your hands are going numb as you cry, unable to take a deep enough breath to oxygenate your blood. You’re going to pass out. Your vision is tunneling. Maybe if Kyle is merciful enough, he’ll let your head hit the sink on the way down. 

Maybe you’ll wake up and not remember anything. 

“Search them all.” John says as soon as you’re out of the room. 

Rage burns hot in him still, his hands almost shaking as he grabs another stuffed animal off your bed. Your betrayal hurts. The fact you hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell them the truth, the fact you’ve kept this a secret for so long stings something deep in his chest. Were you ever going to tell them? Or would you have kept this a secret for the rest of your life had the truth not slipped out on its own? 

He slices down the seam of another bear with his knife, sinking his hand into the fluff. He feels around, touching every inch of fluff and fabric, but there’s nothing. Stuffing falls on the floor, decorating it like fake snow as they tear open each stuffed animal and pillow. 

“Got another.” Johnny says, pulling a recording device from another bear. 

Fuck. 

Simon grabs your giant bear, cutting it open far too happily. He’s none too gentle as he sinks his hand in, tugging out clump after clump of stuffing. “Nothing.” He says, tossing the bear on the floor almost angrily. 

John stares down at the camera and recording device in his hand before motioning for them to follow silently. He heads back to his office, grabbing the bag of crushed cameras before adding them to it. He shoves the bag into a drawer in his desk before stepping back out into the hallway. 

“Search every inch of this building.” He says quietly to Johnny and Simon. “For all we know they’re everywhere. I’m going to go have a chat with someone.” 

His hands are still shaking, anger radiating off him in waves. He’d had enough sense to spray himself with scent blocker before he stepped out into the warm air. It’s nearly suffocating, sweat beading on his back as he heads straight for the medical center. His mind is reeling. Your betrayal, the cameras, the ones in your stuffed animals. Where else could there be bugs planted? Someone invaded their space, invaded your space, with the intention of spying on them. 

And you tried to hide it from them. 

He’s still reeling as he makes his way down the hallway towards the familiar door. His knock is firm, his breaths deep and slow as he tries to calm himself. Anger won’t get him anywhere in this situation. He needs a clear head, he needs to think logically. He squeezes the knob at the call to enter, taking another breath before he steps inside. 

The soothing scent of beta goes straight to his head, calming the rage a bit as he approaches Dr. Keller’s desk. It always smells good in here, the scent soft and warm and relaxing. His anger far outweighs the light scent, though. If it had been more concentrated, directed at him, it may have been able to steady his swirling emotions. 

By the look on Dr. Keller’s face, she can sense the emotions radiating off of him, even without being able to smell them. He doesn’t want to use his alpha, intimidate the truth out of her, but he will if he has to. This is a direct threat to you, to your safety, to them and their safety. He needs the truth, and he won’t tolerate anything but.  

“Captain Price? Is everything alright?” She asks, closing the file on her desk as he stands just inside the doorway. 

“Walk with me.” He says, his hand still gripping the door handle. 

She doesn’t offer any complaint, doesn’t even ask why as she slips the file on her desk into a drawer before locking it. He’s impressed by her willingness, though he’d expected her to follow without question. If he’s approaching her alone, it’s not without reason, and it usually relates to you in some way. 

She stands from her desk, slipping her keys around her wrist before approaching him. He can smell the nervous taint beginning to form on the edge of her scent. He steps out of the doorway back into the hall, taking another breath. He can’t get too accusing until he’s more confident in his conspiracy, until he’s certain. She locks the door before turning to face him. He stares down at her for a second before he heads for the door. She follows him silently, keeping up with his pace. He’s eager to get outside, away from any prying eyes, anyone that might overhear. 

Away from cameras. 

He waits until they’re outside, leading her away from the more populated areas of the base. Normally he wouldn’t mind having this conversation in her office, but with this new development, he can’t be too careful. For all he knows there’s cameras there too. Dr. Keller doesn’t spend all her time in her office. It would be easy for someone to enter in the late hours of the night, when only A&E staff are milling about, and plant cameras in the room. If whoever planted them in your room was so dedicated to watching you as much as possible, he wouldn’t put it past them to watch you during your sessions too. 

He feels a bit strange being so conspiratorial, a bit paranoid, but he can’t help it. He can’t be sure of anything anymore. 

“Were you aware that a certain omega left the barracks with a stranger months ago when we left on our assignment?” He can’t quite bring himself to use your name, the thought of it making anger flare in him again. 

Dr. Keller’s brows furrow as she glances up at him, slowing her pace. “No, I had no idea.” She shakes her head. 

“A certain general also came to visit. Wanted to ‘check on the status of our pack’s progress.’ She went to see him alone.” He glances down at her. “Do you know anything about that?” 

“Of course not.” She says, stopping in her tracks. “Even if I did, you would have been the first to know, whether or not I thought you knew about it. I know what these people are like. If I knew he was here, I would assume he sought her out too. I wouldn’t put it past him to invade the barracks because he felt like he had a right to as both your commanding officer and one of the heads of the initiative.” 

He stares down at her for a long moment, holding her gaze. She’s smart, more aware than he’d given her credit for. Though, he supposes, one can never be too careful in her position.  The Keller siblings are alike, he muses. 

She doesn’t look away from him, even in his angry state. She doesn’t waver, doesn’t shy away. She’s not lying, he decides. He knows what liars look like, and she’s far too comfortable staring at him for someone that might be guilty. She’s not intimidated by him, not even a bit uneasy now that she has an understanding of the reason for his anger. 

“Some soldier, an American she said, entered the barracks and took her to meet General Shepherd.” He says, still holding her gaze. “While she was gone, someone bugged her room with cameras and recording devices.” 

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What?” She breathes the word in shock. So this was news to her too. 

“She found them and hid them from us. For months she knew and she didn’t say anything.” He’s trying not to sound accusing, but he can’t help it. He needs to hear her say it. The anger is still simmering under the surface. Anger at you, anger at whoever put those cameras up. 

Dr. Keller shakes her head, still fearlessly facing down his simmering anger. “She didn’t say anything to me either. I may be a firm believer in doctor-patient confidentiality, but there are some things that necessitate the breaking of those laws. Those include things that put patients, or others, in danger. I would have told you if I knew.” 

John stares at her for a moment. There’s no lie, no deception in her face or her tone. “I know.” He finally says, relaxing a bit in his anger. He can never be too careful, but he doubts now that Dr. Keller had any hand in this, much less knew about it before they did. 

“You think there’s something deeper going on behind the scenes, Captain?” She asks, almost reading his mind. 

“John.” He says. It’s been long enough that she can call him by name. “I know there is.” He says, letting out a sigh. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while. Pulling all four of us for a mission that would have only needed two so soon after her heat? General Shepherd just happening to show up unannounced at the same time? The incessant emails requiring an in depth report on the status of our pack...” 

“How long have those emails been coming in?” She asks cautiously. 

“Two weeks.” He says, a frown forming on his own face. “You’ve been getting them too?” 

She nods. “Two weeks of formal requests for all of my records and notes relating to my patient. Something is going on, John. Yesterday, a formal request from General Shepherd for access to all documents, records, and notes regarding my patient was delivered by an American soldier.” She shakes her head. “They gave me 48 hours to deliver before I get removed from the initiative.” 

John stares at her, his frown deepening. He’d been handed a similar document yesterday as well. A formal request for the in depth report before disciplinary action would be taken. He’s been loath to think what that action might be. He’d tear them all limb from limb if they ever tried to go after you. He doubts they would sink that far, not if they’re so dedicated to the success of whatever experiment they’re unwilling guinea pigs in. They’re far too interested in you and your integration into the pack to take that risk. They just want more...detailed information, and not just from him. 

Detailed enough they may have put cameras up in your room. 

He lets out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Send them.” 

She blinks at him. “What?” 

“Send the files.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “She can’t lose you. She needs someone she trusts. I need someone I trust in on this.” 

“You think she’s hiding something else?” She asks. 

“She hid this from us.” He says. “I don’t want to say I don’t trust her, but if she lied about this so easily...” 

Dr. Keller makes a face. John knows she’s the last person that wants to do this, but they may not have much of a choice. Your safety is on the line. They need to know, and John knows you trust her. Not enough to reveal the cameras, but perhaps Dr. Keller can coax other things out of you that may have happened. John knows you’re telling them the truth about what happened when they were gone. With your reactions, he has no doubt about that. He just can’t be too careful now that he knows how easily you lied, how easily you hid things from them. He needs to know. He needs to be sure. 

He hates how you reacted to his anger, how close you were to distressing there in his office. As angry as he was, he would have helped you. He wouldn’t have let you succumb to that. You were afraid, you are afraid. It almost hurts him more that you were scared enough to try and hide out of shame. 

“It’s for her own safety.” John says. 

She lets out a sigh, nodding. “I’ll see what I can get out of her. I don’t doubt she’ll want to talk about this.” 

“Let her tell you.” John says. “If you reveal you know, she may hide out of shame again.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “That was my thought exactly.”

“Keep me posted.” John says. “I’ve got some digging to do. You should check your office, make sure no one hid cameras in there as well.” 

“I will.” She nods. “John?” She calls as he begins to walk away. He turns back to look at her. “Be careful.” 

He nods once before turning back around. He feels slightly better now, after talking to Dr. Keller. She hadn’t known either, just as in the dark about everything as they were. They’re in the same boat, having gotten the same threats from General Shepherd for information. He wants to write it off as being necessary for the initiative, to garner more information about how to best proceed with integration once it's greenlit. He doesn't want to think too much into the conspiracies forming, the existing ones being fed by this new development. He’s no stranger to questioning direct orders, going against them, but this time he may not have a choice. 

He lets out a sigh, running his hand over his face again. He has a report to write. 

You can’t move. Sweat is beading on your forehead but you’re still shaking and shivering. You’re immobilized, wrapped in a blanket burrito laid out on the couch. The tears have stopped, your face tight and swollen as they dry on your skin. Your gaze is far away, not focused on anything even as Simon and Johnny tear apart the rec room, checking every inch for any hidden cameras and recording devices. 

They’ve been going through the whole barracks, room by room, turning them upside down looking for any that might have been put up. You don’t know if they’ve found any, and you’re incapable of caring right now. You’re not sure which is worse, that there might be others that have gone unnoticed because you didn’t say anything, or if the cameras were exclusively placed in your room. 

Kyle is seated at your feet. He’s angry. It’s not hard to tell. He hasn’t touched you since he rolled you up in the blanket, electing to sit as far from you as he can. He’s been staring into the distance just as you have, his knee bouncing. You’ve betrayed him, just as you’ve betrayed everyone. The thought makes you sick, your stomach rolling again. You cough, trying to hold down the bile. There’s nothing left in your stomach. Your mouth is dry, lips cracked. He hasn’t offered you any water, and even if you weren’t restrained, you’re not sure you could find it in you to move and get some. 

The mood shifts as John appears in the doorway, your eyes moving automatically to look at him. The angry cloud that had permeated his scent is gone, though you can tell from his face the emotions haven’t left. Not completely. 

“Found anything?” He asks, addressing Johnny and Simon who are both placing the books on the shelves again. 

“Nothing.” Simon says. “Not even a recording device.” 

“You checked the vents?” John asks. 

“Vents, electronics, lights.” Johnny says. “Nothing.” 

A broken whimper leaves your throat. So it was just your room that was bugged. The thought is worse than the idea there were others in the barracks that have gone unnoticed. Whoever had placed them had done it purposefully to watch you. It makes your stomach churn again and you shift on the couch, leaning over more in case you puke again. They’ll make you clean it, but you don’t care, not right now. 

Boots appear in your vision before John takes a seat on the coffee table in front of you. He lets out a quiet sigh before reaching forward, his fingers brushing your cheek. You flinch, ready for something worse, but his touch is light. He brushes your hair off your sweaty forehead, the tenderness a shocking change from the anger he had been burning with earlier. 

“What you did was dangerous.” He says, making you flinch slightly at his words. “Leaving the barracks with a stranger was stupid, but nothing compared to hiding the cameras from us. Part of our job is to keep you safe, but we can’t do that when you lie to us.” He pulls his hand back, resting his arms on his knees. “Your safety is paramount. Your anonymity is vital and if someone put those cameras up with the intent of revealing your existence and ties to us, that could get you killed.” 

You flinch at his words again, wanting to cry but you have no tears left. He’s right. You were stupid for hiding the cameras. You don’t know who put them up or why. It could wind up getting you hurt in the future. You’re vulnerable when they leave, even if one of them stays with you. A sneak attack could leave you unguarded. Your only chance would be to run, but where would you go? You couldn’t put Dr. Keller at risk like that. Could you trust the other soldiers would defend you and not take advantage of the situation? 

What if they’re involved? What if they put them up for their own sick entertainment? 

You make a horrible choking noise as bile rises in your throat, burning your already raw esophagus. You’re going to puke again, all over John’s boots. 

John shifts so he’s kneeling on the floor, cupping your face and turning it to look at him. His palms are warm on your clammy skin, your inability to read him through his scent making you uneasy. The sting of scent blocker burns your nose, and you can’t tell if he put it on purposefully. Was his anger too much, was the risk of sending you into distress so high that he had to hide that anger before it overwhelmed you? 

“Look at me.” He says softly, softer than when he said it earlier in his office. His eyes are softer, almost back to the stare you recognize. “What happens next is important.” He’s not just speaking to you, he’s speaking to everyone. “There’s things going on that I can’t be certain of yet. Finding the last of those cameras may set some things in motion. We have to be on guard and aware. Anything suspicious goes on, we need to know about it and take care of it. Even if it’s just a feeling.” His thumbs brush your cheeks, calluses scraping against your tingling skin. “Your safety is our prime concern. Whoever did this wanted eyes on you. We need to know why.” He lowers his head slightly, looking you in the eyes. “If there’s anything else, we need to know. Anything. We need the truth. All of it.” 

They think you might be a spy. 

They don’t say it directly, but you know that’s at least part of what they’re asking. Nothing is off the table anymore. Any conspiracy they may have shrugged off before has a chance of being real. Every little thought, every little tickle in the back of their brain now has the possibility of being real until the truth gets unveiled. You’re just as in the dark as they are. In fact, you probably know less than they do. 

A prickling begins at the base of your spine, slowly crawling its way up your back to your brain. Your blood runs cold, goosebumps forming on your skin as your breath hitches. You’re not sure how you didn’t put things together sooner. Maybe it was the fear in the moment blocking out all rational thought, making you blind to things that should have been glaringly obvious in the moment. 

You should have said something sooner. 

“There is one thing.” You say, staring at John with wide eyes. Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, so hard you’re scared it might thump right through your chest cavity. Your voice shakes, your fingers going numb where they’re trapped against your sides. You’re starting to feel claustrophobic, the blanket around you becoming constricting, like it’s keeping you from possibly running, possibly escaping from the realization that’s slammed into you like a train.

John’s brows furrow just slightly, a movement that would have gone unnoticed had you not been locked onto his face. You can see the subtle shift, the change from John into Captain Price again. He’s thinking the worst, expecting what they had all been silently thinking. 

“Something Kate said before we boarded the helicopter in London.” You continue, taking their silence as an invitation to drop the bomb you’re about to blow this whole thing up with. 

“What did she say?” John asks, shifting slightly where he’s kneeling. 

You take in a shaky breath, your hands curling into fists. Their eyes are all on you, waiting with bated breath. The anticipation is palpable, all of them, even you, on edge, waiting for what you’re about to drop on them, what you’re about to admit to. They’re questioning all of their partnerships, their relationships. They’re questioning Kate, they’re questioning you. Can either of you really be trusted? Can anyone be trusted? 

“She told me to do what I need to do, because they’ll be watching me.” You say. 

The silence hangs heavy in the air. It’s thick and heavy as your words sink in, as they all come to the realization you just had. The double meaning of those words should have been obvious. They should have been at the front of your mind as soon as you found the cameras, yet you had forgotten entirely about your short conversation, the silent warning. Did Kate know they would be literally watching, planting cameras and spying on you? Or had she simply been referring to how they would be waiting to see how things progressed, eagerly waiting for the many reports John has had to send over the last few months since your arrival on base. 

John pulls his hands from your face, resting his arm on his knee for a moment. He’s thinking just as hard as you are, the pieces beginning to fall into place. He’s questioning the same things you are. Was Kate more involved in this than she let on? Or was she as unaware as you all were? Are you all pawns, or does Kate have a hand on the chess board as well? Did she pick you because she knew enough about the initiative to choose you above all the others?

Was this why she chose you? Did she think you were smart enough to figure the truth out on your own? 

You’ve never cursed your fear and anxiety more than you are right now. 

“I have some things I need to do.” John says, letting out a sigh. “I want you to stay here. You don’t leave these barracks unless they are on fire, understood?” 

You nod. “Understood.” 

“Good.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. He looks between Kyle, Johnny, and Simon. “One of you stays, the other two follow me.” 

“I’ll stay.” Johnny says, glancing down at you before looking back at John. 

John pats his shoulder before leaving the rec room, Simon and Kyle following. He watches them go before letting out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit. You can’t look at him, face his disappointment anymore, the hurt in his eyes. You wiggle on the couch, trying to get a limb free so you can unwrap the burrito you’ve been encased in. It’s too constricting, too hot. 

You begin to roll, gravity betraying you as the end of the couch begins to sink from your body. You wince in preparation for hitting the floor on your face, praying the blanket is thick enough to keep you from slamming your head back onto the tile. You wince even as hands push you back the other way, rolling you towards the back of the couch again. Those hands untuck the edge of the blanket, slowly unrolling you from your fuzzy prison. 

Your face still feels tight from your tears, your mouth dry from the copious amounts of salty liquid that you’ve lost over the last two hours. You push yourself up to sit, maneuvering the blanket out from under you. 

“Will you get me some water?” You ask quietly, half expecting him to say no, to get it yourself. 

He does move to the fridge though, grabbing a bottle before moving back to the couch. Johnny sinks down on the cushion, sitting as far as he can from you as he passes you the bottle. You unscrew the cap, chugging the water as fast as you can. The cool liquid hurts your throat but you can’t stop, and Johnny makes no move to stop you. 

He’s not looking at you, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch, his chin resting on his fist as he stares at the far corner of the room. You don’t know what to say as you finish the bottle, the plastic crinkling in the silence as you screw the cap back on. You’re not sure you should say anything. 

You know Johnny can be a ticking time bomb. You haven’t seen him angry very many times, but he burns hot with it in those rare moments when you have seen it. It’s never been directed at you before, and you’d like to assume it never will be, even now. You can’t sense any anger, even with your stuffy nose. The scent slipping through isn’t laced with the sharp, almost burning scent of beta anger.

He’s not angry, you think. He’s disappointed. 

It almost hurts worse. 

You lean over slowly, keeping your eyes on him as you set the empty bottle on the coffee table before curling up against the other arm of the couch. You feel like crying again, but you have no tears left. Your stomach is still churning, the events of the last two hours still feeling unreal. You’d spilled the secret you’ve been keeping for months to Simon, who of course told the rest of your pack. You were interrogated, placed in the path of their anger and disappointment in you. Then your worst fears were confirmed and there were cameras you missed, ones that could have been spying on you for months, violating your privacy after you thought you were safe. 

You never were safe, keeping this secret. This goes deeper than you think it does. 

Now that you know what you know, it’s not impossible to see that. You’ve been delaying this for months by not confessing to them right away. Is it worse, or perhaps it’s better that you delayed this probing into the depths of this initiative, into who could possibly be behind the violation, the invasion of the pack’s sacred spaces. The last thing you want is your pack to get hurt, for it to be your fault. 

Will it be your fault because you held off for so long? 

You won’t be able to live with yourself if something happens to them. 

“Why did ye do it?” Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Why did ye keep this from us?” 

You swallow thickly, your mouth feeling dry again despite the water you had just chugged. “I was afraid.” You say, the same thing you told John. “I let my irrational fears take over.” 

“We wouldnae been mad at ye.” Johnny says, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “Still aren’t.” His voice softens. “Was right glaikit of ye, but John is right. We want tae keep ye safe. Cannae do tha’ if yer keeping secrets.” 

“I know it was stupid.” You say. “I wish I hadn’t hidden it.” The water you chugged is threatening to come back up as your stomach churns. “If anything happened to any of you because of it...” 

Johnny scoffs, finally turning to look at you. “We’ll be fine. It’s ye we have tae worry about. Someone’s keeking at ye. We need tae find out who it is and put a stop to it.” His hand curls into a fist where it rests against his thigh. “I’d like tae know who so I can...” He trails off, punching his hand against his leg. 

“Beat them up?” You offer. 

“Nae, they don’t deserve to live after this.” He says, his voice lower than it had been before. 

A chill runs down your spine at the obvious shift in him. You’ve never really seen this side of them, the side that comes out in the field when they shift into soldiers on a mission. No hesitation, no remorse. Killers. 

You know that, deep down. You’ve been living with that reality since you first learned where you were being assigned. It’s easy to look the other way, to ignore the things they’ve done, the things they will continue to do, because it’s never involved you. You were innocent to it all, kept in the dark, staying home while they go off and do whatever atrocities are necessary in order to maintain world peace, or whatever it is they tell themselves to rationalize it.

Now it does involve you. 

How far will they go to hunt down who put up those cameras? What happens if they do figure out who it was, if they uncover the reason why they were put up in the first place? Blood is going to be shed over this, you knew that as soon as you pulled the bag of cameras from under your sink and handed them off to Simon. Maybe you knew that deep down as soon as you found them. Maybe that’s why you had held off for so long, determined to keep this a secret as long as you possibly could. 

Blood is going to be shed because of you. 

You’re not sure you can stomach that thought, even if whoever did this does deserve it. 

“I spoke to Kate.” John says, folding his hands on his desk, squeezing his fingers together. “She’s claiming innocence in this. She wasn’t aware of any orders made from the initiative for surveillance of our omega.” 

“You trust her?” Simon asks, crossing his arms. 

“We may not have much of a choice.” John squeezes his fingers harder, so hard they turn white. “I’ve sent the cameras off to her. See if she can trace where the footage was being routed to.” 

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Kyle asks, glancing between John and Simon. 

“I’ve known Kate for a long time. I like to trust she wouldn’t hide something like this from us. Not to this extent.” John answers. 

“She knew something.” Simon says. “Enough to try and give a warning.” 

“She could have meant a lot of things.” John sighs. “If she meant it literally...we’ll never really know. If she was blind to this like we were, you bet your arse she’ll dig until she finds the truth behind all of this.” 

“The doctor?” Simon asks. John knows he’s never entirely trusted Dr. Keller. Trust doesn’t come easy for him. He’s absolutely shattered over this. 

“She wasn’t aware of any of this either. I trust her on that.” John says before Simon can interject. “She’s just as deep in this as we are.” John pulls the manilla folder out of his desk, pulling out the orders. “Both of us got orders directly from General Shepherd. Hers was a command to send copies of all of her notes and records within 48 hours or she’d be removed from the initiative.” 

“What is she going to do?” Kyle asks. 

“I told her to send them.” John says, holding out his own orders to Simon. 

“You think Shepherd is involved in all of this?” Kyle asks. 

“Speculation won’t get us anywhere.” John says. But it’s hard not to think so.

“We can’t trust anyone.” Simon passes the orders to Kyle. 

“We have to be careful.” John says. “We have no leads on any of this. Until we know more, we leave the probing to Kate.” 

“You think she’s telling the whole truth?” Simon asks, staring down at John. He doesn’t need to specify who he’s talking about. 

“Yes.” John nods. “She’s scared enough as is, I don’t think she could hide anything else, even if she wanted to. She made a stupid decision, but we’re hardly innocent either. I think it was almost better that she kept it a secret until now. Had we jumped into this sooner, it may have been far more conspicuous, and it could have been written off easily. Whoever is behind it has known that she’s known for months now. They were banking on her keeping it a secret. Now they know that we know, so it’s their turn to make a move.” 

“They make the move first, they risk revealing themselves.” Kyle says. 

“Exactly. Forcing their hand is too much of a risk for now.” John says, looking between them. “We wait for them to make a move while we continue to dig for answers. If nothing else, it will force their hand.” 

“What do we do in the meantime?” Simon asks. 

“They’ve targeted our omega. We have to protect her. She doesn’t leave our sight. One of us has to stay with her always. We keep her in the barracks unless we have no other choice. Be vigilant. Anyone looks slightly suspicious, you tell me. Whoever put those cameras in there was bold enough to enter the barracks in the first place. I don’t doubt they’ll try again, even with us here.” John pushes himself up to stand. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll debrief Johnny.” 

You feel a bit like a prisoner. 

You know they don’t mean to, but with their lingering and their constant watching, it’s like they’re waiting for you to mess up again, waiting for you to do something suspicious. You’re afraid to even move too much. You’d eaten in the barracks again, John staying with you while the others went to get dinner. The food hadn’t been very appetizing, but you knew you had to eat. John was serious about keeping you in the barracks for now, though with what’s happened recently, you can hardly complain. 

You’re curled up on one side of the couch, Kyle sitting on the other. Simon is in his usual spot in the chair, only sitting closer to you out of necessity. Kyle is on his phone, the room quiet aside from the evening news playing on the TV. Kyle hasn’t said much to you, still hurting from your distrust and betrayal. Simon hasn’t said anything at all, and you know you’ve lost all the trust you’ve built up with him over the last few weeks. You don’t blame either of them for being upset with you, disappointed in you. Part of you wishes they were still angry. The disappointment hurts worse than being yelled at. 

You rest your head on the arm of the couch, your eyes burning after spending a good portion of the day crying so hard you made yourself sick. The exhaustion is beginning to settle in, your eyes fluttering as you fight to stay awake, listening to the news anchor delivering the latest breaking news. 

“Breaking news, an Austrian tourist was found dead in his hotel room this morning. Authorities say there’s no leads as of yet as to what caused his death...” 

Your eyes close, sleep beginning to fog at the edges of your mind. You’re going to lose the battle against it quickly. 

“I killed an Austrian once.” Simon says, the words barely registering in your quickly numbing mind. “Big fucker. Shitty sniper, but the t-shirt over his face probably didn’t help...”

You have no choice but to give in, your body going lax as you’re finally pulled into the depths of sleep. 

You jump when a hand gently shakes your arm. Sleep still clouds your mind as you look around, desperately trying to find whatever it was that disturbed you. 

“Time for bed.” A quiet voice says as you blink desperately against the bright lights assaulting your eyes. 

The attempt to say something comes out as a garbled sound. The news is still playing in the background, meaning you haven’t been asleep for long. 

“Come on.” The fingers wrap around your arm gently, easing you up onto your feet. 

Your legs barely get under you to hold you up, your eyes squinting as you try to clear them enough to see what’s happening. A quiet groan leaves your lips as you rub your face, awareness starting to creep back in as you force your body to move. 

You follow the blurry figure out of the rec room, shuffling along behind it. You want nothing more than to crawl into a bed and sleep for the next sixteen hours. You want the comfort of your nest but you don’t have that anymore. 

You pause for a second, your brain snapping into awareness at the thought. You don’t have a nest anymore. It’s gone, the safety and security of it broken once again. The thought makes your skin crawl, your body wanting to sink in on itself. Your nest is gone. It’ll never be the same again. 

“Come on.” John says again, guiding you down the hall towards his room. You let him lead you, the back of your neck prickling. 

Anger bubbles inside of you. Not sadness, not depression, not grief. Anger. Anger at whoever broke in and planted those cameras. Anger at whoever invaded your private space. Anger at yourself for not telling them sooner. It makes you feel violated and angry. 

John ushers you into his room, not missing the frown on your face. A few of your things have been moved into his room, likely because you wouldn’t be spending much time, if any, in your room for a while. It’s like a crime scene now. Ripped apart again just as it had been when you found the cameras the first time. The floor littered with stuffing from your pillows and plushes, furniture rearranged. The scene of a massacre. 

The perfect picture of the violation of your privacy and the destruction of your safe space. 

John closes the door behind you before ushering you to his bathroom. You get ready for bed, the anger fading to numbness as you change into one of his shirts. You want to shower, but you don’t have the energy for that. With your luck, you’ll fall asleep and need to make a visit to the medical center. 

You’re hesitant as you exit the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt. John has changed into his usual sleep pants, electing to wear a shirt this time. It makes you flinch involuntarily. Things really have regressed that far back now. The only reason you’re sleeping in here is because they can’t leave you alone without the risk of something happening to you. 

Maybe you should offer to sleep on the floor. That might make things easier on the both of you. 

“Here.” John says, holding something out to you. 

You stare at it for a long moment, at the pink and green fuzzy fabric. You reach out for it hesitantly, wrapping your arms around the strawberry pillow you had counted as a loss. You counted most of your nest as a loss. 

“Johnny is working on sewing them back together.” John explains. “All except the two we found surveillance equipment in. Your big bear was innocent.” He says. “Johnny just needs extra stuffing for that one.” 

You hold the strawberry against your chest, trying to comprehend his words. They were fixing your plushes and your pillows? You’re not quite sure what to think. On one hand you’re glad they’re not a total loss, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can trust them again. They have been thoroughly checked, obviously if they were being fixed up again, but the thought of them staring at you, listening to you...

“Johnny’s fixing them?” Is all you can manage to get out. 

John’s lips pull up in a smirk. “Thought you’d appreciate it.” He puts a hand on your back, turning you towards the bed. “Come on. You’re exhausted.” 

You are. The sleep is probing at your mind again, making your eyes burn. As much as you want to protest, to offer up sleeping on the floor, you let yourself be guided to the bed, climbing onto the mattress. You shove the strawberry into the corner before you settle in, laying facing the wall. John turns off the light, the room going dark. Your nightlight is plugged in on John’s desk, casting a soft glow that pushes away the threatening darkness. 

John doesn’t wrap his arm around you, keeping as much space as he can from you. It hurts, tears stinging your eyes as you lay there. You shift your hand up, fingers reaching for the strawberry. You wish you had a bear, something smaller to clutch to your chest, to push away the anguish you’re feeling. 

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, fingers brushing the soft fabric of the strawberry. “I should have known better, I should have-” 

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, shifting behind you. “You didn’t trust us because you didn’t know better. You’ve been betrayed and traumatized by the people you trusted in the past for things that were out of your control. You were made to believe that it was your mistake that caused everything that happened in your life since your presentation. You were traumatized by authority figures that were supposed to help you and support you.” 

You feel a bit like you’re in a session with Dr. Keller rather than in bed with John. You might have assumed he had spoken to Dr. Keller himself, but you know how knowledgeable and aware and analytical John is. He can read situations quickly, something you know was born from his experience and his training. 

“Of course your first instinct would be to hide your mistakes.” He continues. “You’ve been punished for them before.” His fingers brush your arm, making you flinch. 

It’s not the only reason you flinch, however. You’ve never told him, never explicitly laid it out, but you’re not surprised he knows. He’s aware of everything, always watching, always assessing, just like Simon. They’re all aware, but the two alphas seem to have almost an extra sense when it comes to the pack and others outside of it. It’s part of the job, but it also seems to extend past that. 

Alpha instincts. 

“Get some sleep.” John says, finally wrapping his arm around you. “We’ll deal with everything else in the morning. 

Nearly a week goes by and you’ve heard nothing else regarding the cameras, or your mistake. Johnny and Kyle have forgiven you, warming back up to you, not quite to where they were before, but more than they had been that day. John is distant, not in emotion but physically. He’s been spending a lot of time in his office, Simon coming and going frequently. It’s about the cameras, you figure, or perhaps they’re digging into who might be behind it. They’re not just going to leave it at that. They wouldn’t tolerate a slight against their omega, much less someone invading the pack’s territory like that. 

Simon...he’s still distant, closed off, hardly looking at you unless it’s entirely necessary. He’s reverted back to how he was before, and it’s tearing you up inside. More than the knowledge that you made a mistake, more than the knowledge you broke their trust, more than the knowledge that they’re upset with you. You made it so far with Simon, and now it’s all come unraveled and it’s all your fault. 

You want to speak with him, but you don’t know how. You’re almost afraid to, like acknowledging him might set off the bomb ticking inside him.  

What if he’s waiting for you to break the silence again? 

You’re not brave enough to do it. Not so soon. You’re afraid of pushing too much, of ruining things more than you already have. 

Besides Simon, things are slowly moving back to normal. The rift that had begun to form is slowly closing, sealing back up before any more damage is done. You still regret it, still hate yourself for causing it in the first place. It’s your fault this scar will always remain in your bonds, always there, always a reminder of your stupidity and your fear. 

Guilt is eating you alive, and you know all of them can tell. 

They’re all uncomfortable, still very much intune to you despite everything. It’s hard to break those instincts, even with the scar left on the bond. Even Simon has to be feeling it, despite his regression, despite his attempts not to. It’s not hard to miss that Johnny is trying to goad him to at least go easy on you, to lighten his still swirling emotions towards you. 

He doesn’t trust easily, and you’ve betrayed the trust you so carefully built, betrayed that vulnerability he showed towards you. 

The knowledge of what you’ve done to him is almost worse than everything else.  

“Hey.” Fingers snap in front of your face, making you yelp as you jump back into awareness. You clutch your hand to your chest, trying to stop yourself from diving straight into a panic attack. You’ve been on edge since the reveal, jumpy even around your pack. You know they'd never let anything happen, but with their hovering and constant watching you can’t help but be a bit panicky in response. 

Johnny shifts where he’s sitting on the couch, sensing your change in emotion. “Didnae have to give her a heart attack, Si.” He says. 

“Price needs you in his office.” Simon says, ignoring Johnny. He moves out into the hall, waiting for you to get up. 

You swallow thickly, trying to calm your racing heart before you push yourself up to stand, nerves starting to twist in your stomach. It’s the first time you’ve been in John’s office since your confession and you’re not quite sure what to expect. You feel like if it was something serious, everyone would be gathering there. 

Or perhaps they already did and now it’s your turn. 

Simon walks you down the hall, their hovering not allowing you to even go to the bathroom without one of them following. You know it’s partially because they have to be vigilant and leaving you alone leaves you vulnerable to anyone that might not be happy with the cameras being discovered. Whoever is behind it knows that the others know now. There’s been no nightly visitors, no wiggling of the doorknob, no sneaking into the barracks like there had been when you were alone. They put their own cameras up, watching and waiting for someone to be stupid enough to try something. They’re ready and waiting, yet you’re all on edge, waiting for it to happen. With so many unknowns, it’s hard to guess when or how it will happen. 

While you don’t know any details directly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. 

Simon opens the door for you when John calls for you to enter, letting you go through before closing the door behind you. The air feels heavy, the energy in the office low. You shift nervously on your feet, staring at John. He looks tired, exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. It’s been a long week for everyone, and you don’t doubt he’s been feeling it the most. 

He stands up from his desk, approaching you slowly. You can sense something, something off, something bothering him. It puts you on edge, your stomach starting to churn nervously. You expect a lecture, or him to yell at you for something, or him to get angry, but that’s not it. He’s frustrated, but not at you. 

Has he figured something out? Gotten an answer as to why, or maybe who was behind all of this? Is he about to tell you he has to send you off, hide you away while they deal with this new development? Separate you from the pack for your own safety? 

He stops in front of you, his hands closing lightly around your arms. He stares down at you for a long moment as you look up at him with a concerned face. Something stirs in your chest, anticipating bad news. Something’s happened. They have to send you back, the discovery of the cameras has started the decommissioning of the initiative. You’ve fucked everything up somehow, and now you’re about to pay the price one way or another. 

John lets out a sigh, squeezing your arms tightly as if he’s trying to keep you from floating away. You’re expecting the worst, your heart thumping in your chest as you swallow thickly. 

“Kyle and I are being shipped out on an assignment.” He finally says, dropping a bomb worse than any of the others you had been anticipating. “I don’t know when we’ll be back.” 

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[red-letter-imagines]

Continue this please, I need this shot up my arm

Call Of Duty

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle & His Love

Captain John Price

John & his Sweetheart

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Poly141!

A Simple (Mis) Understanding

Can't stop thinking about....

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

[red-letter-imagines]

*Moans unintelligibly*

Elliot Knight in 4K - The Boys

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