#...but part of me is wondering how I could somehow include

[4dkellysworld]

Lester Levenson's self-realisation story

This is the more detailed version of Lester Levenson's story of releasing thoughts & feelings to self-realization that should have been in his autobiography (you can read the more condensed version from the book here). It is a much more detailed account of Lester's process and journey to self-realization in the three months, a very short version was included in this post on why clear the subconscious mind to realise Self.

Reading this was enlightening to me - perhaps it will spark some resonance in you for your own path and practice :)

(I didn't include the parts before this excerpt where he just started self-inquiry after his health issue, the excerpt below starts from when things really progressed for Lester)

In the morning, he woke very early feeling rested and refreshed. His first thought was, "Well, then, what is happiness?" He laughed at his tenacity as he rolled out of bed and into the shower. Preparing breakfast, his thoughts continued to explore the question which dominated his mind. Well, then, what is happiness? What is the common denominator in all these moments? There was Sy, there was Milton, then June, and his Nettie... What was the common denominator? Somehow he knew it was tied up with love, but he could not, at first, see how. When it finally came, it was so simple and pure and complete an answer that he wondered why he had never seen it before.

"Happiness is when I am loving!" He realized that in every instance, his feeling of love for the other person had been intense and that's where the happiness had come from, from his own feeling of loving. It was so clear to him now that being loved was not the answer. He could see that even if people loved him, unless he felt love in return, he was not going to be happy. Their loving might make them happy, but it would not, could not, make him happy. It was a new and mind-boggling concept and even though he instinctively knew that it was correct, his old scientific training didn't allow him to accept it without testing. So he looked into his past, remembering those times in his life when he had been loving and happy, and he recognized that at those times, the other person had not necessarily been loving him.

He looked at the other side too, the unhappy times and now that he knew what to look for, it was very obvious that he had not been loving. Oh, he'd thought at the time that he loved them, as with Nettie and June. He loved them, needed them, wanted them. But was that love, he wondered now? No, it was painful... he was experiencing pain that they didn't love him. And even though he called it love, he was really wanting to possess them completely, thinking he needed all their love to be happy.

That was the key! He had been experiencing a want or lack of love, expecting the other person to supply the love, waiting for the other person to make him happy. He had to laugh, it seemed so ludicrous. To think that someone else could make him happy seemed like the funniest thing in the world. He knew, better than anyone that no one could ever make him anything. He'd always been very proud and stubborn and self-sufficient, sure that he never needed anyone or anything. "What a joke!" He thought. The truth is that he'd been all the time dying inside for want of love, thinking he had to get it from someone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed and laughed at the realization that what he'd been looking for all his life was inside him. He had been like the absent-minded professor looking everywhere for his glasses which were on top of his head all the time.

"What a shame," he thought, wiping away the tears. "What a shame that I never saw this before. All that time, all those years wasted; what a shame." "But wait a minute!" he thought. "If happiness is when I'm experiencing love for the other one, then that means happiness is a feeling within me. "And if I felt unloving in the past? Well, I know I can't change the past, but could I possibly correct the feeling now inside myself`? Could I change the feeling to love now?"

He decided to try it. He looked at his most recent unhappiness, the day he left the hospital. "First," he asked himself, "was I experiencing a lack of love that day?" "Yes," he answered aloud. "Nobody gave a damn about me, not the nurses, not the orderlies, not even Dr. Schultz. They did not care. As sick as I was, they threw me out, sent me home to die so they wouldn't have to watch one of their failures. Well, the hell with them. They can all go to hell." He was shocked at the vehemence in his voice. His body trembled with rage and he felt weak. He really hated the doctor. He could feel it burning in his chest. "Oh, boy," he thought, "this sure isn't love."

"Well, can I change it?" he asked. "Is it possible to turn it into love for the doctor?" "Hell, no," he thought, "why should I? What did he ever do to deserve any love?" "That's not the point," he answered himself. "The point is not whether he deserves love. The point is, can you do it? Is it possible to simply change a feeling of hatred into a feeling of love—not for the benefit of the other person but for yourself?"

As the thought crossed his mind, he felt something break loose in his chest. A gentle easing, a sense of dissolving, and the burning sensation was gone. He didn't trust it at first. It seemed too easy, so he pictured again the scene with Dr. Schultz in the hospital. He was surprised to find that it brought only a mild feeling of resentment rather than the previous intense burning hatred. He wondered if he could do it again.

"Let's see," he thought, "what did I just do? Ah, yes. Can I change this feeling of resentment into a feeling of love?" He chuckled as he felt the resentment dissolve in his chest. Then it was totally gone and he was happy. He thought of Dr. Schultz again, pictured him in his mind and felt happy, even loving. He saw now, reliving that last meeting, how the doctor had hated to tell him the things he had to say. He could feel the doctor's pain at having to tell a young man in the prime of his life that his life was over. "Doctor Schultz, you son-of-a-gun," he said, grinning, "I love you."

"Well, it worked on that one," he thought. "If my theory is sound, then it should work on everything." Eagerly, he began trying it on other moments, and the results were consistently the same, each time that he asked himself if he could change the feeling of hostility or anger or hatred to one of love, the dissolving process took place. Sometimes he had to repeat it over and over until he felt only Love for the person.

At times, the entire process would take only a minute or two; at other times, it might take him hours of working on a particular person or event before his feelings were only loving, but he would doggedly stay with it until it was completed on each person and each incident.

His entire life came up for review in bits and pieces. One by one, he changed to Love all the old hurts and disappointments. He began to feel stronger as the weight of his pain dropped away. He was happier than he had ever been in his entire life, and he kept it going, feeling even more happiness with each new thing corrected. He stopped going to bed because he had so much energy that he couldn't lie down. When he felt tired, he would doze in his chair and awaken an hour or so later to start in again. There was so much to be corrected in his life that he didn't want to stop until he had looked under every stone and around every corner.

Another thing that intrigued him was the question of how far he could take this. As he corrected each thing, he became happier, he could feel it; but he wondered how far he could go. Was there a limit to happiness? So far, he hadn't found any boundaries to it and the possibilities were staggering. So he kept on, around the clock.

His strength was returning, but not wanting to be distracted, he avoided getting involved in social activities and would sometimes even pass up the Sunday get-together with his family. He did his food shopping in the middle of the night, around two or three in the morning. There were very few people up and about at that hour, and he enjoyed the quiet of the city. He went on correcting his life, even while doing the necessaries. And he noticed that when someone in a store or on the street would annoy him, he was able to correct that response with Love either immediately or shortly thereafter. This pleased him, and he found himself loving others with intensity far beyond anything he had imagined possible. As he described it many years later, "When I mixed with people, and again and again when they would do things that I didn't like and within me was a feeling of non-Love, I would immediately change that attitude to one of loving them even though they were opposing me. Eventually I got to a point where, no matter how much I was being opposed, I could maintain a feeling of Love for them."

He continued to correct his life with consistent results for about a month until one day he got stumped. He was working on the last time he had seen Nettie, the day she chose someone else. He had already corrected a lot of the pain with regard to her; she had come to his mind again and again, and it had not always been easy. In fact, it had been very difficult at first to work on that old relationship but gradually as he gained strength, he had been able to confront some of those long-buried feelings and correct them.

But on this particular day, no matter how hard he tried to correct it with Love, there was still a feeling of despair which he could not dislodge. He wanted to escape, to get out of his chair and run, to get something to eat, to do anything that would get him away from his intense feeling. Instead, he decided to sit there until he handled it.

Something told him that if he let that feeling push him around, if he lost that battle, he would have lost the war. He stayed in his chair, determined to ride it out. He probed, "What's wrong here? Why isn't it dissolving? Nettie, oh, my Nettie." He began to cry now, tears streaming down his cheeks, all the pain he had locked up on the day they parted came now in a flood. "Why did you do it, Nettie?" he cried aloud. "Why did you do it? Why did you leave me, my darling? We could have been so happy, we'd have married and been so happy."

"Damn," he thought, "why do people do things like that? They throw their happiness away and everyone else's, too. They have no right to do that. They shouldn't be allowed to do that. There should be some way of making them change; some way of changing the things they do and the effect they have on people."

He felt the old pain of ulcers starting up again in his stomach and realized with certainty that the ulcers had started that last day with Nettie. He'd drunk the beer and thrown up; that had been the beginning. He wished it had been different. More than anything else in this world, he wanted to change what had happened. He wanted to go back and live it over again the other way with Nettie choosing him, with them getting married and being happy forevermore.

"Well, you can't change it, stupid," he shouted at himself, "so you might just as well stop trying to." That jolted him. He saw that he was still trying to change something that had been finished more than twenty years ago. "No, it can't be finished," he cried. "I won't let it be finished." His throat hurt now and he felt like screaming and smashing things. Then, like instant replay, he heard what he'd said, "I won’t let it be finished." That was the source of his anguish; he'd wanted to change it all these years and so he kept it alive inside himself, buried deep, eroding his happiness. "Well, to hell with that," he said, almost flippantly. Suddenly, with that decision, the whole thing was gone. He couldn't believe it. He felt for the hurt, the pain, the despair. It was all gone. He thought of Nettie as he remembered her, so young, so beautiful, and he simply loved her. There was none of the old painful feeling left.

He began to look now in this new direction. He realized that the cause of his ulcers was that he had wanted to change everything, starting with his nearest and dearest and extending out to the rest of the world, including the United States, other countries, government heads, the weather, endings of movies he had seen, the way businesses were run, taxes, the army, the President; there was nothing he could think of that he had not wanted to change in one way or another.

What a revelation! He saw himself subject to and a victim of everything he wanted to change! He began dissolving all that. When he thought of something that caused him pain about a person or situation, he would now either correct it with Love or dissolve wanting to change it. This added a new dimension to his work, and his progress accelerated.

By the time a second month had gone by, it was all he could do sometimes to stay in his chair, he became so energized. And there were times, when he had worked on particularly painful incidents in his life, that he literally could not sit and would go out into the city and walk for miles, reviewing, correcting, dissolving until he had burned off enough energy to sit still again. Sometimes he felt as though he had hold of a chain with many links of incidents on it which needed correcting. Once he got hold of the chain, he would follow through incident by incident until there was nothing left to be corrected. An example of such a chain was jealousy.

He had always been intensely jealous but managed to hide it most of the time under a facade of not caring. Nevertheless, his insides used to burn if the girl he was with so much as looked at someone else, or even mentioned another man. He decided to correct this tendency in himself. He would probe his memory for instances where his jealousy had driven him; correct it; then look for more. When he thought it was cleared out, he tested himself by imagining the girl he loved most making love with the man he would least want her to be with. It was a good test because he could see immediately that there was more work to do. Sometimes the intensity of his feelings would almost drive him mad, but he continued for days until there was no last vestige of jealousy left in him. When he could finally enjoy their enjoyment of each other, he knew he was finished with jealousy.

Insights came with increasing frequency. He would often gain a sudden, complete understanding of something which had always puzzled him. Philosophies he had studied became clear, and he could see that they had often started off on the right track, only to veer off into distortions, having been diverted by an incorrect idea springing from the author's own storehouse of uncorrected feelings. His mind began to feel like crystal, clear and sharp. "Colors seemed brighter and everything was more sharply defined" says Lester.

"Above all, I saw that I was responsible for everything that had happened to me, formerly thinking that the world was abusing me! And I saw that my tremendous effort to make money and then losing it was due only to my thinking; that I had been always seeking happiness, and thought that making money would do it. So whenever the business started to make money, and the money did not bring me the happiness I wanted, I began to lose interest and the thing collapsed. I had always blamed it on other people and circumstances, not realizing that it was simply my subconscious knowledge that this is not happiness which caused me to lose interest and that, in turn, caused the business to collapse."

"This was a tremendous piece of freedom, to think that I am not a victim of this world, that it lies within my power to arrange the world the way I want it to be; rather than be an effect of it. I can now be in control of it and arrange it the way I would like it to be. That was a tremendous realization, a tremendous feeling of Freedom."

"Discovering that my happiness equated to my loving, and that my thinking was the cause of things happening to me in my life gave me more and more freedom; freedom from the subconscious compulsions that I had to work, I had to make money, I had to have girlfriends. Freedom in the feeling that I was now able to determine my destiny, I was now able to control my world, lightened my internal burden so strongly that I felt there was no need for me to have to do anything.

"Plus, this happiness was so great. It was a new experience for me. I was experiencing a joy that I never knew existed, never dreamed could be. So I decided, "This is so great, I'm not going to stop until I carry it all the way." I had no idea how far it could go. I had no idea how joyous a person could be. But I was determined to find out."

During the third month, things went even faster. There was a depth to Lester’s feelings that threatened to bowl him over at times. His knees sometimes buckled, but he stayed with each feeling until it was corrected. He was becoming happier and happier, still looking to see if there were any limits to what he could accomplish with this new process.

"How much further can I go?" Lester would ask himself, then push it even further. It was also during the third month that he ran into an old adversary, one he had seen out of the corner of his eye again and again throughout his life. It had lurked nearby, always on the periphery and he had never before been willing to meet it head on. It was the fear of death.

Now he recognized it as the basis of every single feeling he had ever had. He began to coax it out into the open, wanting to take a good look at the biggest foe of all, which had so very nearly won the battle only a few months ago. He began to lure those feelings into the open and to dissolve them. And it worked!

He got to the place where, with great confidence, he laughed and laughed and laughed at this foe which had kept a fire lit under him his entire life so that there had not been one moment of real peace, ever. This last of the monsters turned out to be, after all, only a feeling. As he dissolved the fear of death, he realized one day that his body was sound, healed. The physical impairment was corrected. He couldn't explain to anyone how he knew; he just knew it as surely as he knew who he was. His body was sound.

At the end of the third month, he had slipped into a blissful, joyous state, which he could only describe as feeling like a million orgasms surging all at once through his entire body. It went on and on and he realized that this feeling, although not sexual, was what he was always been looking for but never found in sex. He felt light, living for weeks with joy exploding inside him every moment. Everyone and everything became exquisitely beautiful to him. He kept looking for more things to correct, but there didn't seem to be much. Occasionally something would occur to him, but it would be gone almost before he could define it and the joy would surge through him even more strongly.

After several weeks, he began to wonder if there could be anything better beyond this joy. He was sitting in his chair in the usual position, slumped down, legs stretched out, chin touching his chest. He had an idle thought without expecting an answer, but the answer came.

What was beyond this incredible joyous state that didn't stop? He saw that it was peace, imperturbability and he realized with certainty that if he accepted it, if he decided to move into that peace, it would never, ever go away. And he went—slipped into it so effortlessly – with just a decision to have it. He was there.

Everything was still. He was in a quietness that he now knew had always been there but drowned out by incessant noise from his accumulated, uncorrected past. In fact, it was more than quiet; it was so far beyond anything imaginable that there were no words to describe the delectable deliciousness of the tranquility.

His earlier question about happiness was answered too. There were no limits to happiness, but when you have it all, every minute, it gets tiresome. Then this peace is just beyond and all you have to do is step over the line into it. "Is there anything beyond even this?" he wondered. But as he asked, he knew the answer.

This peace was eternal and forever and it was the essence of every living thing. There was only one Beingness and everything was It. Every person was It, but they were without awareness of the fact, blinded by the uncorrected past they hold on to.

He saw this Beingness as something like a comb. He was at the spine of the comb and all the teeth fanned out from it, each one thinking it was separate and different from all the other teeth. And that was true, but only if you looked at it from the tooth end of the comb. Once you got back to the spine or source, you could see that it wasn’t true. It was all one comb. There was no real separation, except when you sat at the tooth end. It was all in one’s point of view.

[laurenfoxmakesthings]

So, I've started reading the first book in Adam Diment's spy series. I mean, after hearing about the author's story, I was pretty damn curious. And, well...very 'everyone's felt that before, right?'.

[snghnlvr]

come on baby, don’t say that. / park sunghoon

park sunghoon x fem reader

synopsis : you were curious whether or not your boyfriend was a possessive type so you tested it out.

includes: 1.4k words | fluff 4 sunghoon stans (aka me) , suggestive ending oohooolala | VAMP SUNGHOON | zb1 taerae appearance! | sunghoon is a menace but so is y/n… grrr possessive sunghoon … | both are simps but cuties patooties <33

extra: his part in the baby shark movie lives in my mind 24/7, i hear it everywhere anytime and it’s making me LOSE my damn sanity | the ONE fansign video of op asking questions to sunghoon about dating ggggrrrrrrr | literally last minute drabble i had , it was supposed to be posted for my birthday but studies got in the way .. ew studies…:// | en o’ clock reference⁉️

likes, comments and reposts are very appreciated <3

[below the cut]

curiosity perhaps did kill the cat.

you wore your favorite dress (also sunghoon’s favorite dress), styled your favorite into a bun with two strands on each side of your face, wore makeup to emphasize your face features and wore your favorite ruffled socks to put your loafers on.

you dolled yourself so much just for sunghoon’s attention, but on the bright side you felt pretty all dressed up.

you didn’t know what was purpose of doing this to yourself up when you didn’t have any plans.

one day, bored in your living room of both you and sunghoon’s apartment, you came across a video on your foryou page about possessive behavior in someone’s partner. it made you think about your boyfriend’s behavior; curiosity overwhelming your thoughts. you tried to imagine what your boyfriend will do if these scenarios were to happen.

so, you planned out a script - going to the movie theatre with your male friend, eating with your male friend, etc. ; literally spending a whole day with a male friend. heck, you can’t imagine doing those things with a male other than sunghoon. you don’t even have money in your wallet right now.

you’ve always known sunghoon as a quiet yet clingy type of boyfriend. he wasn’t openly expressive with his clinginess he would be subtle. even with that itself it made your heart pound like crazy. but you wanted to take a step further on how clingy he could get.

you stepped out of the room, already seeing sunghoon lying around in the living room couch with his eyes glued to the tv. his eyes immediately diverted to you, getting your loafers out in front of the door.

“where are you going?” he asked, his eyes scanning to your dressed up figure. you knew he was shamelessly checking you out. it made your heart flutter and somehow boosted up your ego. but you shouldn’t be phased by his attractive face.

he wanted to compliment you but he spoke without thinking. he wonders where your gorgeous self is going especially with that little dress you owned that he loves on your body. he wonders what was the special occasion.

you put on a soft smile while adjusting your shoes. you noticed that sunghoon stood up, eyes still checking you out and wonders how such a dress curves your body so well.

sunghoon had a small smirk with his hands on his pocket, abandoning the pillow on his lap. it flopped next to him.

you smelt sunghoon’s signature scent of musk and a blend of roses. he wore his favorite grey hoodie that was stained with his cologne. it was because you would borrow it.

now that sunghoon was in front of you, he continue to look at you as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. that’s when you spoke. “mhm just going out.” you spoke sweetly to sunghoon but he kept you against the wall as the door was right next to the both of you but you didn’t comment. you knew he was trapping you.

“with who?” you noticed how sunghoon raised an eyebrow and how his expression slowly changed into a sad one that he wasn’t the person you’re going out with.

“just a friend of mine.” you looked up to sunghoon and noticed how your answer didn’t satisfied him so you pushed it further. “a male friend of mine.” you placed a hand on his chest, lightly playing with the strings of his hoodie.

“excuse me?” sunghoon spoke, slightly amused because usually you would hang out with your female friends.

your heart was starting to exhilarate when his voice octaves dropped. “hanbin? mark? jisung?” he started rambling of the guy friends that you had on the top of his head.

you were surprised at how many he remembered. is that a good thing?

sunghoon noticed your eyes widening so he took a deep breath and placed a soft smile that seemed a bit fake from your perspective.

“don’t go.”

what a contrast.

you almost snickered when you noticed sunghoon’s lips twitching, trying to lee his smile still but his hands wrapped around your waist, wrapped further until his hands reached his elbows. you were cold to him, close enough that your hands on his chest was the only barrier separating you two.

you found it somehow adorable to see him pouting.

you copied him. “taerae and i planned to go out and work work on our project for a while now.” you mentally apologized for using your friend’s name on the spot but you panicked to make something new on top of your head.

“where are you guys going?” you couldn’t handle sunghoon’s stare despite dating him so you looked down towards his buff chest. sometime about his stare sparked jealousy and agitated but he kept his mouth shut.

“we planned to watch a movie theatre together then a cafe and then the library.”

“alone?”

“yeah..”

you swore when you looked up at sunghoon, he was frozen, mouth apart as he was speechless. his eyes started to twitch. he then blinked at you multiple times to see if you were joking.

well, you were. but you kept a serious face on which didn’t show any sort of crackling.

“it sounds more like a date.” you can tell his whiny tone with his words, lips pouting that made you want to pinch his cheeks but you held back.

you shook his head. “why would i have a date with taerae when i can have with you?” you tilted your head, chuckling at his remark. “you’re literally my boyfriend.” you giggled lightly.

sunghoon sighed. “then don’t go. i’ll help you with the project instead, heck i’ll go to taerae instead of you.” his eyes were showing pettiness that you can’t help but lightly giggle. you saw sunghoon’s grumpy expression as he kept you close to him.

you poked at his birth mole under his eye. “boop.” were the words you let out but it didn’t phase sunghoon, keeping his grumpy expression on.

“we don’t even attend the same college hoon.” sunghoon’s eyes soften when you easily roll off his nickname out loud. he rather rolled his eyes instead.

“i have to go soon,” you looked at the clock behind sunghoon’s figure. it was 2pm. you were surprised your acting has gone this far and you’re continuing. you thought it was fun to make your boyfriend jealous.

“hoon, let go of me.” your hands flew to his triceps, surprised at how his muscle flexed against your touch. you lightly touched his muscle which broke sunghoon’s grumpy expression again.

you looked at him with an eyebrow raise, hoping he would be persuaded to let you go but he shook his head like a kid.

“come on baby, don’t say that.”

your heart beat started pounding like crazy. you were astonished at the unexpected sentence. you suddenly stared at sunghoon, how a strand of hair was covering his eye so you unconsciously moved it behind his ear, eyes watching your actions. sunghoon stared at your lips, stained with your red lipstick.

“taerae can wait another day.” sunghoon started rubbing your back with his hands, making you frozen and loosing your train of thoughts.

yeah forget taerae.

“it would be amazing to show him how beautiful my girlfriend is but i want you to myself right now baby.” sunghoon started to lean closer, his hand cupping your jaw and slowly easing your cheek with his soft fingers.

you closed your eyes and leaned against his relaxing touch. “you sound possessive park.” you were satisfied with your act, chuckling slightly at how amused you are.

sunghoon giggled as well, his deep giggle erupting in him as you felt him leaning more into you. “mhmm maybe?” he shrugged with a smile.

you opened your eyes and see sunghoon staring at you with love and affection. you can’t help but to plant a lot of kisses to his lips. you saw sunghoon staring at your lips and you predicted what was gonna happen next.

“mhmm yeah.” you smiled mischievously at sunghoon, removing his arms from your waist and turned around towards the door which showed your back to him.

maybe you’re not done yet.

but before you can open the door, sunghoon wrapped his arms once again which prevented you from not moving. your hands reached to the cold door handle but didn’t touch. his hands gripped your hips which indicated a new side of your boyfriend, park sunghoon.

sunghoon’s lips pecked your neck. “not on my watch.” his hot breath contrasted your cold skin, tickling you.

your heart paused at his actions.

you felt your boyfriend’s chest against your back, giving you instant warmth to your cold, clammy skin. his hug was very comforting and at this point you gave up with your little skit.

“possessive and back hugging me? how romantic.” you chuckled. you felt a sharp pain in the side of your neck, “ow!” you shouted in shock when it was sunghoon’s playful behavior of showing his love. you knew sunghoon had fangs and he unfortunately is abusing that characteristic of his by biting you. you rather found it his fangs adoring yet a bit hot that your boyfriend looked like an actual vampire.

you felt sunghoon’s tongue’s slowly soothing that area when he licked your pain away; like a cat. you smiled when he hugged you tighter as his face was dug into your neck as if you’ll disappear.

sunghoon abruptly stopped hugging you but rather grabbed your hand, dragging you across the hallway towards the bed that both of you live in, filled with smiles and flustered cheeks.

thank you for reading<3 hope you enjoyed!

[courtneedsmatcha]

Lovesick Puppy | FirstKiss!Satoru x Reader

Summary: Satoru never thought about kissing before, but now he can't stop thinking about how your lips would feel against his. Word count: ~2.1k

Art credit: @courtneedsleep [ me ;) ]

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” Suguru asks his best friend expectantly.

“Even if I haven’t yet, I’d still be the greatest—“

“So you haven’t,” Suguru cuts him off and waves his hand dismissively. “Well that’s good. Shoko said she hasn’t either. Yet. Aren't you curious about what it's like?"

Well, Satoru had assumed he could just "take" you whenever he wanted, for lack of better words or timing. Technically he could get away with kissing whoever he wanted (Geto included) with the privilege of those blessed genetics. Satoru had not conscientiously thought about kissing you, already acting like you were his and he was yours.

Until now.

Satoru's fingers presses against his lips wondering if yours were softer than his. What if when he kissed you, his lips were chapped which you thought were repulsive? Pshh, no, that's ridiculous- his perfect lips were never chapped? His leg bounces up and down nervously. For the first time, Satoru was floundering.

. . .

Suguru had ingrained the idea of kissing you into Satoru's brain. Something inside him was rewired, and he could not seem to control it. Perhaps he didn't want to control it. Satoru sure didn't mind the way you had permeated all of his senses when he was daydreaming about you.

The sunlight kissed his skin, but it wasn’t the type of kiss that Satoru was craving for. He blinks the drowsiness out of his eyes. In his peripheral field, he freezes at the sight of your resting form slumped over the school desk. He should check what time it is, not run his fingers through the mess of your hair spilled across the surface.

Wait. What was he doing? Why did his hands move automatically to brush irresistible, silky locks of yours?

After all, weren’t you just his classmate? His pretty and smart classmate. His classmate who’s the only one who plays along with his teasing and returns those big goofy smiles back.

Yeah, just a classmate that he wanted to kiss senseless.

Satoru couldn’t help himself. Not when you looked so ethereal, so perfect like this. Not when your oh-so-kissable lips were just slightly parted just for him. Not when he was leaning closer and closer, just for one sample of a taste, his lips hovering right over yours and-

T H W A C K

“Had a nice nap, huh? You fool, you think you’re allowed to sleep in my class?”

Fingers drumming the weapon of choice (a textbook), Yaga throws Satoru a sharp glare that breached past both of their shades. Next to him, Suguru has a coy, not-so-innocent smile on his face.

“What were you dreaming about that made you drop your infinity, Satoru?”

Even without being present, you somehow managed to break through his defenses. Satoru’s barrier was no longer effective when you unknowingly decided to invade his mind and soul. If you were going to be a problem, Satoru is going to have to fix it.

. . .

“You should’ve seen me! I hollow purpled the shit out of that curse! It kinda looked like Suguru but more hair and wrinkly, even though they’re not that much different.”

Satoru follows you around on your campus stroll like a golden retriever with a helicopter of a tail that just won’t calm down.

“Of course, you always win,” you reply with a sweet smile that he could just drink up for days.

“That’s it??” A big pout creases his mouth. “Nothing about how strong or cool I am? Or handsome?”

Your sweet smile is immediately wiped off and replaced with a deadpan expression. “You don’t need my approval, Satoru. You already know that you’re strong.”

“Yeah, but what about cool and handsome? I know it, you know it, why can’t you just say it out loud?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“My bestest friend?”

“That’s Geto.”

“Just once.”

“That’s enough.”

Satoru wanted to whine and pout, but that would be terribly uncool of him in front of you. At this point, he was almost ready to beg but he had an even better idea.

“That’s fine if you don’t want to show me your affection with words. There are other ways too, you know.” His hand grasps your wrist so you can finally turn around and look at him to give him the attention he deserves. Satoru raises your hand up and ducks his head just underneath. He hums and relishes the weight of your hand against his face. “You should be more nice. You’re the only who’s actually gentle and kind with me.”

Oh. Did he just…

…

“You’re… impossible… and cute, I guess,” you concede not as begrudgingly as you intended to be.

“Cool, not cute,” he corrects. Satoru takes initiative, moving your hand back and forth so he can feel the friction against his scalp until you finally get the hint and pat his head for him.

He’s. Too. Cute.

“This is so uncool, Satoru,” you chide.

“I told you to praise me instead.”

“No.”

“I wanted a reward.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Do you want edamame-flavored mochi?”

“No.”

“???”

“I want a kiss.”

Shit, he didn’t mean that- the words just flew out his mouth without much thought. Your hand stops moving against his fluffy hair. Satoru’s heart bashes against his rib cage. Shit, shit, shit-

You suck in a sharp breath. “Satoru, don’t be a greedy shit. Let’s go get mochi.”

. . .

Satoru is a greedy shit.

He sits on your kitchen barstool watching you microwave popcorn, elbows propped up on the counter. The pout on his face was a thousand times more pronounced with the way his cheeks were smushed together against each palm of his hands.

"Jesus, I didn't know you wanted popcorn that badly." You shake your head oblivious of Satoru's heart yearning for something more than just playful elbowing and banter. No, he didn't want popcorn; he wanted you. The only acceptable way he wants that buttery treat is if you were the one feeding it to him with your lips, mouth to mouth-

Salty and sweet explodes on his tongue as a handful of popcorn is shoved into his mouth.

"Happy now? That should get you all fixed up. You're so out of it lately."

Body moving without thinking, his mouth latches onto your fingers before you get the chance to pull them away. He laps at them like a starved dog. His mouth is so wet and warm… and wet… the hot slick coating his tongue is all you could think about. Goodness, how much was he salivating earlier, and was this all really just from popcorn?

He cleans the butter off your fingers watching the entire time the way your pupils dilated.

“Mm, tastes so good…” His tongue swirls around your index finger for one last good measure. Even after pulling back, a string of saliva connects your fingertip with his tongue. “Even better like this. Can I have another one?”

“I… need to wash my hands.”

You hurry off to the bathroom gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles were turning white.

Breathe, you try talking yourself out of this haze of lust. But as soon as you close your eyes, Satoru’s lips puckering around your fingers immediately runs its course back into your mind. The temperatures, the textures, the need are vividly hardwired into your brain. Fuck, what if it was your own tongue instead of just your fingers? Your mouth waters at the thought.

Freezing cold snaps you out of your thoughts. The icy water runs for a while until you’re sure enough you can face Satoru again without crumbling in front of him.

Knock knock knock.

Or not.

“What are you doing? I know you’re not shitting.”

“How do you know that?”

“The faucet is running, and you said you’d be right back, not back in forever.”

You open the door and are met with an impatient Satoru. Not him having separation anxiety, whining and chasing his little tail around waiting for you. How the hell is this the same man who acts so independently and wildly and so sure of himself? He could do whatever he wanted, but everytime, he chooses to put himself in a frenzy all over you.

The two of you walk back to the couch for a movie night. But when you check the bowl of popcorn, it’s already empty? What the fuck?

“Satoru?” you ask already knowing what he’s gonna say.

“Yes, princess?”

“I want popcorn.”

“Mm, is that so?”

Someone wipe that smug-ass grin off his face. “There’s no more popcorn. I wanted popcorn.”

“You have popcorn right here, baby. Tastes exactly the same.” Satoru winks and taps his bottom lip. What a tease.

“I meant actual popcorn. Something I can actually chew on.” You walk up to Satoru, plopping the bowl of popcorn crumbs onto his lap. “Go refill it.”

“Who says you can’t chew on this? I don’t mind you being rough.”

Your nails dig into your palms, anything to distract the tumbleweeds in your stomach.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart. You haven’t kissed anyone before?” Oh, of course, he already knows the answer. He just can’t help but tease you even more.

“Yes, actually,” you retort snidely. Satoru’s jaw drops prepared to accuse you for being a bit fat liar.

“Li- mmph…” But before he gets the chance to reply, you shut him up for good.

‘Rough around the edges’ was an understatement. It wasn’t smooth at all, your lips smashing against his, the inner part of your upper lip folding upwards and the bottom gnashing against his teeth. But neither of you couldn’t care less, whether it was an attempt to get a taste of that popcorn, silence that spewing mouth of his, or perhaps a mix of both. No, you shouldn’t lie to yourself. You’ve been aching to feel those plush lips of his against yours from the start.

Satoru groans. Fuck, right now he didn’t want your teeth, he wanted your lips. He pulls back just a centimeter away before realigning the two of yous’ lips properly and diving in for a proper taste. One he could savor and relish. The way you mold perfectly against him so deliciously shoots Satoru straight to heaven and back.

Your hunched form hovering over his wavered. Hands flying up to stabilize yourself, you grip his shoulders so tightly that your nails were sure to leave red marks on them. Satoru knocks the bowl off his lap, and the crumbs spill everywhere onto the floor and in between the crevices of the couch. How annoying it would be to clean up later. But it was completely worth it to pull you down and have you tucked into his lap, your thighs clenching each side of his own. He’s completely and utterly enveloped by your presence, something which he could bask forever in.

Wooziness begins to cloud your mind. A reminder that you need oxygen because you’re human. But Satoru clearly isn’t. The moment you try to pull back for a breath of air, he’s immediately chasing after you for more, more, more. His hands fly up to the back of your head and neck, lips clinging onto yours in heated desperation.

You can’t help but give in to this lovesick puppy. He’s licking, sucking, and nipping feverishly like a dog scarfing down his dinner and licking the bowl clean.

“More,” he whines and tries to kiss you again when you detach your lips with a loud pop. You turn your head away and block his lips with your hands before he devours you again. When he pries your hand off his needy mouth, you stand up and scurry away from him because you know he’ll never stop.

Satoru pouts at the loss of contact. “You didn’t like it?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.” An evil grin takes place of that bratty pout. “…I j-just need a break. Please.”

Satoru eyes you up and down carefully. The sight of your disheveled hair and the flush that spread from your cheeks down towards what’s visible of your chest did unspeakable things to him.

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Your break’s over, princess.”

“What? Wait, hold on, just a minute-“

You backpedal a few steps back thinking Satoru would follow after you. But he doesn’t, just sitting there with his legs all manspread out waiting for you to take your rightful place on his lap.

“Cursed technique lapse: Blue.”

And in a blink of an eye, you crash face-first onto his lips for round two.

[yoonia]

A Christmas Fix — 01 (m) | kth

⟶ Summary | One-night stands are supposed to be nothing more than just. It shouldn’t have involved seeing those two red lines looking back at you weeks later without a name or a contact number linking you back to your mystery man. Nothing more but his face. The unforgettable face that would sometimes appear in your dreams at night. So unforgettable that you immediately recognise him the moment he walks into your family home at Christmas, hand-in-hand with your older stepsister.

With special collab prompt: "the holidays aren't so bad with you around."

⟶ Title | A Christmas Fix

⟶ Pairings | Taehyung x female reader

⟶ Genre | Secret Baby!au, Second Chance!au, Strangers to Lovers!au

⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; including: alcohol consumption, mentions of pregnancy, vomiting/morning sickness, surprise babies, miscommunication, profanities/swearing, minor body insecurities (implied), some family drama; involves multiple explicit sex scenes, including: sexual tension, one night stand, drunk sex (with clear consent), minor dom/sub dynamic, brat!reader, size kink, rough sex, light choking, restraint, hair pulling (M, F), protected & unprotected sex, fingering (F), oral sex (F), clit play, breast play, stripping, biting, minor hand job/groping, grinding, masturbation (M, F), dirty talk, implied pain kink, praise kink, body worship, marking, multiple orgasms (M, F), overstimulation.

⟶ Word count | 25,363 words (of 54,773 words)

⟶ Story Notes | Part of the Jingle All the Way collaboration with @leahsfavefics, @kithtaehyung, @kpopfanfictrash, @cybrsan, and @sugaurora | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs) | Moodboard was done by me | Posted in: January 31st, 2024 by @yoonia

⟶ Author Notes | I know that this is so late, but December has always been a rough month for me and this time it continued until January. I hope you can still enjoy this story regardless. Happy belated holidays and happy new year, my loves!

⟶ Jingle All the Way collab masterlist | A Christmas Fix: next chapter ⇢

⟶ Main Masterlist | Taglist | Feedback | Mailbox | Ko-fi

⟶ Read on AO3

One month ago…

You already had everything perfectly planned out when you first thought of this trip some long months ago. 

Everything. 

From your personal bucket list full of wonderful things that you wanted to experience during your time away and the places that you wanted to see, down to the smallest details that you could possibly think of to be able to enjoy every single moment of your secret getaway.

Just like the red dress that you had chosen to wear tonight. The dress you had meticulously picked and bought to wear on the trip as you went to celebrate your newfound freedom. 

In your well-thought-out plan, you were supposed to have landed on the tropical island you were headed to by sundown. The warm tropical breeze should have been embracing you at the start of your trip instead of the cold, chilly wind flowing right outside these walls. 

By this evening, you should have already settled in nicely in the comfort of your hotel room right by the beachside. The calming sound of the rushing waves outside your window was the sound that you should have been listening to while resting from your long flight. 

You had pictured yourself embracing your freedom in a foreign land. To feel the soft sand slipping between your toes as you were playing chase with the rushing waves, and to find calmness that you could only get far away from the treacherous city where you came from. 

The trip was meant to help you mend your soul. Perfectly planned out as an escape from reality and leave all of your past hurt behind before starting a new chapter of your life. 

And yet, no matter how thoroughly you had it all planned out, somehow life simply found a way to mess it all up. Just like how it had always been. So perhaps you shouldn’t have been so surprised when it happened to you again, just when you thought that you had everything under control. 

You should have seen the signs long before everything started crumbling down.

The sky that kept growing darker ever since you left the city. The constant turbulences happening during your first flight that made the trip feel intense. The unsettling feeling you met the moment you landed in this place for your transit. The constant announcements echoing through the airport about flights that were getting delayed and cancelled while you were getting no news about your transit flight’s departure. 

You should have been prepared to face reality, keeping in mind that life hadn’t been so nice to you lately to let you slip away that easily. Yet your stubbornness prevailed. And after your most recent predicament, you needed this trip to happen. You needed to be right. 

After all, you have made it all the way here. It would have been impossible for you to return home, wouldn’t it?

So you remained in denial and were so stubbornly holding onto hope that you would soon be taken away from this place towards your dream destination. Even when the world around you seemed to be falling apart. 

But after long hours of waiting, you were finally forced to accept your fate, letting go of any hope you had left to escape this place when they officially cancelled the rest of today’s flights due to unresolved weather issues. Including yours.

“I’m sorry, but we really can’t promise you anything at this moment. There will be no flights until the storm passes and our pilots are cleared to fly again. Until then, we have nothing to tell you.” 

The staff’s swift response to your inquiries about getting on the first flight available to take you to your destination only left you with a dead end. Even flying back home was no longer an option, only because that would only mean that you were admitting defeat. 

And that was how you ended up here tonight, stranded right between the daunting city that you called home and the paradise that you wished to be in until an unforeseeable future. Your dream of enjoying the night in the comfort of the beachside hotel room overlooking the wide, clear ocean, had been replaced with the reality where you had to spend overnight at the airport’s transit hotel that the airline staff helped book for you. 

You released a sigh as you leaned back against the elevator wall. Recounting the events again only brought back all the terrible mood you were having. And it didn’t help that the last message that your roommate sent you only reminded you of your setback. 

From Skye: Just checking on you on your secret getaway. I hope you’re having a blast right now. I wish you’d tell me where you’re heading so I can have a good reason to be jealous. Be safe!

Another sigh came from your lips as you wondered—

Now how am I supposed to answer her text? 

Before you could find an answer, the elevator doors opened as it reached the lobby downstairs. You put away your phone as you stepped out, and immediately got lost in your thoughts. Your mind once again getting too loud as it keeps you company. 

At first, you had no intention of hiding this trip from her. Yet all the circumstances leading to this weekend had made it hard for you to share anything to anyone.

You were planning to wait until you were finally there so you could surprise her with pictures from the beautiful beach or your comfortable hotel room. Showing her the pretty nighttime scene from the tropical island would have been a nice way to flaunt your secret getaway rather than boasting it when your fate had been filled with uncertainty. 

But instead of having an evening walk down the beach, you were trudging across the lobby inside an airport hotel, accompanied by the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floors instead of having sand soiling your feet. 

And the view outside the window that you got to see earlier had been nowhere close to the pretty beach with its white sand and rolling waves. Instead, you had a clear view of the dark night sky, painted with the raging storm and its blaring thunders so strong they almost caused the entire bedroom to shake. Neither showed any sign of calming down any time soon, leaving you with no other choice but to do what you could to enjoy your temporary stay.

And you were going to start doing so by having a quick drink to help you unwind for the night. 

The red dress that you were wearing might seem a bit excessive for a nightcap, but for a short while, it helped you forget where you were. It felt almost as if you were walking in a dream as you strolled down the lower lobby in search of the hotel bar. 

Entering the hotel bar, however, became another wake-up call. 

The bar was quite large for a transit hotel, accommodating the patrons filling the place tonight. You had hoped that you could have a dance or two with a friendly stranger before retreating to your hotel room to rest, yet the closed-off lounge area had more space filled with box seats than the open dance floor. The seating area was the only place in the bar which was dimly lit, allowing the guests some privacy while they settled in with their drinks. 

The small chandeliers glittering from the ceiling were far from the hanging lights that you pictured hanging in a beachside bar. Just like the one place you had seen pictures of while planning for your trip. The lights you were seeing here made the entire space beneath seem luxurious, spreading a soft golden glow over the wary faces trying to enjoy the night. 

The pulsing bass that came out of the speakers was enough to drown the sound of the violent storm happening on the other side of these walls, further helping to create an illusion that you were in another place. That you were somewhere else instead of being stranded inside an airport hotel, together with all the strangers who seemed to be facing the same fate as you did. 

You made your way towards the main bar, suddenly feeling hyperaware of your surroundings. Even without looking, you could feel people’s eyes following your movements. Yet you paid no heed to them. You were only here to quiet down the raging storm happening inside your head, after all. 

A strong scent of old wood took over the bar area. Mixed in with the excessive scent of air fresheners and cleaners, it was enough to remind you that you were miles and miles away from the beautiful island where you had been so desperate to be. 

Smoothing your palms down your red dress, you took one empty seat at the bar. You caught the bartender’s eyes as he walked past, and within moments, a glass of strawberry daiquiri ended up in your hand. 

This feels nice, you wondered to yourself as you sat back and tried to relax.

One sip of the sweet alcoholic drink was all that it took to refresh your mind. As the warmth from your drink ran smoothly through your body, any doubt and wariness you felt began to fade. 

The next sip of the drink managed to ease your thoughts down a bit more. It helped push away the reminders of your troubles to the back of your mind. Finding calmness, you took another quick look at your surroundings.

The seating lounge seemed to be filled with guests more than the main bar was. Stranded travellers like yourself. At first glance, the nicely dressed men in suits made it seem like you were in a bar downtown. As if they were nothing more than a group of businessmen seeking leisure on a Friday night with drinks. 

It only took you looking a few seats away from them for the illusion to shatter. Your eyes fell on a group of men and women wearing their summer clothing who were making a toast, acting as if they were at the peak of their vacation. 

Looking at the scene made you realise that you weren’t the only one feeling miserable tonight. You wondered just how badly these people here needed to forget. How many of them here might be similar to you, stranded in an unexpected situation while trying to escape reality? 

You raised your glass to hide your bitter smile. The smooth liquid continued to flow through your body and you slowly began to find some peace of mind. Before you knew it, you had finished your drink, though you weren’t exactly ready to return to your cold bedroom. 

“Can I order you another glass of drink?” 

A deep voice invaded your senses after a long period of silence, and it was coming from your side. You had been far too deep in your reverie that you didn’t even realise that someone had taken the empty seat right beside you at the bar. 

Curious to see this friendly stranger, you slowly turned around to look at him. And what you saw in him nearly took your breath away. 

A tall, lean man was sitting there. His slick hair had a few curls at the end of each strands, and he had combed them back, leaving nothing more than a few stands framing his handsome face that looked almost as if it had been sculpted by the fine hands of masters in art. His sharp nose and jawline drew your attention, while his deep and soulful eyes that appeared like pools of rich mahogany drew you in, as if he was hiding a story behind his intense gaze. But it was his plump lips that formed into a smile which caught your eyes the most.

At your silence that stretched out while you were busy being captivated by him, he raised his eyebrows. It made you realise that he was waiting for your answer. An answer to a question that you had so obviously missed. 

“I’m sorry?” 

He tilted his chin to point at your now empty glass. “You look like you could use another glass, and I’d love to get one for you,” he said with an amused tone of voice. 

Once again, his deep, velvety voice hit you deeply. It resonated through your body, and a shudder ran down your spine. You refused to believe that he was able to cause this effect on you solely through his voice or his pretty smile. 

But how else would you explain the reaction that was drawn from your body? 

I don’t think I’m that drunk already, you wondered.

It was probably the way he spoke to you which affected you so much. The way he was asking a question with pure confidence. As if he already knew your answer, and that it would be impossible for you to refuse his offer. 

And he wasn’t completely wrong about it. 

What remained from your sullen mood immediately shifted in his presence. And while you have no intention of turning him down, you decided that you were not going to make things easy for him. 

“An interesting offer that seems like such a waste for me to refuse,” you sweetly said to him, smiling as your eyes fell on his empty hands. “But how would a woman feel at ease to accept such an offer from a man who isn’t even holding a glass in his hand?” 

He squinted his eyes at you, which only made his gaze feel more intense. “Are you afraid that I might be planning to get you drunk?” 

You softly laughed. “Not sure if I should be so worried about that. Getting drunk tonight has always been my initial plan all along,” you coyly said, hiding the fact that it was never your intention to get wild tonight. But his appearance intrigued you enough to change your mind about ending the night so soon.  

The mysterious man remained oblivious to this as he laughed with you. His wide, almost boxy grin mesmerised you in an instant and you were once again left speechless. 

He waved his hand to grab the bartender’s attention. It was nothing more but a simple gesture, yet you were somewhat drawn to it. To him.  

While he greeted the bartender, you took the chance to have a better look at this man. You noticed that he was a bit different compared to the other men that you saw around you earlier. 

Dressed in a black jacket over his plain white shirt, he didn’t seem as sophisticated as the stranded businessmen in their flashy suits sitting together at the bar’s lounge. Yet he had a different level of confidence which was enough to make your cheeks feel warm. 

In your eyes, he was alluring, almost as intensely as the dark storm happening outside. And you couldn’t resist being pulled towards him. 

“Another glass of the same drink for the lady and a glass of grasshopper for me,” he smoothly spoke as he ordered the drinks for you.

The bartender nodded and went to work, while you slid closer to him. His fresh-scented cologne immediately hit you, and your confidence nearly wavered that you almost slid back. But then he caught you with his gaze as he turned back to you, giving you the kind of attention which boosted every bit of ego you had. 

“So you also prefer something light and sweet. How intriguing,” you teased him, bringing back his alluring grin. 

“Why do you think I came here to join you? It was obviously for the fruity drinks and to have someone to drink it together with,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes at him and smiled. Before you got to say something in return, the bartender came back with his order. The man took a sip of his drink first before you took yours. Once again, the sweetness from your drink swirled through your body, chipping away at the tension that had been weighing you down ever since the day’s saga began. 

“To be honest, I also thought that you were looking a bit rough.” His remark brought your attention back to him. The tease was gone from his voice. All that was left was a gentle concern that seemed genuine. “And you looked like you needed a friend. That’s why I invited myself to join you.” 

It makes you feel uneasy to think that you were being so transparent. So much so that a complete stranger like himself was able to see right through you. 

“You think so? Wait until you hear how rough I’m feeling inside as well,” you bitterly said to him, drawing a soft smile to his face. 

“That makes the two of us then,” he said to you gently with his eyes on his glass of drink. There was a forlorn look in his eyes as he slowly twirled the glass, causing the liquid to swish around before he took another sip from it. 

“Care to share?” you questioned him before you could stop yourself, only to pull yourself back. “Sorry, that sounds creepy. We just met and here I am, prying into someone else’s business,” you nervously laughed.  

His gaze softened when he looked at you. Furthermore, he also seemed intrigued. 

“No, not at all.” His voice was calm, and it somehow helped to calm your nerves. “I was just about to lend an ear in case you needed someone to vent to. I never expected that you would be a step ahead of me before I could make the offer.” 

The comment he gave you made you feel warm inside. 

“Mine’s a long story,” you bitterly said to him as you raised your glass, almost giving in to the urge to take a hefty drink and finish it off when everything started coming back to you again.

The reason behind this trip, why you were stranded here on your own, while being far, far away from home, and all the drama that had gotten in the way when you had been so desperate to get away from everything. 

Unsurprisingly, the man merely shrugged. “I’ve got time to spare. My flight won’t leave until tomorrow. And that is if they’re allowed to fly out of here at all.” 

You smiled at him. “Same here. I guess we’re both stranded here all night, huh?” 

He leaned in just then, invading your personal space and filling it with his presence. And you didn’t even mind it as you leaned into him, meeting him halfway to welcome him into your little safety bubble. 

“And I was worried that I might get stuck feeling lonely while being stranded in this place,” he gently murmured, drawing a smile to your face.  

“I doubt that you would end up alone tonight,” you teased him, simply because there was no possible way that someone as attractive as he was would be returning to his hotel bedroom alone. 

His smile grew, yet the deep, dark look in his eyes shifted into something else. Something naughty and sinful. It made you feel a new sensation brewing inside even without him ever having to touch you. 

“Is that an invitation?” he asked with his deep voice that came grazing at your skin. 

Normally, you wouldn’t know what to say in return. It had been so long since you played this kind of game with someone. With anyone. But his presence and his words were drawing something out of you. A part of you that you never thought existed. And you surprised yourself when you played along, taunting danger head-on as you challenged this handsome stranger before you— 

“Would you like it to be?” 

Something flashed in his eyes. It was dark and intense, and it was sucking you in. It brought a myriad of sensations that unexpectedly went straight down to your core. 

In the deep silence that fell right after, the world around you faded. Even before you got to know his name, before you had the chance to share your story, you already knew the answer that he was about to give you as a response to your question. 

And you also knew right then, that the sparks that came rising around you were something that you would never be able to easily forget, even if every bit of memory you had about him would fade over time. 

Present…

Why do I keep thinking about that night all over again?

You can only wonder, as you keep being reminded of that eventful night. 

Weeks, nearly a month have gone by ever since, yet the memories seem to have been engraved deeply in your thoughts. And today, even though you haven’t really been thinking about it since, you suddenly find yourself having no trouble recounting everything that happened then. 

Well, almost everything. 

Some parts may seem blurry now. All due to the passing of time and the fact that you were partly inebriated at the time. But you can still recall some parts of the night that had clearly left a strong impression on you—the first encounter and the conversation you shared before alcohol took over, the instant attraction that you felt, but most of all, his entire presence. 

And they all have been coming into your thoughts while you are sitting here in the corner of your bathroom. Alone. With your arms wrapped around your folded knees and your eyes closed. As if you are waiting for a miracle to happen. 

You scoff at the thought. 

Right. Miracles. 

Years have long passed since you stopped believing that miracles do exist. Life always has its way of blindsiding you with its twists and turns that miracles no longer seem to matter anymore. 

Not for you, at least. 

Your past experiences have only caused you to look at it with sceptical eyes, sometimes even with bitterness, knowing that life has never been on your side. 

But here you are now, wishing, praying, holding onto hope that there would be a miracle to stop you from getting into a messy situation. One that you know you wouldn’t be able to handle on your own. 

After all, the perfect season of miracles is right around the corner. So it wouldn’t be so wrong for you to have some faith in them again now, would it? 

Your phone starts blaring with the sound of the alarm, snapping you out of it. Slowly, you rise on your wobbly feet. It feels as if your entire body has grown numb even before you get to face reality as it comes glaring back at you. 

Clutching onto the edges of your bathroom counter, you try to hold yourself together, and immediately failing, as you look at the two thin white strips lying on the cold counter and feel your entire world tilting off of its axis. 

All because of the two red lines that are clearly visible on each strip.

“Oh, fuck,” you softly groan. Deep down, you had already predicted this. Yet you kept denying it, hoping that you would be wrong.

“No, no, no—” you continue murmuring to yourself while wishing that you could somehow turn back time and change everything before things started going the wrong way. 

Back to this morning, when your roommate caught you—once again—throwing up last night’s dinner before handing you the unopened pregnancy test packs that she has been keeping safe in her room with the premise, “Just in case.” 

Or maybe you could return to last night when she pointed out your odd cravings—like dipping apples into peanut butter and eating leftover mac and cheese straight from the fridge without warming it in the microwave first—and joked about how you have been acting like a pregnant woman with your mood swings. 

Better yet, you wish you could go back to that night, back to that many weeks ago, when you allowed yourself to fall for a stranger’s charm which led you to spend the night with him. 

You close your eyes, once again murmuring to yourself, “This has got to be a dream.” 

But the moment you open your eyes again, nothing has changed. You are still standing there with your hands holding tightly onto the edges of the bathroom counter. And the two pregnancy test kits that you used are still lying on top of the counter for your eyes to see. 

A rapid sound of knocking on the bathroom door sends you jumping back. 

“Hey, ______? Is everything okay?” you hear your roommate, Skye, calling out for you. Her voice seems calm, yet when you recall hearing the sound of her footsteps moving back and forth outside of the door while you were taking the test, you know that she has been waiting just as anxiously as you were. “So—? What does it say?” 

Still in shock, and quite stuck in denial, you open your mouth only to have no words coming out of you. Your brain feels a bit hazy as you walk up to the door and open it for her. 

Skye takes one look at your face and her gaze softens. “What did it—” She shakes her head. “Oh, never mind, I’m dying to know. Let me see it,” she says as she brushes past you before you can say anything. 

Hoping that there is a chance that reality can change within the next few seconds, you refuse to turn around and once again close your eyes while she suddenly grows quiet.

Maybe you were just imagining things. Maybe you weren’t even looking at the test properly. Maybe—

“So, uhm—” you can hear Skye’s voice trembling a little as she hesitantly asks you, “Two lines mean it’s positive, is that right?” 

And just like that, every bit of hope you have in you flies out the window. “I wish I could say that it’s the other way around,” you softly murmur, feeling defeated. 

And the feeling grows stronger when you hear her cursing under her breath,

“Well, fuck.”

“What are you doing?” you ask Skye as you gingerly take a seat on the sofa. 

Once you both stepped away from the bathroom, she guided you to the living room while she sauntered away to the kitchen without a word. You can hear the noises she makes as she is busy rummaging through the counters. Yet you are too far away to see what she is up to. 

“Hang on a minute. Stay there,” she calls out without even looking. 

“Okay.” 

It’s not like you have any energy to go anywhere, after all. Your head is still spinning and you can barely feel your legs. It feels as if you are stuck in a bad dream and you just can’t get out of it. 

It doesn’t take long before Skye returns to your side, carrying with her two clean tall glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It was the same bottle that you opened when you celebrated your promotion a couple of weeks ago after coming back from the trip. 

Holy shit, you inwardly cry out. Your heartbeat rises as your hands find their way to your stomach. 

“Okay, let’s try to calm down,” Skye says to you as she places both glasses on the table before you, although it seems to you more as if she is talking to herself instead of reassuring you while you are panicking inside.

A couple of weeks ago? Wouldn’t I have been already pregnant then? 

These thoughts keep running through your head as you watch your roommate pouring wine into both glasses, just like the night she did the same when you first opened that same bottle. 

Dear God, how much did I drink that night? You ask yourself with a grimace as you try to remember. 

Wait, no. I didn’t drink anything, you remind yourself. Relief washes over you look back at the celebration night where you barely took a sip before Skye took the glass away from your hands. 

Because you were already feeling sick that day. 

You had been feeling nauseous for days, throwing up once in a while and mostly on the days when you were lacking sleep because of the workload you had to handle for the upcoming promotion. All you ever did was wet your lips with the wine after the celebratory toast. That was the only contact you made with the drink before Skye replaced it with a tall glass of alcohol-free smoothie that she made especially for your ‘upset stomach’.

Of course, how did I not see the signs? You wonder again as you remember the sickly feeling you had after vomiting each morning and feeling powerless for the rest of the day. It even got so bad that you had to skip work for a couple of days at the beginning of your ‘sickness’. 

If only you knew then. 

Your eyes are still on the wine glasses as Skye places them side by side and puts away the bottle. 

“Uh—I believe we both just saw the two lines appearing on the test packs.” 

She lets out a light scoff and waves her hand at you. “They're both for me. I’m going to need them while I process this,” she says, shaking her head as she sits down to join you on the sofa. “You get to keep that smoothie.” 

You follow her gaze and look down at the glass of smoothie that you left on the table during the whole fiasco with the pregnancy test. While you pick up your drink, Skye takes a hefty drink from one of the glasses of wine and sits back. 

“So—you’re pregnant,” she murmurs to herself. Her gaze flickers to your face for a brief moment and nods to herself before taking another drink. 

Why does it seem like she is the one panicking? 

She releases a sigh. Neither of you says anything for a moment. But you can tell when she grows more anxious by the minute. You don’t understand why, until she carefully asks you, “Are you going to tell Han?” 

Confused, you look at her with your brows furrowed and ask, “Why would I tell Han that I’m pregnant?” 

Skye looks genuinely confused, almost as much as you are, and you only realise the reason why when she asks you, “Isn’t Hansol the father? You guys have been dating for a long time and I can’t remember ever seeing you with anyone else while you’re on a break.” 

You wince, realising too late that you have yet to tell her the truth.

“Actually—we’re not on a break,” you slowly admit with a low voice. Months have gone by, and even though it no longer hurts whenever you start thinking about your failed relationship or to mention your ex’s name, you cannot help but still feel bitter about how it ended and you hate talking about it. 

That is the reason why you haven’t said anything about it to anyone. Maybe you were just too embarrassed. After all, it isn’t so easy to admit that you may have been the reason why the four-year relationship fell into pieces. 

“I lied,” you say with a burst of deep sigh, “It was over, done, finished—”

“So you already broke up?” she cuts you off with a calm voice. 

You bite your bottom lip as you slowly nod your head. “Yeah,” you whisper, suddenly feeling like your throat is tightening up. Not because you feel the sudden urge to cry. But only because this is all becoming too much to take at once.  

“And the baby?” she carefully asks you. “It wasn’t Han—” 

“The baby isn’t his,” you quickly answer before she even gets to question about it. 

It’s hard enough to hear his name being mentioned after a while. It feels harder to think that you might be carrying his baby. 

But the moment those words come out of your lips, reality finally sinks in. Grabbing the glass of your drink, you take a hefty drink out of it. You wish there was some alcohol in this thing. Maybe it would have helped you think more clearly. 

That’s right. It couldn’t have been his.

Sighing to yourself, you begin to do the math. “We’ve been broken up for months, so if the baby is his, I’m sure I would be showing already by this time around,” you say this while gently rubbing your palm over your stomach. 

Now that your suspicions have been confirmed, the gesture feels almost natural to you that your hand simply moves before you realise it, though it helps confirm that nothing much has changed with your body.

It feels odd to think that there is a life existing inside you, yet you cannot really see it with just one look. This convinces you further that the baby couldn’t have been conceived while you were still dating your ex. Looking back to it now, once you remember when exactly the sickness and craving started, it would only make sense that the baby was conceived on that specific night. 

“So—if Hansol isn’t the Dad, then who was it?” 

Biting your lip, you turn to look at Skye. Of course, if there is anyone in this world that you can talk to about this, it would only be her. Just like how she would come to you first whenever she is in a bind, whether it’s about her relationships, about work, or even the smallest things like having a bad day where you end up sharing a tub of ice cream to feel better. 

After all, she isn’t just a roommate, but also someone you have known the longest compared to the other friends you’ve made since moving into this city. You have known each other since college, since back in freshman year when both of you were nothing more but young kids from small towns being thrust into the big city. 

Being put together in the same dorm room led you to become fast friends. After years of enduring the same hardship in college, the two of you remained so close that you even moved to this city together and continued to live in the same place to keep each other company. 

You have gone through everything with her, and you have always been honest with each other. It should have been easy to tell her everything. If only you could find the right words to begin sharing your story. 

“I have no idea where to start.” 

“Well,” Skye patiently says while twirling the glass of wine she’s holding. You squint your eyes at her when you find it almost empty. So unfair. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” 

“Right. From the beginning,” you say this with a nod. “Do you remember when I went away last month?” 

She nods. “Your secret getaway. Still jealous of that, by the way.” 

You give her a small smile. “Yeah, well—there’s a reason why I insisted on going alone on that trip. I actually planned it as a surprise vacation for me and Hansol. The original idea was for us to have a romantic getaway for our fourth anniversary.” 

Skye raises her eyebrows. “Well, damn,” she mutters. “Let me guess. You broke up before it happened?” 

You grimace as you recall what happened. “Close enough,” you answer with a bitter smile. “It was because of the trip that we got a huge fight in the first place.” 

Skye tilts her head. “I’m not following.” 

Sighing, you drink your smoothie to cool down and swallow the bitter feeling you are suddenly getting. Recounting the break-up isn’t so much fun to do. Not even after this long. 

“I planned the entire thing on my own. Booked the flight and the hotel, and rearranged our schedules to fit each other so we could go on that exact date. But I never shared anything with him, except to confirm that it was a place that he also dreamt of going so we could both enjoy it together.” You let out a defeated sigh. “I wanted it to be a surprise. He used to love those in the past, so I figured it could be fun to celebrate our anniversary this way and get away from all the stress both of us had been getting.” 

You stop talking for a moment to remember those days. Both you and Hansol had been so busy back then that you could barely spend time with each other. 

It was the exact routine every day. Having long hours in the office and since you weren’t living together, you could only keep in contact with each other through texts and calls. By the time the two of you were able to see each other, all the stress had been piling up that you were almost always arguing and fighting instead of making up for all the time you missed while being apart. 

“We were talking about moving in together but all of a sudden, we stopped discussing it and I could feel us growing further apart. I thought going away from all the stress for a while would help us get along and make up for all the fighting. Maybe we could have had a chance to talk things out and figure out what to fix.” 

You stop with a soft sigh. “We were getting bored. With work, with life, and maybe we did get bored with each other but neither of us could open up about it, much less admit it. Not even to ourselves.” 

Skye lets out a groan. “This is why I don’t do relationships,” she mutters before finishing her drink. The first glass. With the second one waiting on the table.

You give her a scoff, but smile at her comment before continuing, “He found out about the trip by chance. I was still logged in on his laptop after I borrowed it to check on my work email while I was staying over on the weekend. He accidentally opened the booking details when he was checking his email, thinking it was his account. He suspected me of planning to go with someone else, but even after I told him that the trip was for both of us, he wasn’t having it.” 

Skye leans forward when she hears this. “Wait, he’s pissed about a secret vacation?” she asks, looking unhappy and confused at the same time. You can’t really blame her. Because that is exactly how you feel about your ex’s reaction. “Why would he be? If it had been me, I would’ve been ecstatic about going.” 

“I wish I knew,” you groan, feeling just as frustrated as you had been then. “But he wasn’t just refusing to go. He started blaming me. Saying something about me holding him back or something. He said he had no time for a trip when he needed to be there and work for his promotion.” 

Thinking back to that day, remembering about the fight and the things you said to each other, you are reminded of the moment the fight left your body. Because you knew then that there was nothing left to fight over. 

“He never even brought up the fact that it was the date of our anniversary. I don’t think he even knew or remembered it,” you say with a bitter chuckle. “He broke it off, saying that he wanted to focus on his career and I would be keeping him behind. And I agreed because I knew that we’d wound up hurting each other if we’d stayed.” 

“I can understand that,” Skye gently says. The two of you share a sad smile when your eyes meet. “And you still went on that trip,” she guesses, sounding proud. She lifts her glass to you and says, “Good girl.” 

You merely shrug. “When I went to cancel the tickets for the trip, I thought it would be such a waste to throw everything away. So I decided that going solo would be a good idea and kept mine. Besides, I needed a moment to heal myself and get away from the city for a short while.” 

She laughs, agreeing with you. Then, just as she is about to say something, she suddenly stops. A knowing look comes across her gaze and she slowly gasps. “Don’t tell me—” she says, “You met someone while you were there.” 

You nod your head slowly and press your lips together. “Once again, you’re close. But that’s not exactly what happened.” Blowing out a deep breath, you slowly ask her, “Remember when I told you that I got held up for a day in transit?” 

“Yeah, I was so jealous of you that I still remember everything you told me about that trip,” she lets out a dreamy sigh, then her gaze snaps back at you. “But, it seems to me that you haven’t told me everything about the trip.” 

“No, I didn’t.” You grimace. “Anyway, that’s when I met him—” 

The memories return to you again as you share with your roommate about your encounter with the beautiful stranger. You remember vividly the way he spoke, the deep and gentle voice that he spoke to you with, and his captivating smile that made you swoon. Everything about him that made it hard for you to leave and say goodbye to him. 

You recount the way you enjoyed each other’s company that even after your terrible mood gradually became much better, and after you finished yet another drink, you simply couldn’t walk away and end the night with him so soon. You stayed longer, losing count of the time you spent with him and the drinks you had. 

“And then, one thing led to another, it just happened.” 

Skye’s eyes have grown so wide at this point, and her jaw has dropped in her surprise that she looks almost comical. “You hooked up with a stranger during your transit?” she asks you. The moment you nod your head, she switches her empty glass with the other. “I would drink to that.” 

You laugh just as she takes a hefty drink as if celebrating on your behalf. “Why do you sound so proud of me?” 

“Well,” she slowly starts, “We’ve known each other for so long. You have always been so put together, always followed the rules, and you are always so good at what you do. From school, to work, even the little things you have been doing on the side. But not when it comes to your sex life.” 

You know that she is right about everything. But it doesn’t stop you from picking up a cushion and hitting her with it. 

“Hey, you know I’m right,” she says while laughing and protecting the precious glass of wine. “Come on, you’ve never had any casual relationships or random hookups, and every chance I could have gotten to hook you up with my guy friends was gone when Hansol came into the picture.” 

Pouting, you pull the cushion back and hold it tightly in your arms. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you admit with a sigh. “How do you get to know me so well?” 

“That’s because I love you enough to pay attention,” she smugly says while waving her glass around, sloshing the wine everywhere. “Why do you think I’ve been so protective of you over the years?” 

You roll your eyes and hit her with the cushion one last time, making her laugh, even though she is right. For as long as you have been friends with her, she has always been like an older sister to you. Not only for coming hard like a shield against the guys you ever introduced her to but also for the trivial things that not many people would pay much attention to. 

Like reminding you to eat properly when you are stressed out or too busy with work and school. 

You feel bad for relying on her so much over the years. But you also feel grateful about it. Just like how you’re feeling right now once you notice that you’re no longer feeling as stressed as you had earlier once you’re done dumping everything to her. 

Skye’s eyes turn back to you, landing on your covered belly as she curiously asks, “Are you positively sure that Hansol wasn’t the father?” 

You slowly nod your head. As much as you wish that you were wrong, you couldn’t have been mistaken about this.

“What are the odds that it was a false positive?” you suddenly question her, while she shrugs. 

“It’s possible,” she says. “But we can get some more test kits and redo the test. Just in case. Or you could make an appointment with the doctor straight away to make sure.” 

“Right, the doctor—” You let out a soft sigh and close your eyes briefly. It has been a while since you’ve seen your physician. The last time was before—

Oh, shit. 

Your eyes snap open right then. How long ago has it been since you’ve gone to see your physician? The last time was when you went to your regular appointment for your birth control. But that felt so long ago. 

Long before the trip. 

After that appointment, and once the break-up happened, you simply threw yourself into work so much you completely forgot about everything else. And since you were newly single, getting your birth control was the last thing you had in mind at the time. 

Fuck me, you inwardly groan without saying a thing to your roommate who is busy chattering about the doctor, making appointments, and offering to take you there herself. You know that she would lecture you about safe sex like a mother hen if you ever share this with her.

But wait…he wore a condom, right? Yes, you are quite sure he did. The details are blurry when you try to remember, but you do remember protection being involved. 

Groaning to yourself, you fall back on the sofa. Your head starts spinning again when you start worrying about other things. Once you start thinking of a problem that you may have to face, another one comes to mind. 

“What am I supposed to do with this baby?”  

Skye once again raises her eyebrows at you. “I think the right question should be what do you want to do?” she asks, while you can only shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a small voice. The only thing you can think of right now is how you are going to get through this holiday while being pregnant. You are supposed to be home for Christmas in two weeks, and knowing just how crazy your family truly is, you cannot imagine how they would react if they found out you are with a child. 

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “And my family still have no idea that I broke up with Han.” 

“For once, I’m not jealous of your life,” Skye says as she sips her wine. But she is ready for it when you fling the cushion back at her and avoid it without spilling her drink. “Don’t worry. I think they’ll catch on about your failed relationship as soon as you walk into your family home without that hunk by your side.” 

Huffing, you hug the cushion in your arms and lean back. “I guess if they’re going to find out either way, I might as well just tell them the moment I got home.” 

Besides, it might be even harder to hide the fact that you are pregnant. You might not be showing yet, but there is no possible way you could avoid the questions that may come if you are still feeling so sick right in front of your family, or if your cravings suddenly get out of hand. 

Especially if Honey is there. Despite the early signs of dementia showing on her lately, your grandmother has always been so perceptive. And there is no telling what random things she may blurt out once she has some rum in her system. 

With so many different things to think about, you almost forget one important matter that you should be thinking about when it comes to the baby. And just like always, Skye is there to remind you of it. 

“Do you remember his name?” 

You turn to Skye with wide eyes, suddenly panicking inside. You can tell that she can see it on your face and is now sharing the same feeling when she suddenly knocks back the rest of her wine and groans, “Fuck, I’m gonna need more.” 

You watch her pour more wine into her glass, hastily drinking it right after, before turning to you again. “You didn’t get his name? At least tell me that you got his number before you went separate ways.”

You bite your lips. “It’s Tae.” 

“Tae—what?” 

You shake your head. “That’s it,” you let out a frustrated sigh. “That was the only name he ever gave me.” 

“Seriously?” 

Skye is freaking out, you can tell. But you close your eyes and rest your head back, shutting everything down as she starts ranting about how she was supposed to teach you better about hooking up with strangers and keeping yourself safe. 

With her voice turning into white noise at the back of your mind, your memories return to you, taking you back to the eventful night. 

You can almost feel yourself being back there again—back in the cold hotel bar with the scent of old wood and liquor lingering in the air; the murmuring sounds of people chatting and laughing, accompanied by the sound of glasses clinking together resonating through the space around you; back to his presence that felt so strong and intense you could barely feel anything else other than him as long as you had your attention fully on him.

“What’s your name?” You remember him asking you with his voice that grew more gentle and deeper the more he drank. 

You leaned into him and giggled in response as if he just said something funny to you. “Does it really matter?” 

His soft chuckle rumbled around you. The voice was so soft, yet you could hear it clearly because of how close you were leaning into him. “I’m sure I remember being taught not to talk to strangers.” 

“Are you telling me that you’ve been a good boy for listening to what your Mom taught you?” you teased him. It was obvious how tipsy you were at this point, which may have been the reason why you were growing more confident. 

“Oh, I’ve always been a good boy,” he answered you while looking amused. He went silent right after. His gaze seemed far away just for a fleeting moment before he finally said, “My name is Tae.” 

“Tae? That’s it?” you asked, “Is that a codename or something?” You feigned a surprise gasp before you leaned into him further to whisper, “Are you secretly a spy?” 

You felt his chest rumbling when he softly laughed. “Something like that, yeah,” he said, as he played along with your joke. 

But the moment you leaned away from him, you were surprised when you got to see something in him that you couldn’t see before. His guard was down, allowing you to see the vulnerability that was buried deep under his suave and smooth talking. 

For a brief moment, he looked broken. Just like you did. 

And from the way he was hiding himself, not only under the short nickname but also from the way he was masking his emotions, you could tell that he was looking for an escape from reality. The same way you did that night. 

So you simply smiled at him, choosing not to pry further to see beyond the mask and play along. Because at the same time, you wanted to hide your broken heart and become someone else to be able to forget everything. Just for one night. 

“Then you can call me Red. It’s my special codename for tonight.” 

His grin widened. You could almost see the relief washing over him through his warm gaze when he looked at you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you tonight,” he said, still with his gentle voice that almost felt like sin licking on your skin when he called you, “Red.” 

Two weeks later…

“Here you go,” your mother’s voice snaps you from whatever stupor you have been stuck in. When you open your eyes, a glass of ginger tea has manifested right before you. 

“Drink this,” your Mom says as she points at the drink. “It should be good for your stomach.” 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. Furrowing your brows, you keep your eyes on the drink instead of reaching for it. Thoughts of those past mornings when you and Skye spent searching through the internet to find a way to get rid of your morning sickness come through your mind. 

Does she know? Did she figure it out already? Is it really that obvious? 

You clench your hands and resist the urge to rub against your stomach. It has become a habit of yours to rub around your belly as if trying to feel the baby that is hiding inside whenever you feel agitated.

After getting the positive results through the home test kits, you had gone straight to the doctor only days before you left the city to have it checked, confirming that a baby is growing inside you. It still feels unbelievable to think about it, even after you saw it yourself with your own eyes. 

“It’s still really early, and we might not be seeing much yet, but that’s your baby,” the doctor’s voice echoes through your mind as you tighten your clenched hands, thinking back to the day you went to have an ultrasound and saw for the first time the growing fetus that was said to be viable to grow fully as a baby. 

Just like how the baby inside you has been nothing more than a blob of mass floating inside your stomach in your mind, your belly itself has yet to change shape. Even if your full awareness of the baby’s presence has only been causing you to find small changes in your body that nobody else might be able to see. 

But Mom has been pregnant before, so wouldn’t she be able to see it? Will that be possible?

“Ginger tea is good for nausea and will give you some energy boost. Your grandma always made it for me whenever I had a stomach ache. I’m sure it’ll help get rid of your nausea and your upset stomach will turn better in no time.” Your Mom stops talking and sighs. “You should’ve told me that you were sick. I wouldn’t have let you drive all the way home if I had known.” 

Ah. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. You should be thankful that she believed you when you told her about having an upset stomach from the long drive home from the city. It was the only thing that you could think of as an excuse when your Mom wondered why you hadn’t been eating well since you got back home and why you were feeling sick.

It makes you wonder why you have been feeling unwell since you got home. Just when you had purposely waited until you were well enough and had stopped throwing up when you planned for the drive. 

It’s almost as if the baby is deliberately making you sick to let everyone know about your secret.

“Thanks, Mom,” you say to your Mom as you reach for the tea, hiding your relieved sigh as you gingerly drink in small sips. 

You have lost count of how many times Skye has made you this drink specifically to stop you from vomiting in the morning before going to work. It has been helping a lot to ease your ‘sickness’, and you are feeling it calming your stomach already as the drink warms your body. 

You can feel your mother’s eyes on you, making you feel uneasy to be under her watchful gaze. “I think it might be better if you get some rest and take things easy. But are you sure you’re okay?” your Mom asks again, still worrying about you. 

You continue drinking the ginger tea slowly while pressing down your guilt. You hate lying to your Mom the most, and now you are starting to regret driving home on your own. If the baby hadn’t been the one responsible for your current sickness, then perhaps driving the long distance has been the reason why your nausea is now coming back with a vengeance.

So much for trying to not draw any suspicions. 

“I’m fine, Mom. Really,” you sigh as you place the glass down. “The tea is helping me already. I’ll feel better soon, I promise.” 

Your Mom says nothing for a moment, but the crease you see forming on her forehead says differently. “I’m not just talking about you being sick. Maybe there’s another reason why you’re feeling faint?” 

You look up at her just then. The moment you catch the pitiful look she is giving you, you finally understand what she is trying to say. 

Just as Skye predicted, it didn’t take long for your family to take notice of your solo arrival. In the past, Hansol would have joined you to visit your family for a day or two during the holidays before he would return to his family on Christmas day. So his absence was quite obvious from the get-go. 

And with the big lie that you have to hide from everyone at home, you had to at least give them one honest truth the moment they started asking. 

“We ended things a few months ago,” you admitted to your family during the first dinner you had since you got home. By that time, you had already tried to avoid the questions for long enough. Nobody has brought up about it again since then. 

Until now. 

“If you’re talking about the breakup, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m okay, Mom. It’s been months since it happened. I’ve been trying to move on.” 

In fact, you haven’t been thinking about your ex at all for a long time. Not until you brought it up to Skye and then again when your family started questioning. The only thing you have been worrying about lately is the baby growing inside you and finding a way to search for the father of the baby. 

It was the one thing that you talked about with Skye before you left. While you are capable enough to raise the baby on your own, you decided it would be the best course of action to contact the father and let him know.

In Skye’s own words, “Just in case.” 

Just in case the father would care enough to know that he has a son or a daughter coming into this world and wants to be in their life. 

“But if we fail to find him or he wants nothing to do with the baby, then we’ll deal with it on our own. You just got your promotion, I got my good pay. We can raise the baby together. You and me, just like old times.”

Skye’s words put a smile on your face. She always knows how to lift your spirit up whenever you feel like giving up, and those exact words have helped boost your confidence and made you believe that you could get through this. 

But first, you just need to get through spending this holiday with your family. 

“I know you said that. But as your Mom, I can’t help but worry. I thought you were serious and we’ll be hearing some good news about you getting married this year.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Sorry, Mom,” you tease her with a bitter chuckle. You don’t bother to mention that the two of you had never once talked about marriage throughout your relationship.

Yet another sign that you overlooked. At least you never got to waste anymore time with him.

“Things just didn’t work out between us. It happens when a couple grow into two different people in the course of their relationship. Which was exactly what happened to us. Hansol wanted to focus on his career, in return, I also got the chance to focus on mine.” 

Just as you said the words, you realise that this is true for your case. 

Hansol has always been career-driven, and it has been growing stronger lately for him with the constant rise he was experiencing in his current company. And breaking up with your long-time boyfriend has allowed you to turn your focus on your job. The recent promotion you gained was a testament to your hard work to show you that there might be a silver lining to everything that has happened. 

“I suppose you’re right,” your Mom says with a smile. You are beginning to feel a bit relieved that she seems to understand. You are hoping that she would start talking about something else when she adds, “I just feel sad that it didn’t work out for you. And we were all expecting to have Hansol joining us again this year. I guess it’s too late now to let your sister know about this since she’s supposed to arrive today.” 

Stepsister. 

You lift your glass and slowly drink your tea to stop yourself from correcting her. For some reason, you feel a bit bitter having your mother mention her all so suddenly. 

It isn’t that you hate your stepsister. It’s hard to feel something so extreme when you barely had any relationship with her at all. Back when you were younger, your mother did try to get you two to get along and be friends. 

To make her happy, you tried your best to act friendly, or at least to be cordial whenever she was around, even when the only thing she showed you over the years had been nothing but contempt. 

But things changed after a drunken fit that she had last holiday season, when she got drunk and tried to make a move and openly flirted with your then-boyfriend. Even if nothing ever came out of it except for her own embarrassment, as Hansol openly rejected her and stayed away from her for the remaining time he was here, the incident still left a bad taste that made you feel bitter. 

That was when you finally decided that you would stop trying to be nice.

You put down the glass and try to remain calm. What’s done is done. All you have to do is focus on getting through this holiday before going back to the city and start with your mission to search for the baby’s father.

“What does Alia have to do with my break up?” you ask your mother, hoping that she wouldn’t bring up the drama from last year. 

“Oh, it’s nothing serious, really,” your Mom answers with a soft chuckle, “It’s just that Alia called home sometime last week, asking if she could bring someone over this Christmas. She said that she’s been seeing someone new and since she was bringing him to meet her mother, she wondered if it would be okay if she could bring him along to meet us too.” 

Your Mom sighs, looking a bit guilty when she adds, “We figured since you might bring Hansol with you, it would be okay if she has her new boyfriend along. Maybe the guys could get along and spend time together while you and Alia catch up.” 

You try to imagine you and Alia catching up like old friends or—just like what your Mom has been wishing you to be—as sisters, and you almost shake your head. 

Yeah, that seems unlikely, you bitterly wonder to yourself, yet you don’t have the heart to tell your mother that there is not much hope for you and Alia to be good friends. 

“I guess it’s a shame that Hansol isn’t here,” you simply say to your mother while you inwardly wonder just what your stepsister is really up to this year. 

“Yeah, it’s unfortunate,” your mother says with a sigh. “But I’m glad that at least both of you girls can make it home this year.” 

“Me too, Mom,” you force a smile, silently hoping that you can start talking about something else. Something that doesn’t concern your bitter stepsister coming home or bringing up any dark thoughts about your ex. “So, what are we having for dinner? Want my help in the kitchen?” 

Your question immediately puts everything into motion, drifting her attention away from your sappy story and the false hope of sisterhood that may never happen between you and your stepsister. Your Mom tries to stop you from helping out in the kitchen at first but finally gives in when you keep insisting. 

At least, this way, you can keep your mind busy enough to stop it from thinking about unnecessary thoughts the way it often does when you are alone. 

Things seem to be going on well enough at first, until your sickness returns and you have to give up trying. 

”See, I told you that you should be resting until you feel better,” your mother complains as she watches you bending over, keeping away from the stove and what is currently cooking on top of it which seems to be making you feel dizzy and sick. 

After garlic, lemon-scented air freshener, and coconut milk, seems you are going to have to add raw chicken to the list of things that may trigger your nausea.

“But then I’ll be bored like hell,” you argue, “I’m fine, Mom. Just let me take a quick break for a minute.” 

Your mother looks as if she wants to say something, but the sound of a car coming into the driveway interrupts her. Both of you turn to look out towards the living room, just in time to see your stepfather, Cliff, turning in the corner of the hall and rushing towards the front door. 

“Honey, they’re here!” he calls out, and you urge your mother to join him. 

“Go, Mom. I’ll finish things up and make sure nothing gets burned before I join you guys.”

Once your mother is out of the kitchen, you can no longer resist pressing your palm on your stomach. 

“Seriously, baby,” you whisper to the non-existent bump under your sweater, “Please take it easy, will you? I’m really struggling here, and you’re not making things easy for me. Trust me, it would be too soon for everyone to find out about you. At least wait until we can find a clue about your Dad, okay?” 

As if the baby inside you is listening, even if it is still barely full-grown at this point, your body grows calmer and the nausea slowly wanes. 

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper to your stomach once again before finally focusing on the stove and the oven, deliberately taking your time with what you do just so you can have a reason not to join the dramatic reunion happening right this minute. 

From this side of the kitchen, the front door isn’t completely visible. But you can hear everything as the door opens and your stepfather joyfully welcomes his daughter. 

Hearing his voice makes you smile. You may have had a tumultuous relationship with your stepsister, but the same cannot be said with your stepfather. Cliff has always been a great role model, and your relationship with him has always been great from the start. 

It makes you feel guilty when you think about the previous encounters where you and your stepsister simply gave each other cold shoulders or when you were met with altercations just because of how different the two of you are. But there is no helping it. Nothing has changed over the years no matter how hard you tried. Not even once you have become adults. 

You can’t even remember how it first started. And frankly, you no longer care. Last year’s incident was already enough to let you know that the sisterhood that your parents have been forcing you into was beyond saving. 

The voices coming from the front door continue for a moment longer. This time, you get to hear your mother’s voice joining in the conversation and Alia’s soft voice answering her questions. You make no effort to listen to what they are saying and tune out their voices, until your mother’s voice calls out to you. 

“______, your sister is here. Come and say hi.” 

Your mother’s words make you stop. Slowly, you turn down the heat on the stove and turn to make your way towards the front door to join the family reunion. 

“It’s stepsister,” you mutter under your breath as you drag your feet, taking your sweet time while you try to compose yourself before having to face the unwanted guests. 

As you turn around the corner, merely moments before the front door finally comes into view, you get to hear another voice speaking. The voice that you couldn’t clearly hear from the kitchen while you were tuning their conversation out. 

“I’m sorry for intruding. But thank you for having me here.” 

That voice. 

You immediately come to a halt. An uneasy feeling runs through your body when you realise that you recognise this voice and have grown to know it quite well. 

There is no mistaking it. You may not have gotten his full name on the night you met, and his face has somewhat become a faint mirage in your dreams at night whenever you are taken back to the night of your hookup.

But you cannot say the same about his voice. 

That deep and gentle voice will always be engraved in your memory. Even now, the only thing you would need to do is close your eyes and listen, and allow the voice to take you back to that specific night once more, where he used this voice to say sinful words that you could feel caressing your fragile heart while he was bringing you to the peak of pleasure.

And now you are hearing that voice here, at your home, idly chatting with your mother by the front door. 

“_______, are you coming?” your mother calls again, and you know that there is no avoiding it. You have to face reality, even if that means you must come face to face with the man who is responsible for placing you in this situation.

Tamping down the rush of nerves going through your body, you slowly march ahead. Bracing yourself as you turn around the corner and enter the living room where everyone is currently gathering in.

Your eyes fall on your stepsister first. 

Alia has always looked so vibrant and beautiful, drawing all kinds of attention from everyone in the room whenever she is present. Yet when you look at her now, there seems to be a new kind of light emerging from her. Even her smile seems brighter as she chats along with your stepfather.  

And you soon realise the reason why she is shining brightly today as you turn your gaze to look at the person standing beside her. To finally see him. 

He looks just like how you remember him. Tall and lean, with his arms and chest filling up his sweater. He has his hair falling over a part of his face, just enough of a mess that seems as if he has been running his fingers through the wavy strands. As he converses with your mother, he shows his boxy grin that seems familiar to your eyes. 

Too familiar. 

Because it looks just the same as the wide grin that was teasing and flirting with you on one eventful night at the transit hotel weeks ago. 

No. That can’t be.

The baby’s daddy is here. The man who you were planning to look for once you return to the city. 

He is here, today, appearing at the front door of your parents’ home together with your stepsister. His long fingers that had once entangled between the strands of your hair are now entwined with your stepsister’s dainty fingers. And there is no mistaking the matching couple rings that are glowing under the sunlight coming from their entwined hands. 

Before you get the chance to process what is happening, you hear him introducing himself to your stepfather, “It’s good to see you, Sir. My name is Taehyung.” 

No. 

You stifle a gasp. It feels like you have been sucker-punched right in the chest that you can barely breathe. 

Taehyung, you wonder. Tae? 

All of a sudden, you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is tilting over, slowly taking you down with it. And since you seem to have lost the ability to move your feet, the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling is to clench your hands tightly by your side. Tight enough to feel pain as your nails are sinking into your palms, convincing you that this is not a dream. 

Yet you are still in denial as you watch the interaction happening right before your eyes. Because there is no way this is happening. There is no possible way that it is truly him. 

Please. Please don’t let it be him. 

It must have been your mind playing tricks on you. Because there is no way that he is here. Not as your stepsister’s new boyfriend. 

This must be a mistake. Yes, you are probably confused and all the thoughts of finding your baby daddy are messing up with your head, forcing you to believe that your stepsister’s new boyfriend is your mysterious baby daddy. The fact that they have the same name must have been pure coincidence. 

For once in your life, you don’t want to be right. You have to be wrong. 

Please tell me that it’s not him. 

Just then, as if life was listening to your prayers, as if life has yet to have enough of its games to play around with your heart, the man turns his gaze away from your parents. And those pretty eyes land on you. 

As if there is a switch turned, the brightness in his gaze fades. His beautiful eyes are filled with recognition. It is so subtle that you are quite sure that nobody else around you notices it, but it is enough to let you know that your memories have been right all along. 

Because those are the same eyes that you saw looking back at you with pure lust and sin while he was bringing you wanton pleasure, when you made love as if both of you had been under a spell, right on the very night that may have changed your fate forever. 

Fuck. 

Me.

At one glance, this moment would seem like any other pre-holiday family dinner. It may seem picture perfect, even—if you had been a stranger looking in. 

There are still a couple of days left until Christmas Day, yet the festive mood has already filled the room. From the living room, all the way to the dining room, Christmas decorations are already plastered across the walls and hung from the ceiling. On the dining table, the delectable meal that your mother worked hard to prepare—with your poor assistance—had been perfectly laid out. 

With Alia’s arrival today, the immediate family is now complete. Ever the charming daughter, Alia takes up the attention of everyone around her as she shares her story—about how she has been travelling between different states and some neighbouring countries, changing jobs, finding new hobbies, and even planning to adopt a new pet. 

Sitting at the head of the table, your stepfather is soaking it all in, enjoying the time he has with his daughter whom he rarely gets to see throughout the year. Your mother sits on his right, getting the front seat of their merry reunion. She would sometimes chime in, never failing to try to get you into joining their idle chat even when you are not feeling up to it. 

Other times, you would have been able to easily play along. From making cordial comments and joining with all the light jokes shared by your family, or feigning interest in anything that Alia might be sharing at the table—even when she rarely would share the same courtesy when you did the same. 

Tonight, however, it feels like a struggle for you to focus on the conversation shared at the table, let alone pretend to be interested. Not when you are busy trying your best to calm your nerves. 

You can't even embrace the same warm atmosphere that everyone seems to be sharing. 

For you, the air around feels stifling and tense. It has been this way ever since you sat down right next to your mother for dinner. Because due to the seating arrangement, the special guest of the night is now sitting right across from you at the table. 

Taehyung. 

The last person that you had ever expected to see. Not here. Certainly not at your home or sharing the same space with your parents. 

It seems surreal to meet him here like this. Even more so when he was introduced to your family as Alia’s new boyfriend.

Judging from the way he reacted when he first saw you, you can tell that he never expected something like this could ever happen. You know that he has questions, perhaps just as much as you do, yet the situation that you found yourself in right now isn’t allowing you to even show any sign that the two of you know each other or to have met before today. 

But there is something in the way he is looking at you that doesn’t sit right with you. Aside from the lingering shock you see each time your eyes accidentally meet each other, there is a look that shows a semblance of guilt, despair, and at the same time, filled with wonder. 

Was it because he never expected to see you again after that night, much less to find out that you are somehow related to the woman that he is dating? Or was there something else going through his mind? 

“This is Alia’s sister, ______,” was what your mother said when she first introduced you to him. At that point, you and Taehyung were stunned to silence, and for a brief moment, neither of you reacted. 

Thinking about it now, you can’t even remember how you managed to join your family in the living room. The moment you saw Taehyung standing there, your legs nearly gave out. It was a wonder how you managed to stop yourself from falling or tripping as you walked over to them in a state of distraught. 

“Hi, it’s good to see you,” was all that you managed to croak out of once you snapped out of it. You didn’t even give him a chance to respond when you suddenly turned your attention to your stepsister, forcing a smile on your face when you greeted her, “Hey, Alia. It’s good to see you. You seem well.” 

You can’t even remember the expression that Alia gave you when she responded to you, “Uh yeah, thanks. You too.” 

“Right. Well, I’ll let you guys settle in. I left the stove on, so—” 

That was the last thing you said before you turned away and quickly left the room, practically running away from him to hide back in the kitchen. The last thing you heard as you walked away was your mother’s voice saying something about you being her assistant of the day in the kitchen while you were feeling unwell, as if excusing you for your unmannerly attitude. 

By the time you got back in the kitchen, your hands were shaking, your heartbeat was racing so fast you could barely breathe. It took a long time for the shock to wane, and you had spent the rest of the day staying away from both of them, avoiding him entirely until you were finally called to join dinner. 

And you are still avoiding him even now, keeping your head down as much as you can and resisting the urge to look his way. As if it isn’t hard enough for you to have him sitting right in front of you, you can feel the heat of his gaze constantly following you whenever you are not looking.

He doesn’t make it so obvious, and it doesn’t seem like anyone else has noticed it yet. Perhaps you are just too hyperaware of his presence that you caught on to it so easily.

You sneak a glance at your stepsister, wondering if Alia has taken notice of her boyfriend’s wandering gaze or where he has been directing his eyes. It takes you watching the conversation between her and your parents more closely to see it. 

Because it turns out that she also has her own gaze wandering to questionable places at the same time that she isn’t paying much attention to her boyfriend. 

Each time Alia turns to regard your mother or speak to her, her gaze flickers away briefly, ever so subtly landing on the seat to your right. At the seat that Hansol would usually occupy whenever he joined you during these holiday visits. 

It is easy to catch it when you are seeing it from your angle. And it is easy to guess what is going through her head when she keeps doing it with a curious look written all over her face. An unspoken question seems to linger, while the incident from last year keeps flashing through your head when you picture Hansol being present beside you. 

Even if nobody notices her intention, you doubt that anyone would question her about it, seeing that the seat that was supposed to be left empty has been taken by someone else. 

While you are busy trying to make sense out of everything, your grandmother makes a disapproval noise with her tongue, grabbing your attention. “Are you still feeling under the weather? You’ve been drinking that boring thing the whole day,” she says, referring to the glass of iced tea that you have just put down after taking a drink from it to cool down. 

You turn to look at your dear grandmother, Honey, and smile at her. She probably hasn’t realised what a saving grace she has been for taking the unoccupied seat to your right the minute she came in for dinner. 

And she is now helping you again by drawing your attention away from the source of your dismay. Immediately, you feel better the moment you are met with Honey’s smile. 

“I’m feeling much better, actually. I’m just being careful not to drink anything that might get me sick,” you answer carefully, hoping to sound reasonable enough without making anyone question your ‘sickness’ any further. 

The more you lie to your family about it, the more guilty you feel. You don’t have much choice at the moment but to hide it just a bit longer. 

At first, you couldn’t share the news with your parents simply because you were still clueless about how you were going to find the father of the baby with only limited information you had of him. But then things only got even more complicated for you to ever come clean when he walked through the front door of your parents’ home. 

What are the odds that the man you hooked up with turns out to be the man your stepsister is currently dating? And here you are now, stuck in the same room with them while hiding a secret which may change the course of everyone’s entire life.

Yeah, miracles don’t exist. Not for me, at least.

Honey taps at your hand on the table as you grow silent, oblivious to the thoughts running through your head. “You know what you need?” she asks, whispering in a conspiring tone that she barely keeps down so that everyone at the table can still hear her voice. 

And she does it while looking at you with her wide, expecting eyes, with the barely concealed mischief written all over her face. It makes you smile, knowing where this is going. So you simply play along. 

"No, Honey. What would that be?” 

Her mischievous smile widens as she leans closer. “A hint of rum. With a few drops into that boring tea of yours, you’ll feel better in no time,” she says, lifting her hand and showing you a pinching gesture with her thumb and forefinger nearly touching each other, “Just a pinch. Or better yet, just trade your whole glass—” 

The sound of your Mom’s frustrated sigh cuts her off. “Mom, I already told you, giving her alcohol isn’t going to make her feel better. I’ve already given her some herbal tea, that should be enough until she can get a proper rest.”

“Oh, posh,” Honey says, waving her hand at your mother. “Ignore your Mom,” Honey says just as you are about to respond. “I’m telling you. Alcohol is best to cure your heartbreak,” she adds, and you certainly have no arguments against that. Alcohol might be able to help you forget. 

But, alas…

But, wait a minute. You stop and look closely at Honey. What is she talking about? 

“What do you mean?” you question her while tilting your head, wondering deep down if she had noticed something. Surely, she wouldn’t be able to tell the high tension rolling between you and Taehyung through dinner. 

Nobody else could. But you also know that if there is anyone in your family who might be able to catch on with the tension rolling between the two of you, it would be Honey. 

Once again, Honey reaches out and taps her dainty fingers on the back of your hand. “Isn’t that why you’re feeling down, peaches? I know you’re still thinking about that good for nothing—” 

Honey stops herself and bites down her smile before you can figure out what she is about to say. But you have heard enough to understand who she is referring to. 

Relief washes over you when you realise that she was talking about your ex, Hansol. She must have thought that you have been stressing over the breakup and you have been feeling unwell because of it.

Honey leans in, this time lowering her voice just enough only for you to hear. “You must’ve taken it from me. I also get a stomach bug when I’m stressed out. Just like last summer when I lost a go-stop game against the ladies from the block,” she says, before she continues blabbering about how she had made bets during the game and went all-in only to lose everything. 

“You might think that they’re nothing but small pennies used for gambling coins, but I spent a whole week collecting them. How am I supposed to replace all of them before the next game?” she continues to complain, while you laugh at her. 

Her story takes away the tension on your shoulders for a brief moment before she adds, “And then you had to come here and watch these two being all lovey-dovey with each other.” 

As Honey mentions the pair sitting across the table, waving her hand at them to make a point, your eyes are drawn towards them once more. And your gaze lands right on Alia’s hand which is now resting on top of Taehyung’s. 

Seeing this makes you feel tight in the chest. Bitterness fills your mouth which you can barely hide with a tight smile. Honey may not have been entirely correct with her assumptions, yet her comment still hits the mark somehow. 

Not about Hansol, obviously, as he is the one to occupy your mind the least. Yet she wasn’t too far off when she talked about the new pair of lovers before you. Seeing them does make you uncomfortable, miserable even, but for entirely different reasons. 

Looking away from their joined hands, your gaze meets Alia’s. She is wearing an unreadable expression on her face as she listens in to Honey’s words. And the strange look that she is giving you now is making you feel uneasy.

Just as you start wondering if Alia has noticed something, she instead asks you, “You guys broke up?” 

She throws a quick glance at Honey’s seat with a frown. For others, she might seem concerned, yet there is a look in her eyes which tells you that there is something more. “I was wondering why I haven’t seen him around. He was with us last holiday.” 

Her comment rubs you in the wrong way. You have no idea why she would care when your relationship has nothing to do with her. But you try to not let it bother you. “Yes, it’s been months now since we broke up. I only told Mom and Dad yesterday when I first got home.” 

“I see,” she says. Her voice comes out so softly that it almost comes out as a murmur. She pulls her hand back and places it on her lap. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry,” she adds while offering a small smile. And for some reason, she also seems guilty. 

Does she think it has something to do with what happened last year? 

Her words remind you of something that she said to you last year, back on the morning you confronted her after her drunken blunder which happened the night before. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean anything, I swear. It’s just drunk talking.” 

That incident shouldn’t be bothering you today. Yet it still makes you feel bitter when you think about it. The feeling only grows worse when you glance at Taehyung who is showing a sudden interest in this whole thing. 

“It’s fine. Sometimes things just don’t work out,” you simply repeat the same thing you said to your mother earlier while biting back the real question that is hanging right at the tip of your tongue. 

But what’s in it to you? 

No matter how curious you are to know what kind of scheme that is going through her pretty little head, you know it’s not worth all the drama that it might cause. You cannot even possibly imagine the drama that would unfold once this whole baby thing comes out.

God, just thinking about it is already making your stomach churn. Your lower abdomen suddenly feels hard and heavy. As if you have a full-size lead inside instead of a small, growing blob that is about to form into an actual living baby within a few weeks from now. 

Thinking about the baby, your eyes find the man who is behind all of this. He has grown oddly quiet while you were conversing with your stepsister and is now staring at his food with a frown on his face.

“So tell me,” you ask calmly while clenching your hands, doing your best to hide the trembles, “How did you two meet?”

This question immediately draws Taehyung’s attention. His eyes snap up, but the moment he looks at you, his face seems to grow pale and he becomes awfully nervous.

“We, uh—we used to work at the same company before Alia left to venture into other things,” he says, almost stuttering. He also keeps stealing glances at Alia, as if begging her to help him out. 

Huh, strange.

What is it about answering your simple question which makes him so nervous? 

Or perhaps…

Have they been seeing each other when the two of you hooked up? 

Fuck. 

The moment this thought crosses your mind, you suddenly feel sick. Your stomach grows heavier with anxiety. Meanwhile, Alia’s smile seems to beam brighter. 

“We didn’t work in the same division back then, but we would frequently meet during breaks and company hours. Had it been, what, a year after we last met?” Alia turns to Taehyung, who stiffly nods his head. She grabs his hand once again and looks at him lovingly as she continues, “We met again last summer by chance while I was travelling and started talking since then.” 

Last summer? But that was before—

Your head starts spinning. You grab your glass and take a couple of small sips of your tea to regain composure, yet the drink suddenly tastes bitter on your tongue. 

Honey’s voice barely registers in your brain when she responds with a hum. “Travelling in the summer? That sounds like a charming way to meet a new lover,” she says, lifting her mug to her lips as she continues marvelling at your stepsister’s story. “You must have felt some sparks when you two met. I bet you’re still feeling it now, aren’t you?”

You have no idea what she has inside that ceramic mug, as she had been nursing the same drink since even before dinner started. You can bet money that she had more than a pinch of rum dropped inside that drink of hers, seeing how talkative she is becoming. 

Oh, how you wish you could have a taste of it. Just a sip would have been good enough. Maybe it can also help to stop your hands from trembling. 

“And the ring?” Honey asks again with a teasing tone as she points at their entwined hands. “I noticed that you two are wearing matching rings. You can’t possibly be engaged already, can you?” 

Almost choking on your drink, you slowly set your glass back down and pull your hands onto your lap, hiding them from prying eyes just in time as they begin to shake.

“But it wasn’t that different back in the day,” Honey continues, “I remember that Russ—that’s my dear late husband,” she explains to Taehyung, “he bought me a cheap ring at the beginning of our relationship to show me and my parents that he was serious about courting me.” 

On any other times that Honey would speak about your late grandfather, you would always enjoy listening to every word, admiring how she would always share her story with pure love in her voice and wonder glowing in her eyes. 

But not this time. 

Ever since she pointed out the ring and started talking about your grandfather’s old promises, you start having trouble breathing. The more she speaks, the worse it gets, and now there is a ringing sound echoing in your ear that seems to be coming from different directions. 

“I still keep the ring with me, side by side with the wedding ring that doesn’t fit anymore on these wrinkly fingers of mine,” Honey keeps gushing. She raises her hands and starts wiggling her fingers to show them off, while your whole body grows tense. 

Alia shares a nervous laugh with Taehyung and waves her hand at Honey. “Oh, no…it’s actually a part of a joke that we—” 

You try to tune out the voices, the words that are being said, while clasping your hands tighter together on your lap, but the shaking doesn’t stop. Alia’s voice fades in and out beyond the loud ringing in your head as she continues to tell her story about how they started dating and the ring came to be. With everything that is going on, added with your awareness over Taehyung’s intense gaze that doesn’t seem to waver, it becomes too overwhelming that you feel as if you are slowly being swallowed into the ground beneath you. 

With a sharp gasp, you slowly push yourself out of your seat. “Excuse me, I have to—” your voice cracks as you speak. As you stand, you notice that everyone has their eyes on you, all curious to know what is happening with you. 

“_______?” you hear your mother calling you.

You can feel the blood draining from your face under all the unwanted attention, making you wish that you could just fade away right at that moment. But then your hand find its way to your stomach, and it almost feels like there is a touch of warmth forming under your palm. It helps you force a smile and gather yourself just enough to say, “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to step out early. I hope that’s alright. You guys enjoy the rest of dinner.” 

You don’t wait for anyone’s response as you turn away, finding your escape merely moments before you get into a full-blown meltdown right in front of everyone. 

Your legs are wobbly as you walk down the hall, yet you still manage to slip into the guest bathroom downstairs. With trembling hands, you lock the door behind you, shutting yourself from the world outside. 

And that is when you fall apart, turning into a heaving mess as everything that you have been bottling up inside comes flooding out of you. 

“Breathe,” you command yourself while you fight back against your nausea. Holding onto the bathroom counter, you keep yourself and try your best to focus on controlling your breath. 

Take a slow, deep breath. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

Little by little, all the tension, the trembling, and the tightness in your chest begin to wane. But once everything is gone, once you begin to find calmness, your emotions seize control of you.

The next thing you know, an unstoppable flow of tears comes running down your face and you start sobbing, crying in defeat. 

“Shit. Fuck. What a mess,” you curse between each sob, feeling absolutely helpless and alone. You close your eyes, hoping that you can clear your head by doing so. Yet your mind keeps going to dark places. Constantly wondering and questioning about all of this. 

About him. 

“Did he ever mention anything that was related to his personal life that night?” you cannot help but wonder out loud. 

Only silence answers. Because you hold little to no recollection of the details from the conversation you shared with him that night. Whenever you try to remember, it always feels like there was a part of your memory that had gone missing. 

You haven’t had the slightest clue of the things you shared with him at the bar once the drinks started coming more frequently. Which is a wonder, because you are completely sure that neither of you had gotten drunk enough to experience a blackout, much less lose a memory.

At least for you, the alcohol was just enough to burn through your nerves and help build your confidence to take the lead and openly show the attraction you had for him. Even if he did end up taking back control the moment the two of you finally gave in to temptation. 

Your head starts pounding, aching the more you try to remember the missing details. Meanwhile, all the questions won’t stop coming, making it harder for you to regain a peaceful mind.

Did he ever mention having a girlfriend, or at least give any hint that he was taken? 

Was he wearing that ring on his finger when he was touching your skin under the dim light of his bedroom suite? 

You shake your head and close your eyes again when you still remember nothing. The only thing that remains in your memory is the look you saw in his gaze that night. The pitiful look that seemed to mirror yours, making you believe that he was looking for the same thing you did that night. 

An escape. A way to forget even if for a moment. 

But what if that was all just another lie? 

Your stomach churns. A sharp pain comes shooting through your body. It starts from your lower abdomen, causing you to almost double over. 

Fuck. Now what? 

Your hand instantly comes down to your stomach, pressing and rubbing gently against it until the uncomfortable ache ebbs under your touch. 

Right, I’m supposed to avoid any form of stress, you remind yourself as you recall what your doctor told you the last time you went to see her. Something about getting your blood tension rising when you are stressed, and that it wouldn’t be good for both you and the baby in the long run. Closing your eyes, you try to think of happy thoughts, all while keeping your palm pressed on your stomach.

To your surprise, rubbing your palm against the barely-there baby bump on your belly isn’t just helping you to soothe the pain away, but also to calm yourself down. 

With a sigh, you gently wipe your tears and look down. “I’m sorry for swearing so much, baby. I promise to stop doing it once you’ve grown big enough to start hearing things so you won’t learn any of it too soon. But fuck, this is too much.” 

It feels odd to speak like this to the living being growing inside you that is barely more than a piece of flesh. Yet speaking to your growing baby seems to help ease your anxiety a little. 

Better yet, it helps make you feel less alone. 

“Let’s not think any bad thoughts. Let’s not assume that your Dad is an asshole, okay? Not until we get to hear the full story,” you whisper to the tiny human growing inside you. The more you speak to it, the more it seems to be helping you to find some ease of mind. 

But even if it turns out that he was…

“Then I can deal with it later with my head held high,” you murmur to yourself in a soft, yet reassuring tone of voice. And you repeat it again, and again, almost as if you are chanting a spell which would be able to give you a boost of confidence. 

It may not immediately change the way you look at things, yet you can feel it slowly rising within you. It feels like a ray of light, the first spark of hope that you get to feel amid all the uncertainty which surrounds you.

Soon enough, the strong urge to cry no longer overcomes you. Even your hands have stopped shaking. All that you have left is exhaustion. It rolls through your body with a vengeance, and there is nothing that you want more right now other than to curl up like a ball on your bed and sleep it off. 

You raise your head to look at yourself in the mirror, and instantly a bitter laugh escapes you at what you are seeing.

Because you look like a complete mess. Your life is slowly turning into shambles, and it seems to be mocking you through your own reflection that is now staring back at you. 

“Just exactly what I need,” you whisper with a sigh.

I need to be stronger, if only for the sake of this little one in me, you tell yourself as you splash cold water at your face to wash away all the mess—the drying tears, your swollen eyes, and the skin on your face which has yet to regain its normal colours. 

It feels therapeutic to be washing everything off, leaving nothing more but your swollen eyes which you can explain as a part of your sickness. You may not be strong enough to take on the world, but at least now, you are prepared to face the reality that is waiting for you right outside of this door. 

No matter how fucking messy it is. 

Having this new revelation should be giving you a newfound credence that could push you forward. And yet there is none of that here. The only thing you are feeling now is the new bout of anxiety rolling up through your body, starting from your stomach as it churns painfully.

“Yeah, now I feel sick,” you groan as you rush to the toilet bowl, seconds away before you start dumping the small amount of food you had during dinner into waste. 

It takes a bit longer than expected before you finally find the courage to step out of the bathroom. 

Soft murmurs filter into the bathroom the moment you open the door. You can tell that the voices are coming from the living room, which means that the family has gathered there after dinner. It allows you to breathe a sigh of relief. At least this way you wouldn’t have to hide or make excuses if you have to bump into someone on your way to your bedroom.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you are relieved that nobody is around. Everyone should be in the living room, so you make haste, hoping to be able to escape before anyone notices. 

But as you turn to the next hallway, someone is standing in your way. The light is dim, yet you can easily recognise him before you get any closer. Standing with his back leaning against the wall, he has his hands tucked into his pockets and his eyes looking absently into the distance. 

As though he has been waiting for you. 

Taehyung turns when he notices you coming. Before you can start to wonder what he is doing here, a smile grows on his face.

“Hey, is everything okay? Everyone was worried,” he asks you, sounding genuinely concerned. 

The calm tone of his voice might be a bit deceiving if only you are not looking into his eyes. His gaze keeps wavering as he speaks, as if he is unable to look at you for too long. The same guilt you saw earlier is still present in his eyes. And you hate seeing it there. 

It only tells you that he has a secret that he is keeping from you. You have no idea how to feel about it. But if it has to do with his relationship with Alia, then—

“I’m fine, it’s just—” 

Your cheeks grow warm the moment you speak, feeling embarrassed at how dry your voice sounds. “It’s nothing. You heard my Mom, I’ll be better in no time.” 

You have so many things to say to him. So many questions that you would like to give him. But you are too tired to do anything. Much less to talk. As much as you can convince yourself that you are ready to face anything, now is not the right time to do it. 

So you keep your mouth shut and try to walk past him instead. Only that he isn’t letting you go that easily. 

“You know, it really is nice to see you again, Red.” 

His voice sounds so subdued that you almost miss it. You come to a halt. Your heartbeat starts picking up again. If you ever needed confirmation that the sinful night you shared with him truly happened, and that he remembered any part of it, then this is it. 

His comment which instantly brings you back to that fateful night. The nickname that he used to call you then.

You close your eyes, refusing to remember the way he managed to draw out a myriad of sensations with his voice alone. You refuse to be brought back there again. Not now, when your mind isn’t clear enough to be dealing with this. Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself just enough to face him.

Only to be met with his amused smile as he looks at you. 

“I was surprised to see you. I never would have thought that you could somehow be related to Alia.” He lets out a chuckle. It sounds empty and a bit bitter, mirroring exactly how you are feeling right now. 

Your chest feels tight, hating the way he is saying her name. Nor do you enjoy seeing the way his gaze changes when he does it. Annoyance fills your chest that you can barely speak, while he remains in his blissful ignorance as he continues talking, 

“Funny how life works, doesn’t it? I kept thinking about you after we met and wondered if we would ever see each other again. I regretted that I didn’t ask for your number before we parted ways. I didn’t even get to ask for your real name.” 

The tightness in your chest grows tenfold. 

You never admitted it before—not to yourself, and not even to Skye, when you first talked about him—yet there was some point between that night and the day you found out about the pregnancy that you spent your nights wondering if you would ever see him again. 

If there had been one thing that you regretted about that night, it would be the decision you made to leave the next morning without asking for his real name or leaving any means of contact. 

A night to escape from reality. 

That was all it meant for you at the time. So when the morning came, it was time for you to return to reality. Your reality. Your real life. And you were too busy preparing yourself to face all the hurt, the bad memories, and the stressful life that had nothing to do with the desirable woman that he brought into his bed the night before to even consider exchanging contacts with him. 

It didn’t matter if you were still riding the high of that night’s self-gratification and wanton pleasure through the rest of your trip. The moment everything ended, you simply moved on from it. Putting everything about that night to the back of your mind as you returned to your normal life and quickly fell back into your normal routine. 

Until weeks later, when life decided to fuck you over and you ended up with a baby growing inside you, and you had no way to find or contact him to inform him about it. 

“I guess it can’t be helped, given the circumstances.” Your conviction quickly melts into dread once you are reminded of the current circumstances. “It’s kinda too late now to talk about it and regret what didn’t happen, don’t you think? Seeing that you’re now dating my stepsister.” 

Taehyung winces. For a brief moment, you almost believe you can see a glimpse of hurt flickering through his gaze. And for some reason, it only pisses you off. 

So he doesn’t like being reminded of the fact that he is here for someone else? 

“Look, about Alia. I was hoping that we could talk. Maybe when all of this is done, or maybe after the holidays we can—” 

He continues talking, but you aren’t hearing anything. The questions that flooded your brain earlier come flashing back. The ringing that pained you returns. Everything lasts for a few more seconds before your mind clears out, and only one question remains. 

“Were the two of you already dating when we slept together?” 

He falls silent, taken aback. 

“No!” he immediately says, almost shouting. But he quickly reins himself before his voice would reach where everyone is and draw their attention. “Fuck, no. Is that why you’ve been sulking all through dinner?” he asks you with a hiss. He seems offended and hurt at the same time. “I’m not that kind of guy. Trust me.” 

“Sulking?” you let out an incredulous laugh. Is that how he saw it? When you were coming close to breaking apart right in front of everyone because of him? 

“How am I supposed to trust you when I barely know you? How am I supposed to know that you’re telling the truth?” you snap back at him with a hiss. “Just because we fucked it doesn’t mean that I’d magically know everything about you.” 

Again, he winces at your question. As if your words come to him like a slap on his face. He takes a deep breath and speaks more calmly in response, “Look, we should talk. Soon. I can explain everything. But not now, okay?” 

As much as you hate to admit it, or to agree with him, you decide that he is right. There are a lot of things that you need to discuss with him, and now is not the right time to do it. Not when your emotions are all over the place and when he has his girlfriend keeping him in close sight most of the time. 

“I agree. We do need to talk,” you finally agree, even though you know that both of you have different things in mind. 

You have no idea what he intends to discuss with you. The only thing that matters to you is to talk about the baby that you conceived together. And hopefully, decide what will happen next. 

“I should go,” you sigh, feeling exhausted and drained. “I need to lie down. This is too much for me to process.” 

You try to walk around him so you can continue on your way. Your head is pounding, and you have the dire need to rest in your comfortable bed, where you would be able to feel safe and hide away from all of this. 

“Wait,” Taehyung stops you before you can go too far. 

“What?” you ask him, feeling exasperated—both from the stress and from the way your body still tingles each time you hear his voice. You really need to get away from him. 

“Nothing, it’s just…” he starts, suddenly looking nervous with what he is about to say. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, making him glance over his shoulder briefly before speaking to you with a lowered voice, “Can you do me a favour?” 

You frown at him. “What is it?” 

He looks wary, and it makes you feel uneasy in the stomach as you wait for him to speak. 

But what he says next makes you feel even worse. “Please don’t tell Alia that we’ve met before, more importantly that we hooked up that night.” 

You say nothing at first. Even if you are well aware of the situation and where Alia’s position in all of this, it still doesn’t stop the sharp pain you feel in your chest as he mentions her name, or to express his request. 

Taehyung steps closer when you remain quiet. His voice comes as a desperate whisper when he pleads with you, “Please? Can you do this for me?” 

You grit your teeth. “Fine, I won’t,” you finally say to him. But you refuse to give in that easily.

Taking a step closer to him, you point at him and demand him, “But you need to tell her.” 

He clenches his jaw as he listens to your demands, but you ignore it and continue to talk. “She needs to know—” your voice nearly wavers, because you know what would happen once everything is revealed. 

Telling your stepsister that you had slept with her boyfriend would not only be hard, but it would be ugly. 

But it would be better than keeping it a secret for much longer. Because secrets don’t always remain hidden, no matter how hard you try to keep them in the shadows. And things would even get messier once the baby comes while she is still being kept in the dark. 

It’s better to bite the bullet as soon as possible, rather than waiting and living your life in uncertainty until the day comes. 

“If you don’t, and we keep this a secret much longer, things might get messier if she somehow finds out on her own. The last thing I’d ever want is to get into any drama. Not with her,” you try to convince Taehyung, despite him looking like he would rather bolt and have nothing to do with any of this. 

After all the drama that happened last year, the last thing you need is to get involved in another. 

“I’ll tell her myself if necessary.” There is a bite in your voice when you are telling him all of this. To his credit, Taehyung—despite looking shell-shocked and cornered—seems to respect and understand your request. 

He lowers his head and nods. “Give me time. I’ll—” 

You are surprised to see him looking defeated. It makes you wonder if there is something more about their relationship that you need to know before going further. 

As Taehyung raises his head again, he seems more resolved. He looks straight into your eyes as he promises, “I’ll tell her myself once I get the chance to. I promise. But we’re going to have that talk first, and soon.” 

“It’s a promise.” You bite back the ache that suddenly pierces through your heart, seeing how he is so adamant about protecting his relationship with your stepsister. Trying not to look too deep into it and get yourself hurt further, you avoid looking into his gaze and start walking away from him. 

“Goodnight then—” you whisper to him as you turn away from him, biting back the sound of your defeat when you call his name, “Tae.” 

The moment you are within the safety of your bedroom, your knees buckle. Thankfully, you still manage to close the door and lock it behind you, once again shutting yourself from everyone to give you some moment of peace.

Although it doesn’t stop him from entering your mind in the silence that follows. 

As you lie down in your bed, curled up in a fetal position with your arms wrapped around yourself, your mind wanders back to the conversation you just had with Taehyung in the hallway. 

You can’t help it. His words keep coming back to you, and you keep finding yourself dissecting everything he said. You close your eyes, and keep telling yourself to stop. The situation that you are dealing with right now already seems absurd enough for you to waste your energy trying to understand him. 

You begin to wonder if things would have been better if you hadn’t come across each other again. Things would probably turn out differently. You may have to keep the baby’s existence a secret from him, and the truth about the father a secret from your family. 

You may have to deal with everything yourself. 

The possibility seems petrifying, but it still sounds a lot better than having to go against your stepsister. Better than causing your frail relationship to become even worse. This time, you know that this would be big enough to ruin any chance for you and your stepsister to have any kind of relationship at all. 

He was right. It’s funny how life works. If only it doesn’t have to be this hard to laugh it off. 

Stop it. 

Keeping your eyes closed, you let out a deep sigh and force yourself to think about something else. Anything. As long as you are not thinking about him. His face, his voice, the scent of his cologne, everything that belongs to him. 

Your head starts swimming. No, everything about him now belongs to someone else. 

Once again, you force yourself to start thinking of less stressful things. Like Skye’s text message from this afternoon suggesting that you could run away with her to a secluded place somewhere in Europe so that the two of you could raise the baby together. Or the little stories that Honey shared about the cute new gardener now working at her apartment complex—the complex specifically built for elders like herself—that she wanted to introduce to you the next time you come by to visit.

You regret forgetting to pick up the smoothie that your mother made for you while you were throwing up in the bathroom, all due to Taehyung’s distraction. You wonder if having the smoothie would be able to help you feel better. Picturing the drink being left attended in the kitchen, you can picture your grandmother—the sweet little mischievous angel that she is—sneaking in a few drops of rum into the smoothie when your mother isn’t looking. 

This thought makes you smile. It replaces every ugly thoughts that keep circling inside your mind and calms you down. 

Your heartbeat is no longer beating like crazy. The more you fill your head with wonderful thoughts, the sooner the uneasy feeling in your stomach begins to wane. 

And soon enough, you start drifting away to a restless sleep. 

But just like how he invaded your home with his sudden appearance, Taehyung invades your sleep once your mind is left unguarded. 

Speaking to him, albeit briefly, brings you back to that night. The moment you close your eyes, you start seeing everything from back then that you couldn’t remember in your waking hours. Even the smallest details that your conscious mind has forgotten. Everything comes crashing down on you as you toss and turn in your bed, unable to give in completely to a peaceful slumber as memories continue to flood your dreams. 

Six weeks ago…

You opened your eyes and squinted. 

The overhead lamp above your head was bright, and it was hurting your eyes. You could barely see a thing through your bleary eyes, until your gaze drifted further, looking into the dimly lit bedroom far across the foyer. 

The room looked more spacious than yours, albeit a bit messy. The massive bed looked comfortable, and there were two lounge seats set up near the windows that looked more luxurious than the ones you had in your room. 

“Your bedroom seems a lot more cozy than mine.” 

The words came out of your lips with a moan. The sound seemed foreign. Barely recognisable through your hazy mind. But there was a familiar sensation slowly rising in your body that hadn’t at all come from the alcoholic drinks you were having tonight. 

“Hmmm…You think so?”

A deep, sultry voice spoke as a pair of hot lips made their way down the side of your neck, tracing your skin with delicate kisses that made it even harder for you to think straight. 

Shivers ran down your body. Heat rolled through your chest. And it almost seemed to you that your skin was becoming even more sensitive to the touch when even the most subtle caress of his fingers was able to light up your senses. 

Right after the voice spoke to you, he suddenly switched and started kissing his way up. You blinked, and his face came into view just as he looked down at you. The beautiful face that captivated you when you first met him at the bar was presented right before your eyes. 

So close. So tempting. And his eyes were so intense that you nearly lost your breath. He smiled and leaned down, capturing your lips with a kiss. 

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he murmured against your lips, drawing another moan out of you which snapped you from your daze. 

You sighed as you gave in to the chaste kiss he was giving you. “It’s kind of hard to look around and see anything when you have me pinned to the door.” 

He let out a soft chuckle and once again pressed his lips on yours. As if he was both pleased and amused that he got to put you in this position. When he pulled back, the look in his eyes softened. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It’s all your fault for teasing me all the way here while I couldn’t allow myself to touch you with so many eyes paying attention,” he said without any hint of regret in his voice. 

“Well, forgive me because I wasn’t aware,” you taunted him back, knowing fully well what you had done to tease him until he was on the verge of breaking apart even before you reached his hotel suite. 

As much as you wanted to hold back, you were quite sure that you hadn’t gotten things wrong. You couldn’t have possibly mistaken the chemistry that kept sparking between you. And the way he kept openly staring at your body was enough to make his intention clear, as his eyes seemed more honest than the words he gave you. 

But back at the bar, you had let him be the first one to make the move. 

With his sturdy hands, he was the one who pulled your seat closer. By placing his arm on your backrest, it may have seemed as if he was marking his territory for anyone else at the hotel bar to see. Normally, something like this would’ve put you off. But there was something in the way he did it that made you feel otherwise, allowing you to give in and lean more into his warmth instead of pushing him away. 

That was when you reciprocated his actions with your own. The light and subtle touches of your fingers on his arm drew soft shudders through his body. The accidental brushes that happened when you moved against his body pushed him into wrapping his arm around you, keeping you close before he finally pulled you out of the bar. 

When you leaned close enough to whisper softly against his ear, you could feel goosebumps rising on his skin, his heartbeat escalating under your palm, and he could barely hold himself back from devouring your lips right there at the hotel lobby. Right where everyone could see you falling into pieces under your sinful desire.

By the time you were alone with him in the elevator, the tension between you just kept escalating until he finally snapped. 

He nearly dragged you across the hallway leading to his bedroom suite in his rush to get you alone. The moment he pulled you in through the door, every bit of his composure simply left him. He barely gave you a chance to catch a single glance of the suite, as he immediately pushed your body against the door and kept you there. 

Until this moment. 

His eyes grew dark after listening to your answer. His breath is still ragged after the hot kiss that he gave you once he got you pinned between his hard body and the locked door behind you. 

With his broad chest locking you in place, his hips pressing against your lower body, he left you with nowhere else to go. But this didn’t seem to be enough for him. Looking into his eyes, you could tell that he needed to see you become even more vulnerable. Almost as if he wanted to punish you for putting him on the edge. 

And he did exactly that as he slipped one hand around your neck and pulled your hair, tilting your head back so that he could continue exploring the column of your throat with his sinful lips. Instead of resisting it, you simply gave in. Arching your back to him further as he trailed kisses on your skin, your hands clutching on his jacket to hold on. 

He used his other hand to explore the rest of your body. Starting from your waist, he continued to move further down to your hips. Tracing every curve, every dent along your body with his firm fingers pressing through your thin dress. 

Just as he was about to reach the hem of your dress, he suddenly stopped and pulled back. 

“Tell me again. Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice was quiet when he asked you this. It sounded as though he was caught between convincing himself that this was happening while giving you an out for one last time before getting too deep. 

But you had gone deep. 

And you knew then that the moment you let everything happen, there was no going back from it. Everything about this was new to you; hooking up with a complete stranger while you were in the middle of nowhere, and knowing that once the night was over, both of you were going to move on with your lives. 

It felt thrilling to think about it, and the liquid courage should help you in letting go of your inhibitions. Yet you couldn’t deny the fact that you are feeling slightly nervous about jumping fully into this. 

When you failed to answer him, Tae leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss right below your ear and whispered, “Well? Talk to me. Because there is no going back from this once we begin, and I won’t let you go until you tell me what you want.” 

The way his breath tickled your ear and caressed your skin broke you out of the walls you put up. Every flicker of doubt you felt immediately melted. You brushed against him, allowing him to feel every bit of heat coursing through your body before you answered with a whisper, “Yes. I’ve never been so sure in my whole life.” 

You could feel the way his breath was caught as you pressed your palm on his chest. Pressing against him, you raised yourself up and nipped his chin with your teeth. 

“This is what I want.” 

You weren’t completely sure if you ever got to finish your sentence when all of a sudden, his lips came crashing into yours, pressing firmly as he kissed you, barely concealing his desire for more. 

The kiss unleashed your own desire. You opened your mouth for him in return, allowing him to devour you, to have a taste of your demands as he thoroughly kissed you until you were left breathless in his arms. 

His hand began to move again just then. Tracing down your hips, he pressed the tips of his fingers harder into your flesh. He made it seem as if your dress had melted into your skin with the heat of his touch that you felt completely exposed to him. And he didn’t stop until he finally found the exposed skin of your thigh. 

Your body quivered upon contact, and you could tell that he felt it too. He began stroking your skin, moving at a slow, agonising pace just to put you on the edge. 

And he easily succeeded. Already, you could barely breathe, even when he was still far from touching any part of your body that needed him the most. 

Overcame with need, your body started moving on instinct. As if his touches were controlling you as you lifted your thigh for him. His grip on your thigh tightened, helping you to keep your leg up and open yourself to him while his kiss became sloppy yet gentle as he released his hold on your hair. 

He moved his other hand down, brushing against your covered breast with a brief contact and continued trailing down. You felt him pressing at your hips, before pulling the hem of your dress upward until your lower region was completely exposed. His hand continued its travel as it climbed up your inner thigh. So you opened your legs to give him better access. A move which he appreciated with a deep hum, before you felt his thumb brushing up just an inch away from your throbbing core. 

“Should we move this someplace else? Somewhere that would be more comfortable for us?” he asked you with his lips hovering close to yours. 

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Too lost in the sensation that you were made to feel, you felt as if you were drunk and high, not from the alcohol that was no longer running wildly through your veins, but from his entire presence alone. 

All thoughts faded further as his thumb grazed across the front of your panties, finding your folds through the fabric before he pressed down, enough to give pressure on your covered clit. Sparks flew through your half-lidded eyes as pleasure came rushing through you in waves. You couldn’t stop the moan slipping out of your lips, nor the way your hips rocked into his touch to feel more. 

“So responsive,” he murmured against your neck before he planted a light kiss on your skin. “I would have loved to watch and enjoy every reaction that you would give me, every sound you make, while I have you lie down on my bed and fuck you senseless.” 

Your breath hitched and caught in your chest. Not only because of his words, but also from the way his thumb continued to rub against your covered clit. It felt sinful, yet so delectable the way he kept drawing more and more sparks and shuddering pleasure through your body.

After being deprived of such attention for quite some time, your body became more sensitive to every friction, every treatment he was giving you, and you simply wanted more. 

“Then take me there. Take me to your bed.” 

As if you had flicked a switch in his brain, his expression changed. His gaze darkened as he captured your lips with unrestrained need, yet he was careful when he picked you up, pressing you against his chest when he turned and moved to take you away from the door.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him for balance, while your lips remained locked in a deep kiss. You could feel his long stride as he began carrying you across the room. His kiss and his firm hold on your bottom cheeks were enough to draw your attention away from his clumsy footsteps, but not enough to deny you from sensing the changes happening around you.

The scent of his cologne grew thicker as he went deeper into the room, and you were getting more and more lost in him. Drowned in his heat, his kiss, and the traces that he had left behind all over his bedroom, you felt him everywhere all at once that you felt like you were being put under a spell. 

All so suddenly, you were pulled out of it when he broke away from the kiss. He laid you gently over the cold white sheets of his partly-made bed. Instead of joining you right away, he chose to pull back. His eyes seemed to glint in the dimly lit room as he took this moment to take you in. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, drawing heat back to your face. 

He kept his eyes on you as he shrugged off his jacket and began peeling his shirt from his chest. Desire pulsed through your body as you watched every move he was making without ever drawing his attention away from you. 

The more you watched him, the stronger the pull that you felt towards him. Once the need to touch him took over, you reached up and tugged on his pants, hoping that you could quickly shred them off of his body. 

You barely grazed against his covered hard-on when he stopped you by catching your wrists. Like a disappointed teacher, he made a disapproval sound with his tongue. 

“Patience, Red,” he teasingly said to you as he grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it off of you with one swift move. You fell back to the bed with a gasp, shocked to see how easy it was for him to take over until you were left with nothing more but your lacy underthings. 

The intensity you felt from his gaze made you want to wrap your arms around yourself and hide. But being half inebriated was making you slow in thoughts and movement that you couldn’t do anything but lay still. At the same time, you enjoyed the way he was looking at you, loving how he was losing himself to you the same way you did to him. 

But it was the words that he said next that further brought out your wanton needs.

“Be a good girl and stay still. I want you to stay just like this,” he said with a murmur while his eyes ran down your body, “I want you to lie on your back while you are screaming out my name.” 

If only you hadn’t been so lost for words, perhaps you would have challenged him in return. Instead, by the time every piece of his clothing was gone, you felt like you had melted further into the sheets. The raw passion you saw in his gaze and the way he was tracing his fingertips on your skin had locked you completely in place, leaving you with no other option but to surrender as he took control.

He bent down, his lips came down to your neck. Planting his kisses on your skin, he kept your attention away from his hands as he snapped off your bra and went down to pull your panties down your hips. As he dragged your panties down your bare legs, he continued his kisses further down, not stopping until he reached your heaving chest. 

You couldn’t even remember what happened to that flimsy piece of fabric that he took from you. Everything else faded as his tongue grazed across your chest, drawing a gasp out of your lips. His firm hands returned to your hips right then, holding you down while he captured your taut nipple between his teeth. 

The feeling that coursed through you was heavenly. A shooting pain came with a flare as he bit down, yet it was quickly replaced with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure when he lapped the pain away with his sinful tongue. 

“Tae—”

His body quivered against yours at the sound of your voice. He pulled away with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched you arching your chest as if you were chasing him. 

He ran his gaze down your body. Perusing you while silently admiring what he was seeing while he licked his lips. As if he was picturing the way you would taste. 

“Tell me how badly you want this, Red,” he taunted you with his hand reaching out to the nightstand. You vaguely saw him grabbing a condom while you were struggling to breathe. Your eyes fell on his exposed, throbbing cock, and words simply left you. 

Seeing its impressive size and girth, your entire body erupted with a pulse. It started from deep inside your core, right where you wanted to feel him the most. Astonished, you failed to remember that he was still waiting for your answer with his eyes locked on your face. 

And he made you struggle further to find words when he reached down, wrapping his long fingers around his cock and started giving himself slow, lazy strokes. You could see the bead of his pre-cum glistening under the dim lighting. It took everything in you to stop yourself from leaning forward and lapping him dry. To have a taste, before you let him devour every drop of your essence. 

“Red? Talk to me,” he spoke to you again with a curious tone in his voice. 

He knew that he wasn’t getting any attention, as your eyes were locked only at one place that was not his face, and he seemed to be curious to know what was making you so lost in thoughts. 

Instead of answering him, you continued to watch, completely transfixed by his actions, as he slowly spread his pre-cum along the length of his cock. You licked your lips, almost as if you could taste him. A barely concealed whimper slipped out of your lips when you watched him slowly roll the condom to cover himself from the tip of his cock and down to the base. 

Seeing him covered with protection seemed to snap you back to the present. Even if your pulsing need still refused to tame down. 

Resting back against the pillows, you dragged your eyes away from his impressive cock to his beautiful face. 

“I want you here. Inside me,” you finally responded to his question. Placing your palms on the underside of your thighs, you parted your legs open, making him see the mess that had been building up right between your legs while you were enjoying the show he was giving you. 

Now it was your turn to give him a show. 

Reaching between your legs, you moved your fingers to find your folds. You bit back a gasp once the tips of your fingers were met with your wet arousal. It felt slick as you moved your fingers around, parting your nether lips so he could see your swollen clit, before you moved your fingers in circles, pressing at yourself the exact same way you wished he would. 

“Please, fuck me, Tae. Fuck me good.” 

His pupils dilated at the sound of your voice, at the pleading words you were giving him. You loved the way he was reacting to you just as much as he did with you, yet you decided to push his buttons further by adding, “And then I want to hear you scream my name while you cum inside me.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “What a little brat,” he said, chuckling. “So you like to play games, hmmm?” 

You bit your bottom lip, holding back a moan that was threatening to come out when your touch inadvertently pushed against the source of your heat. “Oh, I do. Games are always fun.” 

While he continued stroking his cock at a lazy pace, he used the other hand to grab your neck. His palm fit perfectly as he wrapped it around the column of your throat, putting pressure that was not enough to choke you, yet enough to show you who was in control. 

“Then let’s play,” he groaned while he pressed you back down on the bed. “But this time, I make the rules.” 

You felt the electrifying pleasure surging through your body as he brushed your hand away and lined himself against your entrance, shutting down the circuits inside your brain for a moment and stopping you from wiggling too much beneath him just to feel more friction. 

A sharp moan was drawn from your lips as Tae slammed his full length deep inside you. The sensation that you felt from being filled by his width was so feral and explosive that you were sure you immediately experienced your orgasm right then and there. 

Your body must have been shaking, which was a response that you failed to notice as you had your senses filled with the steady pulse of pleasure pressing across the girth of his cock. He must have noticed it when he came to a halt, giving you a chance to process everything and adjust to his presence inside you.

Nothing made sense to you beyond the pulsing pleasure that you felt from your hot pussy. Your senses were filled with the sound of your racing heartbeat, the soothing touch of his fingers on your skin, and the whispers of his voice calling you back to him. 

He only managed to bring you back to the present by pressing gentle kisses on your lips, nose, and then on the rest of your face, stopping only after he kissed your lips again to draw your attention back to him. 

Your legs were quivering when you opened your eyes to see him, yet you could already tell from the way the pulses that came right where you were joined started to settle, that your body had adjusted perfectly to his size. 

But it didn’t mean that you would simply take it without sharing your thoughts. 

“You’re—big,” you complained with a soft moan when you felt him growing harder inside you. It didn’t stop you from rocking your hips, trying to feel more friction, while he merely chuckled at your words. 

“And it’s perfect for your tight pussy.” 

His words drew a gasp from you. But he didn’t pay much attention to it, as he slowly began to move. He started with a slow pace, which was torturous and agonising, forcing you to feel the delectable way his girth was brushing against your pulsing walls. 

Back and forth he went, going so deep you could almost feel him pressing up your stomach before pulling out until only the tip was buried inside you. He kept moving at the same pace, until you began to feel more desperate. Even your body was shaking with the need to feel more. 

“More—!” you whispered with a strangled moan, “go faster.” 

Hearing this, instead of doing what you were begging him to, Tae denied your plea by doing the opposite. With a wicked grin on his face, the fucker slowed down, bringing the pleasure that had been rising back down a notch. 

You opened your mouth to protest against it, and he moved his hands down your hips, stopping at your thighs where he gave you a tight grip. 

“You want more?” he asked you, his voice almost seemed to grow deeper, and you could feel a tinge of danger when he spoke. The same danger you saw coming through his gaze as he slowly brought your legs up. 

You expected him to stop once he got your legs up his shoulders. But he just kept going. And going. Until you were nearly folded with your legs almost pressed to your chest.

“Tae—!” 

It made you feel vulnerable, with nothing but your hands to use to hold on while he had full control of your body. He was still buried inside you, and this position allowed you to feel him more. As though you had grown tighter around him and he was growing bigger. His entire length and width made you feel full, as his cock was pressing tightly against your hot walls. 

“You wanted more,” he murmured as he began moving, rocking his hips slowly back and forth, going in and out of you, drawing more and more of that shuddering pleasure out of your body as he continued fucking you gently. “I’m giving you more.” 

He began increasing his pace. Going faster the more he heard you moaning in pleasure. “Lift your arms, Red. Bring them up and hold the pillows.” 

It took a moment for his words to register in your head. Your hands had been clutching tightly on his forearms and it was a struggle to let go. And he waited, tormenting you by keeping his pace much too slow to your liking until you followed his command. 

Your hands trembled as you unlatched them from his skin. You could barely feel your fingers as you dragged your hands up, as every part of your body grew more sensitive the more you opened your entire self to him. Keeping your eyes on him, you got lost in his intense gaze. 

It was then when you finally came in contact with the soft pillows above your head, and your fingers easily sank into them, latching onto them as you did when you were holding onto his arms.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmured gently, and you were pleasantly surprised to realise how much you loved hearing his praise. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and it easily made its way down right to your core. “Now hold on tightly and don’t let go.” 

And you did just that. Holding on tightly the way he wanted you to. 

Only once he gained complete control of your body, once you fully submitted to him, he finally fulfilled your wish. He held firmly on your thighs to keep them folded and open for him, and he began ramming his cock deep inside you. 

He was doing it faster. Harder. Sending you high in pleasure while all you could do was take his constant pounding. The only leverage you had to hold on was the tight hold you had on the pillows and the weight of his body that was pressing you down each time he pushed deeply inside you. 

The anomalous sounds coming out of both of your lips kept bouncing off the walls. Followed by the sound of flesh clashing against flesh, the slick sounds that came from right where you were joined, and the creaking sound of the bed beneath you. 

He kept going, relentless in his rough thrusts and his need to push you over the edge, until you could feel the rise of your orgasm coming in waves. The wanton pleasure that was hot and intense came rising inside you, growing rapidly with his deep thrusts until you finally succumbed to it, coming into your climax with a scream. 

“Tae, I’m coming,” you cried out to him as you fell over the edge, though you weren’t completely sure if the words coming out of your lips were as coherent as you thought they would have been. 

The sound of your pounding heartbeat seemed to drown everything away. Except that you could still hear the sound of his breathless grunts as they grew clearer, and the strangled moan that came out of him when he shouted, “That’s it, Red. Fuck, I’m coming!”

With a sharp intake of breath, he came to his climax. You felt every pulse of his release as he came inside you, and the tremble in his chest that surged through him with his deep groan as he relished the pleasure. Even after his release, he kept moving, rocking slowly and steadily until the spasms of your orgasm slowly began to wane down. 

He remained buried inside you when he gently released you from his hold. You could barely feel his lips pressing on your quivering thighs before he lowered them back on the mattress, yet his gentle fingers remained hot on your skin when he brushed up against you. 

He reached up and gently pried your fingers away from the pillows before slipping his fingers between yours. The way your fingers were entwined together felt so intimate. So unlike anything that you had ever thought about what a one-night stand would entail. 

Your body felt hot, and your muscles were lax, but there was a series of small spasms still going strong from deep inside you, coaxed by his incessant rocking. You should have been pushing him off of you, instead of embracing his weight as he lowered himself, covering your body with his own. 

“Tae—” you whimpered against his lips as he kissed you. Holding your hands in his, he continued to rock his hips. 

How he managed to remain so hard and stiff even after his climax was beyond you. He still felt thick as he moved. His cock brushed against your pulsing walls as he went in and out, awakening all sparks of pleasure that were supposed to have dwindled. 

And with how sensitive your body was, it rose and peaked so quickly and you had no power to stop it. 

“Too…much…” you cried between the strangled moans coming out of your lips, right before he swallowed them with another kiss. 

“One more,” he groaned as he picked up his pace. “Just do it one more time for me, Red.” 

You were so sensitive it was beginning to hurt, but the pleasure was also maddening that you didn’t want to stop. This time, he wasn’t holding you down so strongly, allowing you to move beneath him. So you rocked back against him, pushing up each time he was thrusting into you. It only took a couple of more strokes before the coil in your core snapped, and you were sent to another climax. 

And he joined you in your release, falling into a smaller climax of his own as you clenched tightly around him. 

He came with a deep groan. His whole body quaked against you before he finally fell on top of you. While you were trying to control your breath, his lips came brushing your neck, kissing you gently to help soothe down the shudders running through your body.

“Fuck…so perfect,” he sighed between his kisses, his voice came in and out through your senses, and the sparks you felt rushing through your body started waning as you were slowly drifting away into the night, with his words echoing in your dreams,

“You are perfect.” 

Author’s Note 2.0 | Thank you for reading so far. Any likes, kudos, comments, and feedbacks will be appreciated. The story continues in part 2.

⟶ Jingle All the Way collab masterlist | A Christmas Fix: next chapter ⇢

© All rights reserved. 2024 Yoonia — Unauthorized use and/or duplication of these works, including reposting, translating and modification in any form, is strictly prohibited. 

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hiiiii!!! I hope you have the greatest time at your vacation! I was wondering if I could request about Sukuna x Reader where the reader is sweet and kind towards everyone, including him. He thought she would be afraid of him and confuses him all day until he confronts her as he confesses his feelings to Reader.

You know I had to write my bbys request right away 🫶🤍 I hope you like it!

Sweet Affection

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: Until he met you, Sukuna never believed in something as worthless as love and affection. But when you treated him like no one ever did before, when you showed him what affection might look like, he tumbles...

Warnings: this is just pure fluff y'all, reader is a sunny sweetheart so of that's not for you don't read, Sukuna melts like butter in her hands hehe

What do we think about adding a real "name" for a one shot instead of a brief description? Let me know 👀🤍

The air is thick with tension as you step into the room. The oppressive aura of none other than Ryomen Sukuna would send most people running, but instead of allowing fear or negativity to take over, you walk in with the same gentle smile you usually wear. After all, it’s this smile that has kept you safe so far, that kept you from losing your mind to darkness - even when standing in front of the king of curses himself.

Sukuna eyes you with a mix of dislike and curiosity. He’s not used to someone like you, someone who isn’t trembling in his presence or desperately trying to escape his control. No, you approach him calmly while offering him a cup of tea as if he were just another regular person.

A cup of tea. Is he dreaming? What the hell are you thinking?

“Here, I made this for you,” you say softly, placing the cup in front of him.

Your voice is just as warm and soothing as your appearance, completely throwing him off. He’s used to the screams, the fear, the devotion that his very name commands. But you… you’re different.

You don’t even tremble, not the tiniest bit while placing the cup in front of him. And then you sit down opposite of him as if it was nothing, as if he couldn’t kill you with one minor movement of his pinky finger.

He doesn’t take the tea, just stares at it with narrowed eyes for a brief moment.

“What’s your game?” he finally growls, his deep voice reverberating through the room.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

You blink, tilting your head slightly as if the question puzzles you.

“Why would I be afraid of you? You haven’t given me a reason to be.”

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, the sharp claws extending slightly as if to remind you of exactly who he is.

“I’m a monster. These people are trying to hold me hostage. Your people,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’ve killed more humans than you can imagine. I could kill you right now if I wanted to.”

“And yet, you haven’t. Even though I’m here to make sure you don’t escape,” you reply simply, your eyes meeting his without a trace of fear.

“You could have done it a thousand times by now, but you didn’t. That tells me there’s more to you than just the monster everyone else sees or that you pretend to be.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Your words unsettle him, digging into parts of him he thought were long buried. He’s silent for a long moment, just watching you as you take a sip out of your own cup, eyes darting around the room in visible comfort.

“Why are you so kind? Why do you act like this?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he’s asking himself more than you.

You smile softly, a small, genuine smile that somehow manages to light up the room despite the dark presence looming within it.

“I believe everyone deserves kindness,” you say, your eyes sincere.

“Even you, Sukuna. Or maybe especially you.”

His heart lurches in his chest, a foreign sensation he hasn’t felt in centuries. It irritates him how easily you disarm him, how your sweet nature pierces through the layers of hatred and darkness that have consumed him for so long. It baffles him, makes him feel things he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in so long.

But what angers him the most is the realization that he cares about your opinion of him. That suddenly, he doesn’t want you to see him as a monster. Not you with that glowy hair and remarkable eyes. Not you, who is the first one who actually dares to sit opposite of him, who doesn’t seem afraid of him the slightest. What do you see in him while looking up through your doe eyes and long lashes? What lingers through your mind while smiling at him oh so gently? You simply sit there, take a sip of tea from time to time and smile.

“You know I won’t stay here forever. It’s way too easy for me to escape”, he finally blurts out.

“I know you will. But until you do, I will enjoy my time drinking tea with you.”

He furrows his eyebrows, mind racing back and forth. What nonsense are you talking?

“I’m not that Itadori brat, foolish human.”

“I am very aware of that”, you reply simply.

This goes too far already, he can’t waste another precious minute sitting opposite of you while drinking tea when this might be the last change in a long time for him to take over that brat’s body. With a swift motion he stands up.

Sukuna allows himself one last glance at your soft features, the way you hold your cup so delicately. Then he’s gone.

Months pass with this strange tension lingering between you. Those past weeks, he finds himself over and over at your doorstep. Out of habit, he grabs every chance he gets out of trance to see you again.

You? You continue to treat him with the same kindness, offering him food, asking him about his day, even making casual conversation as if he were any other person.

And Sukuna… he finds himself wanting to respond, wanting to let down his guard, if only for a brief moment.

It’s maddening. He spends the entire time brooding, his thoughts swirling with questions he can’t answer. Why does he care? Why does your smile make his chest tighten? Why does he want to see it directed at him more and more? What is this urge to feel you close without the need to kill you? You, a jujutsu sorcerer from that cursed school, nothing but a weak human.

What is so special about you?

As night falls and he finds himself sitting on your couch again, he finally reaches his breaking point. You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you prepare dinner, when he storms in, his presence like a thundercloud rolling through the room.

“Why?” he demands, his voice rough and almost desperate.

“Why are you like this with me? Why do you act like I’m not the monster I am?”

You turn to face him, your expression softening as you see the turmoil in his eyes. You take a step closer, and to his surprise, he doesn’t instinctively move back.

“Because I see more in you,” you say quietly.

“I see someone who’s been hurt, someone who’s lost so much that he’s forgotten how to be anything but cruel. But that doesn’t mean that’s all you are, Sukuna.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. No one has ever spoken to him like this, ever seen him like this. And before he can stop himself, the truth comes tumbling out.

“I care about you,” he admits, the words rough and jagged like they’re being ripped from his very soul.

“And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel this way.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“It’s okay to care, Sukuna. It doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you human.”

Human.

He stares at you, his mind racing. Those countless words of nonsense leaving your mouth, that stupid smile that never wipes off your face, your kindness. Are you actually that dumb? But all he can focus on is how close you are, how your presence soothes the chaos in his mind. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“You’re a fool. A foolish, kind-hearted human…” he murmurs, but there’s no heat in his words, only a strange, unfamiliar tenderness.

Before he can say anything more, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. Soft and tentative, but it’s enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

A firework seems to explode between both of you when he wraps his arms around your waist. Longingly, full of passion. You never allowed yourself to imagine this moment. Not when all you wanted to do was to support him, to show him that he doesn’t have to act the way he does. But this? This is more than you ever dreamed of.

Truth is, you fell for this man. Despite the stinging fact that he’s the complete opposite of you, despite all the horrible things he’s done. You can’t help but look up at him with nothing but affection glimmering in your eyes, with nothing but pure love filling your heart.

When you pull back, your eyes meet his, and for the first time in centuries, Sukuna feels something other than hatred and rage. He feels warmth. He feels… love.

And it terrifies him. Fuck, he isn’t supposed to feel this way. That feeling he always made fun of, rising up his chest because a random girl smiled at him?

But as he looks into your eyes, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. Maybe it’s more than that, something worth exploring.

“I’ll destroy you,” he whispers, though the threat feels empty even to him.

You smile, leaning into his touch.

“I’ll take my chances.”

For the first time in his long, twisted existence, Sukuna doesn’t know what the future holds. But with you by his side, he thinks he might just be okay with that.

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[dollfacefantasy]

hi! i just finished reading your most recent fic, (amazing btw 💕) and keep reflecting on the part where leon calls reader a little disappointing.. so i was wondering if you could write some angst with DI leon where he’s quite mean and degrading and saying how he’s disappointed and stuff with reader, yk! then leon lovingly fucks reader after as a way to say sorry? (daddy kink included) thank you <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon goes a little too hard on you one night during sex. upon realizing how much it hurt you, he knows he has to make it up somehow.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, praise/degradation, age gap (20s, early forties), mentions of spanking & not using safeword

word count: 5.2k

a/n: part 1 <3 took me a while to figure out how i wanted to do this but i hope you guys enjoy.

Something isn't right.

That's all you could think while watching Leon idly stir pasta sauce at the stove. You were perched nearby at the counter, observing him as if he was under experimentation. While to anyone else his actions would appear completely mundane, you knew that this gesture was only the first step in something larger. 

He never cooked you dinner. In the year and six weeks you'd been with him, he'd only ever made you a real meal twice before. Once being six weeks ago on your anniversary, and the other about four months before that, a couple days after you had a fight that nearly blew the wheels off your relationship.

In each case, there was a reason behind it. Whether to celebrate or make amends, neither was an innocuous decision made at random. You weren't even sure that Leon possessed the ability to be spontaneous, but that was a separate issue for another time. The obvious meaning behind his actions was the cause of the splashing of the noodles being poured into the boiling water making your stomach turn. 

Because today wasn't anything special. There wasn't a birthday or an achievement to make an occasion of. That meant it was the other option, the makeup option, and you were extra sure of this because the two of you hadn't exactly been the perfect picture of being in love lately.

"Honey, could you put these on the table for me?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

He looks at you over his shoulder to make sure you see the plates and silverware he's referring to.

"Yeah, sure," you respond.

You hop off the stool you were sitting on and grab the things he wanted you to. This was even worse. He wasn't going to let you eat in peace at the counter like you did when he wasn't here. No, he was going to stare you down across the dining table.

But you still do what he asks. Sighing, you haphazardly put a plate down on both ends of the table with silverware bordering each side to match. You grab glasses next and put them there too. Once everything is in its perfect place, you plop down at your seat, deciding to wait here until he joins you. This chair was out of view from the kitchen which meant you could get a few moments alone to brace yourself.

It's not that anything terrible was going to happen. It was just going to be a conversation. But it would be a relationship conversation, an emotional conversation, something neither of you were good at.

You weren't good at it because you'd never been good at it. Ever since you were a kid, the slightest spotlight put on your feelings had barbs forming in your throat and stinging, salty tears brimming your lash line. Everything had to be coaxed out of you, or you were sure to break down. 

Leon wasn't good at it because his version of a conversation came across more as an interrogation. When talking about feelings, he never wanted to talk about his own. He'd never share what was going on in his own head, he only wanted to know what was going on in yours. You were the one struggling; therefore, you were the one he needed to help. You were the mission to be resolved.

You supposed that was consistent with everything else about the man you loved. He always wanted to be the one in control, the one managing the details of your life. It came from the desire to protect. He showed his love by keeping you safe, keeping you from being like him. He went away for weeks on end following orders. When he came home, he liked to be the one doling them out.

And that was how you liked it too. You weren't some unwilling victim. When he offered to try this stuff out with you, you couldn't have been happier. You liked being told to do this and do it now. You liked the security of his lap, the promise that no matter how bad things got he would be there to wipe away your tears and make it all better.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You were pretty sure you knew what the specific topic of conversation would be tonight. You'd been distant lately. You could already hear his voice ringing through your head telling you that. For the past couple weeks, you hadn't been you. You hadn't been as sweet on him, kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair while you cuddled. Hadn't been hanging off his body or climbing all over him every chance you got. Hadn't been as eager to squeal daddy when he made you cum.

You knew why, and you knew he didn't. That was by design though. You didn't want him to know. This whole situation had spiraled so far out of control, and you just wanted to sweep your mess under the rug and forget about it. You didn't need daddy's help cleaning it up.

It shouldn't even be that big of a deal. Nothing that bad had happened.

The night that had your panties in a bunch happened a few weeks ago. You'd had a shitty day and so had Leon. You were looking to act out, and he was looking to punish.

You gave him some attitude. A few eye rolls and sharp responses when he asked you things. Looking back, you think maybe you should've sensed he was in a bad mood and just dropped it. That's when the other part of you chimes in and wonders why he couldn't do the same for you. Why couldn't he feel out your emotions and realize you needed him? But then you start to feel emotionally stunted, expecting your boyfriend to be a mind reader. 

This internal conversation never gets very far.

That night he hadn't read your mind. He'd taken you over his lap and given you a spanking. It was pretty standard. You'd had over a dozen of those by his hand at this point. The slaps weren't the problem. His palm hit you all the same, bringing the sting you craved. The part that stuck with you and created this wedge was just him. It was how he spoke, the way he looked at you. 

You could still see the eyes you fell in love with looking at you with nothing but disappointment.

You could still hear him growling in your ear when he had you bent in half and fucked you afterwards. He had you face down on the couch, holding your head against the cushion while he jackhammered into you.

"If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask. You know that. But you never fucking do it. You play these games with me. You think I wanna put up with that? You think I come home and wanna hear you bitching at me too?"

You weren't even sure what about it had got you. It was harsh, sure, but it was supposed to be.

"I want you to be a good girl. To behave. I don't want to deal with a bratty little slut."

He'd said stuff like that before. But in that moment it didn't feel like daddy was mad at you, it felt like your boyfriend was. It didn't feel like you were naughty or misbehaving. It felt like you were pathetic.

"You want daddy's attention so bad, next time you say please like you're supposed to. Don't make me go through the chore of disciplining your ass again. I'm over it."

By some miracle you still got to cum. He came inside you like normal. When he pulled out he'd fallen back onto the cushions of the couch to catch his breath. He lied there, fingers wiping the sweat from his brow as if he'd put in a hard day's work. You sat there unsure of what to do with yourself. After he'd come down a little more, he'd pulled you close, kissed all over your face like normal and taken to you to bed. But you'd laid there with your eyes open, trying not to cry as he snored against the back of your neck.

You're snapped out of your memories by the thud of the pot on the dining room table. Leon stood a few feet away from you, oven mitts on both hands as he placed the dish between your seats. He cracks a smile at you when you look up and meet his eyes.

"I made way too much. I hope you're hungry," he teases.

You respond with a weak grin of your own. Sitting up straight in your chair, you blink a few times and rub your face as if that'd be enough to clear away the past and magically fix everything.

Two of his fingers duck below your chin and guide you to look at him again.

"You ok?" he asks. His voice is tender like it is most of the time when he speaks to you.

"Yeah. I'm just tired," you tell him with a more convincing smile. You're not sure if it works, but he seems to accept it for now.

"Alright," he says, leaning down and kissing the corner of your mouth.

He takes his seat across the table, opposite yours. You get the privilege of serving your portion first. You shovel a helping of pasta onto your plate. The red sauce spreads on your plate, and you grab a piece of toast to soak some of it up. Leon repeats your actions and gets some of the food for himself. He had made too much. You'd definitely have leftovers, but that was nothing to complain about. He made dinner before these conversations for a reason. Like anything else, he was a good cook when he wanted to be.

The meal starts off silent as you had expected it to. You both eat instead of trying to talk. Forks hitting plates and bread crunching into two fills the room in the place of words. A sense of calm comes over you, but you know it won't last forever. Eventually, Leon does break the silence with some basic questions. How was your day, wasn't this summer heat killer, did you see he fixed that thing in the garage you'd asked him to. It's fine. Just fine like everything had been for the past couple weeks.

The conversation reaches another lull though, and this is when he goes for the killing strike.

"Baby, I think we need to talk," he sighs.

You raise your eyebrows as if you hadn't been expecting this.

"About what?" you ask after swallowing your mouthful of pasta.

Now he raises his eyebrows. He's not disappointed, but he knows you're playing dumb and doesn't appreciate it. It's affectionate though. It doesn't look like it did a few weeks ago.

"I know something's bothering you," he tries softly.

"I told you I was tired," you shrug and look away.

"It's not just today though. It's been more than a few days," he says.

You sigh and put your fork down. You're conscious of every part of your reaction in an effort to avoid looking pouty or melting into tears.

"I don't know. The past few weeks I just haven't felt great. It's not like a crisis situation or something," you say.

"Then tell me about it, sweetheart," he says, trying to will you to look up at him with his gentle tone, "I want to help, but I don't know what's wrong. Every time I try, you pull away."

"Not on purpose," you add. It's an important defense to you.

"I'm not saying it's on purpose," he says. You can tell he's trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. Maybe he does pick up on your emotions a little bit. "All I'm saying is that I'm worried about you."

And with one little sentence, you feel the spikes starting to poke through. You look down and place your palm on your eyes. You felt ten times more pathetic than you had a few weeks ago. He can see you're getting closer to breaking, so he continues.

"You can talk to me. If you need something or I did something, I just want to make it better," he continues, "I don't like not knowing what's going on in that pretty head. I like it even less seeing you look so sad."

Your lip wobbles. A last resort to hold in the barrage of emotions. "It's nothing," you choke out.

"It's not nothing if it has you this upset," he counters, speaking quietly, "Just talk to me, little love."

That's all it takes, and you can't hold it anymore. Tears leak from your water line and draw limpid streaks down your face. You bite your lip to nip any audible cries in the bud. It doesn't matter though, he still sees the small droplets of water.

"My baby," he coos, "C'mere."

You rise to your feet in an instant and round the table. He pushes his chair back and takes you into his lap. You're cradled by his warmth, safe against his chest as he rubs your back. As much as you loved mentally complaining about his interrogations, maybe this is what you needed. Maybe this worked for you.

"You're ok. I'm right here," he murmurs. 

He kisses your hairline and cups the back of your neck to keep you close. He lets you cry it out before attempting any more questions. Once it seems you've settled though, the spotlight is back on you.

"What's wrong, sunshine?" he whispers.

Try as he might, you still couldn't bring yourself to say the words. It was like two wires in your brain that just did not physically connect. Expressing pain was hard enough, but expressing pain that he caused? This inability killed you, it really did. Thinking about it brings another sob from your lips. You wanted to beat your own ass till she had enough of a spine to just say a few simple words so this could all be over.

You can't do that though, so Leon continues on with his tender questions.

"Can you tell me when you started feeling this way?" he asks with a hint of hesitation.

There that was one you could answer. "Few weeks ago."

He nods, taking any information he could get as crucial.

"Alright... is there something stressing you out?" he asks.

You shake your head. Technically there was something stressing you out, but while you were breaking down, 'stressing out' was code for responsibilities, so the answer is no.

"Problems with your friends?"

Another head shake.

"Family?"

No.

"...Me?"

You almost shake your head again. You could swing just making something up on the spot. But that wouldn't be right to him. He'd done the work of the guessing game and come to the conclusion fair and square. You nod yes.

A whirlpool of emotion forms in his pupils, but it's almost like he knew he was to blame. He nods and sighs. His hand doesn't stop rubbing your back.

"Ok," he breathes, "You gotta give me a hint, honey."

You found words coming a bit easier now that he had led you this far.

"Remember a few weeks ago when you got mad at me?" you rasp and look at him with your watery eyes.

He blinks at you. "We got into a fight a few weeks ago?" he asks. 

There's genuine confusion in his tone. He didn't remember. Or at least this day didn't stick out in his mind. He hadn't been dwelling on it since it happened, hadn't been wondering if it meant something greater in the context of your relationship. You weren't sure if that brought you relief or frustration.

"No. It was like... it was when I had a bad day and I came home and you were watching that stupid cop show. And I kept talking. And you told me to shut up. And I said you were only watching it cause you didn't know how to change the channel," you list off some of the events that led to the infamous incident.

He smiles upon remembering that little joke. He found it funny. Then why did he get so mean?

"Don't tell me you've been mad cause I wouldn't let you watch your show instead," he teases.

"No, it's not that. Remember after when you spanked me? And then we fucked on the couch..." you sniffle.

He pauses to think about your words. The gears turn in his head, the pieces fall into place. The lightbulb goes off in his eyes.

"Oh yeah. I remember that," he says. He remembers, but he doesn't understand. "What about it?"

His thumb swipes a few tears away while waiting for the answer you were still trying to formulate.

"Well... like... I don't know," you start. You felt ridiculous verbalizing it. "You just kinda hurt my feelings."

His brows furrow. He still doesn't get it.

"Hurt your feelings?" he repeats, "I didn't hit you too hard, did I? You know if that ever happens you have the word. You say it, and I stop for you in a heartbeat. You know that."

"It didn't hurt like that... it's just some of the stuff you said," you say. The urge to pull away is starting to come back.

"Sweetheart," he says. His voice is dripping with concern. He didn't remember saying anything bad enough that you'd still be twisted into knots over it multiple weeks later. "You know you can use the word for that kind of thing too. Please tell me you know that."

"I know that," you start, feeling a little ashamed. This was exactly why you didn't want to talk about this.

"If I say something that hurts you this bad, you need to tell me. Right when I say it. You tell me to stop. You let me remind you it's not real," he says, quiet but firm. He holds you tighter, unintentionally squeezing more tears out of you. "I only say things I think will get you off. I don't say them to hurt you."

You hide your face in his neck. You felt so fucking pathetic.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. It's ok. I just... I want you to understand, baby," he murmurs. He rocks you back and forth on his lap a bit before speaking again. "Can you tell me why you didn't use the word?"

Leon prayed with everything he had that it wasn't because you were scared of him. If that was it, you might as well pick up the fork off the table and jam it right into his heart. You don't answer, and it worries him. All he gets from you is the feeling of tears dribbling down his throat.

"Did it not hurt till afterwards? Did you think I wouldn't stop?" he coaxes.

You shake your head. "Cause... because I don't want you to think I can't take it," you weep.

While he's relieved it's not what he feared, he didn't expect this.

"What do you mean? You can't take it?" he repeats.

"I don't want you to think I'm a bratty little girl. I told you that stuff was ok, and I don't wanna tap out and make you feel all guilty and stuff," you cry, the words rushing from your mouth.

He sighs and his eyes close for a second. He did feel like a piece of shit now, but with what you just said, he didn't want you knowing that.

"My sweet girl," he says against your head while rubbing your back, "I would never think that about you. The word is there for you to use it whenever you want. It doesn't matter if it makes me worry I hurt you. That's not a bad thing."

You cry more into his neck, clinging to him as if you're trying to merge into one.

"I just don't wanna disappoint you," you sob.

"Baby, baby, baby," he whispers, holding you tight against his chest and rocking you again, "You never disappoint me. You don't. Not when you act bratty, not when you break a rule. That shit is all a game. It's a game, and if you don't like it, we don't have to play it.

"I know you're sensitive. I know you get emotional. I'm with you knowing that stuff. It doesn't make me think of you as an obligation. I like being daddy, but it doesn't make me think of you like that. If it makes you feel like that, we can stop. You're more important than any of it."

"I do like it," you weep, "I just... I don't want you to think I'm pathetic."

"I don't think that. I never have," he says and kisses your temple, "You're my baby. My pretty girl. My favorite person on this planet."

You sniffle and snake your arms around him tighter.

"Pathetic or disappointment never cross my mind when I look at you. Half the time I don't even have thoughts when I see you. You're so fucking gorgeous you take 'em all away," he whispers.

He nudges your head out of the crook of his neck so he can see you. His lips land on your forehead first. Then your nose. Then each cheek. And finally your lips.

"Look at me," he whispers.

You do what he asks and look up at him. You look into his eyes. These were the eyes you fell in love with.

"You are not a disappointment," he says before a kiss, "You are not pathetic. I love you. I love you when you're being good or when you're being a little shit. I love when you wanna call me daddy, but you'd still be mine if you decided you never wanted to say that word again."

"I still wanna call you daddy," you sniffle and give him a small smile.

He chuckles and returns the expression. "That was a quick decision," he teases, "Doesn't sound like you thought it through."

"I did. I still want my daddy," you say and put your head down on his shoulder.

"Good. Cause I'm right here," he says softly, "Daddy's got you."

The problem wasn't totally resolved in Leon's mind. Never again did he want to cause you weeks worth of stress over something like this. But for now, he was happy to see you smile. He could accept this temporary fix. He nuzzles your neck and places a few soft kisses on your throat.

"I think daddy needs to make it up to his baby for being so mean to her. For making her cry like that," he whispers.

A warm tingle branches out through your spine and curves around your ribs. You scoot closer to him in his lap and shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Don't give me that shrug. You know you like being spoiled. Being the center of attention," he whispers.

"Yeah..." you whisper in his ear.

He grunts as he rises to his feet with you in his arms. Your legs lock around his waist before his feet even start moving. He'd clean up the table later. Right now was about you.

He carries you through the house, tosses you onto the bed. You squeak at your glide through the air. He pulls his shirt off and drops his pants before climbing on top of you. Always efficient your Leon.

The warm lengths of his muscular limbs encompass you against the mattress. He starts by kissing you on the mouth, but his lips soon trail down to your neck. Tongue and teeth brush over the balmy skin of your neck. He nips a few hickeys along the curve of your throat, listening for every little hitch in your breath or stifled moan.

"Always with those pretty little noises..." he mumbles against your skin.

He inhales you before moving away, gets his fix of your scent before his hands push your shirt over your head and toss to the floor with his. His hands rub up and down your side, gently squeezing and massaging while his mouth migrates towards your chest. He lays kisses at the tops of your breasts. He can feel your heart pattering against his lips. It drives him crazy, feeling what he does to you down to that level.

Your legs wrap around his waist and pull his body closer. You couldn't get close enough after the weeks of distance. He groans as his crotch comes flush against yours. It's as if he can feel the heat of your center through the layers of cloth that separate you.

He kisses between your breasts, forcing himself to remove your bra before he thinks about your pants. He nuzzles the two spheres of flesh with all the care he holds in his body. He'd never been good with words, and the last few weeks proved as much. Showing you physically how he feels is easier.

"Haven't been able to kiss my girls properly in too long," he murmurs and glances up at you, cocky smile in his eyes.

"You're stupid," you laugh quietly.

"Hey. That's not a nice word, princess. Not one you should be calling your daddy," he chides before giving one of your nipples a few sucks.

You sigh contently and arch into the wet embrace of his mouth. "Sorry daddy," you smile.

"I'm sure you are."

He gives your tits some more attention, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't antsy to get his fingers wet. They fumble with the button on your shorts before he lifts your legs and practically tears the garment loose. He kisses your ankle and down your calf to your knee where his hands take over and press them up against your torso. He can feel your slick creating a wet patch on the front of his boxers and ruts into it. His cock grows stiffer beneath the fabric as if trying to get to you.

"You ready for me, babydoll? Dripping like a good girl? Gonna be nice and easy for daddy to slide right in," he says while leaning down to be close to you.

You nod eagerly, your nose bumping against his.

"Nothing makes it better than having daddy inside, hm?" he coos.

"Don't need anything else," you say and sling your arms around his neck.

That's all he needs to hear. He pushes his underwear down his legs enough so that his cock is free. You feel it slot between your puffy outer folds and prod at your entrance.

He slips it inside, and you both groan. Your head tilts back, allowing him to kiss at your neck some more. You'd had sex since that fight, but this was the first time you were feeling full. The first time you were feeling like his again.

"Daddy," you whine and grab at him. Just what he'd been missing.

His hips start to rock. The bones in his pelvis press right up against your ass. He fucks you deep and slow at first. Each thrust glides over a myriad of sweet spots. Every time he pulls back, you just want him to push right back in.

"That's it, honey. Tell daddy how much you missed him," he grunts.

You don't say it with words. You tighten up around him, squeezing his dick like if it gets out you'll die. The sensation wrangles a moan out of him, and his face drops into your neck. He digs his forearms into the mattress and uses the leverage to pump himself into you harder.

"My perfect, perfect girl. Don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers.

Your eyes flutter shut. You just listen to the sound of his panting, feel his heart beating for you. Your thighs tremble while pressing into his waist. Your toes curl as his hips strike the right angle to batter right where you need him.

"You could never disappoint me," he mutters. You feel his lips moving against your throat. "I love you, sweet girl. Nothing you do could ever change that."

The words are almost enough to make you get all weepy again, but you'd cried enough for one day. Instead your body latches onto him tighter.

"Harder," you whimper.

"You sure, baby?" he hums.

Your nod comes quickly. "Need to feel it more. Need it harder."

So he gives it to you harder. His eyes clamp shut and shroud his vision in darkness. He focuses on thrusting hard, clapping his skin against yours over and over. He pounds into you while pressing his face harder against you too.

You show your gratitude with a whine. His shaft hits just right, fills you up just the way you'd been aching for.

"Almost there, daddy- Can I-" you stumble over words.

"Yeah, sweetheart. You don't gotta ask tonight. You cum when you're ready," he says.

That's how you know he's really sorry. He keeps fucking into you until he feels your limbs fizzling from the proximity to release. Everything about you gets shaky. Your breaths are ragged and labored, your hands vibrate while trying to clutch at him.

"Fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

The spark goes off inside you, and you cum hard. Your body goes taut and rolls through the waves of euphoria. He can't resist your walls pulsating around him. It's only a handful of seconds before his tummy is fluttering and his seed is spilling from him into your cunt.

"Inside, daddy," you whine as if he needed the direction.

"That's what I'm doing, baby," he grunts through clenched teeth.

He drools against your neck while his hips twitch and the last few drops leak from him. The saliva gets smeared in the messy kisses he leaves on you while pulling out. He rolls over but scoops you up with him, cradling you against his chest in a position that isn't necessarily comfortable but you love anyway.

A series of over the top kisses land on your face. You scrunch your nose and shake your head.

"Quit it. I already forgave you," you giggle, "You don't gotta slobber on me."

"Tsk tsk. Ungrateful," he tuts affectionately, "You know if I didn't give you these, you'd be begging for 'em."

"Mmm... maybe," you acquiesce with a little smile.

"Sure, sure. Maybe. Silly girl," he mumbles and nuzzles your cheek.

The playful touches continues for a moment before he calms down and softens up. You look towards his eyes, and his fingers sweep down your cheek.

"You're ok now?" he asks.

You nod. "We're ok now."

To give him the final shred of reassurance that you could, you stick out your pinky. He rolls his eyes, but sticks his out to and hooks it with yours. He knew you were back to yourself since your inability to be serious had made a reappearance. He smacks a kiss on your lips to seal the deal. He can feel you smiling into it.

[percervall]

it's a bad idea (fuck it, it's fine) — part 2

Summary: your housemates give you an offer you can't refuse. What's the worst that could happen? Pairing: Jenson Button x fem!reader, Fernando Alonso x fem!reader, Sebastian Vettel x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: discussions around consent Word count: 827

Part 2 of the Fuck It series

Pushing the plate away from you, you lean back in the chair as you rest the coffee mug on the knee that’s pulled up to your chest. You’re lucky that Fernando is also more of a coffee person and quickly learnt just how you like yours once you moved in. Sometimes you still wonder how on God’s green earth you ended up being roommates with some of motorsports finest. 

Looking around the table, you can’t help but smile as they tease each other about something that happened during the last race. Jenson laughs at Fernando’s misfortune although he is quick to sympathise seeing as they’re in the same boat with regards to their cars being nowhere near Mercedes or even Sebastian’s Ferrari. For as long as you’ve known him, Jenson has always been easy going. His teasing and generally positive attitude is what led to the two of you becoming friends in the first place. And because of that friendship, you became a lot closer to Fernando as well when he rejoined McLaren. The two of them had an easy partnership, both on and off the track, and whenever you joined a race, Jenson made sure to include you in their conversations. Somehow being friends with both of them also meant you got to know Mark a lot better, and in turn Sebastian as well. The Aussie had retired from the sport well before you met Jenson, but he remained a constant in the paddock with his punditry job for Channel4. And from what you were told, the German driver had mellowed out since his RedBull days. The four of them seem to have such a deep understanding of each other, they work together seamlessly. Apparently even more so than you had expected.

And therein also lies the problem. Because while sharing seems to be somewhat normal for them, it makes you wonder where that leaves you in this arrangement. Would it always be like this morning, where they’re all involved in one way or another? How can you make sure it’s equal? Would they take turns? The thought alone has you swallowing thickly as your mind whirls with fantasies. 

“Are you okay, doll?” Jenson’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah. Just-.. Just thinking,” you reply, taking another sip from your now luke-warm coffee. The men share a look that you decide to ignore as you down what’s left of your coffee.

“I don’t regret this morning,” you say, worried they will misinterpret your hesitancy.

“But?” Sebastian fills in for you.

“But it leaves me with. Questions,” you add, not making eye contact. 

“You can ask us anything, sweetheart,” Mark says gently and Jenson gives your knee a squeeze. Taking a moment to gather your thoughts you look out of the window.

“I guess the biggest question I have is how will this work? If we’re really gonna do this, if I’m gonna-.. Will it always be one on one or-.. Or will everyone be involved?” Something like desire swoops low in your stomach as you voice the latter part of the question and you can feel your cheeks heat up. 

“That is very much up to you, sweetheart,” Mark says, as the other three nod in agreement.

“We should have some sort of system, like to check if you’re okay with whatever will happen,” Sebastian offers, “do you have a safe word already?”

“A safe word? I-.. No, my ex wasn’t one for anything other than missionary and the occasional oral,” you confess, stomach in knots at the implications of maybe having to use a safe word. 

“I use traffic light system, very easy to follow and understand,” Fernando comments. Your imagination runs wild with all the possible scenarios in which Fernando would use this system.

“Hey, it’s just a way to make sure it’s fun and pleasurable for everyone,” Jenson says quietly, picking up on the way your head is going about a mile a minute. You nod, taking a deep breath. The longer you think about it, the more sense it makes. Having this in place will make sure, like Jenson said, that everyone is having a good time. You had just never considered that you are allowed to check in and see whether you’re okay with what’s about to happen. While it never felt like you didn’t have a choice in your previous relationship, consent was not something that was actively discussed; It was just always assumed. And in hindsight you maybe let him get away with blurring more boundaries than you had realised. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense,” you say, relaxing back into the chair. 

“Like Mark said, whatever we do, it’s up to you,” Sebastian reiterates. You nod in understanding once more, the knot in your stomach untangling slowly. You had trusted them enough to be roommates for the last year and a half without them overstepping a boundary or taking advantage of you. They care, you think, they’re not him. Fernando presses a kiss to your temple as he pours you another cup.

“It’ll be fun, nena,” he says with a wicked glint in his eyes, and the implications have you clenching your thighs together. Something tells you Fernando could very well be right. 

A smaller part to establish the relationship between the five of them a little bit more and to set things up for what's to come 👀

Feel free to let me know what you think (or any ideas you have for this series), your comments, tags, and likes means the world to me 💜

taglist: @2pagenumb @alishamai @anotherblackreader @Barbare2 @blackcat-mors13 @cassielikesreading @champomiel  @dannyramirezwife @darkwaterrose @brklynlewis @the-depressed-fellow @emlynblack @forza55 @heyheyheyggg @hiireadstuff @honkyscats @hrts4scarr @jeffs77 @jaimeleannavanlloman @Leaderofthebadbitchbrigade @lightdragonrayne  @mehrmonga @prttypqrtts @raizelchrysanderoctavius @ruledbyproblematique @scarlett11xo @skatingiswalkingincursive @tallrock35 @thatsadsmallchild @szobosz @vinvantae @whoreforeveryon @woozarts @zagreus

[askew-d]

KAGEHINA FICS MASTERLIST

• ⭐️🎖️ jellyfish, by mysterytwin — hinata makes a list of things to do before graduation; and that includes confessing his feelings to kageyama. a wonderful story, so heartwarming. my utmost favorite.

• ⭐️ in transit, by mysecretfanmoments — while riding the bus together, hinata begins to discover about his feelings for kageyama. absolutely lovely.

• dare, by majesticartax — kagehina’s chosen to play a dare in which they end up locked in a room, and, of course, revelations ensue. this one made me scream lots. rated m!

• you know all the strings (and know just how to tug them), by artemisia_hq — 5 + 1 story about kageyama being whipped and can’t say no and hinata saying yes. domestic fluff.

• like always, by artemisia_hq — during their last walk home together, hinata becomes aware of his feelings and decides to do something about it. short story, yet so cute!

• ⭐️ i wanna know you, and i wanna love you, by momochai — kagehina go on a day together, or better yet, a date; even though they’re not quite aware of it. i was dying throughout all of this, outstanding!

• you’re grabbing my hands like they’re handbars, by mountains_6 — basically tsukishima being a third wheel when the three of them travel to rio, based on the extra bit of the manga, lol. short and endearing.

• 🎖️ a hundred or so hellos, by iwillstillopenthewindow — kageyama reincarnates over and over and hinata continues dying over and over. angst. a lot of angst. but still goddamn beautiful.

• let me in on the open secret too, by switmikan74 — kageyama doesn’t know that he’s dating hinata, until he gets hints from a shoujo manga. that’s so fitting, definitely worth the read!

• highway verse, series by emleewrites — a pixel cars au that i didn’t think it’d catch me until i read it and had dreams about this fantastic universe.

• ⭐️🎖️ if it wasn’t for you, by halfbloom (diphylleias) — in brazil, hinata learns more about relationships and what it means to have a bond with kageyama. got my heart effortlessly. such a delight.

• ⭐️ one more thing, by marks — it’s tsukishima and yamaguchi’s wedding, and kageyama and hinata decide to go together. can i please have more of this? sweet stories like this makes my heart melt, i swear.

• 🎖️⭐️ i can do better, by buu — kagehina compete over everything under the sun, and that includes kissing. and some more. in fact, every kagehina fic by this author hits. and this one… made me feel stuff. rated m!

• ⭐️ no angels could beckon me back, by lilacnoctua — heated arguments lead kagehina to heated moments with each other. a hot story with great development. loved every part of it.

• from this day forward, by emleewrites — kageyama tries to propose; it goes as badly as you can expect. so funny, seriously! i could easily recommend every fic by this author too, as well as esselle’s, but i’m gonna list my favorites anyway, so hang on!

• soft serve, by tothemoon — kagehina drives an ice cream truck to help karasuno; as one might expect, feelings are involved in between. summer fic, brings a ton of good emotions!

• 🎖️ famous v-league players make fools of themselves on twitter dot com, by crone_zone — the appearance of one hinata shouyou through the eyes of twitter users. pure comedy and it’s a whole show. gorgeous!

• room to grow, by mysecretfanmoments — things are different in their third year and hinata’s still learning how to deal with it. ah, young love! the best kind.

• raining verse, by emleewrites — kageyama’s cursed to be a kitten, hinata’s the one who finds him. i love a magic realism au, so imagine my happiness while reading this.

• future’s kiss, by mervousmer — kageyama somehow travels to the future for a moment, and hinata’s there, all grown-up. come on, time travels also have my heart! this one’s cute as hell.

• ⭐️ dethroned, by setkia — kageyama counts his victories and losses against hinata in his mind. what a gem! short and fabulously creative.

• saffron and cayenne pepper, by dontsaycrazy — neighbours kagehina: one only knows how to set the kitchen on fire and the other one’s actually a chef, what could work between them? everything, that’s the answer. a hit!

• on quarantining together…, series by winterey — social media kagehina making lives while on quarantine. fun and addictive!

• conflict of interest, by zukushou — more of social media kagehina, this time with journalists thinking they’re rivals when they’re actually… yknow *gay for each other*. just everything i’d ever want for them.

• ⭐️ with suds in your eyes (and a smile on your lips), by hqkrys — established relationship kagehina take a messy shower together. overall just endless fluff, which melts my heart!

• a bento for dr. kageyama, by zukushou — hinata leaves food for his husband and causes gossip at the hospital said husband works in. hahaha, this is definitely terrific.

• the best laid hands, by mysecretfanmoments — kageyama doesn’t even know how to deal with his own romantic life, so it’s best if other people don’t ask for advice. but what if it’s an advice for hinata? you never know :)

• ⭐️ better than firewhiskey, by mysterytwin — hogwarts au with kagehina! someone should definitely find this author by the way and give them a big hug. i want to. they rock.

• chase the light, my love, by thebeaming sun — kageyama planning to propose and earning support of his teammates. established relationship kind of thing that makes me smile.

• hinata and kageyama terrorise a simple interviewer, satorou masashi, series by call_me_j — story told in the form of an interview, including post time-skip kagehina of course. remarkable!

• optical, by kvhottie — kageyama wears glasses; everyone freaks out. do i need to explain more? hella entertaining.

• never doubt i love, by gentle_autumn_rain — jealous hinata thinks kageyama got a boyfriend. he didn’t. love these small misunderstandings that lead to a confession! so good.

• of gentlemen and scoundrels, by mysecretfanmoments — historical au with kageyama as a gentlemen in london and hinata who’s… well, not very much like him. the writing and the sexual tension in this is spectacular!

• ⭐️ save the last dance for me, my prince, by zukushou — prince kageyama and bodyguard hinata, as this fandom deserved. and such a well-developed at that. charming!

• patience, by mistonthelake — surprisingly enough, hinata discovers about kageyama’s crush on him earlier than the man himself. a lesson in being patient.

• wrestle for victory, by emleewrites — after their fateful game, kagehina decides to compete over wrestling. that’s definitely something they’d do and it got me hooked.

• ⭐️ oh we play, in autumn days, by aruariandance — kagehina being silly boys and kageyama getting a phone. is it because he wants to text hinata? that, he’ll never admit. i’d give it a hundred kudos if i could.

• ⭐️ ridiculous, by festivetrickster — yachi has to spend some time with kagehina in their apartment. the way they live just makes me suspicious of their relationship. no, like, this is indeed so ridiculous but i like it so much!

• sunstruck, by orphan account — kageyama gets the help of romero to sort out his relationship with hinata. seeing introverted kageyama slowly but surely trust his teammate and idol with issues like this makes me proud.

• ⭐️ sun above your shoulders, by longleggedgit — even in an universe where they go to different high schools, kagehina meet each other anyway. everything’s delightful here!

• the missing piece, by akaashism (acciomerlin) — kageyama deals with the changes in hinata. just adorable, i giggled a lot.

• the trouble with soulmates, by navybluewings — our sweet cupid hinata’s journey to get soulmates bonds fixed! this au rocks.

• five star review, by emleewrites — hinata’s hired to paint kageyama’s wall and they start a “friendship” out of it. amazing to see this unfold, so nicely done.

• 🎖️ for the best of all possible worlds, by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon) — an au about kagehina’s relationship journey from across countries, including letters. they meet while being apart and we see it unfold. is there anything better than this? majestic!

• at the tip of your nose, by cloesh_scribbles — where kageyama’s obsessed with eskimo kisses and hinata’s obsessed with him. please help me after this, the fluff killed me.

• the video series, by sunnyslipper — kageyama and hinata breaking the internet over and over with their videos. funny and spot on!

• alexa, play waking up in vegas, by attackofthezee (noxlunate) — kageyama and hinata get married accidentally. the thing is, i can totally imagine them doing this. they’re absurd and lovely.

• meat bun is a love language, by icecreamromantic — kageyama decides to confess using meat buns. come on, it’s stupidly perfect!

• slipping through sand, by majesticanna — an au in which kagehina meet in brazil. just so warm, waaah!

• high dose, by akaashism (acciomerlin) — hinata convinces kageyama that, because of a health issue, he needs kisses. i swear, these silly boys will break me. this is excellent.

• why do i feel like it’s (fake) love, by izucaii — hinata and kageyama pretend to be boyfriends while in brazil. a gorgeous fake-relationship story!

• ⭐️ a best man’s worse problems, by villainphilia — tsukishima, the best man for kagehina’s wedding, prepares his speech while reminiscing how the two dumbasses got together. all of this is just marvellous!

• five proposals, by dayoldcupcake — kageyama proposing, hinata saying no. done with the intent of giving me diabetes. chef’s kiss!

• ⭐️ plain as day, by emleewrites — hinata has a low self-esteem and kageyama tries to make him realize how wonderful he is. i died and came back. truly stunning.

• kageyama tobio reads thirst tweets (unedited), by popcornpearl — after making a bet, kageyama reads thirsty tweets and tries not to blush. it’s harder than he expected. rated m!

• i’m lucky to have you, zukushou — the famous “just woke up high in anestesia and i can’t remember my own partner” trope. pure comedy, love this for them.

• ⭐️ the obvious is at eye level (but i might need a step stool), by dr_awkward221 — hinata watching sakusa’s relationship with miya and slowly realizing things about his own his kageyama. i loove this one, it’s unbearably good.

• ⭐️🎖️ let the light out, by uhohshouto — kagehina make a bet in which the other one must ask for something of the loser. kageyama wants a kiss… and then something more. seriously though, i can’t believe this; it’s a wonderful story, so entertaining. rated e!

• epic, by esselle — a surfing au with hinata as an instructor and kageyama as an arrogant professional. this charming scenario surely made my day.

• let’s take this offline, by pas_dautres — office employees kagehina who meet through emails and reports. i had to add this, because it’s nice, surely worth the read.

• 🎖️ these hands of time, these hands of mine, by fireheartaw — kageyama being introspective over their story together and apart. light angst maybe, but the narrative’s so interesting and captivating.

• discordant, by majesticanna — academic rivals kagehina meet again as professors. so short but so sweet!

• 🎖️⭐️ pursuit verse, series by emleewrites — a gambler hinata and an attorney kageyama based on the ace attorney game. never played the game. but the story? deserves to be printed. if you never read it, you need to. hear me out: you need to.

• ⭐️ getting it right, by akaashism (acciormerlin) — play pretend boyfriends for miwa who end up actually having domestic moments and finding out more about their feelings, hehe.

• know you better, by mysterytwin — bakery worker kageyama and spell shop owner hinata in a world of magic! great development and very poetic.

note that this is based on the fics i’ve known since i entered the fandom and that i truly enjoy. either they’re famous or not famous, i’m just adding them here for my future self contentment and for those who, just as me, wanted a full list of kagehina fics upon getting engaged in haikyuu media.

if you think i should add more and if you have recs for me too, i’m accepting them! thank yoou.

last update: 3/3/24

[tender-rosiey]

OK so like, there this challenge, it like the kid tells their mom to shut up, and see what the dad does

And I was wondering if you could do

Toji, Gojo, Geto, Choso, Sukuna, and Nanami

Hopefully it's a good idea thank you!

“MOM SHUT UP!”

— gojo, nanami, sukuna, and geto react to your kid telling you to shut up

a/n: oop, i didn’t notice the challenge part; also, I didn’t write one for toji or choso sorry 🥲

GOJO SATORU:

your 7 year old son —unfortunately or fortunately, you have yet to decide— has inherited a lot of his dad’s traits, including his unbelievably loud mouth that has no filter.

so today, the little fucker, who you’ve carried in your womb for 9 months and have to endure his antics now, told you to shut up when you told him to stop playing and go to sleep.

just as you were about to throw your slipper at his head, your husband takes a hold of your hand. he smiles, “let me take care of this.”

you reluctantly put down your weapon and watch your husband approach your son.

“hey champ,” satoru says and his son glares up at him. satoru’s smile tightens as he thinks of throwing his son out of the window right then and there.

is this how you feel dealing with both of them?

“I heard that you told your mom to shut up; is that true?” satoru asks and somehow his son is finally realizing what he did as his eyes are drowned in guilt.

satoru hears a ‘game over!’ come from his son’s pc and his son frowns, “dad! I lost because of you!”

“maybe if you were nice to your mom then I wouldn’t have to be here, would I?”

“also,” he says, leaning on the chair to see his son’s score, “it looks more like a skill issue on your part.”

the kid is offended as he fills his fist with cursed energy and satoru is just as ready to fight with his son.

soon, they each get a slipper thrown at their heads. satoru falls to the ground whining about how he was only trying to help, but your son looks at you, rubbing his head.

you don’t speak and merely look at him. he gets off his chair and walks to you.

“sorry, mom,” he whispers.

your son, further saddened by your lack of response, hugs you and apologizes again. you feel his tears stain your pants and you sigh as your fingers card through your son’s messy hair.

“just don’t do it again.”

he nods and a small smile takes over your face.

“I still think it’s a skill issue,” your husband says before being taken out by another slipper.

NANAMI KENTO:

“mom just shut up!” your 6 year old daughter says as she hears you ramble over the phone while she was drawing.

your eyes widen and you hang up on your friend before getting up to spank your audacious daughter, “oh I know you ain’t taking to me—“

your husband says your daughter’s name disapprovingly making you stop in your track and her to look up at him with surprise and sadness.

“that’s not something you say to your mother,” he starts off and shakes his head, his disappointment basically radiating at this point, “you have to be respectful to her and appreciate her.”

your daughter looks at the ground as tears swell up in her eyes.

kento continues, “and if you were bothered by the noise,” he places his hand on her head and his voice softens, “then you should’ve asked politely if your mom can talk in a lower voice or you could’ve moved rooms, right?”

she nods, trembling and crying silently.

she looks at you, before running to you and jumping into your arms and apologizing repeatedly for what she did and that she would be a good girl from now on.

you cradle her in your embrace and pat her back to calm her down.

your husband approaches you both and presses a kiss on your forehead and hers. kento whispers in your ear as he looks at his daughter, “she dodged a bullet, huh love?”

you roll your eyes and shove him lightly and he merely presses a kiss to your shoulder with a smile.

for some reason, your daughter places her hand on his face and gently pushes him away.

“mommy is mine,” she softly says and hopes her father is not bothered by her claim.

he merely furrows his eyebrows, “but she is my wife.”

his daughter smiles mischievously and shrugs and nanami realizes just how much a of a devil his sweet daughter can be.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

being the son of ryomen sukuna, your son has been raised to be befitting of the title of a king and that includes his speech mannerism that he picked from his dad.

somehow, that further irritates you as your son says, “silence, mother!”

it reminds you of a certain king of curses who says, “silence, woman.”

however, the king of curses does not escape your wrath when he says those words and neither will your son.

“oho? is ‘silence’ something you say to your mother, s/n?” you inquire and your son narrows his eyes in an attempt to intimidate you, but it only causes your cursed energy to increase which makes the boy gulp slightly.

your husband enters the room and is confused by the display: your son looking at you scared and you looking close to smacking the hell out of the kid, “what’s the matter?”

you look at sukuna, “oh I don’t know; why don’t you tell him s/n?”

your son looks at you then at his dad. “…I told mother to be silent,” he says shamefully.

your husband barks out a laugh but is quickly punched in the stomach by you. he falls to the ground and glares at you, “why you!” he grumbles.

“sukuna-sama, is telling your mother to be silent a good thing?” you emphasize the honorific and your husband stands up and shakes his head.

“no,” he grumbles and you nod, looking at your son.

your son frowns and walks to you then bows slightly, “apologies mother, it’s my mistake.”

you sigh and gently flick his forehead, “I am your mother; don’t bow to me silly.”

your son looks up to you, surprised and smiles, nodding before hugging you.

meanwhile, sukuna is there, complaining about how you dared to punch the king of curses.

GETO SUGURU:

your 5 year old daughter had told you to shut up while she was watching her favorite show and you have started ignoring her ever since.

whenever she would try to talk to you, you would turn away from her and walk away. she didn’t know or rather realize what she did wrong so she went to her daddy to ask for help.

“daddy, I don’t know why mommy is ignoring me!” she tells him seriously and he looks at her nodding while munching on his cereal.

“did you do anything wrong that made mommy mad?” he asks and smiles at how she scratches her head as she thinks. after a while, she shakes her head clueless.

he hums before looking at her, “well, a little birdie told me that you told her to shut up; is that true?”

she tilts her head, “how did the birdie know?”

“I will tell you later, but what’s important now: is it a good thing to tell mommy to shut up?” he inquires, raising and eyebrow at his daughter who plays with the hem of her shirt as she mumbles a small ‘no…’

“there you go, now you know why mommy won’t talk to you,” he winks, “now go apologize; good people apologize when they do something wrong, right?”

she nods with a small smile and he ruffles her hair, “good girl.”

later on, after everything is resolved, she is nestled in your lap and suguru is beside you with his arm around you as she asks, “daddy, how did the little birdie know?”

he smiles and he doesn’t tell her that his cute wife, you, was huffing about how rude her daughter can be and how he had to hug her and pepper her with kisses to calm her down.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @fiona782 @ginneko @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or i will suplex you

[thatnewweeb]

Baby Fever | My Hero Academia

Characters | Bakugo Katsuki, Todoroki Shoto, Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Toya, Kirishima Eijiro

CW | mentions of pregnancy, suggestive content, reader agreeing to get pregnant, kinda jealousy in Bakugo's, kinda pressure in Midoriya's (from his mom) but also wanting it too

A/N | I love the idea of the boys having baby fever (even though not all of these are them having baby fever), I just think it's so cute

Bakugo Katsuki

Deku was having a kid?!

Katsuki was stunned as he held his phone to his ear, listening to his childhood friend and perpetual rival talking excitedly about the news his wife recently gave him. His grip tightens on the phone as he listens to the green haired man on the other side of the phone gushing about how excited he is.

As soon as Izuku hangs up, he calls out to you, his own wife. When you walk into the room, he walks over to you quickly, long strides leaving him stood very close to you, his arms caging you against the wall.

The look you give as you look up at him makes him smile softly, biting his lower lip a little. He tells you the news about Izuku's first child being on the way, which of course makes you excited, happy for your friends.

"We should have a baby too," he smirks slightly, whispering into your ear. When you give him a surprised, slightly confused look, he smirks, leaning down to kiss you. "C'mon, babe. I can't let that bastard get that far ahead of me. Gonna help me keep up?"

There's no way you could possibly say no when he speaks and looks at you like that. There's no time wasted in trying, him immediately taking you to your shared bed. He can't let that bastard Deku get too far ahead after all, can he?

Todoroki Shoto

Shoto was never really sure if he wanted to have a child or not. He didn't have the best childhood, and he was scared that he would end up being a bad parent.

He was still scared of that, he couldn't deny it, but when you're cuddling with him on the couch, watching television, he can't help but consider the idea whenever a child actor comes on the screen.

This weird feeling had been following him for months now. He found himself doing things he wouldn't usually, resting his hand on your stomach more when you're cuddling, imagining you clinging onto him, heavily pregnant and somehow looking more beautiful than ever.

He had no idea you were also having these thoughts. You hadn't brought it up because you knew he was a little hesitant about the idea. You figured you'd wait for him to bring up the topic first so he doesn't feel pressured, but now, every part of your being aching for a baby, you know you just can't wait any longer.

On one of his days off, you walk up to your fiancé and tell him to put a baby in you. The look on his face is both cute and hilarious. Despite how demanding your initial request was, the two of you sit and talk for a while, getting both of your feelings out there.

When you both agree that you both definitely want a baby, you decide you'll start trying as soon as the wedding is over.

Midoriya Izuku

It had been 4 months since you and Izuku had gotten married in a beautiful ceremony in front of your family and closest friends. Both your groom and your new mother-in-law cried a lot.

Speaking of Izuku's wonderful mother, you were visiting her one day, as you and your husband typically do at least once a week. You absolutely don't mind doing this, I mean it when I say Inko is wonderful, and that includes to you. She fully welcomed you into her little family.

"So, when am I getting a grandchild?"

The question comes out of nowhere, Izuku choking on the water he unfortunately happened to be drinking. "Mom!"

"What?" she asks with a smile. "You've been married for a little while now, surely that's the next step, right?"

Izuku laughs nervously, glancing at you briefly and squeezing your hand. "We don't know when that'll be happening yet."

The entirety of the rest of the time you spend at Inko's home that day, he can't take his mind off what his mom said. He hadn't really even thought about it since you got married, content with his life the way it is now. Now an idea has been planted in his head.

When you're back in the car, driving back to your own house, Izuku interrupts you while you're speaking (he didn't mean to, he was just so deep in thought that he didn't even realise you were talking). He asks if you want to have a baby, and it takes you almost no time to say you do.

Todoroki Toya

There's nothing you could think of that triggered your baby fever. You just wanted a baby, and you wanted one bad. You know your boyfriend will be a good dad, even if he doesn't seem to believe it.

He doesn't seem to believe that he has any kind of soft side. The big idiot obviously doesn't realise the way he acts with you, and you know that he'll be similar with your baby.

He wasn't even considering the idea before you brought it up to him. You weren't exactly subtle about it either, practically jumping on him and telling him to give you his baby. The demand shocks him, but there's something about hearing it come from your mouth that made him want it, made him feel like it would be okay for that to happen. He trusts you, and if that's what you think is best and what you want, he'll give you that.

There is no time wasted, Toya happily spending the rest of the night making sure that you'll get his baby as soon as possible.

Kirishima Eijiro

Eijiro has always liked kids, he thinks they're just adorable! How could he not like them? Being a pro hero means that there are so many children that look up to him, and it isn't an unusual occurrence for him to be swarmed by young fans while he's on patrol.

The baby fever really kicks in for him when a family of three come up to him while he's out on patrol, an excited baby babbling in his mother's arms as he reaches out towards the hero.

The baby's mother explains to him that he's her son's favourite hero. He always smiles and babbles and points whenever Red Riot is on television. It goes without saying that hearing that makes your boyfriend's soft heart melt.

As soon as they leave, he decides he'll have to bring this up with you as soon as he gets back to you. He's known for a while that he wants a baby, but after that reaction, he knows he has to bring it up to you.

Of course, he does bring it up to you very quickly when he gets home after patrol is over. It's pretty much the first thing he says to you when he walks through the door, picking you up and spinning you around when you agree to start trying. He wastes no time in starting to try for a baby with you.

[evansbby]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

part v - heart ripped, soul devoured

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, major angst, extremely dark themes, a/b/o dynamic, daddy!kink, dubcon, extreme depictions of depression, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of illness, 18+ only, minors do not interact!  

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The end.

𝐀/𝐍: This is it. 37.7k words. The ending. I have read over it and edited it countless times, but please forgive any errors. Apart from that, enjoy!

PART I

“PETER! STOP!”

It's only when you scream at the very top of your lungs that Peter finally skids to a stop. But his grip on your arm remains firm – like he’s frenzied. And why wouldn’t he be? He must know the danger he’s put himself in; both of you look back at the mouth of the stadium for Steve. But there are too many people, too much going on, and you can’t tell whether your heart is beating crazily in longing for Steve or in warning for when he inevitably does find you. And Peter.

“Look, I’ve got a car.” Peter looks at you pleadingly, tugging at your hand again. He’s dragged you all the way to one of the parking lots of the stadium. “He won’t catch up to us if we leave now, not when there’re so many people. Please, just come on!” He gives you another yank, but you’ve got your feet planted firmly on the rough asphalt.

“I don’t want to go.”

“What?”

Now that you’ve verbalised it, it becomes all too real. You want to stay – right? That’s what you’ve just said, sounding as firm as you’ve ever sounded in your life. Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath before looking him dead in the eyes.

“Peter, I’m sorry but I don’t want to go with you. I want to stay with Steve.”

“What? No, you don’t mean that, you’re not thinking straight, you–”

His voice cuts off suddenly and he blinks. You wait with baited breath for the “you’re crazy” and the “are you kidding me?!” but all he does is stare at you.

What is it that he sees in your face through his unwavering stare? Is it something he refused to see before? Is Peter finally seeing the person who used to be his girlfriend before she cheated on him with another man? The same man whose baby you’re carrying? A man whose love you readily accepted after everything he put you through? A man whose proposal you accepted without even thinking of anyone else, Peter included?

“I can’t believe he’s done this to you.”

Genuine horror specks through his brown eyes, and you realise that it’s not your face he’s staring at. It’s your neck. Your mark. Shock donning his features, his lips parted and Adam’s apple bobbing, he reaches out to touch the jagged line. As if on cue, your mark throbs and you wince away from him. You feel a stinging pain, a warning pain – as if Peter’s touching something he’s not supposed to, and it makes you jerk backwards.

“No wonder you don’t want to come with me.” Peter sucks in his breath, and it’s like his face can’t decide between revulsion or pity and so it settles on a mix of both. “He’s marked you. Brainwashed you.”

Brainwashed? No, no, no. You want to stay with Steve, don’t you? Now that he’s finally turning a new leaf, now that he’s promised you everything? Now that the lingering fear of him stomping all over your trust and ruining it like he has in the past is gone… It’s gone, right? That’s why you want to stay!

“Peter, he’s going to kill you if he sees you. You have to go–”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how fucked up this is.” It’s like seeing Steve’s mark on your neck has incensed him to the point of anger. “How could he–? How could you let him do this to you?”

“I didn’t really have a choice–but a lot has happened since then!” You feel defensive – and what does that mean for you? You don’t really have the time to consider your complex feelings towards Steve marking you, however, because danger is imminent and Peter is refusing to see that. “Look, I’ll explain everything to you somehow. But you know how he gets when he sees you, or me talking to you. You know what happened last time, Peter, and I don’t want him to hurt you again! Please go!”

“STOP TELLING ME TO GO!” Peter bursts, “I’m not going anywhere, alright? I walked away last time and look what he’s done to you.” His eyes cloud over as he grips both your shoulders, “You were my girlfriend first, okay? We’d barely started dating but we were happy, weren’t we? And he took that away, he ruined that. But you were mine first.”

His lips press roughly against yours before you even have a chance to understand what’s happening. And it feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re drowning. Like someone’s dunked you in ice cold water and you can’t get out no matter how hard you push. It feels alien. It feels wrong. You’ve kissed Peter before and you remember it being sweet and safe. But now it’s like you’ve been programmed down to your core to only respond to Steve’s kisses. And the sudden foreignness of Peter’s lips has you recoiling – or at least trying to, except he keeps a firm hold on you, his lips moving desperately against yours.

Was he searching for something? Something that just wasn’t there anymore? Was it ever there?

You don’t have much time to mull over that, however, because you’re suddenly ripped off of Peter. Instinctively, you reach up to wipe your lips, heart beating in a mix of relief and confusion. And then a familiar scent makes your nostrils tingle, and you look down slowly at the fist holding tightly onto your wrist. Blue veins running up and down a muscular arm which seems to be shaking with anger. And your gaze trails upwards, and your blood freezes.

Steve.

It takes the alpha all of two seconds to tackle Peter to the ground. And then he stands over him, cheeks red and eyes narrowed almost to slits. Teeth bared, growl emanating from his whole chest like a wild animal about to strike. He’s breathing rapidly, too rapidly – you could almost mistake it for a panic attack except his face is so still. Not a muscle twitches, his sneer locked into place.

Steve is livid. You can tell from the pure rage you feel in your bond with him, from the way he’s so quiet. It reminds you of the night he forcefully bonded with you, how quietly angry he’d been, how frighteningly rough as he’d taken what he pleased. And it fills you with a cold terror, because that anger had been ignited because he’d seen Peter touch your arm. But this was a kiss. And Steve had seen it.

“You just made the worst mistake of your fucking life.” Steve says quietly, glaring daggers at Peter.

“Steve, don’t!” You grab at his arm but he easily pushes you off, not even sparing you a glance. He’s like a predator poised before an attack. And the poor prey never stood a chance.

“Go ahead, Steve.” Peter swallows, getting back up to his feet, his chin up. And it’s surprising how his voice is strong and unwavering, despite the alpha twice his size hovering over him. “You gave me a black eye once but I’m still here. Give me another one, it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep coming back for her.”

It only takes a nanosecond, a flurry of movement, before Steve punches Peter straight in the jaw. The force of the blow knocks the beta off his feet. And your mouth’s open in horror, a silent scream stuck in your throat at the sickly crackling sound, and the thud of Peter’s head hitting the rough asphalt underneath him.

“I told you, didn’t I? I told you there’d be hell to pay if I ever saw you near her again.” Steve says softly, yet there’s foreboding danger laced in every word. He grabs Peter’s collar so hard that his knuckles turn white, “And you fucking kissed her, you stupid fucking sonofabitch. I could split your fucking skull open on the ground right fucking now.”

His words are violent and so is his threat, but again, it’s the way he’s talking so quietly, so calmly as Peter coughs and sputters underneath him. That’s what chills your blood more than anything else.

“Steve, please don’t!” You try again.

Steve gives Peter several violent shakes, and each shake is accompanied by a venomous word, “Don’t – fucking – touch – her – again, you beta scum piece of shit!”

“She was mine first.”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH–”

It happens quickly after that. But for you, the sequence is delayed, like in slow motion. Steve lunges forward, holding Peter’s collar tight while his other fist lands another swift punch to the brunette’s jaw. And there’s that horrific crackling noise again, fuelled by white-hot anger. Anger and alpha seemed to go hand-in-hand, and Peter sputters and spits out blood and stares back defiantly despite it all.

Were you a fool to believe Steve would change? Blindly believing in his promises like you always had and then watching him go back on his word and destruct anything good that could potentially come of them? Were you doomed to watch the same story repeat itself over again? Hurt, pain, forgiveness. Then more hurt, more pain… more forgiveness. Like a vicious cycle, a path of destruction. More chaos. More hurt. More anger. Would it ever end?

Suddenly, you’re tired.

“If you hurt him again, I’ll never forgive you.”

Your tone is loud, clear and concise. No stutter. Like in the bathtub all those nights ago, when the dark claws of hopelessness had almost pulled you down under. But nothing’s tugging at you now, except the pull of Steve’s promises that he’d made earlier. Did they mean something, when it really came down to it? Would he be different this time?

Steve freezes, still breathing hard and he’s still got Peter’s collar in his hand. Peter, whose jaw is already beginning to bruise and swell. Two pairs of eyes, blue and brown, snap over to you but you only look into one of them.

“Steve.”

His name falls out of your mouth quietly. The moment is brief, but your alpha seems to see deep into your eyes. His lips press together to form a thin line, and his breathing slows, evens out. Then, for a horrific second, rage infiltrates his features once more, twisting them, turning them pointed and cruel. And then a beat passes and so does his fury, as he slowly, unbelievingly, seems to calm back down.

“You ruined her life by giving her that mark.” Peter says darkly, his words muffled because of a probably broken jaw, “You’re selfish, Steve. A selfish asshole for doing that to her. And if you had even an ounce of decency in you, you’d let me take her away.”

“You don’t fucking know what you’re saying.” Steve says through gritted teeth, “You don’t know the first thing about me and her.”

“I know that she’s good, she’s kind. And you feed off of that, because you could never fathom being that kind yourself.” Peter stares up at Steve brazenly, like he knows he’s on the brink of a beating but is long past caring. “You’ve manipulated her to the point where she thinks she doesn’t want to leave you.” And then he looks at you pleadingly, “You can leave him, okay? Just come with me.”

Steve lets out an almighty snarl, his anger coming back tenfold, and he draws his fist back, about to punch Peter again. And you move without thinking, throwing caution to the wind as you grab his arm with both of yours.

“Steve. Don’t hurt him. I won’t forgive you.”

Steve whips his head back in fury, looking from you to Peter and then you again, before his gaze drops down to where your hand holds tightly over his fist. The alpha, so big and foreboding, seems to be unravelling in front of you. Was there a chink in that unbreakable armour, in that searing anger on his face? Before, he would never have hesitated in his blind fury, but now…?

For the second time, the rage seems to dissipate from his face, before it fights its way back and twists his mouth into a snarl. And then it fades away again, like a receding wave. And that’s’ when you realise it:

He’s fighting himself.

“We should go, Steve.” You say quietly.

Almost robotically, Steve releases Peter’s collar. His entire being is tense with hardly-contained rage, but by some miracle, he listens to you. Maybe it’s your bond or just sheer luck, or maybe you’ve touched him somewhere from deep within, but he stands up and backs away from the scene in front of him. You take his hand, and he allows you to entwine your fingers with his and pull him away. But not before he gives Peter one last deathly look.

“The only reason you’re not dead right now is because of her.” Steve spits out, each seething word laced with pure venom.

And Peter’s face shines red with blood and his eyes shine bright with betrayal as he looks beyond Steve and straight at you. And there’s a part of you that wants to run back and help him, make sure his jaw is okay. Tell him you’re sorry, that you never meant for it to end this way. Instead, you take your phone out to call 911, hoping and praying he didn’t get a concussion from when his head hit the ground.

“Don’t fucking bother.” The beta spits out at you when he sees the phone in your hand, and you immediately freeze. And then he turns his attention to Steve.

“She’ll never love you.” Peter coughs as he stumbles to his feet. Steve goes deathly still next to you.

The alpha’s back is still turned, but that doesn’t deter Peter as he laughs bitterly. “You may have her trapped under your thumb, but just know that she’ll never really love you. Because no one could love you, Steve. And any kindness she shows to you is because she is kind, and any affection she shows to you is because you’ve marked her and she can’t help her biology.”

Steve still doesn’t turn back, but you can feel him begin to shake. And he grips your hand so tight, you feel like your bones might shatter.

“You think you’ve won, Steve?” Peter laughs again, “You had to forcefully mark her to get her to stay with you. She feels nothing for you, you hear me? She’s only with you because she’s scared and thinks she has no other option. She’s only with you because you preyed on an innocent omega, knowing you could trap her because she can’t help but do what you say. But take all that away and what’s left, Steve? Nothing. Certainly not love.”

People are starting to gather and get closer, a few of them muttering and pointing at Peter’s bruised face. And Steve still doesn’t look at the beta, almost like he’s rooted in place as he stares straight ahead. You spot a vein in his forehead; it looks like it’s about to pop.

“Alphas like you take whatever you want, with little regard to who you hurt. But mark my words, Steve, it’ll be you who’s hurting in the end.” Peter spits out blood before continuing, his eyes blazing as he ignores the small crowd of concerned people forming around him, “Every day you’ll wake up and you’ll look at her and wait for her to tell you she loves you. Hell, you might even be able to scare her into telling you that she does. But you’ll spend every day wondering whether she truly means it. Whether her affection is genuine or if it’s just the omega inside her that you’ve manipulated. You’ll wonder if her love is real, and I can tell you right now, Steve, that it’s not and it never will be. Because she will never love you.”

“Peter, stop–” You speak up.

“She won’t ever love you, Steve. No one could ever love you.”

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, his lips gaped open as if he’s struggling to regulate his own breathing. As if every fibre of his being is trying to hold on to remaining stoic. But you can see the chinks in his armour, you can feel his hand as it crushes yours almost desperately, and the way the muscles in his face twitch. You know that it’s taking everything within him to hold himself together, and you also know that anything could set him off.

Peter turns and leaves, the small crowd parting to give him space to move. A few people offer to help him, but he shrugs them off. You watch for a second as your ex-boyfriend walks away, feeling broken in more ways than one. There are so many things you want to say to him, but you have a bigger problem on your hands right now.

You pull on Steve’s hand to lead him away from the scene, and away from the crowd that begins to disperse almost as soon as it had gathered.

*

“FUCK HIM!”

You sit completely rigid in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, in shock over what’s just happened. Your eyes are glued to Steve, watching him through the windshield as he paces. His hands are clenched into fists, his face white as a sheet and hair a mess as he keeps running his hands through it. Finally, he throws open the driver’s seat door and gets inside. And that’s when you realise that he’s still shaking.

“Fuck.” He breathes, looking straight ahead. His slightly stubbled jaw is tightly clenched, and you can see that protruding vein on his temple. His blue eyes look wild, glazed, unfocused, as his hands grip the steering wheel, most likely in a bid to calm himself down.

“Steve–”

“FUCK!” He explodes, the word hurtling out like a venomous fireball bouncing off the interior of the car. He rams his fist against the dashboard, making the whole car shake just like he is. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK HIM!”

He’d held it together pretty well during the tense walk away from Peter and all the way to the other side of the parking lot to where his car was parked. He’d pushed you inside almost at once, as if he needed you sat in one place where he could see you. And now, with relatively nobody around you both, his emotions were quick to unravel.

Steve gets out of the car again. And you watch him, his brows heavily furrowed, lips twisted as he keeps chanting the same thing over and over again: “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” And he gives the tire an almighty kick, once again making the car shake, and you grip the seat nervously, heart jumping up to your throat.

Another kick. And another one. Each one harder than the last, each one making your blood run colder and colder. Steve looked crazed, incensed, troubled, hurt and out-of-control – all those emotions wrapped up inside one alpha? You’re scared for what he might do next.

He stands there, chest heaving and face still screwed up. And then he gets back into the car, breathing hard. In fact, he’s gulping for air – as if he can’t seem to fill up his lungs no matter how hard he tries. Shaking hands, a wild look in his eye, they’re all tell-tale signs of a feeling you know all too well…

Was Steve having a panic attack?

It’s a side of him you’ve never really seen before. The formidable alpha who never outwardly showed even a hint of vulnerability.

“Fuck – him – he – doesn’t – know – anything!” Steve gets out between gasps of breath, his broad chest rising and falling at an alarming rate as he grips the steering wheel hard, almost as if he wants to tear it off and hurl it out the window.

You surge forward, cupping his face gently in both your hands. Slowly, you rub your wrists against his cheeks and nose. Scenting him. Like how he’d done for you all those weeks ago after the confrontation with Sharon had left you in tears and unable to breathe. You don’t know if it’ll work now, but you do know that if anything calms you down, it’s his scent. Maybe it would be the same for him?

And Steve looks at you, finally looks at you, with bewildered eyes but his nose twitches. His hand wildly grasps at your wrist, keeping it pressed against his face with a desperate carnality. Slowly, his breathing slows down, evens out. His shoulders sag, and then he crumples. Leaning over the console and hugging you fiercely, burying his face in your neck and holding you so tightly you fear you’ll pass out.

“He kissed you.” Steve says against your skin, “I didn’t like… Fuck, I hate that he did that. I hate that he touched you. It feels… It feels…”

It’s like he can’t find the words to explain what he’s feeling. But you know, you know, you know! For once, you know exactly what’s going on in his head because you’d felt it too! When he’d kissed the other omega. Like your heart was breaking over and over again, shattering when it was already shattered – was he feeling that too now? The worst feeling in the world, was Steve feeling it too? You don’t know what to say, but a part of you can’t help but think: now you know how it feels, Steve.

“You can’t kiss anyone else ever again. I hate it… I can’t fucking stand it… I –” His lips catch against yours desperately, biting and pulling as his tongue gains entrance to your mouth. You sigh against his lips and he lurches forward, consuming you with a possessive kiss that leaves you reeling.

“He doesn’t know us.” Steve says, digging his fingers into your flesh, “Fuck him. He doesn’t know the first fucking thing about us. I could’ve killed him.”

“I know.”

“Where the fuck does he get off? Taking you away from me, kissing you… And then all those fucking insinuations…? Acting like he knows me. Like he knows what I feel for you. As if his tiny fucking brain could even understand what we have between us.” He gives your shoulders a shake, “I swear to fucking God, I should’ve killed him.”

“I’m really grateful that you didn’t.”

Steve lets out a strangled sound, like a mix between a rumble and a sigh. “You’re the only reason I didn’t do it. I could’ve snapped his fucking neck.”

You don’t know what to say, all you can do is hug him and hope it’s enough to calm him down. He buries his face in your neck again, desperately smelling you as if he’s making sure you’re really there, as if your scent is the one thing keeping him grounded.

But then his head snaps up suddenly, and he cups your face in his hands.

“Let’s get married now.”

Your heart lurches, “What?”

His blue eyes are blazing with fury and excitement, and he sits up straight, nodding to himself, suddenly assured when just a moment ago he was losing it. “We’ll get married now, omega. We’ll go down to city hall and make it official right now. That’ll show that no good cuck of a beta, won’t it? That’ll show him what happens if he tries to fuck with me.”

“But Steve–”

“You said yes!” Steve whips his head in your direction, the sudden fierceness in his eyes making you cower back. He grabs your wrist tightly, “You said yes, omega. You said you’d marry me, and you’d be my wife. Mine. Not his.” He laughs maniacally, his grip crushing your wrist. “That stupid son-of-a-bitch, thinks he can make assumptions about us? Well, I’ll fucking show him.”

“We can’t just get married right this second because you want to prove something to him!” You blurt out before cringing backwards, hoping your words don’t set him off. “I know you could’ve hurt Peter really bad, Steve, but you walked away. And that meant everything to me, and you can’t just act impulsively now because you want to hurt him. You’ve done that before, Steve. You did that with me.”

You scrunch your eyes shut for just a moment, the memory of him telling you how he’d cheated on you the night you two had fought. It took a special kind of cruelty to exact such a calculated punishment, and you so wanted to believe he wasn’t that person anymore. Hadn’t he shown that by walking away from hurting Peter?

Fire and ice. It’s the only way you can describe Steve’s gaze as he looks at you. There’s frozen fire in his blue eyes, and a look that’s cold as steel. It contrasts against the rage that has his cheeks reddening as his grip on your wrist only tightens.

But then he relaxes, thumb stroking your hand as he brings it up to his lips, pressing warm kisses to your skin. It’s insane, because a second ago he was ready to commit a murder – Steve’s back and forth emotions are giving you whiplash.

“Baby,” He breathes, “I love you, okay? I love you so fucking much, do you understand that? I want you to be my wife, and that has nothing to do with him.”

Again, he cups your face and pulls you close, and the proximity calms your beating heart. You lean into his touch, explosions of summer sun like invisible fireworks all around you. His scent is reeling you in how it always does, and you’re diving in head-first like you always do. His thumbs stroke your cheekbones as he looks at you with eyes that are tender yet still slightly crazed.

“I love you.” He repeats, sounding meaningful. And then he looks at you expectantly, as if he’s waiting with baited breath. Waiting for you to say something back? But the moment is fleeting, and Steve pulls away and diverts his gaze, coughing slightly.

“Let’s go get married.” He starts up the car, and the engine revving to life is what knocks you out of your reverie, and you grab his arm once more.

“Steve, wait! You need at least two witnesses if you want to get married.”

“So what? I’ll call Sam and someone else. Or we’ll grab two random people off the street.”

“My mom doesn’t even know that I have a boyfriend! How can we get married without her knowing?!”

“Your mom won’t care–” Steve cuts himself off quickly, but his words sting all the same. You bite your lip in dismay, but he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze, before adding softly, “Just text her and let her know.”

“I would like to tell her in person, Steve.” You plead. You know you’re stalling, trying to delay marrying him right at this moment. Why? Well, there were a plethora of reasons. It was too soon, you were too confused, and yes, you genuinely wanted your mother to know before you took such a huge step in life.

The alpha sighs, finally relaxing, but the determined, slightly crazed look in his eyes still remains.

“Fine. First thing tomorrow, we’ll go see your mother. And then immediately after that, we’re going to get married.”

***

You expect it to be dark and gloomy, but the sun is shining brightly the next day as you and Steve prepare to leave. And the nerves bubble up inside you like an incensed swarm of butterflies. Things were moving so fast… Two days ago, you weren’t even talking to Steve. And now you were taking him back home, back to where you grew up. Back to your mother. What could possibly go wrong?

The butterflies grow more frenzied.

“After we tell your mom, we’ll immediately head back to the city, where we’ll tell my parents. Your mom can come too, if she wants.” Steve says, locking the front door and leading you to his car. “Then, we’ll go to city hall and get married.”

You nod slowly, wishing your heart would stop pounding so hard. He made it sound so easy, checking everything off like a to-do list. Everything’s happening so fast, and yet you feel like you’re wading through quick sand as you walk down the driveway with your hand intertwined with Steve’s. You hadn’t heard from your mom since you left for university, and that was ages ago. You’d texted her on and off every few weeks, including last night to inform her you were coming back, but she was always too busy with work to ever reply. She didn’t know a thing about you – not that you and Steve were dating, certainly not that you were now engaged, and definitely not that you were pregnant.

Would she even care?

You get the sudden urge to cup your belly, but Steve’s words knock you out of your reverie.

“Omega, what the hell is all this?”

You blink, seeing his eyes trained on the little basket in your hand.

“Oh. I packed us some lunch for the trip.” You’d been so wound up all night that you’d awoken early to pack a bag full of homemade meatball subs, potato salad and several little boxes of apple juice. “It’s a long drive, so I figured we could use it. I also, uh, calculated our driving shifts.”

Steve squints down at you, “What?”

“W-Well, it’s a long journey, so I figured you could drive for the first half, then I could take over–”

“Omegas don’t drive.”

And with that stone-faced remark, Steve lifts you up into the passenger seat of his car. Before he clicks your seatbelt in place, you twist around to put your basket in the backseat before taking Steve Junior out from where he was tucked under your jacket. You place him beside the basket and his coal black eyes stare back at you as his precariously-stitched head lolls to the side. You didn’t feel right leaving him in Steve’s room while you travelled so far away. This way, he was close to his parents, and safe from any crazy men who might behead him for a second time.

The journey is quiet, and not even the cheery morning show host’s voice blaring out the radio can blanket the silence between the two of you. Because what more is there to say when yesterday’s events could’ve been ripped straight out of a telenovela? Your pregnancy, then Steve’s proposal, then the whole scuffle with Peter which had ended with a string full of damning words that had affected Steve a lot more than you thought they would.

“Why are you being so quiet?” Steve demands after ten minutes of no conversation. You jolt, staring at him with wide, wary eyes. He was being quiet too, but you know better than to say that to him.

“I’m sorry.”

The alpha sighs, “Don’t apologise.”

You almost instinctively apologise once more, before stopping yourself just in time. But you don’t know what else to say to him. Do you just go back to being normal after everything that had just happened? What even was “normal” with Steve? You can’t even remember the last time you’d had a proper conversation with him. One that wasn’t intense or emotional or filled with accusations and hurt. So, where do you go from there?

“Let’s play a game.” Steve says after a further ten minutes of silence and you staring out the window at the scenery, and you almost raise an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic suggestion. You peak over at him, and he’s staring straight ahead. His eyebrows are knotted and lips pursed, as if he himself is uncomfortable to a certain degree.

“A game?”

“Yes. You ask me a question and I have to answer honestly. And then I’ll do the same with you.” Steve says, sounding like he’s reading instructions off a manual. His “game” sounds simple enough, but you still can’t help but be wary.

“I…uh…I don’t know what to ask.” You confess and Steve huffs.

“Just do it.” He orders you.

“Okay, uh, wh-what’s your favourite colour?” You blurt out, immediately feeling stupid.

Steve rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I meant, omega.”

“I’m sorry.”

You turn back to your window, watching the scenic landscape go whizzing by and hating yourself for being so awkward. It was a wonder he didn’t rescind his marriage proposal right then and there, because you couldn’t even play his game right and it was such a simple game to begin with and –

“It’s blue.” Steve coughs.

The corners of your mouth quirk up. “Oh. I knew that. A lot of your favourite shirts are blue. They match your eyes.” You sit up straighter and glance at him but his expression is impenetrable as always. “My favourite colour is yellow–”

“You can’t answer your own question.” Steve interrupts. “And you can’t ask a question that you already know the answer to.”

“Oh. Of course, sorry…” You deflate, wanting the buttery leather car seat to swallow you up whole. You’ve been feeling extra sensitive lately, for obvious reasons, and your fingers itch for Steve Junior to calm your nerves. You really wish you’d kept him in the front with you.

“My turn.” Steve says after a while, right when you think he’s abandoned the game. There’s a pause before the car reaches a red light and comes to a halt, and he turns to look at you.

“Are you in love with Peter?”

He spits the question out like each word is pumped full of acid, and his blue eyes bore into yours as he waits for an answer. You can see his fingers already tapping at the steering wheel impatiently and you gulp. You weren’t expecting his question to be so loaded off the bat. 

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me. Are you in love with him? Is that why you were kissing him yesterday?”

Your jaw drops open, “Is that what you think??”

“That’s what I saw.”

“I did not kiss him back.” You say firmly, a part of you not even caring if he believes you or not at this point.

“You didn’t?”

“No, Steve. I told him I wanted to stay with you.” And now he’ll probably never speak to me again.

Steve pauses as if to mull over this information, and he seems to look somewhat touched before a smirk tugs at his mouth, “Well, of course you didn’t kiss him back, and of course you want to stay with me. I knew that.” But you notice how his shoulders relax and his jaw untenses, and he exhales in relief before–

“Well? Answer my original question, omega. Are you in love with him?”

“N-No–”

“Be honest!”

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts and give him a proper answer. “I don’t love him. He was my best friend and we used to hang out together all the time. We’d watch movies and study together and play computer games. I guess we both thought that since we liked each other’s company so much, that we might as well start dating. It was my first relationship and it was sweet. But I’m not in love with him. I don’t think I was with him long enough to explore that, but even if I had been, I think I knew deep down that I could only ever love him as a friend.”

You’re surprised at your own eloquence, and how you’ve finally put your jumbled thoughts and feelings into words. It’s like a weight lifted off your shoulders, but you’re still wary of Steve. In the past, you were never allowed to mention Peter or allude to your relationship with him.

But Steve only nods, relief flooding his features once more, “Yeah? Well, I already knew that. I knew you could never love him.”

“Oh... Well, I thought you said we weren’t allowed to ask questions we already knew the answer to?”

He shoots you a look and rolls his eyes while you turn to look out the window to hide your own smile. You can feel those butterflies creeping up inside you again, fluttering like crazy and making you feel shyer than ever. You only look back when he squeezes your leg.

“You could watch movies with me too, you know.” Steve says.

“I never thought you’d want to.”

The light turns green and the drive continues, as does the game. Now it’s your turn once more.

“Why did you – uh –” You play with the string of your hoodie, wondering whether you should bring this up. But he’d asked you a question about your ex, so you could do the same. “Did you promise Sharon everything that you promised me? About taking care of her and starting a family?”

Steve sighs, “Is that what she told you?”

“Is it true?” You whisper, not sure if you even wanted to know the answer.

“Look, I was with Sharon for two years. Things change as time passes.”

His answer is vague and unsatisfactory, and you feel yourself straighten up in your seat. “So, two years from now, you’ll change your mind about me too?” And our child?

“No, because you’re different. Everything I said to you was true. About how I wanted you to be the mother of my children, how I promised to take care of you. Ask me again in ten years, and none of that will change.” He inhales deeply, “I told Sharon that I wanted a wife and a family to take care of. But I never explicitly said that I wanted that with her. She never made me feel…”

His voice trails off, but your curiosity gets the best of you. And despite your reserved nature around him, you can’t help but clutch his arm and squeeze.

“She never made you feel what?”

He scrunches his eyes shut for a second, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Another long exhale and then:

“Nothing, okay? You can’t ask multiple questions, omega. That’s not how this game works. But to answer your original question: No, I didn’t promise any of that to her. She was just bitter that I dumped her, and she took it out on you. And I’ll make sure she pays for that.”

 You sit back, not knowing how to feel. It all boils down to the same thing you’ve been asking yourself for a while now: do you trust his word?

The drive continues on for miles and miles. The two of you settle into another short period of silence, but this time it’s more comfortable. You even pluck up the courage to turn the radio back on, engulfing the car in upbeat pop music that makes Steve frown and huff and roll his eyes. But he lets it play, and the melodious crooning of Taylor Swift accompanies you all the way to the gas station.

Steve polishes off his meatball subs in the gas station parking lot after filling up the car, whilst you and Steve Junior watch him. He offers you a sandwich too, but the smell of both the subs and the potato salad is making you queasy, so you politely decline.

“Well, you have to eat something.” He frowns.

“I’m okay.”

“It’s not a request, omega, you’re eating for two now. And why would you pack these sandwiches if you weren’t going to eat one?”

You shrug, trying to hold your nausea at bay. “I wanted it in the morning but now I don’t want it anymore.”

“That’s ridiculous. Just eat it!”

“No!”

“Do what I tell you and eat it!” He thrusts the sandwich into your hand.

“No, please! I don’t want to!” You blanche as the bile rises up to your throat.

Throwing up in a gas station bathroom in the middle of nowhere is a humbling experience, to say the least. You thank your lucky stars that you have your toothbrush in your purse, because the amount of grime and filth covering the toilet has you heaving everything out. You’d thought you’d lucked out this morning when you hadn’t had your usual bout of morning sickness. Well, it was here now, and with a vengeance. You throw up for what feels like an eternity, and then clean and freshen yourself up before emerging from the bathroom, feeling sheepish and embarrassed.

Steve drags you into the nearby convenience store after that, determined to get you to eat something to fill up your now empty stomach. You’re hesitant at first, but soon point to what you want and let him buy it for you. And then he sits in the car and watches you munch on a hot pickle dipped in peanut butter and a small bag of ice chips.

“You’re actually enjoying that?” He asks in disbelief.

“Yes, I like it.” You hold the pickle out to him. “Would you like some?”

Steve makes a face before the two of you share a look. You don’t know whether he cracks a smile first or if it’s you. But you do know that this is new, uncharted territory between you two – much like how this whole day has been. It’s in the little things, how his smile seems sweet rather than smug. How you’re able to hold eye contact with him longer than you’ve ever been able to before. How he’s talking to you like you’re a person, instead of an object that he wants to manipulate.

“I think I’ll pass.” He says, and you shrug, taking another deliciously satisfying bite of the pickle. And you’re so engrossed in how good it tastes (especially with the peanut butter) that you don’t even notice when Steve leans over the console and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re cute.” He says, his cheeks blushed pink in a way you’ve never seen them before, and you can feel the tips of your ears growing hot and a fluttering spark deep in your tummy. And then he coughs and straightens back into his seat, shaking his head as if he’s trying to clear it. You continue to munch on your pickle while he checks the GPS and clears his throat.

“Let’s get going. We’re almost at your mother’s house.”

*

The rest of the drive goes by in a blur, and as the time passes and the roads grow familiar, the light-hearted feeling in your chest is replaced with one of dread and foreboding. Just seeing the signs leading to your hometown brings back a mixed bag of memories. Ranging from good ones (mainly involving Peter and school) to bad ones (everything else). And your stomach churns in anticipation when Steve finally parks his car in front of your childhood home.

“It’s not much.” You say as you reach out to ring the doorbell, gingerly brushing away stray cobwebs from the brass, hoping Steve didn’t see them, “And my mom is usually too tired to clean, so it’ll be a mess in there probably.” You take a deep breath before turning to face him, “Look. I… I know it’s not as fancy as what you’re used to, but p-please don’t judge it, okay?”

Steve, who up until this moment had been busy surveying the almost decrepit looking street crammed full of houses on the verge of falling apart, frowns back at you. “I wouldn’t judge.”

“Thank you.” You say quietly, although you feel extremely embarrassed. Steve is undoubtedly used to the grandeur and lavish lifestyle that most of the people at your university lead. You know he probably gets more money in his monthly allowance than your mother would see in a year.

But this was where you’d grown up, this tiny house which resembled more of a cottage, with its two rooms and leaky roof and creaky doors. The house you’d so desperately tried to make into a home, learning to cook and clean and sew at a young age just so you could spruce things up at home while your mother worked six – maybe seven – days a week and her boyfriend of the month sat at home and drank, and…

You blink it all away, ringing the doorbell again but no one answers. Nervously, you bite your lip and glance back at Steve, who has an arm protectively around your waist as if he thinks something might burst out from inside and attack you.

“Mom’s probably at work.” You explain, gnawing at your lip.

“What does she do again?”

“She’s a waitress.” You say sharply, your tone starkly defensive. Suddenly, you’re transported back to the beginning of freshman year – Steve and his gang smirking and laughing at you about everything, from your hand-me-down clothes to your scuffed sneakers. Would they have had a field day with the knowledge that your mom was a waitress? When all their parents were bankers, businessman, doctors and lawyers? “Why are you asking me that?”

“Restaurants would all be shut at this time.”

“Well, maybe she’s asleep. She works really, really hard, okay?” You can’t help as your voice grows more high-pitched; your tone more distressed. It’s like the past few hours of easy conversation with him all evaporated as soon as you entered this house. Your defences are now coming up higher and higher – the same defences that had slowly corroded and crumbled through incessant bullying throughout the year. But this is your home, your turf, your mother – you can’t help but be defensive.

“Baby, are you okay?” Steve asks softly, and it’s still so strange to be faced with this side of him. This softer, kinder side that almost seems to have manifested overnight. It’s like half of you is still on high-alert, waiting for him to burst out laughing. Waiting for him to get his phone out and take pictures of the poverty surrounding him and send them to everyone he knows. Instead, his warm hand rubs your back soothingly and you don’t know what to think.

“I’m fine.” You sound so clipped, it’s strange. You know you shouldn’t be speaking to him like this, and in the past, he would’ve warned you for being short with him. But right now, he doesn’t say anything as you both wait at the front door, with you shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

Finally, you sigh, reassuring yourself that your mother is probably just at work or asleep inside as you bend down and reach under the dirty welcome mat, thanking your lucky stars that the spare key is still there.

Steve tenses his jaw, “That’s not safe, omega.”

You don’t answer, because what robber would ever come to your house? What exactly would they steal? You don’t have time to mull over it before Steve snatches the key from you, grabbing your hand and stepping in front of your body like a human shield. He unlocks the door and slowly steps inside with you following on his tail.

“Mom,” You call out, trying to flip on the lights except they aren’t working. That’s nothing new – sometimes your mom was late to pay the bill and so they’d cut the electricity out, but it’s embarrassing for it to happen now, with Steve here. “Mom? It’s me! I’m home!”

Your voice echoes around the room, but there’s no response. Steve turns his phone’s flashlight on, shining it around and revealing the stark, dusty furniture. The stained carpet and cracked coffee table loaded with empty takeaway containers. You always kept the place neat and tidy when you lived here: surfaces gleaming and fresh flowers on the table, but clearly your mother and her boyfriend haven’t kept that up since you moved to college.

“Mom? Didn’t you hear me? I’m home! And my – uh – my boyfriend’s here too.” You cough and try not to look at Steve when you say that part; it still gives you butterflies when you refer to him as your boyfriend. Or fiancé. Father of your baby? Your mother has no idea about any of that, and you try to ignore the wobble in your voice, “I-I know I was supposed to come home as soon as the term ended, but a lot of things came up. There’s – uh – there’s a lot of things I need to tell you, mom.”

No response, and the door to your mother’s bedroom is ajar.

“Omega, I don’t think anyone’s at home–”

 You ignore him, and it feels like you’re wading through wet cement as you make your way over to her bedroom. Creaking the door open and seeing it empty, bedsheets stripped and drawers hanging open and closet left ajar too. All empty. No clothes, bags, shoes, anything. A gasp dies in your throat and you shut the door and step back, bumping into Steve’s hard chest.

“Is she in there?” He asks, although his eyes seem to know the answer.

“She’s still at work.” You answer brightly, clearing your throat to get rid of the lump, blinking several times as a wide smile plasters itself on your face. “She’s just at work.” You repeat, diverting your eyes when he gives you a concerned look. “She’s probably working late – maybe she got a new job where she has longer hours.”

Steve sighs, “Omega–”

“We could kill some time till she comes back. Please, let’s just…” You take a deep breathe, “Maybe we can go into my room?” You drag him away from your mother’s door and to the one right next to it. Your room.  And Steve is about to say something but stops short when you open your door and lead him inside, and he grips your dresser, inhaling deeply.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and his eyes flutter shut, long lashes fanning his face. He looks so big in your tiny room – it’s about the size of a closet, much smaller than your dorm room. And with your bed, your dresser and your closet, there isn’t much space to walk or even stand for one person, let alone you and your 6’6 framed alpha.

“Your scent is everywhere in here.” Steve says, sniffing the air greedily before impulsively tugging you flush again him. The embrace comes out of nowhere, but you still feel the goosebumps you always do whenever he does things like this. And you let him hold you, relaxing against his comforting arms despite the alarm bells ringing at the back of your head.

“I grew up in here.” You answer quietly, still in his embrace as you turn around, back against his front and he wraps his arms around your waist. “I only moved out months ago, but it feels like ages since then. Like so much has happened, and this is a whole different life.” You reach down to stroke your pink bedsheets – they look exactly how you’d left them – and you imagine the ghost of a younger girl who’d hide in here and study to drown out the sounds of drunken fighting coming from outside.

Steve draws away from you, distracted by the contents of your bedroom. There isn’t much left, but you’ve still got a bunch of books and some tiny knick-knacks lying around on your desk. And you’re momentarily transported back to that first day as you watch him rifle through your things just like he’d done when he’d come over for that tutoring session.

“Aw look, it’s baby omega’s diary.” Steve grins, grabbing a tiny, worn-out yellow journal and flipping through it, making you snap out of it and frown.

“Hey! Give that back!” You lunge for it, embarrassed and not wanting him to read your childish wishes and whims that you’d jotted down over the years. But Steve is much too tall, much too strong, and easily holds the journal out of your reach. He opens it to a random page, his voice comically high-pitched as he reads your words out loud.

“Dear diary, we got our math test results back today and I got a B. I cried for a while but it just means I have to study harder.” Steve chuckles, “Wow, omega, you were a huge nerd even back then.”

“Please give it back.”

“No way, we’re killing time, remember?” He flips to a different page, “Dear diary, the classroom hamster died today and nobody else seemed to feel sad about it.” He snorts, “Cute.”

“Steve–”

“Dear diary, mom’s new boyfriend is really scary. Sometimes he stares at me…”

Steve’s voice trails off, but his eyes remain glued to the page, fingers almost crushing the old journal to dust as he grips it hard, and you swallow uncomfortably, blinking away bad memories. Oh, why had you written all that down? Journals were meant to store memories and you didn’t want to remember that…

Brows furrowed yet expression still unreadable, Steve finally sets the diary down. “What is this about?”

You shrug, diverting your gaze.

He draws you closer again, his face distraught, and you wonder whether you’re in trouble. And you know that’s insane – why would you be in trouble? – but you can’t help but worry all the same, the lump in your throat growing bigger and bigger. Steve’s hand cups your cheek, stroking it lightly and tipping your face upwards to meet his gaze.

“Did he touch you? Your mother’s boyfriend?”

“No.”

“I’ll find him and kill him if he did.” His threat is serious despite the gentleness of his tone, and his thumb strokes your cheekbones, and the heat that’s always radiating from him is almost like a hug, almost like he’s cocooning you in a warm whirlpool of safety, where the only man there is him, him, him. Just him.

“He didn’t. And there were a lot of boyfriends – they’d come and go.” You focus on Steve’s chest, not being able to look into his eyes. “One of them hit me once, because it was dinnertime and he ate my mom’s portion too and I thought that was so unfair. So I spoke up.” A bitter laugh escapes your throat, you can still remember how your cheek had stung with pain. “Well, I learnt never to do that again, and now I have this stupid stutter every time I do speak up in front of people.”

You stare out the window, at the desolate patch of dead grass outside and the ghost of a little girl playing there to escape the monsters inside the house.

“Most of my mom’s boyfriends hated me, but some of them would stare.” You scrunch your eyes for a moment before opening them and forcing out another laugh, “That’s why I wore those huge hoodies that you hate so much. It made them stare less, and then I guess I just got used to wearing them all the time.”

You wish with all your heart that you could read the expression on Steve’s face, or maybe read his mind and know what he’s thinking in this moment. But he only stares at you, and he stares and stares and stares, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Let’s go from here.” He says finally, “Your mother clearly isn’t here and you’re getting tired. I need to take you home.” He grabs your arm, pulling you out the door but you dig the soles of your feet into the ground, shaking your head.

“No, Steve, please. She’s probably almost back!”

“You’ve had a long day, omega, and you’re wearing yourself out. You’re pregnant now so you need to be careful about these things. Don’t argue with me.”

The tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them, and the lump in your throat gets bigger and bigger. It’s no secret that your pregnancy has made you more emotional, but a small part of you wants to stubbornly lock yourself in your childhood room and wait for her to come home, no matter what your alpha tells you to do, no matter what you know deep down in your heart…

She’s not coming home… The voice at the back of your head is beguiling and mocking at the same time, but you forcibly ignore it with everything inside you.

“Please. I haven’t spoken to her for months. She… She doesn’t even know about you, Steve! Let alone the fact that we’re gonna be married, or that I’m pregnant. And she deserves to know–” Your voice breaks, and you will yourself to be brave but the tears are already halfway down your face, “She’s my mother, Steve. She deserves to know.”

Steve sighs, “Fine. An hour and then we’re leaving.”

It’s progress, because before he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of listening to you. You give him a small smile of gratitude before taking a seat on your bed – he’s right, you are tired. There are so many aspects of your pregnancy that you’re yet to get used to: the unpredictability of your emotions, the nausea, the soreness, how tired you feel sometimes. Maybe it’s something you could discuss with your mother; a talking point, a bit of common ground. You sigh as your heart pitter-patters – why isn’t she home yet?

Steve resumes looking through your things – he really seems to like doing that. You watch as he rummages through your old scented candles which are all burnt down and used up, your pens which have dried out and your other stationary, your old clothes which are too small for you now. You wonder what exactly he finds so interesting about all this, and then he finds a stack of old photographs inside your drawer.

Quietly, he comes over and sits next to you, sifting through the pictures.

“That’s me when I was a few days old.” You point out when he pauses at a picture of a baby swaddled in white cloth. You’re gazing imploringly up at the camera, eyes big and tearful, with your tiny fists waving in the air. “My mom said I cried a lot as a baby.”

“Well, that hasn’t changed.” Steve snorts before a hesitant smile crosses his features, “You were cute.”

You shrug. There aren’t many more pictures from your childhood; none of you as a toddler or any as you got older. These baby pictures were all you had, and Steve quickly stores them in the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

It’s like there’s a big grandfather clock inside your head, and each tick is a mocking laugh as the time passes. You and Steve leave your room, and you take a firm seat on the couch, eyes trained on the door with a concentration nothing could possibly break. Steve sits beside you for a handful of moments before he grows restless, huffing and shaking his head. But every time his gaze fixes on you, it softens. And whatever words he’s got on the tip of his tongue seem to die in his throat.

Ten minutes pass. And then another ten. It’s almost pitch black all around you, except for the light from Steve’s phone. The alpha gets to his feet and resorts to pacing, but you block it all out. There’s nothing in your mind except for: she’s going to come home, she’s going to come home, she’s going to come home! Any minute now…

From your peripheral, you can see Steve make his way into the open kitchen, the space looking largely unused. You vaguely wonder who has been cooking since you’ve been gone. Who’s been cleaning through the cloud of depression that fogs this place? Who’s been making this house feel like a home since you’ve been gone?

It’s not a home anymore, she’s not coming back! The voice in your head sings but you’ve become good at pushing the thoughts out now.

“Omega.” Steve’s voice, loud, clear and serious, cuts through the war going on inside your head. “Look at this. There’s a letter here. For you.”

No. No. No. No. What letter? There was no letter.

“Steve, I’m waiting for my mom right now.” You answer unwaveringly, eyes locked on the door despite this horrific feeling slowly invading your bloodstream like poison.

You hear his footsteps before he sits back down beside you, his arm going around you and you feel his warmth but there’s also this foreboding type of chill within you. Just keep your eyes on the door, she’ll walk in any moment now.

“I think you should read this. It’s got your name on it.” Steve sounds oddly gentle, but like he’s miles away. Yet you only stare at the door, because you don’t want to look at the paper in his hand. Looking at it would make it real, and reality is almost always accompanied by pain. And there was already so much pain inside you, wasn’t there? No, no, no. There was no letter. You were waiting for your mother to come home. She always came home. Drunk, angry, upset, depressed – she always came home.

“I told you that I’m waiting for my mom right now.” Is it really you who sounds so clipped and dismissive? With just that little bit of desperation hanging off the end of your words, as if begging him, willing him to put the letter away? To pretend it’s not there? And that everything’s okay? And that you’re not moments away from crushing, mind-numbing despair?

Instead, you hear the rustle of parchment, knowing Steve’s unfolding the paper. He’s reading whatever is written on it. And you try and focus on the brass doorknob, waiting for it to turn. Willing it to turn but it remains rigid as ever, and you can hear Steve’s sharp intake of breath as he reads the contents of the letter, before he grabs your arm.

“Omega. Listen to me. We’re going home. Right now.” Steve says. But it’s when he stands up and tugs you up with him, that you feel the elastic band inside you snap. The band that was just about holding you together, breaking apart and tearing your insides apart along with it.

“FUCK OFF, STEVE! Can’t you see I’m waiting for my mom? She’s running late but she’ll be home any minute. Maybe you don’t know what it means to have a hardworking parent who works long hours, but if you want to go home, then just go! I’M NOT COMING WITH YOU BECAUSE I’M WAITING FOR HER!”

Never before have you yelled at him this badly, but you don’t even brace yourself for his anger or whatever punishment he’ll undoubtedly throw your way. You’re too distracted by the dread piling up inside you, threatening to shatter away that tiny sliver of hope that you still cling to. Stubbornly, you sink back down on the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and once more locking your eyes on the front door. She’ll come home. Any minute now. She’ll be here.

You can see Steve’s hands ball into fists, and you hear him take several breaths before he gets down on his knees in front of you. For a split second, you look into his clear blue eyes, seeing your own reflection staring back at you. Why do you look so scared? So haunted? So alone? But then you blink and look back at the door, doing everything to just block him out, even when he gently cups your face and his thumbs stroke your cheeks.

“Baby, she’s not coming back.” He says it so tenderly, but then why does each word feel like a sharp knife twisting into your stomach?

“Yes, she is.”

“No. She’s not.” And he presses the paper into your limp hand. And now you can feel it, and if you can physically feel something, then how long until you have to stop denying its existence? “The letter says that she –”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop –”

“It says that she left, omega.”

“NO!”

For one feral second, you get the urge to crumple the letter in your hand and throw it far away. To another dimension, if that was possible. And then just continue staring at the door, willing your mother to come home and prove Steve wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! But the sane part of your brain that’s trying desperately to keep you grounded makes sure that the paper remains in your fingers. And with a shaky hand, you slowly bring it up so you can read it:

I don’t know if you’ll even see this, but it’s worth a shot. Look, I just needed to get out of here, okay? And I’ve got a new man, he’s got a place up in Minnesota. He’s not like the rest of them, he says he’ll take care of me real good. I just need a fresh start, to get away from all this bullshit. And you’ve always been able to take care of yourself better than I could ever take care of you. Who knows, with your fancy college degree, you probably aren’t ever coming back home. I wouldn’t blame you, Lord knows this ain’t a home and hasn’t been since your father left. I don’t know how to end this, so, I guess this is goodbye.

Your mother.

As the words sink in, you feel like you’re having an out of body experience. It’s like you can see yourself. Abandoned girl left alone in her abandoned home. Nobody cares if you hurt. Nobody cares about you. Everyone leaves. You hear a giggle and whip your head to the side. A ghost of a young girl playing in the shadows, not knowing what sorrow lay in store for her. A girl who once thought of this place as her home, despite all the terror, all the screaming. Despite the harrowing stench of booze and the men that came and went. A girl who was never allowed to forget that her father left her, but never once considered that her mother would leave too.

An ear-piercing, glass shattering scream leaves your mouth. Your lips curl, and then you let out another one. You scream and scream and scream, incoherent and crazed as your emotions finally pour out. Heart-shattering sadness like how you’ve never felt before, so much so that Steve grabs your shoulders and it doesn’t even register to you. It’s all swirling up inside of you and coming out: hurt, sadness, despair, and… Anger.

Some other-worldly strength overtakes you, and you shrug out of Steve’s grip. Grabbing the nearest object from the coffee table, you hurl it at your mother’s abandoned bedroom door with all your might. And then you’re pounding at her door, fists numb to the pain as you punch at the old, creaking wood before Steve’s strong arms grab you by the waist and pull you back.

“I did everything to make you happy, Mom!” You cry, as if it’s her in front of you and not just her bedroom door. “I tried everything to make up for him leaving! I’m the one who cooked and cleaned while you drank! And kept my mouth shut and stayed out of your way! I loved you even when you chose your boyfriends over me! Even wore big clothes so they’d stop staring at me, because I knew it made you angry! I did everything I could, Mom! SO WHY WAS IT NEVER ENOUGH?”

Suddenly, you can’t stand to be inside this dark house. Again, twisting out of Steve’s grip, you dart towards the front door, throwing it open and being met with the cool night breeze. You gasp, breathing as if you haven’t breathed in ages, and that’s when the tears start coming out.

You sink to the ground, which is just a patch of dried-up grass, crying for everything you’ve lost, for everything you never had. Crying for the little girl who grew up in a house that was never a home, and most of all, you cry for the unwavering hope that remained in her innocent heart – in your heart – and how the cruel world around you had snatched it away, chewed it up and spat it back out till it was nothing more than a husk.

Loud, ugly sobs wrack through you. You clutch at the dead grass, ripping it out and scattering it like a madwoman, like someone who’s reached the end of the end and doesn’t know what to do now. You can hear Steve behind you, quiet as if he’s in shock. And then he comes to sit on the ground beside you, his lips parted and his eyes glazed, and he lets you cry as if he knows you need to get it out of you.

And you both just sit there, two kids on a patch of dead, brown grass. Somewhere in between your screams and cries, Steve’s hand slips over yours, squeezing tightly.

You’re still crying softly when he finally picks you up, hugging your limp body close to his chest.

“Let’s go home.” He says firmly.

You look up at him sorrowfully, and you can see the moon twinkling in his eyes. There’s darkness all around you, but through your vision, blurred by your tears, it’s like he’s got a fiery halo around him. And maybe it’s just the dingy streetlights reflecting off of his pale skin as he walks you to his car, but it’s like he’s exuding this intense light. Safety. Warmth. Heat. You cuddle closer, but your lower lip quivers.

“I don’t have a home, Steve.”

He opens the car door and puts you inside, but he still holds on to you tightly, an almost earnest look on his face as he brushes your hair back.

“We’ll be each other’s home. Wherever you are, that’s where my home is. And wherever I am, I’ll take you with me. You’ll never hurt like this again. I promise, I’ll die before I see you hurt like this again.”

He sounds sincere, but you can feel yourself slipping away. Slipping into that dark place, darker than when Bucky had locked you outside of the house and the rain was peltering on your back like hard rocks. A billion times darker than that, and bleaker, like a sorrowful little hole where you just want to curl up in and die. Because what is there to live for when one by one, inevitably, everyone just leaves?

“I don’t want to live anymore.” You say quietly, more to yourself than to him. You close your eyes, willing yourself to somehow just slip and sink your way into blackness, into not existing anymore. “I just want it all to end, Steve. I just want to die.”

From the driver’s seat next to you, you feel a harsh grip on your upper arm. So hard that it pulls you back up to the surface from the metaphorical lake of sorrow you’re mentally trying to drown yourself in. And you see Steve staring at you with an expression of horror, anger and pity as he says your name again and again, sounding almost choked up as he does it.

“Don’t say that. I’ll find her for you. I’ll hire the best private investigator in the country, and they’ll find her and it won’t take long. They’ll find your father too, if that’s what you want.”

You shake your head, “It wouldn’t matter. They don’t want me.”

“Well, fuck them both. I want you.”

You don’t reply, and he shakes you hard before pulling you into a desperate embrace, his hand cupping the back of your head as he holds you against his chest harder than he ever has before.

“I won’t survive without you, okay? I know this isn’t about me but you’re the love of my life and I can’t live without you. I need you with me, okay? Okay?”

There’s a certain desperation in Steve’s tone, as if he’s seen you go to hell and back before and doesn’t want to see a repeat of it. Like he desperately wants to keep you from succumbing to the darkness that’s trying to pull you in like how it had before in the bathtub weeks ago. But you just feel limp in his arms, thinking back to the empty dresser in your mother’s room and how she’d only left you a letter. A piece of paper and that was it.

“Stay with me, okay? I’m sorry for being a fucking jerk and making your life miserable when you were already suffering so much. Just… Just please, don’t shut me out like before. I need you to stay with me.” Steve shakes you again, “I’ll be better, alright? I’ll be better for you and our baby. I’ll give you the life you deserve and I know I’ve been making all these promises but I mean it this time, okay? I just need you to stay with me, omega. You don’t need your mom or your dad, because they’re shitty people and they never deserved you. And you have me. And you’ll always have me, baby. I promise, okay? I promise.”

You sag in his arms, feeling so emotionally exhausted that you’re numb. But his words pierce deep down through all of that, sparking something in your heart through the heavy shrouds of hurt and pain. You remember back when you’d felt this numbness before, in the bathtub after being locked out. Steve had remained silent then, but he wasn’t being silent anymore. Oh, he was giving you hope!

You kick away at the grim reaper’s bony hands that try to grab at you, that are trying to drag you down that same path of sorrow and loneliness. Maybe you’re tired or just delirious from everything you’ve just been through, but Steve’s face radiates with light like the sun. Maybe he is the sun? But it doesn’t hurt to look at him, in fact, it’s the opposite. You feel warmth, fuzziness and lightness cut through and corrode the numbness away. And slowly, fighting through the pain, you surface up and hug him back.

“Stay with me.” Steve repeats.

“Okay. I’ll stay. But it still hurts so much.”

“I know, but I’ll make sure it all goes away.”

Your brain feels like sludge and your body feels like it’s moving through quicksand, but despite it all you manage to squeeze his hand. And then you close your eyes.               All that yelling, screaming, and crying. You want to stay with him like how he asked, but you’re so tired, so exhausted.

“Can I sleep?”

He nods as if he understands, putting you back in the passenger seat and strapping your seatbelt on. “I’m right here, I’ll keep the nightmares away.”

You really hope he does, although what nightmare could be worse than your own mother leaving you?

His warm scent puts you to sleep, and before you fall under, you can see him looking over at you. He strokes your hair gently before starting the car up, and his next words are the last thing you hear before sleep takes you over:

“I’ll take care of you, omega. You’re my family now, and I’ll make it all up to you. I promise.”

***

PART II

You wake up on a king-sized bed, on a mattress as soft as a feather with a heavy duvet on top of you. Soft, satin sheets kiss against your skin, and you bathe in the luxurious feeling for about five seconds before the panic sets in. Panic because Steve isn’t next to you. Your eyes blink open, immediately drinking in an unfamiliar room.

It’s massive. And you know immediately that it’s Steve’s room. You can tell by his scent which is potently covering every object, and the warm heat it brings with it calms you down some. As does Steve Junior, who is also propped up in your arms along with a bunch of Steve’s clothes that have been folded and thrown around you.

Someone had made a makeshift nest for you.

You smile, imagining Steve doing that while you slept. You look around some more. Yes, this was definitely Steve’s room. Minimalistic furniture in different hues of black, white and grey. A large desk with Steve’s laptop on top of it, as well as a framed picture of a pretty woman who looked to be in her early-to-mid forties. His mother?

You get to your feet, limbs feeling sore and weak. The memories of yesterday are clawing inside your head, forcing you to remember but you keep them at bay for just a little while longer. Instead, you grab your phone to check the time, and find a text from Steve too.

Steve: I’ve gone out to take care of something. Don’t panic, I’ll probably be back by the time you wake up. There are some clothes in your size hung in the closet. Make yourself at home and if you need anything and I’m not there, just ask the maid.

You draw back the curtains and almost gasp out loud at the acres and acres of land you seem to be sitting in the midst of. Steve had told you his family owned a house in upstate New York, but this was more of a mansion. No, scratch that, it was an entire estate! With a sprawling savannah of grassy land surrounding it. Did Steve’s family really own all of this? You suddenly feel even more embarrassed about taking him to your former home yesterday. The Rogers family tool shed was probably bigger than your entire childhood home.

Speaking of the Rogers family, you gulp at the thought of meeting them. They’d be here, wouldn’t they? His parents? You catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length, floor-to-ceiling mirror and wince. Hair poking out in all directions, yesterday’s makeup smudged. Eyes swollen from all the crying, lips bitten and peeling. You glance at Steve Junior, whose unwaveringly honest coal black gaze tells you all you need to know: you look like a sight for sore eyes.

Steve’s bathroom is by far the most lavish bathroom you’ve seen in all your life, with its intricate marble flooring and gleaming gold taps. It’s bigger than your entire living room back at your former home. It takes you a few minutes to figure out how to use the complicated shower, but it’s worth it when hot jets of water shoot at you from multiple directions, and you feel your muscles relax.

Haunting images from the night before flit in and out of your head. Your mother’s empty dresser, the note she had left you. Crying till your throat was hoarse, losing it outside on the patch of grass in front of the house you once called home. But you also remember Steve’s hand squeezing yours, and all the earnest promises he’d made before you’d drifted off to sleep, and you feel yourself calm down.

The sun shines through the window. It’s a new day and you’re in a new place. Miles and miles away from your mother’s deceit and betrayal. You dry off and open the closet, examining the clothes Steve had mentioned in his text. They’re all brand new; leggings and hoodies and sweaters along with branded skirts, blouses and dresses.  You smile, selecting a cosy, plum-coloured sweatshirt and a pair of soft black leggings.

You look at your reflection in his mirror again. Better, but your eyes are still puffy, although there’s nothing you can do about that now. You give Steve Junior one last squeeze and kiss before propping him up in the middle of the bed and making your way out of the bedroom.

Within five minutes of exploring the mammoth house, you realise that navigating through a maze would likely be easier. You just can’t wrap your head around how Steve lived in what was essentially palace, at least in your eyes. Long hallways with thick, plush carpeting – was that where he’d run around as a child? Heavy curtains adorning huge windows, majestic architecture, marble floors, structured pillars, a ginormous grand staircase that reminded you of the one in the prince’s castle in Cinderella. There’s even a fountain in what you assume is the lobby of the whole house – an indoor fountain! Oh, the little girl you’d once been had always dreamed of living somewhere like this. You wonder if these majestic hallways have witnessed drunken mothers and their boyfriends with leering gazes. Probably not. You doubted this sprawling estate dripping with luxury and class had ever known any type of sadness or sorrow.

After walking by several private wings and bedrooms, you find yourself in the kitchen after a few minutes of exploring. You don’t want to be too nosy, but you can’t help it. Everything is tastefully decorated like it’s straight out of an interior design magazine, luxurious vintage furnishings mixed with touches of modernity here and there.

As if on cue, your tummy rumbles noisily. It’s already past noon, which means you’ve definitely overslept. Your hand goes up to cup your belly. “You’re impatient, aren’t you?” You whisper, stroking your stomach before you pause. Had you just spoken to… the baby? Gosh, you hadn’t ever done that before. In fact, there were moments where you felt disconnected from this pregnancy, as if you had yet to understand and accept what it was. It was awful to admit, but there were even moments where you forgot you were pregnant. Like yesterday at your mother’s house…

“Why, you must be Steve’s girlfriend.”

The voice, despite how soft it is, makes you jump. You turn around hastily, coming face to face with a middle-aged woman, and her warm brown eyes instantly remind you of the picture on Steve’s desk.

His mother.

You quickly clear your throat and smile in what you hope is a dignified manner. Immediately, your hands go to straighten any wrinkles in your clothes, and all the while you inwardly curse yourself for not wearing something prettier and more appropriate.

“I’m so sorry, hello, you must be…”

But your voice dies in your throat as you stare into a pale, sickly-looking face. The woman’s eyes still sparkle like the ones in the picture framed on Steve’s desk, but everything else is very different.

She looks incredibly thin and fragile, almost like she’d break if someone folded her in half. Her skin looks tinged a sickly yellow against her pretty pink sweater with elegant pearl buttons. Her clothes are smart and expensive-looking, but they seem to hang off her weak frame. Her face is gaunt, with no sign of the healthy plumpness you’d seen in the framed picture. But despite her appearance, she shoots you a kind smile and it makes her whole face light up.

“I’m Steve’s mother, yes.” She completes, adjusting the expensive-looking silk scarf she has wrapped around her head. “I was waiting for you to come down. The chef has made a lovely breakfast for you.”

You manage to snap out of your stupor, clearing your throat before you speak.

“Oh… uh… okay. Hello, Mrs. Rogers.” You introduce yourself, feeling incredibly awkward. You don’t quite know how to react to what you’re seeing in front of you. Why had Steve never mentioned…?

But Mrs. Rogers only smiles.

“You can call me Sarah, please. Come, let’s sit. I’m afraid I can’t stand for too long, and you must be very hungry.” She pauses, inhaling deeply as if her words have rendered her out of breath. After a handful of seconds, she continues. “You’ll have to help me, though. If you don’t mind.”

You rush to her side, grabbing her frail arm gently and allowing her to rest her weight on you. Her weight which is next to non-existent. It feels like you’re holding a doll. But she leads you to the lavish living room, where there’s an elaborate breakfast spread out on the ornate coffee table.

There are French omelettes and cheesy scrambled eggs and sunny side ups with deep orange yolks. A large pitcher of orange juice with ice, a pot of coffee and a crystal carafe of water. And that wasn’t even half of it – there were stacks of pancakes with knobs of butter and maple syrup dripping down them, and golden waffles with a variety of toppings including fresh berries and cream. Toast cut into elegant triangles, steaming bowls of oats with honey and nuts, and some English muffins with a jar of what looks to be homemade jam next to it. 

You gulp as you help seat Mrs. Rogers down, the aroma of the food tingling inside your nostrils and making your mouth water and tummy rumble embarrassingly once more. Mrs. Rogers – Sarah – laughs, motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa adjacent to the armchair she’s sitting on.

“Please eat, darling.”

You’re too hungry to argue, grabbing a plate and a piece of toast. But Steve’s mother huffs, loading your plate with a bit of everything, until it’s heaving in your hands. You politely take a bite, wondering if there’s an elegant way to eat when all you really want to is shovel this food down your throat. But you try to be graceful, acutely aware of Mrs. Rogers beaming at you as you do.

“I’m so happy to finally meet the girl Steve has been so smitten over.” She gushes, “It’s about time I met a girlfriend of his, and you’re the first one he’s ever brought home.”

“Really?”

“Of course. He talks about you all the time.”

That makes you pause, and you swallow a bite of pancake before looking up at her. “Steve talked about me with you?” You whisper, the shock clearly evident in your tone.

You think back to the whirlwind two months you’ve been with Steve. He’d mentioned his parents a few times, but always as a collective, and he’d never given any details (You hadn’t pressed him because you were shy and also because it’s not like you were particularly forthcoming with details about your own parents). He’d certainly never mentioned that his mother was sick… and you’d never heard him talk to her on the phone or anything. He’d probably done it in private.

“Yes, through calls and emails.” Mrs. Rogers smiles, taking a delicately small sip of water, and your eyes linger on her frail hand as it shakes. “When he first went away for college, he used to come home to visit every other weekend. Not so much anymore, but I understand that he’s busy.” She shakes her head sadly before letting out a chuckle, “I suspect he’s scared to see me in person, considering my current state.”

Your heart sinks. Oh gosh, how had Steve kept something so big from you? How had it never come up?

Mrs. Rogers clears her throat, “Enough about me, my darling. Please, continue eating.” She pauses, either to catch her breath or to wait until you take another bite of food, which you do. “Even if he doesn’t come home as often as he used to, I still call him every week to keep up with his life, and I’ll admit I was shocked when he told me he’d bonded with someone. I told him it was impulsive, that you two were too young. But I’m the last one to question young love.”

She’s silent as she looks at you almost curiously. You can’t hold eye contact with her long, so you just keep your smile up before it eventually fades away, and you look down helplessly. Perhaps she was now seeing all the flaws in you as they surfaced before her eyes now that the two of you were past pleasantries. Flaws and shortcomings that had made your own mother leave you, now Steve’s mother would see them too.

And the images flit back into your head again, your mother’s empty dresser, the note she’d left you, the nonchalance with which she’d exited your life. You feel your lower lip wobble and tears well in your eyes. Oh no, don’t do this here! Not in front of Steve’s mom! Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it!

Mrs. Rogers is stronger than she looks, because before you know what’s happening, she draws you into a hug that is surprisingly tight. You’re rigid in her arms for a second, not knowing how to react. Why was she hugging you? This was weird… You’d never really hugged anyone before, apart from Steve and Peter – but that was different.

It only takes you a few seconds before you sag in her arms. And then the tears won’t stop, and it’s crazy! How could you be crying in the arms of a woman whose problems were so evidently larger than your own? Because at least you had your health! But it feels so alien, how gentle she’s being. How she strokes your hair and whispers “there, there,” to you soothingly.  

“I’m sorry, this is so inappropriate of me…I just met you…” You apologise between tears, but she just shushes you.

“Don’t worry, darling. I can tell that you’ve been through a lot and there’s a lot on your mind.” She strokes your hair out of your face and she gives you a reassuring smile. “Is my son the reason for your tears? I know he can be a bit… controlling. He gets that from his father.”

You sniffle, about to shake your head but she cuts you off, her tone shifting from gentle to serious.

“Now, you listen to me. If my son has you feeling trapped in any way, shape or form, just know that there are ways to get out.” She fishes an embroidered linen out of the pocket of her cardigan and dabs at your tears in a manner that seems so motherly that you can’t help but burst into tears again. “We omegas aren’t as weak as they think we are, and there is always a way for us to flourish, whether that’s with an alpha or without one.”

“I…I…” you try to say something, anything, but all you can do is stutter and cry some more. And it’s embarrassing to a degree, because haven’t you cried enough? And aren’t your problems so trivial compared to hers?

Finally, you shake your head, clutching the pretty embroidered linen as if it’s a treasured family heirloom that she’s bestowed upon you, and not just something she’s given you to wipe your tears with. “N-No, Mrs. Rogers. It’s not like that… Well, at least not anymore. Steve wasn’t so nice to me at first, but now I want to be with him.”

Want to or need to? The shadowy voice inside your head mocks, but you force it away quickly.

“That’s good to hear. And for what it’s worth, I think you and Steve make a beautiful couple.” She pauses, doing that thing again where she needs a few seconds to regain her breath. You wonder vaguely if she’s in pain, but the thought is too depressing for you to linger on.

“Is it the baby?” She whispers suddenly, and her words jolt you upright.

“How do you know about the…?”

Her eyes twinkle, “Well, you just confirmed it, darling. And I confess that I could smell it on you. Pregnant omegas have a subtly different scent, I learnt all about that when I worked as a midwife before I got married.”

You’re stunned, but you manage to nod slowly, “Yes, I only found out a few weeks ago.”

A peculiar look crosses Mrs. Rogers’ face in that moment. Budding excitement makes her smile widely, her beautiful brown eyes lighting up her entire face and taking away that sickly gauntness for a second. Just a second, before something inside her dims, and her smile dampens, as if there’s a ticking time bomb behind her eyes that won’t allow her to get too excited.

“I do hope I’m still here when…” She looks somewhere beyond your shoulder, her eyes shining wetly before she takes out another embroidered handkerchief and dabs at them. “Well anyways, that’s wonderful news, my darling, just so wonderful. I was about your age when I had Steve.”

“You were?”

“Yes. Of course, I wasn’t at college but I was working as a mid-wife when I met Steve’s father and we fell in love.” She pauses, either to reflect on fond memories or to catch her breath. If you’re honest, she looks slightly tired and worn out, as if merely speaking is taking a toll on her and yet she continues because she has to get it all out. “We were married within two months of knowing each other. Of course, I had to leave my job, and I got pregnant that very year. Oh, what an exciting time it was…”

She was definitely reflecting now, and you take a moment to reflect as well. Would you also have to leave college and any prospect of a job now that you were pregnant and had agreed to marry Steve?

“Where is Mr. Rogers now?” You ask, trying not to think too hard about all your current worries.

“Oh, he’s on one of his business trips.” She chuckles, “He wanted to take time off work when we found out I was sick, but I wouldn’t hear it. I just wanted things to carry on as normal, and that’s also what I told Steve last summer when I first found out.”

You nod slowly, trying to take in all the information you’ve just been bombarded with. And oh, you don’t know how to feel! You’ve just met this woman and yet you wish you’d known her longer.

“Mom? Why are you out of bed? You’re supposed to be resting!”

You jump at the sound of Steve’s voice, turning around when you sense him at the doorway. As your eyes land on his familiar frame, your heart skips a beat and you jump once more – but for a different reason…

“Steven Grant Rogers, what have you done to your beautiful hair?” Mrs. Rogers cries out, dramatically holding her hand up to her heart.

Steve’s blonde hair, which had grown longer in the past two months, is now sporting a buzzcut. His light blonde tufts which had even begun to curl up against his collar, now cropped down close to his head. The new hairstyle, paired with his growing facial hair, makes him look so starkly different from the clean-cut alpha you’d grown used to. Not bad different, just different.

Steve runs a hand through his hair (or what’s left of it), “It’s just a haircut, mom. Where’s your nurse?”

“But why? Oh, Stevie, is that where you went off to so early in the morning? To the barber? Darling, you could have just asked me to give you a trim, like how I used to!”

“It’ll grow back, mom, please don’t be so dramatic. Now where’s that nurse of yours?”

“Never mind the nurse, Steve. You’re about to be a father, for heaven’s sake! You cannot go around looking like a troublemaking hoodlum with that haircut!”

“I do not look like a troublemaking–” Steve cuts himself off, looking from you to his mother, “You know about the…?”

“Your baby? Yes, Steven. Your girlfriend and I had a nice long chat before you arrived to shock us with your appalling haircut.”

Steve sits down next to you, taking your hand into his and giving it a squeeze. You instinctively offer him a bite of your pancake, which he accepts, shooting you a small smile as he chews. And it makes your heart all fuzzy, because it’s still him, with his pretty blue eyes and long lashes and full lips. It’s still Steve, just with shorter hair.

“How are you feeling?” He asks you softly, and you give him a small, affirming nod.

His gaze shifts from you to his mother, and you see his face soften even more, “Mom, I told you I’d bring her to your room to meet you. The doctor said you need to rest–”

Mrs. Rogers bats her hand dismissively, “I’ve rested enough, Steve.”

“Where’s your nurse?”

“Oh, her? I sent her home.” Mrs. Rogers says proudly.

“What? Mom, you can’t do that. The nurse is here for a reason!”

“Yes, and I felt it pointless to keep her here when I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. She looked terribly bored anyways, and so I gave her the rest of the day off. And look, I’m perfectly fine despite her not being here.”

Mrs. Rogers doesn’t look perfectly fine. In fact, she already looks more tired and worn out in the few minutes since you’ve spoken to her. But seeing the stubborn resilience on her face makes your heart sink. You don’t know how, but you know exactly what she’s doing. Staying strong, pretending to be brave… For Steve. It’s a maternal thing, you realise – and you don’t know how you’ve come to this conclusion because it’s not like your own mother ever demonstrated this type of behaviour – but you just know.

“How are you going to get better if you don’t do what the doctor tells you to?” He demands, and you see Mrs. Rogers sigh, casting an almost pitiful look at her son.

Steve goes over to help his mother to her feet. And it’s sad to watch, but also fascinating. This is a dynamic that you’ve never seen him in, being so tender with his mother that it touches your heart. And there’s such genuine love in Mrs. Rogers’ eyes, despite how she huffs at his haircut and bats his hands away before eventually accepting them. She stands up, leaning heavily against him.

“Well, I guess I should rest a bit more.” She contemplates, shooting you a wink, “I’m sure you two want some alone time. I remember how it was back in the day, when Steve’s father and myself were freshly mated. Oh, you wouldn’t believe how much we–”

Steve wrinkles his nose, “Mom, please don’t finish that sentence.”

You giggle, and Mrs. Rogers gives you one final smile. And it’s wondrous how her smile seems to bring a glimpse of her youth and health back to her face, albeit fleetingly. Your heart hurts for her, but you also feel a sense of awe and admiration at how regally she holds herself, with pride in every step she takes and kindness in every word she’d spoken.

“Darling, please come into my room whenever you feel like it. I have many stories to tell you, and plenty are about Steve.”

You nod, also getting to your feet. “I would love to hear them.”

“And I’m sure you have a lot to tell me too. I know how stubborn my son gets –”

“Mom!”

“–and I know he’d love to keep you all to himself, but I would love to get to know you better too.”

You watch as Steve leads her away. She pauses when a sudden, wracking coughing spell makes her lean more heavily against her son. Steve freezes, watching as his mother coughs into her handkerchief. You see a flash of red on the white linen before she neatly tucks it into her pocket and clears her throat. It’s only when her coughing resides and she smiles up at Steve reassuringly, that the alpha seems to relax.

“It’s probably just a delayed reaction to your hair.” She jokes weakly, and Steve rolls his eyes before taking her to her room.

You sit alone, making a mental promise to go to Mrs. Rogers’ room at least once a day for as long as you were staying here.

“Steve, why did you never tell me about your mother?” You ask a few minutes later once he returns to the living room.

He blinks, “She’s fine.”

“B-But why didn’t you mention that she’s sick?”

“She’s fine.” Steve repeats, “She’s going to be fine, okay? That’s what my dad says.”

You’d only ever known Steve to be brave, because weren’t all alphas brave? You never knew him to fear anything, and yet right now it was plain as day – the fear and uncertainty glimmering in his eyes for just a moment before he blinks it all away.

“That’s where he is right now,” Steve continues, speaking fast as if to reassure himself and not just you, “My dad. He’s meeting with all the best doctors in the country, and they’ll fix her up easily. That’s exactly what he said, and we have all the money in the world to pay for any treatment or drug or surgery. So there’s no point in worrying about anything, omega. She’ll be fine.”

You feel a surge of pity as you watch him nod reassuringly to himself, and you clasp his hand with both of yours.

“Steve, she–”

“She’s fine, omega.” Steve says for the umpteenth time, and you see that glimmer in his eye again, that almost desperate little glint. A warning bell, or a silent cry for you to drop it. “She’s always been fine, okay? She’s always been healthy and active and all of that, so this doesn’t really mean anything, and you shouldn’t worry about it because it’ll go away soon and she’ll get better.”

You nod, not saying anything more. Instead, you hesitantly wind your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. You rarely initiate intimacy with him – despite the fact that you crave it so much. Your shyness has always halted you in the past, stopped you from kissing him or hugging him first despite the fact that it was often the only thing on your mind. You’d always wait for Steve to initiate and then follow his lead.

But something had changed between the two of you. Was it in the football field, when he’d professed his love? Was it when he’d walked away from harming Peter? Or was it during the long car journey yesterday, where slowly but surely, you’d let your walls down around him and actually spoken to him. It felt like the first two months of your relationship had been a tumultuous rollercoaster filled with hurt, lies, pain and anguish – along with fiery passion and an intense need for each other. The latter two were still present now, but there seemed to be a deeper understanding that wasn’t there before.

In the span of the past two days, you’d seen sides to him that you’d never seen before. His panic attack after he’d walked away from the fight with Peter, his laidback demeanour during the drive to your hometown. How he’d consoled you after everything that happened last night, and the desperate way in which he’d begged you to stay with him, to not go back to that dark place within yourself. And you? He’d seen you at the lowest of low you could have possibly felt: crying at the foot of your childhood home that no longer was. And you’d asked yourself: where do we go from here?

Steve was changed, and so were you. And that shyness that you felt before, it isn’t all that consuming now as you hug him close, and kiss his cheek.

“She’s lovely, Steve.” You whisper honestly, shooting him a reassuring smile.

“She’ll be fine.” He says, again more to himself than to you. And all you can do is nod as he holds you close, before tipping your head up and pressing your lips against his. And your body shudders in his arms, having missed him this close to you. He returns your kiss feverishly, his big hands rubbing up and down your back in a way that makes you both sigh. Silently, he grabs your hand and leads you back to his bedroom, which is just as well, because this mansion was so massive, you’d have probably got lost trying to find your own way back.

“I booked us an ultrasound appointment for later this week.” He says, and you blink. Oh, right. The baby. Between marriage proposals and fights and road trips and disappearing mothers and mothers with illnesses, you’d once again put your pregnancy to the very back of your mind.

“Oh. Okay.” You aren’t sure what else to say.

Steve clears his throat, leading you over to his bed. He sits down and pulls you into his lap, “Yeah. You’ve had a tough few days and I thought we should get everything checked out. We don’t even know how far along you are.”

You don’t say anything, instead just cuddling up to him even more. Now, with your newfound comfort in initiating kisses, you can’t help but press your lips against his again. You just want to feel him, and feel something that isn’t dread. This morning when you’d woken up, you’d pushed all the bad memories of yesterday aside. But now, they were all coming back. Like sticky, black tar staining the inside of your head, and an evil voice laughing and mocking you…

“Baby,” Steve breathes, slightly pulling back, “How are you feeling?”

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it. That’s what your mind keeps chanting, desperately trying to erase the picture of your mother’s empty dresser, and her note which you had ripped to shreds. Why did your fingers itch for that note now? Your mother’s parting words to you… maybe you should have kept them safe…

“Your hair’s all prickly now.” You blurt out.

Steve frowns, but he seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about your mother. “You hate it too, huh?”

“No, it’s just different.” You card your fingers through his buzzcut as best you can, scratching at his scalp lightly and it makes him sigh and relax under you. He grabs your other hand, the one that’s not in his hair, and squeezes it in his larger one before bringing it up to his lips. He kisses each of your fingertips, the act so intimate that it sends sparks up your spine. “It’s different, but it’s still you.”

He nods, “I just felt like I needed a change.”

You watch him as he plays with your fingers, his other hand grabbing the back of your neck and tugging you down till you’re lying on top of him, your cheek against his chest. Snuggling up cosily, you listen to his heartbeat, the steady drumming cleansing your mind and making you sigh in relief.

“You look so different compared to the first time I saw you.” You say absentmindedly, thinking back to the clean-cut alpha who had bullied you so horribly those first few months of freshman year.

“Well, I’m not like that anymore, okay? Like I said before, I’ll be different now.”

I hope, I hope, I hope! You think, wanting so badly to believe that… but all you can do is give him a weak smile in return.

*

The days go by quickly at the Rogers’ household. It’s the end of college and the start of summer, but you don’t know how you feel about that. It’s difficult to open up about everything surrounding your mother. A small part of you still wants to call her or leave her a text, but there’s also a part of you that wants to delete her number altogether. But you can’t bring yourself to do it, and Steve, despite wanting you to open up to him, doesn’t press you to do it.

It's comical, in a way. You won’t open up about your mother leaving you, and he won’t open up about his mother being sick. So depressingly sad that it’s comical.

You try and distract yourself from your feelings by exploring the mansion some more. Steve gives you a tour, explaining all the different wings the house has. The east wing, the west wing, the north wing, the south wing – gosh, you’d never stepped foot inside a house so big that it had four separate wings filled with a dozen rooms each. And Steve had grown up here, so it was all normal to him, but you could see the look of amusement in his eyes. As if he got a kick out of you being so entranced by the riches in front of you.

With your hand firmly held in his, he’d shown you the pools (yes, plural), and the indoor cinema (bigger and better than any real cinemas you’d been to) and the tennis courts. Your favourite was by far the ballroom, this gigantic room that seemed to stretch for acres, with shiny marble flooring and vintage chandeliers that held real wax candles.

“Oh, it’s just like a fairytale…” you breathe.

Steve smirks, “My parents used to hold galas in here, but I always thought they were stuffy and boring. They’d force me to come, but me and Bucky would always sneak out and go play videogames or smoke weed.”

You bristle when he mentions Bucky, but soon forget as Steve leads you to another room. It’s a library, and it’s bigger than any you’ve seen before. Bigger than the public library in town and even bigger than the university library on campus. Shelves upon shelves filled with books of all sorts, and oh, you could spend an eternity in here!

“I knew you’d like this room the best.” Steve says, “Some of the books in here are so old, they’re falling apart. But I guess that’s the charm of it…”

Steve tells you that you can use the library whenever you want. In fact, he says you can use the pool, the tennis courts, the cinema, all of it… “It’s your house as much as it is mine,” he says, but you have a hard time accepting that something so big could ever be yours. It’s all a bit much to take in, going from crying on a patch of dried grass a few nights ago to a plethora of riches surrounding you today. But you nod graciously, liking this relaxed and laid-back side of him which you were slowly getting used to seeing.

But it’s when he’s gone that you feel yourself beginning to unravel. It’s when he goes out to the gym or for a run or to his father’s company office, that’s when you feel yourself breaking down from the inside out. You find yourself calling him, texting him, begging him to come back so you don’t have to be alone with your thoughts. And he does come back every time, and he hugs you, and then you feel okay again.

Steve’s mother is also a calming presence for you, despite the fact that it’s only been three days since you met her. She has a nurturing quality that you find yourself gravitating towards. Sometimes, when Steve is gone, you go to her room to keep her company. (Or rather, she keeps you company).

She tells you stories about Steve as a child (“He wasn’t always so big and imposing! Oh no, my Stevie was a late bloomer, but he doesn’t want me telling anyone that!”) and about her days as a midwife (“It was rewarding work. I was sad to leave it behind but I knew that being a mother was more important to me than any other job.”) She also tells you about Steve’s father (“He used to be a lot like Steve, very impatient and hot-headed. But he’s mellowed out a lot now, and he’s the love of my life. I wish he’d hurry up and come home, because he’s been dying to meet you too, and I miss him.”)

She also tells you about how she wishes she’d had a bigger hand in raising Steve. She tells you she’d been exceptionally close to him when he was a child, taking him out to tend her flower garden with her, nurturing his talent for drawing and painting, even teaching him how to sew. But once he’d entered middle school, his father had taken over, wanting to properly teach him how to be an alpha and the man of the family. She said that her and Steve were still close, though, and she liked how he was becoming more sensitive because of you.

You love listening to her speak, and sometimes, even if it’s for just a few fleeting moments, you imagine how your life would’ve been like if she had been your mother. With her soft and caring nature, the way she was so inviting and kind, the way she held your hand and squeezed it, the way she was so forthcoming with her hugs. But then you blink those thoughts away, because a part of you feels like you’re betraying your real mother. The one who had betrayed you by leaving…

On one of your visits to her bedroom, Mrs. Rogers looks at you with a bittersweet smile on her face, “You’re a very good person, you know that?” She says, and you blink, taken aback by the sudden compliment. She pats your hand, “You visit my room more than my own son does, but I know he’s just afraid of the cancer taking his mother away from him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that…”

You feel a pang of hurt in your heart, both for her and for Steve, but she continues speaking before you can say anything.

“It takes an especially brave woman to deal with someone as stubborn as my son, let alone change him into a better person, and you have done both.” She stops, taking a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table. “But don’t let him dim your shine. I know how hard it is for young omegas like yourself, who feel compelled by their own biology to do whatever their alphas want them to.”

You look down to your lap, not knowing what to say.

“My son is so in love with you, my darling, that it’s truly you who holds him in the palm of your hand, and not the other way around – as hard as that may be for you to believe. It’s the way he looks at you, how his eyes follow you no matter who else is in the room. It reminds me of how my husband looks at me.”

You look up to meet her gaze, and her eyes are shining again, in that special way that makes her look so youthful and full of life. She’s in a yellow cardigan set today, with a yellow rose brooch on her breast.

“What I’m trying to say is, you have no idea the power you hold over him. So, stand your ground and keep your chin up. He can be demanding, but don’t give in to him so easily. Because if there’s anyone who can make him do anything, it’s you. You’re an omega, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t strong and smart and resilient. Remember that.”

You’re unconvinced, but you tell her that you’ll try your hardest to do just that.

*

But you still can never be left alone with your thoughts for too long. Steve is constantly by your side, but it’s the worst when he isn’t. Like now, as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him to come out of the shower despite the fact that he’s just gone into the bathroom. But the dark voice in your head is reappearing, forcing you to relive your mother’s betrayal, taunting you about who will leave you next.

Before you know it, you’re stumbling into the bathroom, thanking your lucky stars that Steve hasn’t locked the door. He’s inside the shower, and you meet his gaze with a half sheepish and half desperate look on your face.

“Could I… uh… would it be okay if I joined you?” Your words come out rushed and knocking into each other. You bite your lip, shifting from one foot to the other and heart thudding with nervousness that he’d reject you or laugh. It’s still your default to feel that way, even after everything, and you wonder if you’ll ever unlearn it.

Steve draws back the shower curtain and beckons you inside. You sigh in relief, wanting to be in his arms more than anything else. Your clothes are shed quickly, and you step into the steam-filled shower and straight into his crushing embrace. The water cascades over you, so warm as you bury your face in his chest. He’s so warm, so familiar, so him. You inhale as deep as your lungs allow, his scent rushing past your nostrils and through your system, calming you from the inside out.

“How are you feeling, baby?” He asks, twining your hair around his finger.

You swallow harshly, digging your face deeper into his chest as you try to block that evil voice out, “I don’t know.”

You know you should answer him properly, you know you should talk about it, let it all out. Instead, you grab the bottle of shampoo and squeeze some out. It’s Steve’s shampoo – a 5-in-1 concoction that you’d never use on your own hair. But you lather it on your palm and reach up timidly.

Steve seems to understand what you’re trying to do and ducks his head down, sighing raggedly when your fingers card through his short hair which looks so dark now that it’s wet. And it’s nice, it’s calming, to have something to focus on. His hair is bristly yet still soft, and he inhales sharply when your nails scrape gently against his scalp. He hoists you up into his arms, holding you up against the wall so you have a better reach. He presses his face into the nape of your neck, placing soft kisses on your skin as you continue to wash his hair.

“Please, just tell me what you’re feeling.” He murmurs, holding you close.

You swallow harshly, “I just… It hurts, Steve. It hurts a lot. And I’m trying not to think about it because I feel like I’ll break down if I do.” As if on cue, your voice breaks, and you feel the tears rushing forward again, but you’re happy that the water from the shower washes them away. And Steve’s closeness seems to hold you together, and you clear your throat. “I knew we weren’t close but… But I didn’t think she hated me so much that she’d just leave.”

“I don’t think she hates you.” Steve says after a few beats of silence, as if he’s really trying to think of the right thing to say. “Nobody could hate you. I think she’s a terribly selfish person, but I don’t think she hates you.”

“But it still hurts so bad.”

He hugs you fiercely, whispering “I know, I know” while you stare morosely at the bathroom tiles.

“What if I become like her?” You whisper, and the choked words are almost lost against the pitter-patter of the water. Subconsciously, your hand slips up to rest against your stomach, “What if I… What if I’m just like her, and I don’t care about my baby either?”

“That’s not possible.”

“But what if I do? Steve, sometimes I… sometimes I forget that I’m even pregnant.” You look down in shame, your whole body shaking as you voice this fear that you hadn’t even realised you had until you said it out loud. “I knew I was pregnant for weeks before I told you, but I just pushed it aside. And even now, it’s like I’ll just forget, and then you’ll mention it or your mom will mention it and all of a sudden, I’ll remember that there’s a baby inside of me, and it’s scary and how can I just forget, Steve? That’s not normal, and what if I’m a bad mother, and–”

“Hey, hey, hey, stop it.” Steve shushes you gently, with pillow-soft kisses pressed all over your face and lips. He cups your face in his hands, “Look at me. You won’t be like her, okay? The fact that you’re even worrying about this shows that you could never be a bad mother.”

“But…”

He clears his throat, “You’re the most caring person I’ve ever met. You care even when you don’t realise it. I see it all the time, and before I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. How someone could possibly be so good, so pure, you know?”

You duck your head, but he grabs your chin and makes you look at him. There’s water and steam all around you both, distorting your view somewhat. But his eyes are crystal clear and earnest, so sharp as they cut through the steam wafting between the two of you. So honest, that it makes you dizzy, because you’re not used to his eyes ever looking so honest.

“I know our child is going to be the most loved child in the world, because it’ll be yours.”

“But–”

“You won’t be like how your mother was, because you’re you. And you’re the best person I’ve ever met.” 

Often, for as long as you’d known him, Steve was able to use his words to paint the most beautiful pictures inside your head. False promises and sweet manipulations fuelled by his intoxicating scent and designed to control you and mould the way you thought. Designed to weaken your defences and accept his lies and fabrications. And every time you fell for it; hook, line and sinker.

But the confident easiness on his face each time he lied to you in the past, was now replaced by a look of earnesty. Subtle changes like the softness of his tone, how he’d stop and think about the words he was saying to you. Had he changed? Steve Rogers, the formidable alpha who had bullied and manipulated you beyond belief. Was he changed? Was this really him?

“Do you really want to be a father?” You blurt out, almost scared to ask the question, almost scared to hear the answer. “I…I mean, not just because you’re an alpha and you have this whole plan.”

He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You gulp, “I mean, is it all just for show? You always said you had a plan for your life, and how it included me as the mother of your kids. I-Is it just for show? Or will you actually care for this baby?” And not leave if it’s not what you want?

His fingers, which know each crevice of your body so well, run up and down your sides before his hand splays out on your tummy. And you crane your neck to look up at him, and it takes your breath away, the tenderness you see on a face that’s usually so hard and impenetrable.

“Every time I think about the fact that you’re pregnant and we’re going to have a baby soon, I get excited. And nervous. I guess that’s how I know that this is what I really want.”

He cups your face in his hands, “Even if we never had kids, you’d still be my purpose and I’d still be content. But now that our baby’s in the picture, I know I’m accountable to both of you, and I want to be. You complete me, baby. I promise I’m done fucking around.”

“H-How are you saying all this now? When before you… When before you never did?”

He stares at you for what feels like years, this impenetrable look on his face.

“You told me you wanted to die.”

Your eyes widen and you duck your head, but he makes you look at him once more.

“The night we left your mother’s house, you told me you wanted to die. And I fucking couldn’t stand the look on your face, like you had no hope or happiness left inside you.”

“B-But that was because of my mom, not you…”

“It might as well have been because of me. I know your mom hurt you, but so did I. You had already gone through so much when we met, and all I did was make your life even worse.” He sucks in a breath, swiping water droplets off your face and cupping your cheek, so you can’t look away even if you wanted to.

“I used to be obsessed with my mom’s flower garden when I was younger. I’d always pluck the flowers because I wanted them to be mine, but they’d always wilt and die.” He kisses you, desperately, roughly, as he whispers against your lips, “I don’t want you to die, okay? I don’t want to lose you. And even if you’re physically here but emotionally gone… I think I’d lose it. And I can’t lose it, so I need to be better.”

You surge up and kiss him back doubly hard, your arms winding around his neck and drawing him closer, closer, closer till you both can’t breathe from the rapid, feverish kisses. Wasn’t this what you’d been subconsciously wanting from him since the very beginning? Despite everything, you’d had a crush on him since the start, and how badly you’d wanted him to like you. How badly you’d wanted him to change once he’d claimed you. How badly you’d wanted him to be your knight in shining armour, the gallant prince like from all the fairytales you’d read growing up. Instead, he’d been hurtful and manipulative. But now? Oh, he was saying what you’d always wanted him to say!

“I’m not gonna die, Steve. I promise, I’m right here.”

His dick slips inside you before you even realise it, but you welcome the slight discomfort of his large member easing its way up your hole. He hoists you up higher, pressing your legs further apart so he can drive himself deeper into you. In turn, you wrap your legs around his waist as you both moan into each other’s mouths when he bottoms out inside of you.

“You missed my dick?” He asks you in your ear, and you can feel the smile on his lips, his usual cockiness returning slowly, as if he can’t help himself.

“Y-Yeah.” You answer, despite the fact that you’d last had sex with him only a few days ago after the big game. But it felt like you’d lived an eternity since then, and you wanted him all the time.

“Yeah? You missed how I stretch your little baby pussy out?”

“Yes!”

He sighs, “Good. I missed being inside you.”

He ruts against you, and you have a feeling he’s trying to be slow and sensual but it’s like he can’t help but quicken his pace. You don’t mind, though. It’s like you need him fucking you to clear your mind of all your worries.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he grunts before pressing his forehead against yours, holding your body with just one muscular arm, while his other hand slips down to press against your clit. “So tiny and tight, baby omega. Tell me, does my dick feel good?”

“Yes, daddy,” you sigh, head lolling to the side at the feel of his huge member sliding in and out of you, the friction so delicious, not to mention the sparks of hot pleasure from him playing with your clit. You gasp when his mouth moves to hover over his mark on your neck, and he tongues your mating gland in a way that has you spasming in his arms.

“Daddy wants to eat your pussy so bad, baby girl.” He murmurs suddenly into your neck, making your eyes pop open in shock. You walls flutter around him violently, swallowing his dick in as you grind closer, so utterly turned on by his words. The way he’d gone from earnest declarations of love to “daddy wants to eat your pussy” was admittedly funny, although the last thing you’re compelled to do right now is laugh. You’re way too turned on to laugh.

“Please,” you utter when he goes to pull out of you, grabbing his arm, “Want you to stay inside me, daddy.”

He can’t help but smirk, “Let me make you feel good.”

He sets you down before getting on his knees in front of you. He takes one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder so your bare pussy is on display for him. Carnally, he licks his lips, and your hands immediately go down to fist his hair. It’s buzzed off, but you make do. You have no choice, because he chooses that moment to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking down harshly.

“Oh, fuck!” You whimper, clutching at his short hair.

“Such a good little girl,” Steve says, voice muffled but it’s like the two of you are in a bubble so you can still hear him loud and clear. “Such a good little baby omega, always so good to me aren’t you, baby?”

He slaps your pussy lightly, a glimmer in his eye as he watches you spasm in his arms. He’s got one hand gripping your thigh tightly as it rests on his shoulder, the other holding your hip firmly so you don’t topple over (which is very likely given the intense amounts of pleasure you’re already feeling).

“Answer me, baby. I need to hear you.” Steve slaps your pussy again, the squelching sound so lewd as your wetness seeps down your thighs. You let out a choked whisper of his name, looking down at him pleadingly but all he does is slap your pussy again, this time squarely catching your clit and making you scream.

“Oh, oh–daddy!”

Steve’s tongue licks up your slit, lapping at your wetness while his hands roam your wet body. Slipping up to squeeze your breasts and play with your hard nipples, twisting them till they’re bruising with pain. But oh, you don’t even care! Your body feels like it’s floating in waves of pleasure administered by him. He grabs your hand and squeezes it, the act so intimate compared to the way he’s lewdly making out with your pussy, and you feel your heart flutter.

He keeps holding your hand, and you stare at your intertwined fingers till they blur your vision. Or maybe it’s Steve sucking on your clit that blurs your vision, his tongue circling around your bundle of nerves, making you so sensitive and bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

And he’s watching you the whole time, watching as you buck your hips into his mouth like you can’t help it. Watching as you cry at the pleasure, clutch at him and squeeze his hand back, and you hold his gaze as best you can. Could he also feel like the two of you were in some sort of impenetrable bubble? Like you’d gone through hell and back and now nothing could touch you or hurt you or interrupt what the two of you had?

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve says quietly, except it’s amplified in your ears. You don’t know if you believe him but his eyes are earnest and shining. You’re automatically about to tell him thank you, except he chooses that moment to press three fingers inside of you, making your knees buckle. But he has a firm hold on you, keeping you in place and pressing kisses all over your hips and thighs before returning his attention to your clit. “So, so beautiful, baby. The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and guess what?”

“Wh-What?” you breathe, peering down at him in a mix of awe and lust.

He smirks, “Your little baby pussy’s pretty too. But I wonder if she can take three of daddy’s fingers?”

Of course. Maybe you should grow used to the way he’s seamlessly shifting from romantic to lewd, and you’re even about to crack a smile at how comical his switches are. But instead, you squeak, eyes widening and a cry dying in your throat as he begins to fuck you with his thick fingers. Your walls are snug around his digits, and it burns because his fingers are so big and thick. But you don’t care, don’t care at all! Especially when he brushes that spot inside you that only he could ever find, making you fall forward till he catches you, and you’re whimpering and meeting his thrusts.

“Mmm, what a greedy little pussy, she’s just crying for her daddy, isn’t she?” Steve smiles wickedly, now lazily licking at your clit while he peers down at his fingers entering you at a rapid pace. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Let me make you cum.”

You don’t need to be told twice, your hips already bucking wildly, wanting his fingers to go deeper. And they’re so big and it hurts so good and yet you want his dick back inside you, which is even bigger. “S-So good, daddy,” you whimper, your body shuddering over how badly you needed this. All the pent-up sorrow, stress, anger from the past few days was all building up and ready to be released.

“Rub your little baby cunt on daddy’s face, omega.” Steve orders you, his voice so deep with lust. Of course, you’re too shy to do that but it’s like he anticipated that. And so he grabs your hips, grinding your pussy all over his face. And you gasp audibly, because he hasn’t shaved for a few days now and his stubble is so deliciously rough. The sensation is new, it’s different but you can’t say you don’t love it. And it’s like Steve’s forgotten about breathing, clutching your ass from behind and squeezing your ass cheeks as he pushes you closer into his face. Your pussy is effectively smothering his face, and you feel his nose nudge against your clit, and his fingers quicken in pace, so deep, so good, and…

You squirt all over his face. And it surprises you how it just won’t stop, your cream squirting out of you at an alarming rate, leaving a thin glaze on his face and catching on his stubble. And he laps at your cunt freely, coaxing your orgasm out of you while you quiver, your knees buckling again. You’re in a standing position – barely – but you can barely feel your legs and you know he’s holding you up otherwise you’d be on the floor right now.

“That’s such a good baby,” Steve coos, tonguing your pussy as it spasms, fingers still fucking into you, “Cumming so nicely for daddy, doing exactly what you’re told to do. You like making daddy happy like that, don’t you, baby omega?”

“Y-Yeah, daddy,” you pant, barely able to breathe let alone hold a dirty conversation right now.

In a second, Steve’s on his feet once more, and he’s got you up in his arms again. Your limbs feel useless, legs hanging as he hoists you up against the wall. But you jolt back into alertness when he pistons his dick inside of you, catching you by surprise. You whimper his name, nails already clawing at his back because it’s too much, your body still recovering from your orgasm. But the feeling is a good kind of overwhelming, as if you can’t get enough of him despite your body twitching in oversensitivity.

You bite your lip, focusing on his arm as it holds you in place against the wall. God, he was so big, every inch of him rippling with solid muscle. And it was such a turn on, how easily he held you up with just his one arm, the other one holding your hip in place while he drove his dick inside you again and again.

“You’re so big and strong,” you blurt out before your eyes widen in alarm at your slip, and you duck your head embarrassedly.

Steve groans, and you feel his dick twitch inside you before he increases his pace slightly. “Fuck, baby, I’m trying to go easy on you. But when you say things like that, it makes me want to lose control.”

“Do it,” you urge him, feeling extremely submissive, “Please, daddy, fuck me hard.”

Steve chuckles, peppering the top of your head with kisses before you look up once more, and then he bites at your lip. “Daddy would love nothing more, baby girl. But I gotta go easy on you a little bit, you know, since I knocked you up.”

And just saying that gets Steve more incensed, and his eyes flutter down to your belly, which he splays his hand over. He starts fucking you harder, his hips a blur as his dick disappears inside you. And once or twice you forget how to breathe, but you still feel safe because you’re in his arms and who needs to breathe when Steve’s there? When he’s looking at you with such intensity? When he’s fucking you so hard yet his thumb is rubbing so gently on your belly?

You cum again before you know what’s even happening, your walls pulsating around his dick so deliciously and it makes Steve’s hips stutter. You cry out his name over and over again, so overwhelmed my pleasure and other emotions. Encased in your little bubble with Steve, where it’s just the two of you and your pants and cries and gasps and moans.

“That’s my good little girl,” Steve praises, his words making you glow despite everything. “Cumming just for daddy. But I want your baby pussy to give me another one, okay, baby?”

“Wh-What? Another…? Steve, I can’t–”

“One more, baby. You can do it for daddy.” Steve encourages softly, and again his fingers slip down to play with your sensitive clit. “Cum once more, baby, before daddy fills you up and knocks you up again.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely possible but with Steve… who knew? And you were still so overly sensitive, but if anything could put you over the edge it was his words. Along with his expert fingers who knew your body so well after two months. Better than anyone else ever did. His thumb rubs at your bundle of nerves, circling and rubbing, pressing down and pinching it till you feel like you’re going to pass out, and it’s too much and yet your body feels like it’s about to spontaneously combust, and…

“That’s my good fucking girl,” Steve says proudly when you squirt all over his dick once more, falling like a dead weight in his arms as your body spasms. Your hips buck wildly and your toes curl as you cum so hard, you see stars. And you whimper your alpha’s name, you whimper daddy as you scratch and claw at him and he holds you close, telling you how good you are for him, how you’re such a perfect angel, and how you did so good.

He squeezes you hard against him as he blows his load inside you, keeping you in place so he can fill you up till the brim. Till thick ropes of his cum cover your insides, searing your walls and marking you as his forever and only his. And your mind is made up that this is exactly where you want to be, and despite all your other confusion, you kiss him fiercely, welcoming the feel of him releasing inside you. And you stay like that for a while, him holding you close while you just hold each other.

“I love you.” He whispers in your ear, his embrace all-consuming as he clutches you against him. Your body is slippery and wet and spent and you cling to him and hum in satisfaction. He pauses to kiss up your jaw before he pecks your nose, “Baby, I love you so much.”

A long pause, and all you can hear is the pitter-patter of the water and the pitter-patter of his heart. You wonder if this is what being content feels like. Just right now, inside this shower where it’s just him and you and none of your other problems can reach you. Where all you can see is him and smell is him and touch is him. Your own personal little slice of heaven, even just for a little while.

You don’t even notice that Steve’s holding his breath until he exhales heavily, and cups your face to make you look up at him. And his voice comes out soft, so soft it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the shower stream.

“You love me too, don’t you?”

You hesitate, a lump forming in your throat and your chest tightening. A billion thoughts rush in and out of your head, creating a whirlpool of confusion within you. You open your mouth, but it feels dry as cotton. And all that comes out is a little croak and a squeak. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Why couldn’t you say it? Weren’t you just thinking of how content you feel right now, with him? So then why the heck couldn’t you say it?

Abruptly, Steve’s hands drop to his sides and he steps away from you. You feel like you’ve been doused by a bucket of ice-cold water at the loss of contact, like the light within you has lost its fuse. You feel an unrest in your bond with him, and you know he’s hurt. Before you can grab his hand, he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, avoiding your gaze.

You stand there alone as the water pours all over you, watching as he makes his way out of the bathroom. A part of you can’t believe it, because just a second ago he was being so perfect and honest and raw and intimate, and then you had to go ruin it by being unable to say what he wanted to hear! But he pauses at the door, looking back at you.

“I guess Peter was right, huh? You won’t ever love me.”

“Steve, it’s not that–”

“I’m not a fool, okay? I know I don’t deserve you. I definitely don’t deserve your love after everything I’ve put you through.”

“Steve–”

“But I’m too selfish to ever let you go.”

He leaves, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat, and you scramble to follow after him. Before you know what’s happening, you lose your balance, slipping on the wet surface underneath you. But you grab on to the shower curtain just in time, steadying yourself and planting your feet firmly on the floor before you can fall. You breathe hard, your heart hammering crazily in your chest. Your hand automatically slips up to cradle your stomach, and you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down.

Cautiously, almost at a snail’s pace, you turn the shower off and carefully step out of the tub. Every step you take seems to scare you, but you manage to dry off and put your clothes on before entering the bedroom.

He’s gone. The bed is empty and you’re the only one in the room.

Oh God, oh God, oh God… He left! The back of your mind whirs to life, thoughts immediately working into overdrive in five seconds flat. He’s gone! You couldn’t say you loved him and now he’s gone! You pace the room, inky darkness spreading within you like poison. That same hopelessness because it was happening all over again! He left you. And where would he go? What would he do? The image of him kissing another omega flickers in your mind, making you want to throw up.

You rush to throw the door open, peaking out into the massive, empty corridor. Marble flooring, exquisite tapestry and expensive art hung on the wall – but no Steve. You pitifully call out his name, the sound echoing around the hallway as if to mock you.

He left you! The cruel voice inside your head cackles. Your mom left you and your dad left you and now Steve left you too! You feel yourself being pulled under again, by that damning force inside that seems to want you to be sad forever. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed by the icy cold hands of the grim reaper himself, pulling you down, down, down. You collapse on the bed, curling up into foetal position as you will yourself not to cry.

Eventually, you hear the bedroom door open. You don’t know if it’s been ten minutes or an hour, the haunting voice inside your brain making you lose track of the time. But you feel his strong arms pulling you back up, just like they always do.

“Hey,” He says gently, before frowning, “You’re crying.”

“You left.”

“I didn’t leave, I just…” He grips you tighter, cupping your face and making you look at him, and there’s a certain desperation in his actions, as if it’s dawning on him just how fucked up you are inside. “I just went outside for a while.”

“You were mad at me.” You draw in a breath, unable to look at him. “L-Last time you were mad, you…you…” A feral need to smell him overtakes you, and just like last time, your face collides with his chest, nose twitching as it sniffs all over him. Trying to detect a scent other than his own, the picture of him kissing another omega flashing behind your eyes once more.

But all you smell is a hot summer’s day speckled with cigarette smoke. And Steve’s thumbs swipe away your tears like they have countless times before.

“I’m not mad at you. I was just… mad at myself.” He breathes, an almost pained look on his face as he watches you cry softly in his arms. “Look, I’m trying to change, okay? I want to change for you, but it won’t happen overnight. God, I wish it would, but it won’t. I felt myself getting angry, and so I left the situation. But I was only outside. I didn’t leave you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say it, Steve.”

He presses a soft kiss on your nose, then your cheeks, then your forehead. “Don’t be. I haven’t given you a reason to say it. But it doesn’t mean I don’t mean it when I say it.” He sighs, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, a wistfully bittersweet look on his face, “I wish I had been different…”

You don’t know what to say, so instead you just hug him hard, finding solace in his rich scent as you snuggle your face into his sweater.

“I know you don’t trust me. But I promise I’ll be better for you, omega.” The pads of his thumbs never stop stroking your cheekbones, and the action feels so soft, so tender, glass butterflies flying around in your tummy as he speaks. “Remember what I told you outside your mom’s house?”

You sniffle and nod.

“What did I tell you?”

“Th-That we’re each other’s home.”

“That’s right. Which means I’ll stick by you until the day I die. And I know that sounds cheesy as shit but it’s the truth.” He lifts you gently and places you on his lap, wrapping his big arms around you and grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze before bringing it up to his lips. “You know that yearning feeling you get when I’m not here? Where it feels like you can’t breathe?”

You nod.

“Well, I get it too. Probably even more than you do.” Steve kisses each one of your fingertips. “I need you more than I need to breathe. But even if I didn’t need you, even if I could breathe just fine without you… I’d still love you all the same.”

Your heart flutters, and you feel a sudden surge of emotion. This was really Steve Rogers, the biggest bully on campus? It was, it was, it was! And the three words are on the tip of your tongue, and the omega inside of you is screaming at you to just say it, say it, say it! “Steve, I…I…”

But your voice trails off, and you just stare at him helplessly and he stares back, looking both hopeful and knowingly bittersweet at the same time.

You let Steve tuck you in, covering you in your special blanket along with his heavy down comforter. He grabs Steve Junior from the foot of the bed, making the stuffie peck your face with kisses until you giggle. He tucks the teddy bear in against your chest before getting in beside you. You sigh, cuddling into his chest as he lifts you up so you’re resting on top of him, and he kisses the top of your head, and you feel okay.

***

PART III

The stark white lights of the private clinic make you more nervous than you already are. The waiting room is a lot more luxurious than what you���re used to at public hospitals. Plush sofas that are soft as a feather underneath you, yet do nothing to soothe your nerves. You wish Steve was next to you so you could hold his hand, but he’s too busy pacing around the room, a scowl on his face as he checks his watch every few seconds.

“Mr. Rogers?” A nurse appears through the door, her sudden chirpiness making you jump. “Doctor Alam will see you now.”

“Well, it’s about time.” Steve huffs, despite the fact that the two of you have only been waiting about five minutes. The nurse leads you to what you’re guessing is one of the ultrasound rooms, giving you a final smile before Steve pushes you in through the door.

“Steve! It’s lovely to see you again. Come in, come in.” A smart-looking woman in a white coat greets you both, her black hair streaked with white and tied back in an elegant knot. She shoots you a reassuring smile as you hesitate by the door, unsure what to do with yourself before Steve’s hand on your lower back ushers you in.

“Doctor Alam.” Steve nods stoically, pushing you forward. “This is my girlfriend.” He introduces you and you nod, feeling the usual tongue-tied, shy, awkward and stupid.

The doctor smiles serenely, reaching out to shake your hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She says kindly, “Why, I’ve known Steve for many years now – being his family’s personal physician and all. I never thought I’d see him settle down, but it’s wonderful to see that he has.”

Her smile falters for a nano-second when she spots the jagged mark on your neck. But she recovers quickly, squeezing your hand in a friendly manner.

Steve clears his throat, “Yes. She’s my girlfriend and she’s pregnant, so do your thing…” He gestures vaguely at the ultrasound machine with as little grace as only he ever could. Doctor Alam raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow, trying to hide the bemused look on her face at his choice of words.

“Well, why don’t you hop up onto the bed here, and we’ll get started?”

“O-Okay,” you whisper, frozen in place as you take in all the fancy ultrasound equipment next to the bed. Steve gives you a prod and you jump before climbing up and lying down, your heart beating like crazy.

“So, I’m just going to ask you a few routine questions, alright?”

You nod.

“It says here that you took an at-home pregnancy test?” The doctor asks, referring to the form the nurse had made you fill out earlier.

You nod, “Y-Yes. I – uh – I took three pregnancy tests and they all came out positive.”

“Approximately how long ago did you take these tests?”

Your wring your fingers nervously, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I…I’m not sure. I think it’s been a few weeks now.” You quietly wonder if the doctor thinks you’ll be a bad mother because you can’t remember exactly when you’d taken the tests.

Doctor Alam smiles brightly, “Well, soon I’ll be able to tell you just how far along you are. That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Exciting wasn’t exactly the word you’d use. Daunting maybe. Scary too. You cast a quick glance at Steve, who has taken a seat on the chair next to the bed. He grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But even he looks distracted and a touch bewildered, his eyes locked on your belly before moving to the ultrasound wand in the doctor’s hand. As if he can’t wrap his head around what’s going on. And neither can you.

Kids, you think to yourself. We’re just kids ourselves. We don’t know what we’re doing.

Doctor Alam squeezes a cool gel on your tummy before she gets to work. The ultrasound wand is cold and foreign against your skin, and so you resort to looking at Steve instead. Not that he’s doing much better. All those football games in stadiums filled with thousands of people, and he never broke a sweat. But now? You can feel a sense of anxiety in your bond, and you know that it’s coming from both of you.

“Aha, there it is.” Doctor Alam interrupts. You turn, not really registering what she’s said. She’s sat there smiling, pointing to the screen and prompting you to look too. “Congratulations, there’s your baby!”

At first, your eyes can’t seem to focus on what she’s talking about. All you see is a black and white screen that flickers and moves every now and then. Swirling shadows that don’t really make sense – is that really the inside of your tummy? You’re about to ask the doctor where exactly this baby is supposed to be, but then she points to something in the middle of the screen.

And then… Oh, and then, and then, and then!

You see it. It’s like a miniature bundle, a tiny little ball – but once your eyes settle on it, it’s like you can’t look away. It’s bobbing, floating, moving slightly! And you can see the heartbeat, actually see it because this little thing is pulsing in the same way a heart beats! Oh God, oh God, oh God! Your hand automatically goes up to your belly, hoping to feel what you’re seeing on the screen in front of you. Steve’s hand falls on top of yours, and without looking at him, you know he can’t take his eyes off what he sees either.

“Whoa.” You breathe.

“Whoa indeed. See, that’s your gestational sac, with the yolk sac inside. And there’s your baby, it’s about 16 millimetres long, which is about the size of a raspberry.” Doctor Alam chuckles as she points out each individual detail. “By the looks of things, you are approximately eight weeks pregnant.”

Eight weeks…

“Two months…” You whisper, before tearing your eyes away from the ultrasound to look at Steve. “But that’s when we…”

“…That’s when we first got together.” Steve completes, a look of awe on his face before he, too, tears his gaze off the screen to look at you. It takes the two of you a handful of seconds to register what that means, and then you see a slow, self-satisfied smile spread across Steve’s face. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and looking extremely smug. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Doctor, I told her I’d get her pregnant the first time we slept together. Didn’t I, omega? Didn’t I say that? And now–”

His insanely inappropriate words become background noise as you turn back to the ultrasound screen. Your baby, actually tangible and visible and with a beating heart, no less! This whole time, you’d struggled to wrap your head around the idea that there was life growing inside you. What with all the problems with Steve and the confrontations with Peter and your mother leaving you… you’d hardly had time to think about the fact that you were pregnant. All these weeks of feeling like there was a disconnect, like this was something you’d buried to the back of your mind whilst you dealt with everything else. But now…

“I can see its little heart beating.” You murmur in wonder. The little raspberry-sized thing had a heart! And it was pulsing and beating just like yours! This little thing, it was full of life! And it was growing inside you! You feel a sudden wave of protectiveness and excitement, making your own heart flutter in a way it never has before. Had this little thing been inside you this whole time, for the past two months? Depending on you as the main source of its life? Oh, it was absolutely beautiful, wonderful, magical–

“It looks like a lima bean.” Steve comments, but his whole face softens as he smiles at the screen.

Steve and Doctor Alam discuss various things. He wants to know if you’re healthy (you are) and if the baby is healthy (it is) and he also wants to know a bunch of other stuff which you should also probably pay attention to but all you can focus on is your little baby on the ultrasound monitor. You feel oddly light-hearted, but also nervous, scared, excited and in awe. Vaguely, you wonder if this is how your mother felt when she found out she was having you.

Probably not, but you guessed you’d never know. But you do know one thing: hell would freeze over before you’d leave this baby like how your mother had left you. And that’s a silent promise you make to yourself and the life growing inside of you, as you sit there on the clinic bed and stare at the ultrasound. Steve was right, you would never be like how your mother was.

The doctor gives you a picture of the scan in a little envelope when you’re on your way out. You grab it almost greedily, holding it close to your heart and repeating your silent promise to yourself. I don’t know you yet, but I will never leave you. I’m your mother and I promise you I’ll never leave you. Not when you’re four, or eighteen, or twenty-five, or even fifty. I’ll always be there for you, I promise.

Was this what all the biology textbooks meant when they spoke about omegas having a natural motherly instinct? Well, unlike Steve, you didn’t think all omegas were the same. You could only speak for yourself, and all you could say was that this burst of motherly love or whatever it was you were feeling right now, it was quite literally warming you from the inside out. You feel light and excited, holding Steve’s hand and almost skipping out the hospital.

“You look happy.” Steve comments after helping you into the car and clicking your seatbelt in.

“Aren’t you?” You pause, stroking your stomach thoughtfully, “I was so scared of this baby being a reality, but now… Well, I’m still scared now, but I also feel kind of calm and happy, as if this was meant to happen, you know? Like everything’s gonna be okay.”

Steve looks at you for several seconds before his hand joins yours against your belly. He strokes the skin softly, his blue eyes tender, “Well, I told you from the beginning that this was always meant to happen, didn’t I?”

His gaze drops down to your stomach, and he lifts your cardigan up, palm spreading flat across your bare skin. You look closely at his face, how his breathing shallows and his lips part as if in awe. It’s just your tummy, and you haven’t even begun to show yet, and yet he looks as if he’s staring at a shining diamond, and his eyes have stars in them.

“Hey, little guy. Or girl.” Steve says softly to your tummy, and your heart skips a beat at how gentle he sounds. “Hang in there, okay? You look like a lima bean right now but trust me, by the time you come out you’ll be just as cute as your mama.”

You kiss him, catching him off-guard as you surge up and grab his face, pressing your lips against his with an almost carnal desire. But he’s quick to recover, holding you gently in his arms as he kisses you back. And kissing Steve now still makes the butterflies flutter in your tummy just how they did the first time he kissed you two months ago. It still feels so special, so sweet, so right.

“Two months ago, you couldn’t even look me in the eye. Let alone kiss me.” Steve says, between kisses, smiling against your lips.

“Two months ago you were so different.” You answer breathlessly. Hell, even last week he’d been so different. Had the change in him happened slowly, gradually? Or all at once? You didn’t know, but it made you happy to see him looking at you with stars in his eyes and a genuine smile on his face.  

“I’m gonna drop you home so you can rest, okay baby? I’ll join you later tonight.”

You pout. As pathetic as it sounded, you hated it when he wasn’t always with you. “Where are you going?”

He presses one final kiss to your lips before starting up the car, “I hired some movers to bring our stuff over from campus back up here. I gotta be there to oversee it all, make sure they don’t break something or miss anything.”

He was going back to campus? You feel a certain jolt in your heart, thinking about all your things sitting back there.

“Could I come too, Steve?”

“No. I want you to go home and rest.”

“Please?”

“No, omega. I don’t want you to be around a bunch of creepy movers. Not to mention how unsafe it is for a pregnant and fragile little omega like you to be around so much heavy-lifting. What if one of those idiot movers dropped something on you? I would fucking kill them...” His fist clenches against the steering wheel as if he’s already getting angry at the mere thought of that happening.

You bow your head, clutching the little envelope with your baby scan inside it as if it’s your lifeline, “Please let me come.” I hate being alone with my thoughts.

“Baby–”

Maybe it’s the way you sigh and look out the window, already shrivelling into yourself at the mere idea of being by yourself again. When just a few minutes ago, you’d been smiling from ear-to-ear, having seen your little baby inside your tummy. You hear Steve sigh.

“Fine. You can come. But stay near me, and don’t speak to any of the movers. In fact, don’t even go near them, or else I’ll call you an Uber and send you straight back home.”

***

“Well, well, well, Mr. Quarterback finally returns.” Sam grins, coming over to thump Steve on the back. The two alphas hug in that way that boys do, first clasping hands before pulling each in for a one-armed hug. You hang back and smile, things had been icy between Steve and Sam in the days after you got locked out in the rain, but clearly they had patched things up after they’d won the big game.

But what you don’t expect is Sam reaching out and pulling you in too, till you’re sandwiched between the two alphas in a tight, warm hug that you can’t help but return. You feel Steve stiffen, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looks from you to Sam. You half expect him to lose it, but after a few seconds he relaxes. But not before lifting Sam’s arm off your waist and placing it around your shoulders instead, and shooting the other alpha a warning look.

Sam draws back and hands Steve a beer, “Here I was thinking we’d all be celebrating the end of college, and the next thing I know I’m in an empty house because you guys fucked off to God knows where.”

Your heart skips at how he’s including you, saying “you guys” instead of just Steve. Sam had apologised to you after the whole being locked out debacle, but you hadn’t spoken to him since. It still felt nice to be included, however, and so you can’t help but smile.

“I just want to apologise again,” Sam says quietly when Steve goes into the kitchen to get you an apple juice, “How we acted with you, and my whole part in it, I really am sorry–”

“It’s alright.”  

The three of you toast to a happy summer to come. Steve and Sam clink their beer bottles against your glass of apple juice. You don’t know if this summer will be a happy one, but you can’t have anything worse happen to you than what’s already happened, right? It was a cynical way of looking at things but you couldn’t help that. On the bright side, at least if someone locked you out of the house now, it would be sunny outside.

The two of you go upstairs to pack. It’s easy enough for you, since you don’t have that much to begin with. But Steve had bought you a ton of new things in the two months you’d been with him, which is why you’re grateful for the new suitcases Steve had provided for you. The old, tattered suitcase you’d lugged along with you on the first day of freshman year could finally retire, along with the memories of what now felt like a past life…

Steve’s idea of packing is throwing everything into the suitcases and calling it a day. The omega inside you is horrified by this, wanting to fold and layer each piece of clothing, each book, each sheet. Savouring the memories behind each item you pack, like your polaroid camera, which you’d saved up for months to buy right before freshman year. It was meant to capture all the fun you thought you’d have…

I can use it when you’re born, you say to your tummy, and I’ll stick polaroids of you into a scrapbook, along with the scan from today. I’ll take some pictures of your dad too. And then when you’re grown up, you can look through it.

Speaking of books, you quietly grab the black sketchbook from underneath the bed when Steve isn’t looking, safely stashing it in your bag.

“Where the hell are those movers?” Steve glances at his watch, “I want to us to get back home before sunset.”

Home. Steve’s house. You supposed it was your home now, but you knew it would take time for you to feel like it was. You peak outside Steve’s bedroom window, taking in the campus courtyard for what felt like the last time. Would you come back here for your second year? How would that even work with you pregnant? How could you ever complete your degree with a baby to take care of too? That is, if Steve would even allow it.

“A bunch of my stuff is still at my old dorm room.” You say suddenly.

Steve wrinkles his nose, “Really? Is it anything important?”

He had slowly moved your things into his room when you’d started living with him, but he hadn’t brought along everything. You didn’t have much, but a lot of your old clothes were still there. Your scuffed sneakers (he’d bought you new ones) and the bag you’d sewed yourself out of your old jeans (he’d bought you a designer one to use instead). You supposed you didn’t have much use for your old things, but they were still yours, and you wanted them.

“Yes.” You say firmly, “Please could I go over there and check over my things?” What would even happen to them if you didn’t? Would they just go in the trash? Forgotten forever just like you’d been forgotten by your mother? No, you couldn’t let that happen.

But Steve shakes his head, “We can’t go right now, I need to be here when the movers get here.”

You bite your lip, “I could just go myself.” Your old dorm room was only on the other side of campus, where the cheaper accommodation was.

“No. You know you can’t go by yourself.”

“But Steve–”

“I said no.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed. It’s been stripped down to just the mattress, but you remember a time when it was covered in your flowery sheets that you’d brought over from your old dorm. A memory. Everything was slipping by so quickly… Your childhood home, your dorm, this bedroom, and now Steve’s mansion. Just for a second, you wish you could freeze time and breathe, and gain a little bit of control over what’s happening around you.

Steve crouches in front of you, taking your hands in his, “Look, I can’t let you go by yourself. The last time I left you by yourself…” His voice trails off and his eyes narrow, and you know he’s thinking of the day of the football game.

“If you think Peter’s gonna come back and take me again, he won’t.” You say, “I think he’s well and truly done with me now, and I don’t think I’ll ever hear from him again.” You can still picture the hurt in his eyes when he’d seen the mark on your neck, and when he’d seen you stay with Steve. From the deepest part of your heart, you mourn the loss of your friendship with him… Maybe one day you could talk to him and repair it?

Steve opens his mouth to say something, and you wait for him to curse Peter out, or say something awful about him. But he pauses when he sees the sad look on your face, and instead he sighs. You know he’s on a path to changing his ways, and you know it’s not easy for him. But you can see he’s trying, with the way his features soften and he kisses your hand instead.

“You really want to go back there right now?”

“Yes, please.”

Steve gives Sam express instructions on how to deal with the movers, telling him that the two of you would be back with half an hour. You figure that’ll be more than enough time to survey over your remaining things and pick what you want to take with you. A part of you feels emotional, as if not just a chapter, but an entire novel of your life is ending and you don’t know if the next book has even been confirmed. It’s weird, this mix of excitement you feel for the future which included the baby in your tummy, and this sense of bittersweet loss you also felt as if your college life was coming to a premature end.

Your dorm room looks exactly the same as how you’d left it. You haven’t been back since the day Sharon confronted you, and Steve had taken you to his house. Smell was the biggest carrier of nostalgia, and here you could smell so many memories… A girl, once eager and hopeful, happy to be at a prestigious university and away from the demons she’d left behind at home. Oh, you’d been so excited to live on your own!

“I don’t like being in here.” Steve says, clearing his throat uncomfortably and reaching out to squeeze your hand. “I was an asshole to you in this room.”

You turn back to him, and the two of you share a meaningful look where a lot is said despite nothing being said out loud at all. You know he’s sorry, you can see the remorse on his face and you can feel it in the bond you share. You know he wishes he could take it all back, and you wish to God that he’d been then what he was becoming now.

You grab your DIY bag made out of your old, patchy jeans, and a few of your hoodies which you’d stopped wearing and left behind because Steve had bought you new clothes. You rifle through all your old keychains and knick-knacks, remembering how Steve had done the same thing when he’d first come here. Moving on to your desk, you see the old notes still strewn about on the wooden surface, including the essay plan you’d so meticulously constructed for Steve when he’d come over for “tutoring.”

“You’re reliving old memories, aren’t you?” Steve asks tonelessly.

You nod. There are bad ones, but you try to focus on the good: your first time kissing him, how he’d gifted you Steve Junior…

His arms wrap around your waist from behind, and he hugs you hard. Holding you, rocking with you while you both seem lost in thought. His hand slips down, fingers splaying out over your stomach.

“We’ll make new memories. The three of us.”

That makes you smile. “Really, Steve?”

“Yes. I’ll be better. I swear I will.”

You pack your bag with the few belongings you want to take with you. Steve tries to help, but soon gets a call from the movers.

“What do you mean you can’t fit the bed frame into the van? Have you tried using your brain and maybe dismantling it?”

The response is cut up and almost inaudible, the connection extremely weak. He frowns, “I can’t hear you.”

More muffled sounds.

Steve groans, “Baby, I’m gonna take this outside, okay? Stay in here.”

You nod, distracted by all your old things surrounding you. You’ve always been a sentimental person, romanticising mundane things that other people wouldn’t glance at twice. Like your bottle of cheap suppressants that Steve had rattled around and looked at with such disdain. Your old keychains, your empty lip-glosses, you don’t know how long you sit there and reminisce about your old life that seems like it was ions ago instead of just a few months.

You don’t even hear the door when it opens.

“You know, this is how I always imagined it.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine, a coldness spreading through your veins that’s as icy as his eyes. You swallow, turning around slowly and holding on to the hope that maybe it’s not him. Oh God, please let it not be him. But it is.

Bucky stands at the doorway, a glint in his eye as he looks you up and down. You feel a sense of impending doom, your heart sinking down to the depths. Oh, but shouldn’t you have expected this? He was, after all, one of the problems you’d pushed aside, tried to run away from. Out of sight, out of mind – and yet here he was now. You swallow harshly, and you will yourself to be brave despite the fact that your hands are shaking. You don’t want him here; you don’t want him near you.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” You ask, hating how your voice comes out shaky.

“Sweetheart, it’s been weeks since we last spoke. And you can’t even say hello?” Bucky smiles, but there’s something wooden about it, something off. Something you can’t really put your finger on or even care to. “I mean, Sam got a hug from you. I saw it. I’m sure I should get the same treatment, right? Or maybe something more…” Calmly, he shuts the door behind him, and then you hear the click of the lock. Your heart jumps to your throat, panic beginning to set in. It’s okay, Steve’s only just outside, you think to yourself.

You clear your throat, narrowing your eyes in a bid to look more confident than you’re actually feeling, “The last time I saw you, you locked me out of the house in the pouring rain.”

He steps towards you and you instinctively take a step back. He notices and smirks, as if he finds your actions amusing. “Oh, right. I feel bad about that, but you were getting too big for your boots, sweetheart.”

“Just because I refused to kiss you?” You feel anger at his words, and it overrides your fear for just a second. You remember him twisting your arm when you didn’t kiss him, remember how he’d slammed the door in your face, how he’d sat there scrolling nonchalantly on his phone while you pounded at the door, drenched in the rain and begging him to let you in. Oh, how you wish you weren’t a weak omega just for a few moments, just so you could stand toe-to-toe with someone like him!

Instead, you cower as he crosses the room, and he’s only inches away from you when your back hits your desk and you can’t back away any more. And that’s when he smirks, reaching out to move your hair out of your face. You blanche, feeling your skin crawl at his touch.

“I saw you first.” He breathes.

“Th-That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” His eyes flutter shut for a second and he inhales deeply, “You smell so fucking sweet. The day I first saw you, all I could think about was how beautiful you were, and how badly I wanted to smell your scent but you were on those damn suppressants.” He opens his eyes and you see them darken, “Steve could smell you immediately, and I hated that. I hated that he was the only one who could.”

“Bucky, he’s right outside. He’ll be back any second.”

“He gets everything he ever wants,” Bucky’s tone hardens, and he surges forward, pressing up against you. You struggle against him, trying to somehow squeeze out from between him and the desk but he grips your arm, digging his fingers into your skin painfully to keep you in place. “Ever since we were kids… He got everything. A better car, a higher allowance. He got better girls and better grades and they made him the captain of the football team.”

Your jaw would have dropped open had it not been frozen in place with fear. Seriously? Those were his problems? That Steve had a better car? If you weren’t so scared out of your damn mind, you would’ve laughed. Somehow, you doubt Bucky ever had an alcoholic, absentee mother with a string of abusive boyfriends. You doubt his parents had ever left him. You know he’d never grown up in poverty, you know he’d never been bullied relentlessly. Oh, you wish you had his problems…

“But then you walked in and I called dibs and for once, for fucking once… I had something he wanted.” Bucky’s finger trails down your arm before he grabs your waist, pushing himself into you. You gasp, fists going up to his chest to push him off you but to no avail. Oh God, where was Steve?!

A bitter laugh escapes from Bucky’s throat, “But of course, he lied and manipulated his way into claiming you too. Down to his core, that’s who Steve is. That’s what he does.” His icy blue eyes look distant, as if he’s in another dimension inside his head – that’s the only way you can describe it. But then he snaps back to peer at your face, excitement covering his features and chilling you down to the core as you cringe away from him, subconsciously patting at the envelope containing your baby scan inside your pocket, as if to calm yourself down.

“But this isn’t about Steve, sweetheart. This is about you. Little Miss Omega who’s gotten too big for her boots. You got with an alpha and all of a sudden you think you’re the queen of the world, don’t you?” He yanks at your hair, and you cry out in pain as he drags you to your old bed.

Cold, incapacitating fear overtakes you when he pushes you down on the mattress. You land on your back with a thump, immediately trying to roll away but he grabs your leg and pulls you back before climbing on top of you. Oh no, oh no, please. God, please no…

“Bucky, don’t do this!”

“You think you’re too good for me, huh?” Bucky sneers, his face inches from yours. His hands move to grab your cardigan, ripping it apart. He doesn’t even flinch as the buttons fly everywhere, smirking maniacally down at you as you scramble to hold your tattered cardigan together. “You think you’re too good to kiss me? Well, sweetheart, I’ve dreamed of this moment. And I assure you, we’ll be doing a lot more than just kissing tonight…”

“Bucky, don’t! I’m pregnant, okay? I’m pregnant!” You scream out desperately, hoping and praying that he’d have a little bit of sympathy inside him to just stop. If not for your sake, then maybe for the sake of your unborn child. He wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman, would he?

Bucky does stop, for just a moment. His hand freezes in the middle of trying to peel the remains of your cardigan off you and you see something register in the depths of his pale, icy eyes. But it only lasts a nanosecond, before they cloud over and he smiles, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll just pretend it’s mine.”

Oh, he was crazy! Utterly and completely crazy! And you don’t know what to do! Because when have you ever gone into a confrontation and come out on top? Hell, you couldn’t even hold your own against another omega like Sharon… let alone an alpha twice your size like Bucky. Steve, where are you? Please save me, please, please, please!

“Bucky stop, okay? I know you’re mad at Steve and… and you’re upset you didn’t get what you wanted b-but this isn’t the way to–”

He kisses you. And oh, it’s horrible! It feels like you’re being squeezed into a tight black hole where you can’t breathe and you can’t move and it’s just so wrong. Everything about it is wrong, like two misfit pieces from opposite ends of a puzzle. He’s rough yet almost robotic with how he kisses you, his kiss lacking any of the passion and fire you feel with Steve. It’s even worse than when Peter kissed you… oh, because Bucky’s kiss feels like it’s charged with hatred, and anger, and malice, and–

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!”

You push with all your might, the shrillness of your words surprising you both. It catches him off guard, and you do something you’ve never done before in your life. You spit right in his face, sneering up at him defiantly. You’re sick of every single one of these fucking men kissing you when you didn’t want them to. Enough was enough.

“Little Miss Omega likes to play rough, huh?” Bucky quickly recovers, wiping your spit off his face and keeping you pinned down underneath him, “That’s alright. Fight against me all you want, but you and I both know you’re just a weak little omega. You never stood a chance, sweetheart. Not against any of us.”

Long ago, when you’d been standing on the porch in a thunderstorm, you’d made a promise to yourself to never beg him again. Something had snapped inside you then, flushing out all hope from inside you. Something snaps inside you now, too. But it does the complete opposite.

“You’re right, I’m weak compared to you. But at least I’m not pathetic.”

Bucky scoffs, opening his mouth but you beat him to it.

“I used to be scared of all of you alphas. You all looked so strong, powerful and untouchable to me. But what I’ve realised is that each one of you is more insecure than the next. Especially you, Bucky. And I feel sorry for you, because I can take all the bullying and the harassment and everything else that’s happened to me, but you can’t take even the slightest bit of rejection. You’re pathetic.”

He pauses, regarding you with narrowed eyes. And again, you see a semblance of something human glimmer across his face before his features twist into a snarl. “Save the condescending philosophy lesson for later, sweetheart. I’m not interested.”

He tries to kiss you again, but you turn your head because hell would freeze over before you let someone kiss you unwillingly again. His hands are all over your body, trying to get your clothes off you except you don’t give him a chance. You thrash wildly underneath him, something feral taking over from inside you. This wild survival instinct, this need to keep yourself and the baby safe. And the whole time during this physical tousle, you’re thinking: please don’t let him hurt my baby, please let my baby come out of this okay, even if I don’t. I don’t want to lose it… I know I didn’t pay attention to it at first, but I don’t want to lose it. Please, please, please, I don’t want to lose my baby.

“Let me fucking have this!” Bucky roars, pinning your hands over your head. You can feel the tears well in your eyes but you don’t want to spill any over him, over this. He roughly kisses up your jaw, “I went home these past couple of weeks to clear my head, and all I could fucking think about was you. I wanted you first, so just let me have this, okay? Fucking kiss me back! Spread your legs for me like you did for the first alpha who ever glanced your way.”

“STEVE!” You scream, growing more desperate by the second, “STEVE, PLEASE HELP!”

Bucky laughs wickedly, “He’s not coming to save you, sweetheart. I made sure of it.”

His words unlock something even more feral in you, but it’s when he splays his hand over your tummy that you completely lose it. In a way you never have before. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

You ram your knee up, catching him straight on his crotch. Bucky grunts, falling on top of you. His hands let go of yours as he goes to clutch between his legs. You try to push him off you but he’s too big, too heavy.

“You stupid fucking slut,” Bucky swears, trying to grab at you with one hand but you know this is the only opening you’ll ever get. His face is grimaced in pain, and you’ve never been a violent person but you figure now is the best time to change that. You scratch at his face, shoving and pushing at him to get him off you. He grabs your wrist again, but you assume you got him hard on his crotch because it’s thrown him off his game. And you knee him again, this time catching him in his abdomen. The kick isn’t too hard, and Bucky barely flinches but it does distract him enough to allow you to slip out from underneath him.

You run to the door, managing to unlock it before Bucky grabs you by the waist and pulls you back. And now you really feel like crying, because you were so close… So fucking close…

Was this how it was going to end? Had God really written this in your fate? On top of everything else shitty that had happened to you since the day you were fucking born? No, it couldn’t be. You wouldn’t let it. You were sick of bad things happening to you while you stood there and cried and let them. If he was going to do this, you were going to fight till the end. You owed that to yourself, and your baby too.

“I hate you, you pathetic piece of shit!” You spit out, clawing and writhing as he half drags and half carries you back to the bed. Never in your life have you called anyone such a name but it just comes out of you with such vitriol, born out of both the fear and anger you feel right now. “I was only ever nice to you, despite how awful you all treated me! But you just can’t take rejection, and that is not my fault! You’re a pathetic, privileged jerk!”

“You could’ve loved me if it weren’t for Steve.” Bucky sneers, pulling your hair back and scowling at Steve’s mark on your neck. He bares his teeth, poised to bite. No, no, no, no! You punch, kick, writhe, claw, and–

“Are you done packing? Some asshole slashed my tires and–”

It’s like the whole world freezes when the door opens and Steve steps into the room. You freeze mid-fight, and Bucky does too. Steve does too. Pin drop silence. Not a single sound. Just the three of you staring at each other. And then…

“See what your slut of an omega is capable of, Steve?” Bucky says, gesturing at you while your jaw drops open in shock at what he’s saying. The brunette alpha’s eyes are as wild as his hair, and he’s breathing hard with an almost maniacal look on his face, “You see? Do you see this, Steve? She couldn’t wait to get on my dick the moment your back was turned. Guess you were right about her being the campus slut after all.”

For a moment, you’re rendered speechless. You watch Steve closely as he takes in what’s in front of him. You and Bucky on your bed, him practically on top of you, your hair dishevelled, your cardigan torn in half with the buttons broken. Oh no, Steve couldn’t possibly believe…?

“No.” You say firmly, your voice unwavering because if there was ever a time for you to be as clear as possible, it was now. “He’s lying. He came on to me, Steve. Like he’s been doing for months now.”

Bucky scoffs, “Oh yeah? Is that why you never told him that until now?”

Steve is motionless, stoic and his expression unreadable as he looks from you to his best friend and back to you again.

“Steve, he attacked me.” You look squarely into your alpha’s eyes, trying to sound confident but you can’t keep the desperate plea from your tone. “He’s been acting weird with me behind your back for months, and I know I didn’t tell you and I tried to brush it off but–”

“She’s a fucking liar,” Bucky cuts you off, “A fucking slut who wants two alphas at the same time. Me and her have been flirting for months behind your back, and she was enjoying every second of it, that’s why she never told you. She’s a goddamned slut, Steve, and she fooled us both with her innocent act.”

Each lie is like a punch to your gut, and you turn to stare at him in complete dismay. You could not fathom how someone could lie so cleanly, so unashamedly. And Steve? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“That’s not true…” You say softly, not having it in you to say anything else.

“It is true, and you know it’s true, Steve,” Bucky claims, and he looks calmer now, as if he knows Steve will believe him and it breaks your fucking heart, the broken pieces sinking down to the depths of your tummy. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Steve, you know that–”

“Omega, step out of the room.” Steve says quietly. It’s an alpha command, because you feel your legs moving before you know what’s happening. You cross the bedroom, trying to catch Steve’s gaze but he won’t look at you. His eyes are locked on Bucky.

What follows is total carnage. The moment you cross the threshold, stepping out of the room and out of harm’s way, Steve attacks. Letting out an almighty snarl, he shoots across the room, pouncing on Bucky like a rabid animal. Bucky, clearly not expecting the attack, crashes to the ground with Steve on top of him. You wince when the brunet alpha’s head hits the floor, but Steve looks possessed, his face red and eyes narrowed to slits. And he throws punch after punch against Bucky’s face, and you can hear the repeated crack of his fist against his jaw.

You press your hand over your stomach as if to shield it, knowing you can’t step back into the bedroom to stop them even if you wanted to.

Bucky recovers quickly, and it’s different from Peter because Bucky matches Steve’s size and strength. He punches Steve back, his face screwed up in disgust as if he can’t fathom why Steve is attacking him.

“You’d believe her over me?!” Bucky roars, “You pussy-whipped piece of shit, you’d believe that slut over your best fucking friend?!”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TALK ABOUT HER!” Steve’s voice rings across the whole room, and probably the whole building.

Bucky coughs, his lip swollen and his eye already blackening, but he’s still fighting back. “She’s a slut, and you’re a fucking joke for defending her–”

CRACK.

You’re sure Steve has broken Bucky’s jaw with how hard he punches him and how sickening the crack sounds. And he doesn’t stop there, grabbing Bucky by the throat while the brunet tries to recover underneath him.

“Don’t – you – ever – fucking – touch – her – again – you – piece – of – shit!” Each word is enunciated with Steve slamming Bucky’s head on the hard wood floor. And you look on in absolute horror, feeling torn because you hate Bucky with everything you have, because he’d just assaulted you and lied and he’d been awful to you and didn’t he deserve this? And yet you can’t bear to see such a display of violence…

“You always got everything!” Bucky sputters, and this admission catches Steve off-guard enough for Bucky to shove him off and tackle him to the ground, and now it’s Bucky’s turn to throw the punches, battering Steve’s face with renewed vigour. “You can’t have her too, you can’t–”

And you almost step back into the room, but you know you can’t put yourself and your baby in danger like that. You desperately look around, seeing if you can call for help. But who would come between these two alphas? And deep down, you knew they needed to hash it out.

They fight and fight, throwing punches and slamming and tackling each other all over the room. Swearing and cussing, spitting out words of venom. You run down the hall, banging on the other doors, hoping someone would help and break them apart. But no one answers, and you know no one would come within ten feet of two furious alphas.

You run back to your dorm room, making sure to stay outside just like Steve told you to. But your heart lurches at the bruises on Steve’s face, the beginnings of a black eye forming as Bucky continues to hit him.

“Stop!” You scream at Bucky, “Please, leave him alone!”

It’s like your voice snaps something inside Steve, and with the strength of his whole body, he pushes Bucky off of him. Smooth as a panther, he gets to his feet, landing several hard kicks on his friend’s ribs and abdomen. His face is battered and angry, feral yet still unreadable. It’s his best friend he’s fighting, and you can see that in how his features twist in disbelief mixed with animalistic fury.

And it’s with that same blind fury that he picks up your entire desk like it’s nothing. And you look on in horror, watch all your books and notes fall to the ground. Bucky looks too, his mouth bloody and parted in dismay as Steve lifts the heavy wooden desk over his head, poised on top of Bucky’s twitching body.

“Steve, don’t! You’ll kill him!” Or at least cause irreversible damage.

“He deserves it. He hurt you.” Steve’s voice comes out menacing as he looks straight at Bucky and only at Bucky, “All this fucking time, and right under my fucking nose...”

He kicks Bucky again, hard on the stomach and Bucky doubles over in pain. And Steve still stands over him, still gripping the huge desk as if it’s nothing. And you can’t imagine the damage he’d do if he let it fall on Bucky’s head, let alone slam it down with force.

But something seems to snap in Steve when he sees Bucky bent over in pain before he lies flat as if he’s resigned to his fate. And there’s blood gushing out of Bucky’s nose and his mouth, and his face is almost beaten to a pulp, and his eyes look glazed over, barely alert.

With a sigh, Steve sets the desk back down to the side, and then collapses next to Bucky. Sat down on the floor next to his friend who twitches in pain, and Steve looks at him in both disbelief and pity.

“You were my best friend.” Steve whispers, and it comes out broken and resigned. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then neither of them says anything more, and Bucky turns away on his side, and Steve gets up and leaves him.

He makes his way to you, and you rush over to him. For a handful of moments, no one speaks. He hugs you hard, harder than usual but that’s not very shocking given the circumstances. He takes his jacket off and helps you put it on, and you welcome the warmth it brings you, his rich scent calming you down.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from him before.”

“That’s alright, you didn’t know.”

Steve refuses to look at Bucky even once more, and you know it’s because he’s afraid his anger will make him do something he’d later regret. So it’s you who uses Steve’s phone to call Sam to come help the brunet alpha, who is teetering on unconscious but fortunately still alive.

“No one’s gonna hurt you again.” Steve vows, holding on to tighter than ever, and you lean into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Warm, safe, relieved, you feel all of it as your adrenaline finally begins to come down.

“I know they won’t. I won’t let them, and you won’t either. I’m glad it’s all over now.”

***

The sun is shining as you and Steve set out across the grounds of his family home. The gardens stretch out across acres, so beautifully kept and flourishing, yielding all types of different flowers that are in full bloom. As you walk across what looks to be an entire field of yellow roses, you notice that Steve plucks one out every few steps, till he’s got a bunch of them grasped in his fist, and with gentle hands he expertly picks the thorns off.

You stop at a patch of green grass under a pretty looking tree, and that’s where you set your picnic basket down. Steve Junior smiles up at you from inside the wicker, and he seems to begrudgingly extend that smile to Steve too, which makes you happy. Steve helps you sit down as the sun splashes down on all three of you, and a gentle breeze makes your dress flow.

It’s been weeks since the whole ordeal with your mother leaving and then with Bucky. The first few days immediately after it were tough, as both you and Steve came to terms with different things. Steve went through periods of anger so strong, he wanted to get in the car and pay Bucky another visit. He couldn’t believe what Bucky had been doing to you behind his back, and once you told him the details, he was nothing short of livid. You’d often find him just sitting there, deep in thought about it all, formulating plans of revenge and plotting to take Bucky down. You told him that Bucky’s own insecurities and bitterness were his downfall, and to not worry about him anymore. You certainly wouldn’t.

As for you, you found that your mother leaving you would always linger in the back of your mind – at least for the foreseeable future. That made you sad, but you also found that it wasn’t too hard to continue life with this information. At first, you didn’t know what you wanted to do. Track her down and yell at her for being so heartless? Ignore her existence and carry on, just like how she was doing with you?

Well, you decided to take it one day at a time. And you’d already spent one whole year of university without your mother, and in a way, it was practice to what was now becoming your new normal. Despite her imperfections and shortcomings, it still sucked being left behind by her. But all you could do now was slowly piece yourself back together and hope that you’d never have to go through anything traumatic like that ever again.

To his credit, Steve did his best to distract you in the weeks following that fateful visit to your childhood home, as well as the ordeal with Bucky. Or maybe he was trying to distract himself from his own worries and concerns… about you and about his mother, and about his former best friend. True to his impulsive style, he’d wanted to take you on vacation right away for a change of scenery, as an escape. You told him that his family’s mansion was vacation enough for you, what with the gazillion pools and the luxurious interiors and hundreds of other features which you had yet to explore.

It's in these few weeks that you got to know Steve ways you never had in the two months you’d known him prior to this. The two of you went swimming together in one of his pools (Steve wouldn’t let go of you at first, afraid that you’d drown or somehow put the baby at risk. But he changed gears pretty quickly once you beat him in a freestyle race, although he scoffed and claimed he was going easy on you).

You cooked together too (well, it was originally just you cooking, as you always did for him, but Mrs. Rogers pushed him into the kitchen to help you, and once Steve saw how sharp the knives were and how hot the oven was, he immediately put himself in charge. “Try the mashed potatoes, Mom. I made those,” he had boasted over dinner that night, and his mother had smiled at him indulgently, and shot you a wink).

You also gave him his sketchbook which you’d retrieved from under the bed. He was shocked that you knew about it and that you’d brought it back, and you told him how touched you were seeing how much he’d drawn you and how talented he was. He played it off at first, tossing the sketchbook aside and telling you he didn’t draw much anymore. But then one day you caught him sketching what you guessed was his mother. In his sketch, she was on her feet, pretty and full of life. Dancing amongst a flower garden, a little blonde boy holding her hand. It moved you so much, you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him tightly, as if to tell him that it would all be okay. In those moments, you felt more bonded to him than the mark on your neck ever made you feel.

Speaking of Mrs. Rogers, her health remained the same. But she did seem to light up when Mr. Rogers finally came home. You were so shy, especially when you noted the formal way in which he greeted his son. Steve’s dad looked a lot like Steve, just older and more mellow, a touch of sadness in his eyes. But he greeted you warmly, and told you that he was happy his son had found you.

 And then he turned to his wife, and it was amazing how his face morphed completely, as if he had hearts in his eyes. They’d left you and Steve to your own devices, and later, when you walked by their room, you saw them dancing together. Well, she was fragile and weak, and stood on his shoes while he moved around the room. But it was very cute, and you weren’t used to seeing parents love each other like this, and so you stood transfixed for longer than you cared to admit. And then Steve dragged you away to go do some activity around the house. 

Nevertheless, slowly, in these past few weeks, you’d begun to feel happy again. It happened very gradually, and yet so naturally at the same time. You allowed yourself to enjoy this new side of Steve, this loving and laidback side of him that you just couldn’t get enough of. You found yourself waking up and looking forward to spending the day with him, finding out what activities he had planned for the day, giggling at the thought of doing something fun or romantic with him.

Today’s activity was a picnic in the Rogers’ family estate’s never-ending gardens. Steve had picked out a pretty yellow dress for you (it was too hot for a hoodie) and he’d helped dress you, too. He was treating you like you were made of glass, babying you more than ever before. You wondered whether it was because you were pregnant, or because of everything you’d been through. Either way, you liked how he sat you in his lap and cooed at you as he slipped the lacy socks on your feet, how he kissed your neck and told you how beautiful you were. It made you feel special, how only he could.

“For you.” Steve holds out his makeshift bouquet of yellow roses, all but thrusting them into your hands with comical haste, as if he’s afraid something will come up and snatch them away. But you accept them happily, admiring how pretty they look.

“They’re beautiful,” you bring them up to your nose and give them a delicate sniff, “Yellow is the colour of hope.”

“It’s also your favourite colour.”

You nod, pleased that he knows this. “It is!”

It’s when you’re both sat down under the tree, that he takes both your hands in his, and looks at you with meaningful eyes.

“I don’t think you know how much you mean to me.”

“Steve–”

“I love every single thing about you. I love how brave you are, and how resilient no matter what life throws at you.” He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I love your eyes, your nose, your mouth,” he kisses each of the features that he’s listed down, till you’re giggling and looking up at him in awe. “I love how smart you are, the way you knew all the answers during classes but you were too shy to raise your hand. I love how you mouthed the answers to yourself anyways, and I love how you were always right.”

You feel a surge of emotion, but he’s not done.

“I love how you rehearse your order under your breath whenever we go out to eat, and I love how relieved you look when I order for you instead. I love your big hoodies even though I told you before that you shouldn’t wear them. You look cute in them, actually. I always secretly thought that.”

He takes a velvet case out of his pocket, and your breath catches in your throat. Whatever you were going to say dies away, and you look on as he opens the box. The diamond glints in the sunlight, so blindingly bright and pretty, attached to a delicate gold band.

“I know I’ve promised you many things in the past, and I’ve hurt you and broken those promises, too. But I’m telling you now that I will love and protect you and our baby with my whole life. And I want you to be my wife, so I can take care of you. So, baby, will you marry–”

“Yes!” You cut him off, unable to wait any longer because you feel this bursting happiness in your heart. You kiss him hard, catching him off-guard but he recovers quickly, holding you gently in his lap while your mouth moves against his. His hand splays over your tummy, and you really do feel loved. Perhaps for the first time in your whole life… you really do feel loved.

He slips the ring on your finger and you admire how perfectly it fits. And then the two of you kiss some more, bathing in the sunlight of the hot summer’s day, and in a way, you feel like you were always meant to end up here. That this was that hot summer’s day you’d always been yearning for every time you’d looked at him and felt that hunger, that longing…

You feel it now too, almost tenfold. And you draw back, taking in a deep breath. It happens suddenly and yet it’s the surest you’ve ever felt about anything ever. You push aside the neckline of shirt, till enough of his neck is bare to you. And then you bite down hard. Not too hard at first, because you’re afraid of hurting him. But then that feral feeling takes over you, and you hold his biceps tightly to steady yourself, and you bite down till you feel his skin breaking.

You lick and suck against his pale, broken skin as he holds you close, holding your head in place as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather want you to be. And when you pull away and see the little jagged mark you’ve left on him, a thrill ripples through you like no other.

Now he was yours too.

“Did that hurt?” You ask him.

He scoffs, ever the macho alpha. But there’s love in his eyes when he speaks. “A little. But it’s a good kind of hurt.”

You pepper kisses on your mark, trying to soothe any pain you may have caused him. And then he cups your face with his hands and catches your lips with his own, giving you the most passionate kiss you’ve ever felt from him.

“Steve?” You say breathlessly between kisses.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you too.”

The end.

***

EPILOGUE – ONE YEAR LATER

You don’t know if it’s the nightmare that jolts you awake, or if it’s the sound of Rosie crying. But you wake up to a dark, empty room. The bed is empty, save for you. You scramble up to see that Rosie’s crib is empty too (you keep it right next to your bed because you need to know she’s there all the time). But she’s not here right now, and neither is Steve, and that dark voice inside your head, the one you’ve worked so hard to keep out, begins to cackle… They’ve both left you…

You jump to your feet, heart hammering like crazy. But you find Steve in Rosie’s nursery, with your little baby girl in his arms. Or his one arm, and she looks so tiny and comfy, nestled on her dad as he gently rocks her, holding her bottle in his opposite hand. You immediately sag in relief.

Steve looks up at you, “She was crying so I came to check on her. I thought I’d let you sleep.”

You let out a ragged breath, “I thought you’d left me.”

Often, you wonder if he’s sick of your whole “I thought you’d left me” thing. There have been many occasions in the past year, where you’ve gone to that dark place in your mind, where you’ve woken up in the dark and somehow convinced yourself that he’s gone and he’s taken your Rosie with him. You still have nightmares about this happening. Not every night, but enough times that you’ve woken up crying.

Your therapist says that trauma and insecurities don’t heal overnight. That it’ll take time for you to completely believe that no one is ever going to leave you again like how your parents did. And that it’s important for you to have a strong support system that makes you feel reassured and safe. And Steve never hesitates to tell you that he’s never leaving you, that he’s right here, that everything’s okay. You’re amazed at how much patience he has when it comes to this, but he does, and you’re grateful for it.

Now, he lets you hold Rosie before gathering you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “I’m right here, baby. It’s all okay, I’m never leaving you.”

You calm down, letting him lead you to the armchair in the corner of the nursery. He sits down, pulling you on top of him and switching on the lamp. Rosie coos in your arms, awake and smiling despite it being the middle of the night. She’s such a happy baby, and you love that about her because she makes you happy too. So overwhelmingly happy, that you want to smother her face in kisses and cuddle her all day and all night.

She nestles closer against your bosom, and you and Steve both watch her in awe. She’s so special, so perfect. Only five months old and yet you can’t imagine your life without her. When she was born, she’d been so, so tiny and she’d cried so much, but you’d held her against your chest and she’d calmed down, and it made you feel so needed, so wanted.

Steve had been scared to hold her at first, convinced that he’d somehow hurt her. You also suspected that he was afraid she’d cry if he held her, reject him somehow. But those little fears had gone away quickly, probably because she was so cute and he couldn’t resist cuddling her, even when she was a newborn and practically just the size of his hand. And you couldn’t get enough of watching him with her, because a year ago he’d been a cruel fratboy hell-bent on his mean ways. And now?

Now he was a father. And your husband.

The wedding had been small, just you (pregnant and beginning to show) and Steve and his parents. “I don’t want anyone else there, Steve. Just us. Please,” you had begged. Maybe it was because his friends weren’t your friends, or maybe it was because you were insecure that you’d have no one there for you. No one to walk you down the aisle, no one to go pick your wedding dress with, just no one at all.

Steve had agreed – it was your special day after all. Mrs. Rogers – hell-bent on making it to her son’s wedding despite the fact that she had to do so in a wheelchair – helped you pick your dress by having a large selection delivered to the house. You’d chosen a flowy dress that reached till your knees, and you’d gotten married on a private beach owned by the Rogers family. And despite the fact that it was Steve’s father who walked you down the aisle instead of your own, you felt happy.

You’d even received a card from Peter, congratulating you on your marriage. The message was brief, but it touched you nonetheless. You’d spoken to him once more after the day of the big game when he’d tried to save you from Steve. It had taken a while to persuade Steve to let you see him, but you felt like you needed this closure, and so did Peter. And so, in a coffee shop with Steve waiting in the car outside, you’d sat across from Peter and apologised from the bottom of your heart. You’d told him how you never meant to hurt him, but how you really felt you belonged with Steve.

You also told him you were pregnant, and that got him to crack a smile. He told you that you didn’t need to apologise, and that if this was what you truly wanted, then he wouldn’t stop you from living your happiness. He looked you in the eye and told you you’d be a great mother, and he wished you all the best. He also told you that he had to move on with his life, but he’d be there if you ever needed him.

You knew you could never truly be friends with Peter again, not in the way you were before. But his card meant a lot to you anyways.

Steve received congratulatory calls and cards from a bunch of different people, one of them being Sam. He was off traveling the world, and he’d met a girl called Wanda who he wanted to settle down with. He told Steve that he hoped you all could hang out when he brought her back. You told Steve to tell him that you’d like that very much.

After getting married, the two of you had decided to stay in the Rogers’ mansion, much to Mrs. Rogers’ glee. Steve had told you that his family had an apartment on the upper east side as well as one in Brooklyn that you guys could move in to, if you so pleased. He also said that once he’d settled in with a proper job, he’d begin building a dream house for the two of you and your future family. He was currently working in his dad’s company which he was set to take over, but he wanted to go into politics too.

You were happy to stay in the mansion, however. You enjoyed Mrs. Rogers’ company, and you really considered her a friend. Finally, a friend. An unlikely one, but a friend nevertheless. She was stark and honest about her cancer, and it filled you with sorrow knowing that she wouldn’t be here forever. Steve was still confident that she’d get better (or that was how he acted) and Mrs. Rogers told you that you’d have to be strong when the day came, because she knew that he wouldn’t be.

By some miracle, you’d also persuaded Steve to let you go back to university. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but you remembered Mrs. Rogers’ advice on how he’d listen to you when it truly came down to it. And he had, he had, he had! You had just finished your sophomore year, having done most of it online, and passed all your exams with flying colours. You didn’t know if you were going to go back for junior year this fall or if you’d differ it till next year (since Rosie took up so much of your time) but you knew you had the option either way, which you liked.

But right now, at this very moment in time, you’re content just to watch Rosie babble and coo in your arms. Steve strokes her chubby cheek and her little fist grabs his pinkie finger, and your heart just feels so full, your nightmare already forgotten and almost laughable in comparison to how happy you feel right now, encased in your little family. A family of your very own, just like Steve had promised you so long ago.

“She looks exactly like you.” Steve comments softly, and you chirp happily in agreement. Rosie did have a few of Steve’s features, like his freckles. But everything else was so… you. Often, Steve compared her to the baby picture he had of you in his wallet, the one he’d taken from your childhood room, and the resemblance was uncanny. She was you all over again.

“She does, doesn’t she?” You smile, hugging her close. And then your heart drops, and you feel your eyes well with tears at the sudden overwhelming thought of being unable to protect her. “I don’t want her to be like me, Steve. I don’t want her to be shunned and bullied, and unable to stand up for herself. I don’t, I can’t, I…”

He shushes you with kisses, scenting you and calming you down like how he always does, stroking your face and gathering your tears on his fingers. Rosie gazes up at you imploringly, reaching a chubby hand up to pat at your face as if to mimic her daddy, and you can’t help but smile through your tears.

“If she’s anything like you, she’ll be perfect. But she’ll also be perfect if she’s nothing like you.” Steve presses more kisses to the top of your head as you keep your eyes glued on your baby daughter, wanting so badly to protect her from all the cruelty this world had to offer. “Look, why don’t we just take it day by day? Just know that I’ll protect her with my life, and she’ll grow up safe and loved.”

You nod. When had he become so wise?

“Gah!” Rosie squeals cheerfully, as if to say she agrees. The two of you can’t help but laugh.

“That’s right, Rosie, you agree with daddy, don’t you? That’s because daddy is always right,” Steve coos, taking her from your arms and pressing a gazillion kisses to her face. “Your mama’s just worried about you, but you gotta tell her that you’ll be fine.” He thrusts the baby at your face in typical Steve fashion (albeit gently). “Go on, Rosie, tell her!”

Rosie blinks before kicking her feet that are encased in her adorable yellow footie pyjamas, smiling and babbling happily. It’s her own baby language of cute yet nonsensical sounds, but it touches you nonetheless.

If someone asked you a year ago whether you thought you’d be here now, you’d probably have burst into tears because of your own bleak expectations. But watching Steve and your little baby girl, you realise that this is your happy place. Here, in the dead of the night with the only light coming from the dim, orange lamp. Here, where you watch as Steve gets up and twirls Rosie around and around, gently throwing her up in the air and catching her as she laughs and laughs. You’d had a heart attack the first time he’d done that, but now you trusted him with it, and the sound of her gleeful laughter was the most beautiful thing on earth to you.

“C’mere,” Steve reaches for your hand and pulls you up, twirling you around before yanking you into him (again, gently, as he holds Rosie with his other arm). You crash into his chest before he tips you back, kissing you sweetly as your arms wind around his neck. “You make me so happy,” he whispers against your lips, “both my girls make me so happy.”

“You make me happy too,” you say shyly. One year later, and he still makes you shy and gives you butterflies. But you’re so comfortable with him now, so at ease, so familiar, so safe. You guess that’s what love is, and it’s also how much he’s grown as a man. He still has his rules, he’s still that strict alpha that he always was. But he’s also more laidback, sweeter, kinder… You think it’s Rosie who has softened him up, but everyone else (his mom) tells you that it’s you too.

“Oh yeah? I bet I could make you happier, baby.” Steve smirks, bouncing Rosie up and down in his arms while she plays with the stubble on his face. “When are you gonna let me give you another one?”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your cheeks. You weren’t opposed to the idea of another baby (although Steve’s vision of having at least five children was something you’d take a while to wrap your head around). But right now, you really just wanted to focus on Rosie. Along with Steve, she was your whole entire world.

Rosie’s tiny arms reach out for you, and it secretly thrills you how you seem to be her favourite person. You take her from Steve, rocking her gently in your arms before you let her rest her head on your shoulder. Her eyes droop, long lashes (just like her daddy’s) fanning her chubby cheeks. All that laughing and being thrown in the air had tired her out, and it only takes her a few more minutes to fall asleep.

“I love you, my beautiful baby girl,” you whisper to her softly, brushing her hair off her face, “sweet dreams.”

You and Steve watch her for a while after you’ve put her down in her crib, her tiny stuffed bear clutched in her fist. It’s something the two of you do quite often, as if you’re both in awe of this perfect little thing that you created together. Steve’s arm winds around your waist, and you lean your head against his chest.

“We need to get her a new bear.” Steve points out. Rosie’s favourite stuffed animal is already kind of tattered, its yellow bow-tie hanging off where the stitching has come loose.

“Or her daddy could sew this one back, just like you did with mine.” You glance at Steve Junior, who is comfortably lounging on his usual place in the middle of the bed.

Steve scoffs. Till this day, he denies it. “I did not. I paid someone to do it.”

“Whatever you say.”

He takes you back to bed, and you lie comfortably on his chest, breathing in his scent. Moments like this make all of your insecurities feel insignificant in comparison. Yes, your mother had left you, and sure, your father had too. And every now and again, you feel strong pangs of hurt when you think about it too much. But the pangs were dulling over time, and they could never contest against the strong feelings of love you had within you now. Love for your baby, love for Steve. Love for your perfect little family. And maybe a little love for yourself, too (you were working on it).

 And so, every time that dark voice inside you tries to pull you down under, all you have to do is remember the little things that you have the luxury of enjoying every single day now. Like the feel of Rosie’s chubby fist as it grabs your finger with crazy strong baby strength. Or the way Steve’s eyes light up when he comes home to you both after a long day of work. The feel of his soft hair as you card your fingers through it, how he buries his face in your neck and sighs. The sound of Rosie’s laughter, the way Steve says your name.

You know one day you’ll conquer that dark voice inside your head, silence it forever. In the meantime, you cuddle closer to Steve, brush your hand over his chest. Lean up to kiss his cheek, smile at how his lashes fan his cheekbones. A sense of calm washes over your chest, and you don’t feel afraid of your nightmares anymore.

You settle down, and you go to sleep with a smile on your face.

A/N: The end. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you for letting me tell this story from beginning to end. I really hope you found it satisfactory. There is so much I want to say, but I will write a separate post for that. Thank you for reading. I love you all. Please reblog and PLEASE leave feedback, i am dying to know what you guys think!

link to my ko-fi

[sweet-herbal-peach-tea]

TKATB Theories

Evidently spoilers ahead for chapters 1 and 2!!

This is my analysis and theories based on 3 character's we got intense lore drops for including Sol, Crowe, and Hyugo.

CW: mentions of drugs, and implied abuse,

SPOILERS UTC!

Credit for header goes to the wonderful @arklayraven

HYUGO

So, the recent lore drop for Hyugo was crazyyyy. The whole thing about him and Geo being brothers was implied especially with Geo's introduction on Fantasia's twt where he talks about disliking Hyugo. There definitely has to be a reason beyond sibling bickering to why Geo dislikes Hyugo. Whether it's Hyugo's vigilante tendencies or his connection with a potential crime syndicate.

One of my theories is that possibility Geo and Hyugo's father are a part of the syndicate or some kind of organizer. The reason Geo possibly despises Hyugo so much could be due to the fact he believes Hyugo is so heavily intertwined in the world of crime? I guess we'll find out in the next few chapters??

SPEAKING OF HYUGO'S CONNECTIONS TO CRIME?? THE SECRET ENDING??

Okay so idk if Hyugo is skipping town in both endings but I think regardless of what choices we've made he'll be skipping town bc of the events that took place in the theatre. Whether we were present or not. What I think hints towards this is the particular ending we get when we go to the arcade and when Hyugo asks us to "take care of Sol". Then he smiles and leaves. It may not be as obvious at face value, but I do think we won’t see him for a good while.

ALSO, the deal he made with Sol??

I think it has to do something with definitely gathering information on us, or it could be as someone else said supplying Sol with sleeping pills. However, I think it's implied that Sol does unfortunately missuses them, but they are intended for Sol to be able to get sleep.

More than likely I think the simpler version of their deal would consist of Hyugo keeping quiet of Sol's list of many many crimes, and Sol doing the same for him.

CROWE

I think will generally be the shortest, however I think my theories for him are more based on context clues and reading between the lines rather than baseless conjecture.

As we know literature and double meanings play an extremely important role in this visual novel. We see this in reference to Anabel Lee and the constant references between our past and the poem and how each verse links each chapter.

Where getting to in this is during Crowe's route when he asks for the MC's opinion on Marie Antionette. In the answers we give he seems to take them to heart, and when a negative opinion of her is brought up he seems to take them strangely to heart.

It is clearly evident is some way shape or form Crowe is somehow connected to the man that took our farm away. I think it is most likely that he is Crowe's father. Crowe evidently feels guilty about the place he takes and the role that he is forced into in regard to our debt. He more than likely can’t say anything either out of guilt or second party purposes. Regardless he is obviously trying his best to support the MC from the sidelines in any way he can.

I love Crowe… :( My sweetybear snookums pie…

SOL

ughhhh this man.

I love him but he's clearly insane. Okay let's talk about him bc I have so much to say.

My first theory unfortunately is my least favorite, and it is that potentially MC is not Sol's first soulmate, and he is projecting an image of someone else long gone onto us as the MC.

My reasoning behind this theory is because of his views of rebirth, death, and life. Specifically on two occasions that really made me think of this.

During the conversation you have with him in the library after making the decision to sit on his lap you ask him about his interpretation of the poem Annabel Lee, which the game takes heavy inspiration from. During this conversation Sol speaks of "being separated by death" and it's followed by Sol's responds in a fast dialogue something along the lines of "I won’t. it won’t happen again." Which leads me to believe we may potentially remind him of someone in his life that has passed.

There's also a second dialogue during day 02 which sparked this idea, in which based on the player's pronoun options Hyugo says something along the lines of "you remind me of her/him/them." It's unknown if Hyugo and Sol are childhood friends, but if it is likely then it may confirm that we remind Hyugo and Sol of an entirely separate person.

The only thing that sways me away from this theory other than the fact I detest the idea of it is during Crowe's route on day 02 when Sol mentions something about how…

"It has always been you, Ichabod."

This line could imply a multitude of things really. This could also imply that he generally detests the family due to the fact that they play a role in the MC's suffering. However, for now, I'll diverge into a separate theory that definitely more likely being Sol somehow knows us from childhood.

I like the theory that a fanfiction author pointed out that our farm may have been near the sea, and the reason why Sol detests it so much is due to the fact we the MC were separated from him, and the sea may remind him of that.

There are also these implications of the flowers in his hair in Fantasia's braiding hair post with the "forget me nots" in his hair.

I also believe the key carries around him has something to do with our past as well. Given that in fantasia ask box when someone asked about how Sol and MC first met, he actively fiddles and plays with the key that he wears? Where does it unlock? Where does it go to?? Only the lord knows.

BUT ALSO?? SEPERATE NOTE?? FINAL THEORY AND IMPLICATION?? THE NSFW ENDING ON DAY 02??

Seeing Sol's back in the last CG absolutely broke my heart. It's clear that his back is riddled with bruises and burn scars clearly from recent abuse. (after my second check I also noticed his stomach with bruises??)

Obviously out of respect for fantasia's terms I will not link it nor post it, but it's there in game and I recommend other theorists checking it out.

The reason why I say recent is due to the fact that if they were just scars, we most likely would have seen the marks features in Day 01's NSFW art, seeing as it also has his stomach exposed.

Again, this all conjecture, and they could be in places we couldn’t have seen.

On the subject of scars, I think it's also evident that Sol is more than likely hiding a scar on his neck or some sort of burn scar behind it. He's extremely self-conscious about his looks, and Fantasia has stated that his choker will more than likely stay on at all times when he's with his soulmate.

The side however, and its coverage eludes me considering the only time we've seen Sol's neck is in art Fantasia has given us (but his neck is covered with a scarf or ribbon). The only time we see a little smidgen of his neck is in the Day 01 NSFW ending, but it's barely anything to form a for sure statement on!

I think here is where I'll wrap up my theories for now!! Thank for reading this extremely long yap fest! Fantasia if you are reading this I just wanted to say I love your game and I love Sol!! Hope he knows this very much! Thank you for your hard work and I hope your internship goes well!

Very excited for the future of this wonderful game! I will now go lock in for finals season! This is peach signing off!

[ckret2]

I saw a theory that the journal pages Bill shares in tbob are fake. Thoughts?

Don't buy it, not interested.

When Bill lies, the story finds ways to show us that he lies. The show doesn't let him get away with claiming he liberated his dimension without outing him as a liar by letting us hear the Euclideans' screams; the book doesn't let him get away with claiming the pharaoh was his bestie without outing him as a liar by including a quote from the pharaoh about how annoyed he was by Bill. Whenever Bill lies, it's not subtle, it's not secret, and the story around him makes a point of exposing his lies as blatantly as possible. He's not allowed to get away with it.

The idea that the journal pages are fake comes from readers going "but hold on, didn't we already see the fully repaired Journal 3?" "isn't Ford's hair slightly wrong here?" "doesn't this contradict the timeline in some places?" etc. Details you wouldn't know or notice unless you're armpit deep in Gravity Falls lore. If you have to think real hard to realize Bill might be lying about something... it's probably not intended to be a lie.

If it was meant to be a lie, the book would have showed us somehow. One of the letters from Ford would have blatantly contradicted the information we get in the journal pages; or, Bill would have provided fake pages saying such outrageous things that we'd KNOW Ford couldn't have possibly written them ("my muse is so wonderful and perfect and brilliant and I regret not joining him to conquer the world sooo much, if only my stubborn short-sighted human pride and dumb family loyalty weren't stopping me from making the right decision" etc).

My theory is that the guy who hasn't worked on the show for the better part of a decade, with a proven track record of accidentally making the main characters the product of two generations of teen pregnancies and sending the cast on a road trip the episode after building a magical barrier that will protect them only if they're inside the shack, decided to prioritize an interesting narrative over rigid adherence to timelines and 100% internally-consistent lore.

A theory is something you think might actually could be what's REALLY HAPPENING in canon; a headcanon is what you've privately decided is true solely for the version of the story that exists inside your own head. "The journal pages in TBOB are fake" is a perfectly workable headcanon, nothing wrong with it, you can fit it in and justify it with no trouble—but as a theory it holds no water.

[the-daydreaming-show]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 — “I am, I have been, and I was born hungry.”

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: An abandoned son makes a decision. The cared for son is taken away.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne X ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader; Tim Drake x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Tim Drake.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: kidnapping, mention of PTSD, weapons, threats (silent), drugs and forced drug use, death of Janet Drake, and mention of Jack Drake in the hospital, Jason is mansplaining, manipulating and manslaughter his way through this sequel.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This took a while because I had a precise plan for this sequel, but writing this chapter, something possessed me and changed everything. So, now I'm not sure what's going to happen, it's all in destiny hands now on!!!

Thanks to our beta reader, the wonderful @igotmessymind for her work, as always, I appreciate you very much!!

Now, I would like to make a special mention of @andieperrie18, who made a playlist base on the Batmom Scarlet Witch.

And I need you to admire this masterpiece, because this playlist doesn't just include songs. NOO, It also has dialogue between Batmom and Bruce at the beginning, and it's just gold. Also go to check the other playlist in her channel, they have some good stuff. The small talks and slow dancing with Bruce Wayne is one of my favorites!!!

So, thank you very much to you @andieperrie18 for your love and the dedication it took to make this playlist. I don't have enough words to show my adoration and gratitude for this playlist. So everyone, please go give them love to the playlist while reading this chapter!!

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬 / Prelude / Next Part

Jason knew he was not walking on good ground. He hadn't been since he was revived in the Lazarus Pit. He hadn't been when he had killed criminals to try to control Gotham's crime. Nor when he had to escape from Arkham Asylum after Batman had locked him there, under the excuse that it was best for him.

Lies. 

All were lies.

He knew it now more than ever as he looked at his wall.

Jason was sitting in an old chair facing the wall, where a variety of photos, newspaper clippings, maps, and notes were displayed. 

Seeing that wall told him that he was definitely slipping into a new territory of madness. 

But-he-couldn't-stop. It was like he was on a slide, and he couldn't dig his heels in to stop. A part of him didn't want to stop. 

Just as he hadn't wanted to soften the news of his return to Bruce, that part of Jason wanted revenge with every atom of his true self. And now it was pushing him towards that wall. 

Another part of him, though, didn't want to do this. It was the part that still made him want to put his hands in his mouth to eat his cuticles, like he had done as a child. That part wanted to approach you on the street, and calmly let you explain why you hadn't sought him out. So that he could move on somehow, in a way that would make you proud of how Jason had handled everything.

But you had abandoned him.

After Bruce found out he was alive, Jason had hoped that once he told you all of it, you'd show up at his door. Jason had been ready to listen to your logical arguments and leave the whole killing thing behind. 

¿Who cared about revenge and Gotham if there was a chance to get back with his mom? 

Not to Jason.

You didn't; you never showed up. 

And now the part that wanted revenge was screaming too loud for him to hear anything else.

So there he was, sitting in a chair, arms crossed, as he carefully admired the wall he had created.

There were pictures of you picking up Timothy Drake from school, taking him shopping, hugging him at galas, and chatting with him at fashion events. Events that you had probably only been invited to, but you had convinced the team to let you take someone else, the same way you did with Jason when he was young. You probably took him to eat at your favorite restaurant every Friday after school, like they did with him. You probably also turned off the light in his room every night after saying goodnight, like you did with Jason.

No shame; you had given everything that was Jason's to that boy. 

That's why you weren't looking for him when you found out he was alive. You had replaced him with that kid, the same way Bruce had, and you deserved the same kind of punishment.

You deserved his revenge. And you will receive it.

You were in your office, in your brand's office building, a few blocks from Wayne Tower, where your entire clothing brand has done most of its business since you married Bruce. The official and original store of your brand is still in Metropolis, where it all started, but you moved the main offices to Gotham when you got married. So all of your children spent time between Wayne Tower and your building.

Usually, that was where they ended up after school.

Tim was supposed to go there after school. Typically, you would go pick him up. But that day he was staying a few extra hours at school for his Debate Club, and he would walk with his friends to their houses and meet you before you left the office that afternoon. So you were surprised when, as you were evaluating some new designs, your phone lit up with your youngest son's phone number.

“Mom,” Tim’s voice immediately sounded on the other end of the phone when you answered. He sounded nervous.

“Tim, honey,” you said, looking up at the clock. “Did I forget to pick you up?”, and immediately, your mind goes into paranoia, convinced that Tim had asked you to go look for him, and that's why he was calling you, and you had forgotten.

“No, no. Mom, it's fine,” he assured you quickly. You could hear chatter in the background, like someone was encouraging him to talk. “Mom, do you know today is Friday, right?”

Obviously, you remembered that it was Friday. On Fridays, when Tim came home from school, the two of you would go out to dinner at your favorite restaurant as a traditional mother-son activity.

“Yes, I've noticed,” you said, closing the sketchbook to give the boy your full attention.

“And we always go to eat at Julián's on Fridays after school, without fail,” he continues explaining. You assumed he was going somewhere, so you murmured an affirmation. “Well, you saw Dylan, my chemistry classmate. He and others are going to eat at a pizzeria near the school, and they invited me. After eating, we are all going to go to his house to play video games. If you're okay with that, I would like to go. Or I'll just go eat and go back home early. I-” Tim was already in babbling territory; you could barely contain your laughter when you interrupted him.

“It's okay, Tim. I don’t mind a change of plans, darling,” you assured him, and you could see his shoulders relax even from your building. “I'll take advantage and visit your father's office; I'll ask him to accompany me on an impromptu date.”

“Okay, okay. Yes, that sounds good.” Tim was smiling as big as he could, while around him, his classmates were singing victory for the afternoon they had organized. “I'll let you know where we are and call you when it's time to come home. I love you.”

Before you could tell him that he didn't need to tell you exactly where to be and at what time, Tim hung up the call, too excited about the whole thing. To which you inevitably laughed, happy that Tim had an activity, say a boy his age, and that he was so excited about it. You had met Dylan a couple of times; he was a good kid, so you were sure everything would be fine.

Jason watched Tim walk with his friends all night.

After observing him for weeks, he realized that the chic lived based on a fairly consistent routine. One that repeated itself almost around the clock for some reason, but Jason suspected that it had to do with the post-traumatic stress the boy must have had after the Joker's attack on his biological parents the year before. The boy's mother was six meters underground, and his father was on medical care for life because of all this. Jason almost felt bad for him. Almost.

This also meant that you and Bruce were very aware of the boy's routine, so if Tim were to disappear for even a couple of hours, it would ruin your plan. So he chanced it, waiting for the ideal moment to feed his need for revenge.

So when the sixteen-year-old decided to leave school one afternoon in the company of a group of other kids his age, he was clearly not on his way to your office like he usually did.

Jason took the phone out of his pocket and gave the order to start.

The group of friends went into a hidden, but sufficiently crowded, pizzeria a few blocks from the house of the boy Dylan, to whom Tim seemed closest in the group.

Jason had quickly discovered that Tim was a smart kid. He was too smart for Jay to trick him or accidentally cause him to fall into a trap of some kind.

But he had also discovered that Tim was, like Bruce, an idiot for justice.

He had watched him risk his life more than necessary for civilians while he ran around as Robin, when Jason from afar could have found about five ways to save the civilians without getting in the way. Tim jumped in to save them with his own hands every time there was a lethal risk. It could be that the weight of not having helped his parents was still eating him alive too.

But one way or another, Jason would use that to his advantage.

Jason walked into the pizzeria, followed by five other men he knew Tim would recognize. It was because he had gotten them out of jail, especially because Robin had dragged them and put them there, with the aim of getting them to help him. The proposed men didn't know he was there for that reason; they were just doing their job for the money, unaware of the mental games Jason was playing with the teenager.

And Tim Drake understood what was going to happen the moment he saw Jason. She looked him in the eyes and smiled as she casually glanced at the table of the group of friends, who were still wearing their school uniforms.

“Timothy, little one,” Jason greeted casually, putting his hands in his pockets and watching as Tim's eyes went to the way that movement revealed the reflection of a gun on his hip. “I've been looking for you!!”

Jason knew exactly how Tim would react and looked at the situation. They had both been trained by the same man at the end of the day. They were a reflection of each other, and that is why it was a dangerous game. “Are you hungry, Timothy? Because I am starving.”

Jason wasn't talking about the pizzas, and Tim knew it quickly. But he couldn't do anything, not with Jason so armed and clearly accompanied. Both were surrounded by so many civilians, and Tim's friends. His new friends, who had been patient with him and had accepted him into his group, which he had been joining since they were children. But they still tried to integrate him and invited him to things, again and again, until that day he accepted for the first time in months.

The table had fallen silent at the extra situation, but Tim seemed to know the stranger who had sat down, so they didn't say anything. But Dylan, as kind and caring as he was, saw the way the color had drained from Tim's face. So he spoke.

“Don't worry, Dylan,” Jason told him, which took Dylan by surprise since he had never told the stager his name, and he got genuinely worried now. “He just needs something to drink; he's just dehydrated. Timmy works a lot and doesn’t take care of himself.”

While talking to Dylan, Tim watched as Jason grabbed his glass of soda that he had been drinking while they waited for the pizzas. Without anyone else noticing, Tim watched as Jason dropped a pill into the drink, which was probably intended to knock him out, or at least drug him enough to make it manageable for Jason.

All without anyone else noticing, just so he could see it and know what was going on. He was faced with the reality that he couldn't do anything, and he couldn't fight, not at such a potential price. He was trapped. 

It made Tim feel alarmingly alone, despite being surrounded by people.

“Here, drink something.” Jason handed him the glass, where the gas from the soda easily hid the bubbles that the pill made as it dissolved. “It will do you good.”

The two stood face-to-face for a moment as the older brother offered the glass, and Jason didn't need to make the threat for Tim to understand. 

Or Tim drank the soda and voluntarily sedated himself. Or he would get him out of there in a much more aggressive way. And some bullets could be lost in that situation, so Jason could make sure that his friends were the ones who received them.

Tim could see the decapitated bodies of Black Mask's lieutenants, found shortly after Red Hood appeared in Gotham, before Bruce discovered his identity.

So he grabbed the glass and brought it to his mouth. Tim gave Jason a last pleading look, to which the boy just smiled sweetly. And your youngest son just wanted to scream for you, but you didn't know Jason was alive, and you suspected that's exactly what Jason wanted.

He wouldn't put you in danger.

Bruce would handle everything; Tim trusted that.

Tim downed the glass of soda in four gulps and didn't remember anything else after that.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh @ashlynnmalfoy @kimmis-stuff @undecided-shipper @justafanficsreader @poppyalice2001 @holdyuhmuda @jiabae @mara-moon @avitute @lafrone

[changetyre]

How long? II Lando Norris X Reader ⓈⒾ

SUMMARY: Finding your soulmate doesn't always include a happy ending.

WARNINGS: Angst Angst Angst with a sprinkle of fluff. Sickness, death.

A/N: This is a story I wrote a while ago for Wattpad and which I always loved but reading it back now there's been things I've wanted to adjust which is what I chose to do here ;)

Lando POV II 

"Tell me about her," she asked me passing me back our photo. 

I looked at it, my thumb grazing over her in the picture I kept in my wallet.

_____

Y/N POV II 

Lando and I've been together ever since I can remember. We met when we were only toddlers and became inseparable ever since. We both knew in our hearts how much we meant to each other, we knew that we couldn't live without each other. However, another part of us, and everyone around us, told us there would come a point where we'd meet other people.

And we did meet other people, in fact when I went to college and Lando joined F1 we both decided to try to date others and it was the most miserable time in both our lives. Which only reinforced our feelings, we were irrevocably in love.

We were aware that we were a very cheesy couple, the kind of people who just didn't care when people were around us and loved to show our love for one another no matter the time and/or place. We were the kind of couple to gift each other little things and have dinner dates every week. Land never failed to bring me flowers every weekend since we started dating.

Life felt like a dream when we were around each other, we literally felt like we were in the clouds, floating in our own bubble of love. But it didn't take long before it burst. 

Given the amount of time Lando and I had spent together we had discussed anything you could possibly imagine and despite some thinking this was a horrible and selfish thought, when Lando and I talked about losing one another, we always thought he would go first...simply because of his job.

What Lando didn't know though was that every night and every time Lando went on track I would pray, pray for his safety, pray for his health, pray that if one of us had to go...for it to be me...because I could simply not live a life without him...the single thought made me choke up. 

'Be careful what you wish for.'

One year ago I was diagnosed with Breast cancer. For some reason the news didn't come to me as much of a shock as I thought, it was like something in my mind and body had expected this, had somehow mentally prepared me for it. On the other hand, I could tell how much this devastated Lando, so much he'd set his mind on quitting F1 to care for me which I had to practically force him not to. 

We had caught it early on and I only needed a few weeks of chemotherapy. Luckily the news came at the end of Lando's season, he would be home and he wouldn't get distracted on track.

Chemo was worse than anyone had ever described to me, it felt like I'd been completely stripped away from my own body and I was miserable but I knew I had to get through it, I tried to keep a smile all the way through it, for Lando, but I knew he could see right through me and he had as many sleepless nights as I did through it all.

Finally the last week of Chemo, everything was better. Lando was certainly brighter than before although I could tell he was still worried, I could see it in his eyes. Every time I'd say I was tired, huff, breath abnormally, or complain about any sort of pain I could tell Lando's heart skipped a beat.

It annoyed me at first because he constantly hovered, but I never said anything and eventually, I understood. I knew that if I was in his shoes I'd be exactly the same and now I found myself wondering whether I'd wished for the right position to be in because even though I was in pain physically...Lando was in pain too, even more than I was...and it broke my heart to see him go through it.

Now I wanted the season to start more than ever so Lando could put his focus and worry somewhere else other than me, and even though I worried that he might have an accident because of all this distraction I knew how much he adored driving and it was what he needed. 

The start of the season went well, not as good as we expected but it was good enough and the boys still had the rest of the season left.

I was with Lando in Monaco for the race, I was so excited about having him race here in Monaco since we'd recently bought our apartment here and we hadn't been able to enjoy it because of my treatments. 

It seemed like things were finally getting back to normal, Lando and I were floating back up in the clouds again and we were finally finding our rhythm again...it was almost too good to be true. 

I was home making dinner for Lando and me, he'd texted he was almost home and I'd decided to make some food for us. The whole day I'd noticed I was particularly exhausted and I kept running out of breath doing simple things. I had just set the table when all of a sudden it felt like my lungs had disappeared.

I dropped to the ground in pain gasping with all my power for some air. I thought I was going to die right there and then all until I heard the door open.

"Y/N!" I heard Lando's panicked scream. "LOVE!"

He pulled me up and turned me towards him, I clutched my chest. "I can't breathe." I wheezed.

"SOMEONE HELP ME!" He screamed out.

And eventually, for me, everything went black.

__

I woke up on an all too familiar surface. I was in a hospital bed, all sorts of tubes and needles attached to me. I looked for Lando and saw he was outside talking to the doctor, I could see him through the window.

Lando was facing my way while the doctor's back was towards me. I could tell it was a serious conversation and as much as I tried to deny it I knew what was happening. The cancer was back...and this time it wasn't going away.

I saw the anger and pain in Lando's eyes as the doctor spoke to him, he argued. I imagined he kept asking for a solution that simply didn't exist. Lando held his tears in all until he locked eyes with me. I gave him a look letting him know it was okay, I knew and that was enough for him to break down.

The doctor simply patted his shoulder before walking away. Lando walked to the room wiping his tears away as best as he could. Once he came in I could tell he didn't know what to say.

"It's back-" he spoke in barely above a whisper. 

"I know baby." I opened my arms for him and he broke down in tears again. I cried with him, not because of my pain but because of his.

"How long?" I asked him after a few minutes.

Lando kept his head buried in my chest but I could feel him shaking his head.

"Baby how long?" I repeated the question.

His head finally rose up, his eyes were swollen and the tears just kept coming. "They're not sure, he says it could be 6 months or a week." Lando's voice broke at the last words before he buried his face in my chest once more except this time he wrapped his arms around me holding me tightly as if I could slip away at any second.

"I love you..." he wept "I'm so sorry." these last words shattered me.

"I'm sorry too...I love you." I whispered to him as I kissed the top of his head.

"Baby I'm scared-" he whispered into my chest. 

I didn't exactly know how to comfort him, I let Lando cry it out as much as he needed to while I tried to remain strong, I found myself pondering over how I felt, I wasn't scared but I was in pain, and I was so miserable for leaving Lando like this, we definitely didn't have enough time together.

___

The next morning once Lando had come back into my room with a cup of coffee I decided it was time to talk about the next step. I knew deep down Lando still wanted to push for a cure that simply didn't exist but I also knew I didn't want to spend another second stuck in these hideous grey walls.

"Baby I want to get out here," I spoke. I was prepared for a discussion.

Lando simply looked down and gave a shaky sigh. "I know...and I'll get you out." his lip quivered and I could see tears brimming up in his eyes again.

"You're not going to ask me to stay?" I needed confirmation.

Lando got up and walked over to me, he scooted me over and sat down on the bed. "The day I met you-" he took a deep breath trying to keep himself together. "I made a promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to make you happy no matter what-" a tear slipped down his cheek. "I hope you know that if it was possible I'd take your place right now because seeing you like this..." another tear fell down his cheek. "it's been hell." I placed my hand on his cheek caressing it, I was crying too. "But I know you better than anyone and I know that you're not the kind of person to go out in a hospital room and I know you want to do as much as you can before you-" he stopped himself and his breath hitched. He couldn't say it.

"You're right." I quickly said not wanting him to finish because I could tell how hard it was for him. "I want to spend every second I have left with you, with the people I love, out of here." His lip quivered again as more tears left his eyes.

"Let's go then." Lando got back up starting to pack my things.

The news spread through the F1 world fairly quickly and I was flooded with pitiful messages all over my social media. Lando's friends from work who I'd grown close to didn't know what to say when I showed up in the paddock with them for the Monaco GP. Most of them simply gave me glances that spoke a thousand words.

Carlos, Alex, George, and Charles had all been incapable of holding their tears back as they saw me, giving me a hug that only existed for these situations.

After the Monaco GP, Lando and I found ourselves going to our favorite spots within Monaco, I was tired, so tired and I could feel death inching closer every day but I held on, I held on because...I knew he wasn't ready...I wasn't ready.

One morning I woke up to find Lando had planned a whole day for us and it all started at home. I'd walked to the living room to find Lando had prepared a very scrumptious breakfast. And he'd decorated our balcony with roses and candles.

We walked to it and there Lando got down on one knee, pulling out a small black box, which he opened to reveal a ring. My hands flew up to my mouth, I had always dreamed of this day but certainly not like this.

"My dearest y/n, I've imagined this very day over a thousand times in my head and I've come up with hundreds of speeches for this very occasion but it seems none of them would work for what we're going through now." His voice broke. "You have been the first and only woman in my life I have ever loved, you have been my best friend since day one, you've been my rock, my world, my everything and I simply do not want to spend another day not being able to call you my wife...so y/n, my love will you marry me?" I could tell he sped up the last bit to hold his tears back.

"Yes." I let him slip the ring on my finger before he rose up and we engulfed each other in a deep kiss.

"Propose...check" he pretended to hold a list and checked off the first point making me laugh.

"So what's next my fiancé," I asked him.

"Well, why don't we get going and I'll show you...my fiancé." he gave me another kiss.

Lando took me shopping for a bit before he drove us both back home. I'd noticed something else had been set up and once I walked into our room I found a wedding dress hanging in our closet. I gasped admiring the dress, it was simple but beautiful.

"Pietra helped me pick it out for you, we tried getting a more over-the-top one but apparently you can't just buy dresses like that overnight." he shrugged.

"It's beautiful." you admired the dress.

"Well you better get dressed, and I'll do the same. I'm going to get dressed somewhere else and when the time comes your driver will be here." he winked.

"Wait what?" I was confused.

"Just be ready in 2 hours...I love you." he gave me a quick peck on the lips before walking out. I got dressed and ready as best as I could with the time I had left, I did a simple hairstyle, partly because I was never good at doing my hair and partly because I barely had the strength to keep my arms up for longer than 3 seconds. 

20 minutes before the 2 hours were up I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and Pietra, Alexandra, Lily, and Carmen were all standing there in matching dresses. You looked at them confused but on the brink of tears because of how beautiful they looked.  "Did I die already?" I joked, and they laughed but I could tell the thought pained them. 

"You look beautiful." P had to pat her eyes as she looked at me. I had naturally grown closest to her because of the brotherhood between Max and Lando. 

"Thank you for doing this?" I had to hold my tears back too. 

"Let's go." Alex and Lily extended their hands out for me and I took them walking out with them. We walked downstairs and Carlos was waiting in an Aston Martin DB6 Volante, that had been decorated with white flowers. 

We arrive at the beach to find it prepared for a ceremony, all of Lando's friends from the paddock and his friends from Quadrant were there, as well as both our parents. I just about started crying there and then. 

I got out of the car and Carlos stood there offering me his arm guiding me to one end of the carpet that had been rolled out. I saw Lando at the other end and tears quickly brimmed my eyes. As soon as he laid eyes on me it didn't take him half a second before he started crying too, Max Fewtrell quickly stepped in to hand him a handkerchief even though he was shedding a few tears too.

Without You by Harry Nilson started playing, and it was enough for me to let my tears run free. Carmen handed me a bouquet of roses and I began walking down the aisle, and for some reason, all my strength seemed to leave me right there and then. 

I stumbled causing everyone to try to jump forward to grab me, My mom caught me, I could see the concern and the pain in her eyes but she also understood I needed to keep going. She wrapped her arm around my waist and helped me down the aisle. 

And now it's only fair that I should let you know what you should know...I can't live, if living is without you...I can't live, I can't give anymore. 

The song reached this part just as I reached him, he wrapped his arms around me, letting his forehead rest on mine. 

"You look beautiful." he sniffled. 

I placed my hand on his cheek before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Let's get married," I whispered to him. 

The ceremony was short, Lando had wanted to arrive at the vows quickly and once we did he pulled out a sheet of paper, a tear was already rolling down his cheek. 

"My best friend, my rock, my first love, my only love, my life, my world, my everything, these words don't come remotely close to describing what you are to me. I hope you know I consider myself the luckiest man on earth to have met you, to have loved you, to have cared for you, and to have married you-" he chocked up. "But although I thought it was impossible...as much as I feel the luckiest man...I feel the unluckiest too." he looked up to meet my eyes completely distraught. "It's unfair the world is taking you away from me when our love story has only just begun, all the dreams, all the plans, all the promises I have yet to fulfill to you will stay here while you will go." he gulped down, he had a knot in his throat. "I will cherish, love, and protect you for the rest of the time we have left together, I will continue bringing you flowers every weekend, I'll wake you up with kisses in the morning, I'll make you smile and laugh every day, and most importantly I will, with all my power, do my best to keep you happy." he finished. 

I leaned forward giving him a long kiss on the cheek, now it was my turn and since this was all unexpected I hadn't prepared anything but already had enough to say. 

"My Lando...you have made me the happiest woman on earth since the day I met you. You are the most loyal, hardworking, loving, fun man I have ever known and I consider myself the luckiest woman on earth to have fallen in love with you. And the luckiest woman for you will be the first, last, and only man I will ever love." Lando's lips quivered as I said those words, a sob escaping his lips. "I will forever be sorry that we didn't get more time together, that I couldn't give you what we had so long hoped for, a life, kids, to grow old together." I cleared my throat having to compose myself. "I wish there was more I could do to keep you happy in the time I have left my darling, I can't promise you much, but I promise that I will love you with every fiber of my body and soul until my last breath." I ended. 

We were pronounced husband and wife and Lando pulled me in for a long deep kiss, mixed with both our tears. 

It was the most perfect day of my life, surrounded by so much love from our families and friends, surrounded by so much happiness. Once the moon was out and the tide started rising things started getting packed up but Lando and I decided to take a walk along the beach. 

We walked in silence, simply appreciating and cherishing each other's company. Once we were nearing the end of the beach I had to speak about what was on my mind. 

"Lando." I started. 

"No." he immediately replied. 

"Baby-" I was going to keep going. 

"I know what you're going to say and you can't ask me that-" he spoke softly but I could hear the anger and hurt in his voice. 

"Lando listen to me please-" I stopped making Lando turn to me. He looked down and he was crying silent tears. "After I'm gone I need you to promise me you will keep going no matter how hard or painful it is...I want you to give your career 1000% percent like you always have...and someday whenever you're ready I want you to find someone who will make you happy, who will take care of you, who you will fall in love with and start a family with-" I spoke clearly, this was a thought I'd head since the first time I'd found out I was sick. 

"No, I can't." He replied sniffling. 

"Yes you can and you will," I assured him. 

"How will I ever love someone as I love you..." he locked eyes with me. 

"I'm not asking you to love someone as you love me. But you will learn to love again, I just want you to promise you will not shut yourself out, you need to keep going...for me." I walked up to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, with one hand I wiped the tears from under his eyes. 

He looked at me unsure and simply nodded, I knew he didn't mean it right now but it was as much reassurance as I would get from him for now. 

"I'll never find anyone like you." He spoke once we'd started walking back. 

"Maybe not, but you will find someone, there's plenty of women out there Lando, amazing, beautiful, incredibly talented women and I'm sure there's someone else for you." the mood had livened up a little bit. 

____

LANDO POV II 

The next morning I woke up...she didn't. She'd passed in her sleep, in my arms. A smile was still on her lips. I knew she was gone but I still tried to wake her, I still needed her to wake up.

I was inconsolable for months after her death, and my friends and my family had to help me back to my feet. Literally, because it was as though all my strength, all my will to live had died with her that day.

"She made me promise her that I would find someone else, that I'd fall in love again." I stifled a laugh remembering our walk at the beach. 

"She sounds like an amazing woman." She commented. She had a very genuine smile. 

"She was...I never met anyone like her." I sighed, that ache in my heart was still very present but bearable now.

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Bonus A/N: 

If it serves as any consolation I cried my eyes out writing this story. .