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godmadeaterribleerror · 18 days ago

Text

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him.

Almost as much as he might love you.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I love thinking a fic will be 5k and then. it's not.

Word Count: 8.3k

“Why’d you lock him in the car?”

“Uh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck, letting out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t. He sorta locked himself in there.”

Your nose wrinkles, and you lean a little further down, trying to get a better look at Dean.

He’s sprawled out on the back bench, knocked out and drooling onto the seat.

He looks adorable.

His hair is mussed, his eyes keep fluttering slightly, and if you climbed over him he’d probably be just as strong and warm as when he yanks you into his chest, making sure you don’t stumble or trip during a hunt.

You can’t crawl over him while he’s asleep. You’re not sure if he’d want you to, or if you’d just get shoved off his body with a grunt and glower. Ruining everything, and bombing the careful fantasy you’ve built where maybe Dean flirts with you a little more than other girls, and maybe he gets so pissed at you because he cares, and there’s a small, thin chance that he likes catching you just as much as you like falling into him.

And you’re never going to tell him you do it on purpose. That it’s dumb, and reckless, and pathetic, but sometimes you’ll be a little less cautious, just so Dean will grab you. So his arms will wrap around your stomach, he’ll glare at you with enough venom to make your skin hot, and you can smile up at him like nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be, as long as Dean was holding you.

But something is certainly wrong right now.

“And he let you drive?”

Sam shrugs awkwardly. “He’s sick.

You give him a flat look. “I’ve seen Dean drive when he was actively bleeding out.”

“From his stomach.”

“So?”

“It’s- He could still drive.” Sam’s voice is lame, as if he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. “This was a fever. He’s not lucid.”

“Sam.” There’s panic rising in your chest, hot and tight and suffocating, but you force your voice to remain flat. “If he’s not lucid, we need to take him to a hospital-“

“No! I-“ Sam’s eyes widen, darting between you and Dean at a frantic pace. “It’s- He’s fine! It’s a magic fever.”

“A magic fever-“

“Witches. He hates them.”

“I know that-“

“He just needs to sleep it off,” Sam’s voice is suddenly firm and determined, and something is very wrong. “It’ll be easier if we don’t bother him.”

“But-“

“Can you got get some ice from town?”

You frown. “We have ice.”

“Right.” Sam glances back to Dean. “What don’t we have?”

“I don’t know, I don’t do audits while you guys are gone-“

“Do we have soda?”

“I don’t know-“

“Pie?”

You let out a long, slow breath, and Sam is very close to being punched in the face. “We have pie. We always have pie. Sam, what’s going on-“

“I just- I need to get Dean out of the car. And I-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m not supposed to let you help.”

Your mouth falls open, something tearing up your chest that’s made of Dean doesn’t want your help, he knows how useless you really are and he can’t even imagine you carrying him to bed.

Sam must see the shatter of your heart, just a layer under your face, because he shakes his head, and his words are quick.

“No it’s- it’s not like that-“

“I’m fine.” You mumble, drawing yourself to stand tall, keeping your gaze firmly fixed away from Dean. “You don’t have to-“

“He might be contagious.”

You give him a dry look. “You’re still going to touch him, though.”

“I was in the car with him.” Sam mutters, not fully meeting your gaze. “I’m already exposed. And there are some, uh- Weird side effects. To the curse.”

“Weird? Weird like-“ You cut yourself off at Sam’s apologetic expression, letting out another heavy sigh. “You can’t tell me.”

“He just- You know Dean. It’s a weird curse, and doesn’t want you to have to deal with it-“

“I wouldn’t mind.” You mumble, frowning down at your hands, and you can feel Sam’s look of pity.

“I told him that, he… Didn’t seem to care.”

You glance up, and your voice has to remain neutral. You’re almost certain Sam knows—he must, he’s seen you trail after Dean like a shadow on every case, laugh at all his stupid jokes, run to him whenever he so much as stubs his toe, and glare at him every time he gets hit on and basks in it because you love him too much to hate him for it, and that makes your skin blister—but that doesn’t mean you have to admit it.

It doesn’t matter if you admit it.

Even if Dean flirts with you, it’s still just flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he’s never really shown that he’d want anything more with you. Maybe just skin on skin in the dark, but not his lips on your brow in the morning, and you head resting on his chest in the dead of night.

Not what you’d need. What you’ve needed, from the moment he appeared over you on the street, both of you drenched in the blood of a decapitated vamp, Dean offering you a hand that once you took, you never wanted to release.

But Sam knows that too. He was there when Dean asked you to stick with them, and you had an expression like the Sun had dropped at your feet and asked you to orbit around it forever. Sam’s noticed that you never even try to sleep around, and that whenever someone hits on you at a bar you never take it past smiles and words.

You think Sam believes you have more dignity than you actually do, though. That if Dean offered you just one night, you wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat. That you’d keep coming back like an addict, until Dean decided he was done giving you what you crave. Sam thinks you wouldn’t break yourself for Dean.

It’s sweet, that he thinks that highly of you.

That doesn’t make him right.

“Can you-“ You pause, trying to find the right thing to say, that will just give you a chance to help. “If there’s anything-“

“I’m gonna talk to him. He’s being- You know.”

Sam glances back to Dean, and you do know. Dean’s never been good at asking for help.

He’s still fully knocked out and snoring so loud you can hear it through the windows.

Still adorable.

And when he’s finally up, and feeling better, you’re going to shove his stupid, broad chest and yell at him that no magical side-effect could ever make you not want to help.

For now, you’re going to take one of the spare cars and drive in circles, until the ache in your chest hurts just a little less. And when Dean calls for you, you’ll be there.

You’ll always be there.

But he doesn’t call for you.

The day passes and turns into night, and the night turns into another day, and then suddenly it’s all blurring together and it’s been a week. And you haven’t spoken to Dean once.

You only know he’s in the bunker because you can see the light from under his door, and food is vanishing that Sam would never touch. When you wake up there’s enough coffee left over for you to have a cup, just like every morning, but usually Dean is leaning against the counter and waiting for you to join him. Now it’s just the mug out and the pot half-full. Same as how books keep going missing from the library before reappearing the next day, but Dean never once even wanders into the room. The Impala is gone for hours, and then you’ll check the garage again and it’s back. Dinner gets made, but you never see it. Dean doesn’t appear over your shoulder in the library and call you to dinner, you just wander into the kitchen and find it made.

“He’s avoiding me.”

Sam shakes his head, not looking up from his laptop. “No, he’s not.”

“I haven’t seen him once-“

“He’s still sick.”

“Sam-“

Sam says your name back, and when he looks up, there’s a heavy exhaustion in his gaze. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine, the fever broke, but Dean- I can’t tell you.”

“Why.” Your voice is desperate, but the ache in your chest has only grown. You miss him. Even ignoring the in love with him thing, Dean’s your best friend. You miss talking to him while he cooks, and bothering him with the books you’ve read, and trying to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth.

But he’s avoiding you. Even if Sam won’t say it, you know he is. You’ve tried to catch him. You get up an hour earlier, but he’s already gone. You try and stay up for a whole day just to see him—to make sure he’s okay, and that he didn’t die and Sam just hasn’t figured out how to tell you—but you pass out around 4am and wake up with a blanket over your body, and another three books gone. The next time the Impala is gone you sit in the garage all day, leave once to go to the bathroom, and come back to it returned and Dean nowhere in sight.

You don’t understand why.

“I-“ Sam exhales, shaking his head again. “I wish I could tell you. But that- You know I trust you. Dean trusts you. But explaining it- I’d be violating Dean’s trust. I’m sorry.”

He looks it. Sam’s expression is tired, and you can hear the strain in his voice, but it doesn’t make anything hurt less.

Dean’s avoiding you.

And you just want to see him. To know what’s wrong, so you can tell him you don’t care about the curse.

That evening, you try to camp the kitchen. Dinner never comes out that night, and around eight, Sam wanders in and asks if you can just order.

“No.” You mutter, sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Sam sighs.

“I’m hungry,” he says your name with a pleading tone. “I know you’re hungry too. And I’m going to order for myself, so just text me if you want anything and I’ll pick it up while I’m out-“

“I don’t want anything.”

Sam gives you a sympathetic look, and you want to curl into yourself and hide. It can’t be that obvious. Even if Sam knows, there’s no way he knows-

“If you’re waiting for him, he’s not going to come out.”

You scowl, shooting Sam a glare. “So he is avoiding me.”

Sam sighs your name. “I- Yeah. He is.”

“Why-“

“I can’t-“

“Tell me.” You finish for him, rubbing at your face as you continue, until it’s raw enough to hurt a little. “Yeah, I got it. Is he-“ You have to swallow on a lump in your throat. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Sam mutters. “I- I think I’ve almost got it.”

“Can I help?”

Sam shakes his head, and you swallow, leaning down until your back is flat on the table.

“Okay.”

“Do you, uh- Want anything?”

You want to help. To understand.

Dean.

You want Dean.

“No.”

There’s a silence for a second, and you’re convinced Sam is gone, right up until he mutters your name. His voice is impossibly soft.

It just makes this hurt more.

“He’s in his room. And he knows you’re in here. He’s not going to come out.” Sam sighs. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

You frown at the ceiling, trying to work out what that means, but by the time you sit up Sam is gone.

Dean’s in his room. And he’s not going to come out. And it does not take a few hours to pick up dinner, but Sam will be gone anyway, and-

Oh.

Okay.

You slide off the counter, keeping your steps soft as you walk down the hall, and stop in front of Dean’s room.

“Dean?” You knock, and he’s not a subtle as he thinks he is.

The noise from the TV turns off.

“Dean,” You knock again, still to no answer. “I know you’re in there.”

Nothing.

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it in-“

“Don’t.”

His voice is barely a grunt. But it’s the first time you heard it in a fucking week, and a sob rises to your throat.

He’s alive. He can talk, and he’s been avoiding you, but he’s okay.

“Fuck, Dean, are you-“

“Don’t come in here.” His voice is rising slightly, and something starts to prickle over your skin.

It’s the same feeling you get on a hunt, when something is just a little off.

A warning.

“Dean-“

“Please.” There’s a desperation in his voice, and it just makes the prickle grow into a stinging itch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t-“ You swallow. “Don’t what?”

You can hear his deep breath through the door. “Come inside.”

“De-“

“Just- If you need something, go ask Sammy-“

“I don’t need anything, Dean.” I just need you. “I want to talk.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “We’re talking right now.”

“This doesn’t count, I want to see you-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m not dying,” Dean snaps your name. “You don’t need to help.”

There’s a harsh tone to his voice that you’ve rarely heard in your direction. The tone he uses on hunts and when he and Sam are fighting. His pissed tone.

He’s serious.

But it’s only making the itch feel like a burn. You need to see him. Just for one second, so you know he’s not lying, and he has to look you in the eyes and admit that he’s been avoiding you. He doesn’t get to be pissed when he’s been dodging you. That’s not how this fucking works.

You want to help, still.

But Dean does not get to be angry about that.

“I’m going to open the door.”

Dean hisses your name. “I’m tellin’ you, don’t-“

“I won’t if you give me a reason-“

“I don’t want you to see me.”

You freeze, your hand hovering up to push open the door, and your heart might have frozen and dropped into your stomach.

He didn’t want you. Doesn’t want you. Not just your help, but to see you at all. He doesn’t want you, and your heart is fracturing in strange places you didn’t know it could break—but you should have, only Dean has ever been able to touch them—and Dean doesn’t want you-

“Fuck, are you- Son of a bitch-“

There’s a shuffling and banging sound from the other side of the door, and the world is blurry. It might have something to do with the soreness in your throat and the choked sound you couldn’t stop from escaping.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart-“

“I’m not.” You take a step back from the door, your hand falling back to your side. “I- Sam’s out, if you need something, call him.”

“I know, it’s-“ He sounds closer than before. “It’s complicated, but I’m not pissed at you-“

“So why are you avoiding me.”

The silence is tight. Long. You can hear Dean’s heavy breathing through the door, and your fingers are straining to touch him, to make it better, but he doesn’t want you.

“I’m not crying, Dean.” Your voice has to be neutral. He already has your heart resting somewhere stronger than just the palm of his hand, he doesn’t get to have every other piece of you too. Not when he’d only toss it right back. “I know you got cursed, and I know you don’t want my help, but you don’t need to be- I would help. I’d always help. You’re my friend-“

There’s a dry, slightly muffled chuckle through the door. “Friend, huh.”

“Yeah, I am.” You raise your chin—he can’t see it, but it makes you feel better—and narrow your eyes at the door. “And I know you’re avoiding me, so don't try to deny it-“

“Can’t.”

You blink. “What?”

“Can’t deny it.” He grunts. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I- Oh.” The world is getting blurry again. He doesn’t get to have the rest of you. “Why?”

Dean groans, and you flinch as a heavy thud sounds from his room. “Fuck.”

“Dean-“

“Don’t ask me that.” He grunts, his voice right on the other side of the door. “Please.”

“I- Why?”

“Goddamnit, just stop asking me questions-“

“Dean, I need to know-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do-“

“Trust me,” he mutters your name. “You don’t.”

You scowl at the door.

He doesn’t get to do this. No matter what type of righteous shit he’s got in his head, no matter what this curse is, Dean doesn’t get to just say he’s avoiding you, then not say why. Doesn’t get to tell you what to do when he won’t look at you.

Doesn’t get to have all of you if he doesn’t really want it.

“Dean Winchester.” You move your hand back to the door, and you could swear you hear him stiffen. “You do not get to tell me what I need.”

He chuckles again, and you can hear it this time. The pain in the sound. “Then you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one-“

“I can’t trust you.” You cut him off with a snap. “Not when you won’t answer my questions. You can even lie, you just have to be convincing-“

“I- Fuck- I can’t!”

Dean’s voice has risen to a shout, and you pause. He sounds wounded. Like a distressed animal.

“I can’t goddamn lie.” He grunts, his voice lowered to something heavy. “The witch truth-roofied me, and I can’t say a lie.”

You frown. “Then why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”

“I- Shit,” he groans again. “There are some questions I don’t want you asking me. Safer for all of us.”

“Safer for you to ignore me-“

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“We haven’t spoken since you got back-“

“Cause I’ve been avoiding you-

“Which is better?”

He pauses, his voice falling to a mumble. “No.”

You let out a soft, insane sounding laugh. You’re going to strangle him, or hug him, or shove him off a cliff before diving after him. He’s not stupid, but he can be such a fucking idiot.

“What were you planning on doing, when the curse was broken?” You lean against the door, keeping your voice dry. “Just popping up and acting like nothing ever happened?”

“Uh-“ Dean coughs. “Yeah? Are you pissed at me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-“

“But.” You hum, watching the door as if you might be able to see Dean through it. “I’ll be less pissed if you tell me why.”

You can feel his glare. “I told you why, truth curse-“

“That’s a stupid reason. I know everything about you.”

There’s the chuckle again. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do-“

“I told you to trust me-“

“And I told you I can’t.” You take a slow, stuttering breath. “Please, Dean, we’ll be fine if you just tell me the truth-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“You don’t want to know the truth-“

“I don’t even know that you’re actually cursed with that!” Your voice is rising, but he’s such an idiot, and you love him, and most of what you can feel is hot. Worry or anger or stress or just want. You want to see him, to help him, to punch him in the face and trust him. But you can’t. “For all I know, you’re lying to me right now-“

Your words are cut off with a yelp as the door swings open, and you stumble a step forward, right into-

Dean.

He’s catching you. Keeping your upright by pressing you right to his chest, his hands framing your face and his eyes boring right into yours.

And he looks tired—bags under his eyes and his hair a little messy from lack of care—but he’s still Dean. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, strong and hot around you, a growl in his voice that you can feel vibrate through his chest as he speaks.

“Ask me something.”

You blink at him. “You said-“

“Not that. Anything else.”

“I-“ You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “Can you tell me something embarrassing?”

His jaw twitches, but you get a firm nod. “I used to hide hentai mags in Sam’s bag, so chicks wouldn’t see them and think they were mine. One time I ate a pie off a girl’s stomach, and I enjoyed the pie more than the sex. I tried one of Sam’s running smoothies and it wasn’t dogshit, but then I spent twenty hours of the toilet after. Body wasn’t ready for it, I guess. Uh- One time I got turned on by holding a book-“

“A book?” You frown at him. “What book?”

“Uh, Wicked.”

“Oh. I love that book.”

“I know.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Do I look like I’m lying?”

“No,” you whisper, your hands shoot up to hold Dean’s against your face. “I- No.”

“Good. You trust me?”

“I- Dean, I still need you to tell me why.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring slightly.

You might be about to melt. You’ve never been this close to him, he’s never looked at you like this—as if he wouldn’t mind only looking at you for the rest of your life, or maybe he’d just like to eat you alive—and there’s a firmness to his voice that’s lighting a fire in your core.

“I told you not to ask me that.” He mutters, and you shake your head.

“I need to know, Dean, please.” You pull your lips between your teeth. “You didn’t even talk to me, and you told Sam not to tell me, and it really- It wasn’t-“ You swallow, your voice turning to almost a whine, and you can’t stop it. “That wasn’t fair, I thought you were mad at me and I just- I wanted to help-“

“I know you did, baby.” Dean sighs, and your lips part slightly.

Baby.

“I’d never be mad at you,” he runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and it’s becoming really hard to not give him all of you. “I- You’re just- I-“

He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Diving down and pulling you up at the same time, crashing his mouth against yours with almost a bloody desperation, and you did melt. You’re all heat as your fingers curl against his chest, and his lips mold perfectly against yours, and he’s kissing you like you’re going to disintegrate and he’s going to die and he’s kissing you-

It’s over as soon as it starts. Your head is spinning, and your lips are already swollen from the bruising force of his kiss, but Dean’s drawing back with an almost frantic expression, stumbling back and leaving your swaying into the middle of the room.

“I- Son of a bitch- I’m sorry-“

You blink at him, still a little dazed. “You’re sorry?”

Dean nods, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Shit- I shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, I-“

“Why?” Your voice is soft, and he frowns at you.

“You- I didn’t-“

“Dean.” You force yourself to stand tall, wrapping your arms around your stomach. He can’t do this. Just kiss you like that then say it shouldn’t have happened. He fucking kissed you. “Please just tell me why. I- You can’t just ignore me then do that and not say- You have to tell me why-“ You won’t cry. “Please-“

“I love you.”

Time might not be moving. Dean’s just staring at you from across the room, and you can’t really feel your legs, and-

“What?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I- I fucking love you.” He mutters, his gaze falling down to the floor. “And I know you deserve better, I do- But I always wanna tell you, and I would’ve, so I had to- I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off, and I- Goddamnit, I never wanna make you cry, but you shouldn’t have to worry about turning me down-“

It’s your turn to move. You cross the room before Dean can keep saying stupid things, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him back down into a kiss.

It’s even better than the first one. Dean falls into you in half a second, his arms flying out to hold you right to his chest, almost lifting you off the ground as he pushes his tongue between your lips, then groaning down your throat when you nip at it and wrap an arm around his neck. He tastes so good, and he fits better against you than you thought possible, and his hands are roaming all over you like he’s trying to check you’re real.

You’ve never felt more real. There’s a wildfire spreading through your body, building as broad fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and Dean’s mouth is starting to wander, sucking your upper lip between his teeth before starting to kiss down your neck, and his hand squeezes against your ass-

You move back, shoving his chest with all the strength you have, and he stumbles away, blinking at you with a wide, lust-blown expression.

“Never,” you poke his chest, glaring up at his dumbstruck, handsome face. “Do that again. I have loved you since I met you, Dean, you fucking idiot, and if you ever pull something like that again, I will shoot you with the gun you gave me.”

Dean blinks at you, and his face splits into a wide grin. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you-“

“Awesome.” He takes a step forward, and you stop him with a palm on his chest.

“Not awesome, Dean, I’m still mad at you-“

Your words turn into an unconvincing sigh as Dean grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, pulling you back into a longer, deeper kiss.

It’s slow and soft, like you have all the time in the universe, and you feel as if you’re floating. Like everything is only light and warmth and the taste of Dean, lingering on your tongue when he hums against your lips, and pulls back with another wide, boyish grin.

“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He tangles a hand in your hair, tipping your head back until your gaze is locked onto his. “You can kick my ass later, but right now I’d really like to give you a reason to stop being pissed at me. You want that?”

You pause, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I still get to be mad later?”

Dean nods, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Dean-“

“Lemme show you how much I mean it,” he hums against your skin. “Can’t lie right now, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest things I’ve ever goddamn seen. Fuckin’ hated avoiding you, missed you so much-“

“I- Missed you too-“

“I know you did, c’mon, lemme take care of you-“

“Okay.”

He pulls back, watching you carefully. “You sure?”

You nod eagerly, and his face splits back into a grin.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” your voice is breathy, and Dean’s grin widens.

But he doesn’t get to get off that easy.

“What do you want to do to me, Winchester?” You give him a teasing smirk, and his hands tense on your waist. “If you’ve been thinking about it that much…”

You raise your brows in a silent suggestion, and Dean groans.

“That’s not playing fair,” he leans back down, and you dodge, moving to kiss along his jawline.

“Tell me what you want-“

“You’re starting something, sweetheart,” his words sound pushed through his teeth, and you giggle.

“And you’re dodging the question- Dean-“

You squeak as his hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks you back to meet his gaze.

He looks almost feral. Darkened eyes and full, swollen lips that are already parted with heavy breath. You’re pressed right against him, and his hand still on your waist is kneading your skin until you’re almost melted in the sheer heat and want, and-

He’s pressed right against your thigh. Hard. Big.

The ache between your legs is unbearable. You might come apart from nothing at all.

Or just from the sound of Dean’s voice, deep and rough and filled with hunger.

“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, baby,” he mutters, and when your hands shoot up to wrap around his neck and tug at his hair, a soft moan escapes his lips. “Son of a bitch, I want you all the fuckin’ time-“

“How?” You whisper, and his eyes flash.

“You really wanna know, sweet girl?” Dean starts to walk you backwards, towards his bed, and lets out a hiss when you yank on his hair again.

“I’m asking-“

“I’ve thought about everything,” his voice is almost a growl, and you squeak as he tosses you back onto the mattress. “Thought about eating you out until you screamed, or just touching you to see what kinda sounds you’d make,” Dean pulls his shirt of as you gape up at him, before crawls over you with a wide grin. “Had dreams about those freakin’ sounds, how you’d moan for me if I did this-“

One big hand slides under your shirt, palming at your breasts before rolling a nipple between two fingers, and you fall fully back with a gasp.

“Dean-“ You grab at his shoulders, squirming below him, and his grin grows, his hand wandering over to the other breast to repeat the movement. “Oh, god.”

“Nope.” Dean leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his hand starting to wander down your stomach, until he’s cupping you over your shorts. “Just me, sweetheart.”

You moan, shaking your head. “That’s so bad, De- Fuck-“

He smirks as his fingers slide under your shorts, and it falters for only a second as they find your bare pussy.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He grunts, and you flush, turning your face into the pillow.

“Laundry day,” you mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Sure, baby-“

“It is,” you twist to glare at him, and his grin just grows.

“I believe you,” he leans down, brushing his mouth right over yours, and you squeak as one finger trails between your pussy lips. “But I also believe you’re always this wet for me. And sometimes,” his thumb presses right over your clit. “You’d go bare and hope I’d just pin you down and fuck you.”

You moan shamelessly, your eyes wide and trapped on Dean’s and his voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“I think you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, just like I touch myself thinking about you.”

There’s no chance to respond before his finger pushes inside of you, his thumb starting to rub slow circles around your pussy, and you’re flying. The only tether between the earth and pleasure, white-hot and perfect and teasing, is Dean’s voice, right in your ear.

“Dream about your pretty mouth on my cock, babygirl. Or your hands, or being buried in the sweet pussy until you’re a perfect mess for me.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and your nails dig into his back. “Kinda like this, actually.”

“De- Shit,” a second finger pushes in with the first, and he’s still moving them so slow. “Feels good, so good-“

“Yeah, it does,” Dean groans, and your eyes flutter open to see him rutting against the mattress, his own face almost a mirror of your own desperation as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. “Jesus, you’re so pretty-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and his eyes snap onto yours. “More.”

He blinks at you for a second, but then gives you a tight nod.

His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing against that hot, spongey spot inside of you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. His thumb is gone from your clit, only giving it quick, frenzied flicks as you’re dragged right up to the edge, and he won’t look away from you-

Then he’s gone. You’re dangling right on the edge of release, but Dean yanks his fingers away with a taunting grin, and a high, pathetic sound escapes your throat.

You start to grumble an incoherent protest, but it dies in your throat at the sight above you.

He’s pushing your legs up to help you out of your shorts. He kisses against your calf before tossing everything into a corner of the room, and shoves your knees back apart. Then the two fingers push back into your for only a second, long enough to pull another moan from your throat, and Dean settles back between your legs with a grin.

Then he’s gone again. And one hand grabs your chin to keep your eyes trapped on his as he brings his fingers up to his mouth.

Dean cleans his fingers of your arousal, his gaze never leaving yours, and a sound that’s awfully like a moan rumbling through his chest.

“Taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, and you shudder with pleasure as he goes back, dragging those same fingers back over your soaked core, dipping slightly into your cunt like he’s trying to gather as much as he can. “Shit, I would’ve let a witch get the jump on me years ago if I knew I’d finally get to have this.”

You blink at him, your voice so soft and needy you almost don’t recognize it. “Years?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean nods, a slight blush seeming to creep over his cheeks, even as his thumb starts to drag slow circles around your clit. “Told you, sweetheart, you’ve been in since I saw you.”

“I- Why didn’t you-“

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want it. Taste.”

You frown at him, opening your mouth to protest—your mind doesn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around not wanting Dean—but the sound falls into a moan as his fingers press on your lower lip. They’re soaked in your wetness, and asking for further permission, and under Dean’s almost adoring gaze, you don’t know how to do anything but grant it.

Dean groans as he pushes his fingers almost all the way down your throat, and you feel his still-clothed cock twitch against you when you start to suck.

“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back with another one of those moans. “You’re so freakin’ perfect-“

“Dean,” you whine, scratching at his chest and bucking your hips up to try and grind over his bulge, but he just grunts, dropping his full weight down to pin you against the mattress.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, wiggling below him, and his eyes flutter shut.

“God-“ He moans your name as you manage to get your legs free, wrapping them around his waist and rolling your hips against his still hidden cock. “Shit- Alright.”

Dean grabs you by your waist, and you yelp as he rolls you over without warning. Suddenly you’re straddling his bare chest as he pulls off his sweats, his gaze locked on yours the whole time. Then your shirt is being all but ripped off your body, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s got one hand on your ass and the other back on your jaw, hold your eyes down to his.

He mutters your name, and your fingers curl against his bare chest. “I’ve got a condom in the side drawer-“

“I’m clean.” Your words are too quick, and his eyes flash. “And I- I’m on birth control. If- If you’re- If you too-“

He laughs, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and the sound rolls through his chest, vibrating against your pussy and making your mouth fall open.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Dean’s hands drift to grab you by the waist, and he shifts below you, making sure he’s more leaning against the headboard than flat on his back. “Hold on.”

His grip tightens, and a stupid, high sound leaves you as he picks you up and pushes you down onto his cock.

He’s big. And thick. And you’re being filled up so good, already cockdrunk and a little out of your mind at the feel of him splitting your open and pressing on all the right spots, but he’s not moving. Dean’s just watching you with a wide, adoring gaze, grunting whenever you try to grind against him and hissing when you clench around him.

“I said,” he lands a light slap on your ass, his eyes narrowing on yours. “Not yet. Wanna feel you, baby. We’re gonna stay just like this until you’re begging for it.”

You gape at him, every word coming up as only a gasp or whimper as you try to move again, and he hits your ass again, and Dean raises his brows.

“Good?”

You nod, leaning down to press your brow to his. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”

He frowns. “Fair- If you don’t-“

“I like this.” You mumble, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “A lot. Love it.”

Dean grunts, dragging you down into a full, deep kiss that makes it almost impossible not to squirm against him.

“What’s not fair, then?” He hums against your lips, and now that he knows you’re good, he seems to be all back on teasing. “C’mon, baby, you can tell me-“

You shove his chest, and he laughs. He can’t keep doing that. It’s like a small vibrator against your clit, and he’s so handsome, and you don’t know how to not clench around him. But all that gets you is another slap of your ass, and you might be starting to drip down your thighs and onto Dean’s.

“Asshole-“

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You love it.”

You do. “Never should’ve told you that,” you grumble, and he laughs again, and you might be on the brink of insanity.

“Too late. I know it now. Never gonna let you or this pretty pussy go neglected again, babygirl, so watch out.”

He pokes your side, grinning as you let out a squeaking giggle, but it quickly falls into a moan as his free hand moves up to play with your tits.

“Dean-“

“I know,” he hums, flicking your nipple before leaning up to press a kiss over the hurt. “But you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Being such a good girl.”

You moan against, and Dean smirks.

“You like that, don’t you. Like being my good girl-“

“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind against him, and whimpering at the next slap on your ass. “Fuck, please-“

“That’s closer.” He hums, resuming his movements on your tits. “But you still have to tell me what’s not fair.”

“It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, trying to regather your thoughts. “It’s not important-“

“Anything you think is important.” He mutters, and you swallow at the intensity in his gaze. “Tell me, baby. Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Fuck.

He can’t lie.

And just from the expression on his face, you can almost feel how much he means it.

“It’s just, I-“ You take a slow breath, watching him carefully. “What about you?”

Dean frowns. “What about me.”

“You had, um- a lot of ideas.” You trace your fingers over his tattoo, trying to focus on your words instead of Dean’s cock, hard and pressed into you and making you almost burn with desire. “And I- I just don’t want it to only be about me-“

You’re cut off as Dean laughs again, your words falling into a high, gasping moan, and almost in a reward, Dean slams himself up to meet the rolls of your hips.

You still get a small spank for the movement.

Worth it.

Dean drawls your name, looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “You think having you sit on my cock under you’re begging me to fuck you is about you?”

You flush, shaking your head weakly, and he chuckles again.

You moan, fluttering around him, but this time the slap on your ass comes with Dean pinching your nipple, and slamming up until he’s hitting your cervix.

“Trust me, baby,” he grunts, squeezing your ass and tugging you back down into a long, slow kiss. “This is all about me.”

“But-“

“We’re gonna do all of that shit later,” Dean pulls back, just enough to hold your gaze, and his arm wraps around your back, pinning you firmly down. “Trust me, babygirl, I mean it. I’m gonna give you everything.”

“Dean-“

“But right now, I want you to come on my cock, and I want you to say please.” Something strange flashes over his expression, and his voice drops impossibly lower. “Need to know you mean it, sweetheart.”

Oh.

You’re not under a truth curse. And Dean is adorable and handsome and strong below you, but he’s still Dean.

And you can see it in his eyes.

He’s still not sure you do mean it.

You have nothing to do but prove him wrong.

“Dean.” You whisper, forcing your hips not to roll as you lean down, holding his gaze. “Please. I want it. Want it so bad. I dream about you and touch myself thinking about you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me, cause I love you and I need you, Dean. I’m going to go insane if you don’t fuck me, please.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters, his grip growing bruising on your hips. “Feel so good, baby, just need you to give me one more-“

“Please-“

Your voice turns into a long, heavy moan as Dean rolls your hips along his cock, and the whole world lights up with good.

“Good girl,” he mutters, and you throw your head back as he helps you repeat the movement, every single nerve in your body glowing with Dean. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

There might be something teasing to his voice, but you can’t really hear it. You can’t really think of anything past the feeling of him inside you, or the low sounds that you keep pulling out of his chest as you grind down. You’re riding Dean’s cock like your life depends on it, gasping his name whenever your clit rubs against his groin or his hips jerk, making him bump that sensitive spot deep inside of you.

And he’s a vision below you. Moaning your name and kneading at your ass, watching you move above him like he’s looking at all the stars in the sky. His lips are parted with heavy breathes, and one hand is drifting slowly up to the nape of your neck, squeezing slightly with his eyes wide on yours, and you tip your head back without a question.

Dean groans, his hand moving to grab your throat, and you move faster. He’s not holding you that tight, but there’s a possessiveness to his touch that’s like fire up your spine, and you want him to leave a mark. Want everyone to know that he’s yours, and he’s touching you, and-

“Fuck-“ Dean grunts your name, his grip squeezing slightly, and you move faster. “Shit- Sweetheart, you’re-“

His head throws back with a groan as you clench around him, chasing your release desperately, and you want him to come with you. You need him to. You need him to fill you up, to feel the burn of him in a week, to be so fucking ruined by him you can’t even walk-

“Dean,” you gasp, and his grip tightens even more. Stars are starting to dance behind your eyes. “So close, feels so good-“

“I know,” he grunts, and you gasp as his hips rut up. “Hold it, babygirl.”

You shake your head, grinding faster. “Can’t- Need you-“

You whimper as Dean squeezes your throat, and his eyes flash. “C’mon, sweet girl, be good for me-“

“I- Dean-“

He grunts, and you’re not sure when the shift happened, but you’re not in charge anymore. Dean’s arm is wrapped around your waist, pinning you against his chest as he surges up, his hand moving to your jaw to hold it still. The kiss is deep and bruising and all spit and teeth, and he’s fucking you. Drilling up into your aching cunt without relent, kissing all over your face and down your neck, over the small marks his hand left. Moving back to your mouth as you start to shudder around him, scraping at his shoulders in a plea for release and moaning down your throat.

“Gonna cum,” he groans, his pace growing uneven. “Where-“

“In. Inside. Dean, just- Fuck-“

You almost scream as his thumb moves back to your clit, leaving a featherlight touch that’s somehow too much and not nearly enough.

“Dean-“

“Cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, pressing his thumb down so hard it lights a firework in your whole body, and you don’t know how to do anything but listen.

Your orgasm hits your like a wildfire, sweeping through your whole body until your toes are curling and you’re slumped in Dean’s arms, and he meets you with one last, beautiful moan of your name and a slam of his hips home. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he fucks you through his release, making yours rise and crest once more, and when it’s done, everything feels sort of bright and dizzying. A high, cockdrunk giggle escapes your throat, and Dean groans.

“Shit-“ He mutters your name, and you realize you’d squeezed around him. “Goddamnit, that was-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, curling further into his chest. “Thanks.”

He chuckles, but it falls into another moan as you flutter around him once more. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”

Dean’s breathing is ragged in your ear, and you keep your arms wrapped tight around him as he pulls out. You don’t manage to stop your soft moan, feeling impossibly empty and raw from the absence of him, but it’s alright.

He’s still here.

And now, he’s yours.

Dean presses a soft kiss to your brow, his words soft in your ear. “You want me to clean you up, baby?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”

“We made a mess-“

“Later.”

He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You smile, and grab him a little tighter. “Are you still truth cursed?”

“Course I am. Wasn’t a sex curse, this is just a benefit-“

“Shut up.” You tug on his hair, and all you get is a laugh in return.

You lean back, just enough to meet his eyes, and he can’t have looked at you like this before. Like you’re his whole world, and he’d never want to ever be anywhere else but you.

You would’ve seen it.

You hope you would’ve.

“Did you mean it?” You whisper, and he frowns.

“Mean what?”

“That you’ve loved me since we met?”

Dean’s jaw twitches, and he lets out a slow sigh. “I’ve wanted you since we met. Didn’t love you until a few months after. But it didn’t take much.”

You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re really taking advantage of how that I’m cursed, you know-“

“It was first sight for me.” You whisper, and his mouth snaps shut. “You saved me, then helped me stand up, and I felt like an idiot because I was in love with the stranger who just decapitated someone in front of me.”

Dean’s throat bobs. “You still feel like an idiot?”

“Yeah.” It’s only fair you’re honest, if he has to be. “But only because I spent years pretending, I didn’t love you, and didn’t get to have this.”

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lip, and he lets out a soft sound that almost has you ready for round two.

“You punched me.” He mutters, and you lean back with a curious expression.

“Huh?”

“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He mutters, rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot, but you’d never held a gun so you were shit at it. And I already liked you, so I was, uh- Kinda being an asshole. Pushing you too hard. And I said somethin’ about you not being able to defend yourself, and you suckered me right in my fuckin’ jaw. Started shouting at me about how I was being a dick, but- Um-“ He’s blushing, giving you an almost sheepish expression. “Didn’t hear a word you said. Think I was making heart eyes or something. Remember thinking I’m either marrying you, or no one.”

You can’t stop your wide, almost idiotic smile, but it’s worth it. Dean mirrors it right back, and his eyes flutter as your run your hand carefully through his hair.

“I love you.” You whisper. “And I can punch you again, if you want.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, and leaning up to pull you down into a long, slow kiss. And you can feel it, in this one. How he really has been as hungry for this as you have. How—just as you don’t think you ever want to move from his lap, even if the rapture floods the world and the sky starts to fall—he never plans to let you go.

“That can be one of our later things,” he mutters, tracing his tongue over your lower lip. “Right now I just wanna sit with my girl.”

You beam, nipping at his tongue. “Who you love?”

“Yeah.” He snorts, squeezing your ribs and grinning as you jump, almost falling over him with a whine. “Who I love.”

End Note: The Dean Winchester mind cannot comprehend that he is lovable (I am going to force that knowledge down his throat).

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

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theocxcanonweek · 5 months ago

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OC x CANON WEEK 2025! LET'S GO!!

PROMPTS

Day 1. Kiss in the rain/snow Day 2. Intertwined fingers Day 3. Kiss during a sunrise/sunset Day 4. Brushing hair out of the others’ face Day 5. Kiss beneath/amongst the stars Day 6. Hug from behind Day 7. Kiss within foliage/a cityscape Bonus Day: Wiping away tears

DIALOGUE

Day 1. “Promise me!” Day 2. “So, are we official then?” Day 3. “Oooh. You’re so in love with me!” Day 4.“I never imagined I could feel this way…” Day 5. “Take my hand.” Day 6. “Jealous much?” Day 7. “I’d burn the world for you.” Bonus Day; “It was always you!… Always has been. Always will be.”

FASHION

Day 1. Pastels / Monochromatic Day 2. Practical / Avant Garde Day 3. Nautical / Wild West Day 4. Plaid / Sequence Day 5. Steampunk / Cyberpunk Day 6. Floral / Animal Print Day 7. Leather / Lace Bonus Day: Jewels / Chains

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RULES 1. This is a safe for work (SFW) event. We will only be promoting work that is safe for public viewing.

2. Tag us @theocxcanonweek and/or use the hashtag #oc x canon week!

3. Mention which day and prompt(s) you've used, as well as the canonical character(s) involved!

4. You don't have to use all prompts for each day, but you can interpret the prompts however you choose!

5. Even though it's called "OC x Canon Week," self-inserts and personas are also allowed!

6. Anyone and everyone can participate!

7. You can complete this challenge at any date. There is no need to participate every day, and you can do as many or little prompts you want. However, we will only be promoting for this challenge the week of March 17th, 2025.

8. Last of all, have fun! <3

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FAQ

"Do I have to do a prompt from each of the categories listed?"

You can do as many or as little as you like! So, if you wanna do one of each of the categories go right ahead! If you only want to do one in total, that's fine too! No stress here! 💖

"Are polyamorous ships allowed?"

Yup! As long as an oc/insert/persona is included in the ship with canon character(s) then it is welcomed! 💖

"I see OC x Canon Week is on both Tumblr and Twitter. Do I have to participate on both platforms? Or can I just stick to one?"

You can choose whichever platform you prefer to particpate on. You do not have to particpate on both. (However you are welcome to if you so please!~) 💖

"I like this days prompt with another days prompt. Is it alright to mix and match them?"

Yes!! You absolutely are welcome to mixing and matching prompts! The event is about having fun, so pick and choose as you please~ 💖

"I want to create multiple works for one prompt! Is that okay?"

Absolutely!! If you have the ability and engery to do so, then more power to ya!! ✨ We will take as many pieces as you can churn out! (But there is no pressure of course~💖)

"Can I participate with a familial/platontic oc x canon ship?"

While the event does cater to romantic intent, non-romantic ships are welcome to participate as well! 💖

"I found out about the event late!! Can I still participate and submit my work after the event is over?"

Yes! While the event runs for a “week”, there really are no set rules as to when you can participate. It’s all about having fun and spreading awareness for OC x Canon enjoyers!!

The blog will not be as active after the event is over , but I’ll still check in every once in a while to like and reblog what I can. (: Remember to us the hashtag # oc x canon week and tag the account so your work is seen!

"Have you considered running OC x Canon Week on other platforms, like Bluesky, A03, etc?..."

I have but truthfully it's already a huge workload managing the event on both Tumblr and Twitter by myself. If I were to bring it to other platfroms, I would definitely need some assistance. At this point, it's TBD... 🆕Update!! 🆕 We now have a collection on AO3 thanks to @atwstedstory!! 💕 It'll be open for submissions the week of the event! Thank you atwstedstory!! 💖

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Thank you for reading and happy planning!! 💕💕💕

#OC x Canon Week #OC x Canon Week 2025

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deadtiredghost · 8 months ago

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Strangers or new friends is one thing, and its easy for me to shut them down. My closer friends on the other hand... okay so I took a chance.

I showed my friend a oneshot I wrote like a couple of months ago - idk why I did it; I must have been drunk or it was a lapse in sanity.

She was so lovely about it "I don't really know the characters but that was sweet" after she had read it and all, but I watched her read it infront of me and that was the worst decision I have ever failed to make. I felt like I was about to implode. Those few minutes of me twiddling my thumbs and trying to distract myself with my phone sucked ass.

Don't do what I did - at least tell them to read it later. Hopefully they will forget and not read it at all...

“Oh my god you’re a writer? Can I read your stuff?”

#it was a tmnt fic #where i trans-ed the turtles #should have shown her literally anything else because she is neither a tmmt fan nor trans #but i didnt and thank god my friends r all lovely neurodiverse ppl because if she hadn't been nice about it i would have died right there #i have had quite a few requests to read the fics i write cause i discuss plot so much with a few of my creative friends #its A TRAP #I have a few friends who like Pokémon and I'm like... no #im not gonna show u the Pokémon fic im working on - if u find it on a03 by yourself then great! but other than that its too much pressure #writer problems #authors note: my mum and grandma are well aware i write fanfiction of anime #they have enough sense not to ask after it though #honestly theyre probably just tired of how much i blabber about the comments i recieve cause i always gush to mum when i get a new one

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justmymindandstuff · 29 days ago

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lets start with trust - (Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader)

part 3 to jump scare part 1/ part 2/ moodboard/masterlist (but you can read it as a stand alone)

summary: You and Cregan marry to seal the pact between Targaryen and Stark. Cregan gets a headstrong, wild princess as his wife. When it's time to retire to your marital chambers, you reveal your insecure side before melting in his arms.

words: 5.706

relationships: Cregan Stark x Reader // Cregan Stark x Arra Norrey (mentioned/briefly)

warnings: arranged marriage, mention of incest, insecurity,kissing, smut/ 18+, MDNI, wedding night, loss of virginity, virginReader, oral sex, softCregan, Cregan has a crush (this time he knows it), Cregan has a few dirty thoughts.

a/n: I had soo much fun writing this, I just love my two pookies soo much. Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with dark hair// no use of Y/N// English is not my first language// not proofread// A03 Have fun and be kind 🧡 requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist

The door lock clicks softly as it closes. Cregan lets his hand rest on the handle for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Your wedding had been a quiet affair. You spoke the words in Winterfells Goodswood in front of only a few Lords and your twin, Jacaerys. Cregan placed the cloak around your shoulders and took you under his protection. Cregan was worried that the small feast would be disappointing for a princess. You assured him that you didn't need much fuss and that a small ceremony was perfect.

Now, however it's time to retire with his new wife. Cregan straightens his shoulders slightly and turns to you. His chambers are bathed in soft candlelight, the fire crackles gently spreading a pleasant warmth.

You stand at the window and look out into the night. Cregan is sure you can only see your reflection in the glass. He pushes himself away from the door and takes a few steps through the chambers. As he does so he takes off his cloak and hangs it over the back of his armchair. The Lord of Winterfell can't take his eyes off you. You're still wearing your cloak, the large direwolf on your back making it clear to Cregan once again that you're a Stark now, his wife.

He doesn't know what you're thinking, can't judge how you feel. He doesn't know you well enough for that. By the gods, this is the first moment you're truly alone. His mouth goes dry and Cregan has to swallow. A strange mixture of joy, nervousness and excitement spreads through him. The young Lord can't stand the restlessness inside him and tries to break the silence with a joke.

"Should I be worried that you are going to jump out of this window?" he asks.

Relief floods through him when he hears your gentle laugh and you turn to him.

"No, don't worry," you say quickly. "Jace isn't here to be annoyed by that."

"You scared him to death. And me too, for that matter."

"You were worried about me?" you grin at him, your tone playful but a hint of something else sparkling in your eyes. Cregan isn't quite sure what you want to hear from him right now, so he speaks his mind freely.

"Of course I was worried. Your mother would surely have shown no mercy and bring fire and blood over the North if her daughter had died under my protection."

You blink briefly, considering his words before you shake your head slightly. "Don't worry, my Lord Stark, you only had to tell my mother that I jumped. She would have believed you immediately."

"Cregan," he corrects you quickly. "We're married now."

"Cregan," you say his name in a gentle voice, his heart leaping. You smile, seemingly pleased with the sound of his name on your tongue.

"So you often jump off somewhere and let your dragon catch you?" Cregan asks. He goes to the table and pours two goblets of wine. He needs something to keep his hands busy, and the wine might calm his nerves a bit.

You take the cup before answering. "Every now and then. But mostly, I like to annoy my little brother." Cregan pauses for a second at your words. He always thought Jacaerys is the older twin. He is after all the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir. He also knows that this isn't a topic for tonight.

"You're risking your life to annoy your brother." Cregan shakes his head slightly and takes a sip of wine. He still doesn't really know what kind of woman he has as his wife, but he's determined to find out.

"I knew Veraxes would come to catch me. She just needed more motivation."

"You have great faith in your dragon."

"Unwavering faith." your voice is suddenly serious, but your eyes sparkle with so much love for your dragon that Cregan doesn't know what to say. This time it's you who breaks the growing silence. "And with that, you know everything there is to know about me," you say with a slight shrug and take a sip of wine. Cregan pretends not to notice the slight trembling in your hand.

He laughs briefly. "I know absolutely nothing about you, my princess."

You snort slightly. "I'm not a little princess."

"Would you prefer a little minx?" he jokes.

You slap him gently on the upper arm, but laugh. "Then I would prefer Princess."

"As my wife commands."

If Cregan had stood just half a step further away he wouldn't have noticed the slight shivering in your body. "I like how that sounds," you say quietly, suddenly focused on your wine again. A blush spreads across your neck as you step back a little. Cregan suppresses the urge to pull you closer by your hips.

"My wife it is." he smiles, and a warm feeling spreads inside him. Still, he notices that you're embarrassed. "So which things do I supposedly know about you?"

You smile gratefully before answering. "First, I love my dragon more than anything. Second, I might be a little impulsive."

Cregan can't suppress a laugh. "The kiss was impulsive, jumping off the wall was insane." He bites his lip, he shouldn't have said that. He's worried he offended you. However you start to laugh, your eyes sparkling as you look back at him.

"Then I fit perfectly into a long line of my insane ancestors. You probably know the saying about the Targaryens."

Cregan nods. "I didn't mean to say that I think you're crazy," he tries to backtrack.

"I now." you study him closely, square your shoulders before continuing. "I'm sorry about the kiss."

"Why are you sorry?" Cregan asks. Replaying this moment over and over in his head had become his favourite way of passing time.

You look back at the window. "I caught you off guard, I didn't mean to."

This time Cregan manages to suppress his laughter. "Your jump caught me off guard. When you came shooting out of the sky to kill a bear, I was caught off guard. Your kiss was a pleasant surprise." he watches through the glass of the window as your lips curl into a smile again.

You turn back to him fully and take a deep breath. "We're married, and I want to be completely honest," you begin. Cregan is curious to hear what you'll say next, even though he can already guess. "That wasn't my first kiss."

"Jacaerys?" Cregan guesses. He knows the Targaryen family traditions and their reputation. People whisper things about the royal family that Cregan would never repeat in front of a Lady like you.

Still, he's a little relieved when you grimace in disgust. "Ugh, no. I know and respect our family traditions. And I also know what people say about Targaryens and my siblings. Still, I'm glad I didn't have to marry my brother, but got a handsome husband instead," you say. It takes Cregan a moment to wrap his head around the fact that you find him handsome. "It was one of my guards. I was fourteen and obsessed with silly stories and knights rescuing princesses out of towers.” you laugh at your own past self as you take off your cloak and lay it over a chair. Gently, your fingers trace the embroidered wolf. You're certainly not a woman who needs to be rescued from a tower. "Ser Massey was barely a man, just knighted. By Daemon himself. He even made him my personal guard. I had a very huge crush on him." you bite your lip. Immediately, Cregan's gaze is drawn to your lips, and he has to restrain himself from leaning in to kiss you. "I'm rambling. I'm so sorry."

Cregan's heart beats faster. "No. Please don't apologize. Now I know a third thing about you." He smiles. You open up to him and he could listen to you for hours. The gentle sound of your voice lull him in.

"You're not angry?" you ask, looking at him sceptically from the side. Cregan has to suppress a sigh. You don't fully trust him yet.

He doesn't care what came before. The only thing that matters is the future.

"No, my wife. Of course not. I was already married myself. I loved Arra. But that doesn't mean I won't open my heart to you." Cregan remains cautious. He's afraid of scaring you away, even though he knows his heart is only a few steps away from being yours. “Your past did not matter to me.”

You fascinate him in a way he's never experienced before, and that wild sparkle that sometimes appears in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat. And if he's honest, it also scares him a little bit.

Cregan has to pull himself together to bring his thoughts back to the moment. He watches you ponder before you straighten your shoulders and meet his gaze.

"It was never more than a few kisses between me and Arwin. So what I'm saying is, I'm still a maiden."

Cregan has to suppress the wave of lust that rises within him when you remind him of this. Now isn't the time.

"I thought so," he says honestly. The queen wouldn't let her only daughter grow up unprotected. Cregan only realizes he's said the wrong thing when you drain your cup of wine in long gulps.

The young Lord doesn't know what to say now. He's a widower, yet this situation is new to him.

Cregan knows secret kisses, secret meetings, he knows desire and a passion and longing for another that none can resist. Arra had been his long before their wedding night.

This is new. You're a princess, his wife, a maiden. Cregan has to pull himself together to stop himself to pull you closer and entwine your lips in a passionate kiss. He's wanted you since the moment Jacaerys proposed this marriage. Probably even earlier. But of course, he can't tell you that. One step at a time. He wants to take away your insecurity as best he can.

In a gentle voice, he calls your name and you look back at him. "If you're not ready to share a bed tonight, that's perfectly fine. I will never ask for anything you're not willing to give."

Your gaze pierces him, but then something flashes across your face, and a heartbeat later, your gaze softens. Cregan realizes that you have made a decision.

"I'm ready," you say, taking a step forward and setting your empty cup on the table. Cregan is relieved to see that you don't back down again. His hand twitches. He'd like to take your hand, but he refrains from doing so as a precaution. A gentle blush rises again up your cleavage and neck. Cregan forces his gaze not to linger on the curves of your breasts. You meet his gaze before continuing. "I knew I was traveling north to get married, so I had a few extra days to think about what marriage meant. And when we were introduced and you agreed to the marriage, I… " your eyes flicker downward for only a split second before meeting his gaze again. "I've been thinking about what our wedding night will be like, what it will feel like. I've read about it, so in theory I know what's about to happen, and I know where to touch myself so it feels good."

Cregan has to swallow and concentrate on keeping his thoughts from wandering inappropriately. He fails. Would you let him watch you pleasure yourself? It takes all of Cregan's strength to stop his thoughts. One step at a time.

Your neck and cheeks have now turned a deep red. "But I don't know what it really feels like. I don't know what I have to do. I can't imagine it. It makes me nervous."

Your absolute honesty surprises Cregan, but he's glad for it. Cregan takes a deep breath before putting his cup down as well. He reaches out his hand to you.

You hesitate for a heartbeat before taking it and he gently pulls you against his chest. He places his other hand on your hip. Now that you're so close, he has to look down at you a little. His eyes linger a little too long on your breasts. Your pleasant scent envelops Cregan, but he can't let himself get carried away. Not yet.

"Do you trust me?"

You nod. "Yes."

Cregan is relieved by this, strokes your hand with his thumb before bringing it to his lips and blowing a kiss on your knuckles. You watch him with wide eyes, the purple tones in your eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

"I can show you what it feels like." his voice sounds a little rough. You shudder slightly, nervousness but also joyful anticipation radiating from you as you take a step closer. He breathes your breath now, inhaling your intoxicating scent deeply. "And you're sure you want it?" he asks one last time.

"Yes, I'm sure," you answer firmly. "I want to be your wife, I want to be yours in every way."

Cregan can no longer hold back after your words. His lips crash onto yours. You gasp in shock, but the next moment you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in. Cregan places his hand on your cheek, gently caress the soft skin while simultaneously pulling you closer to him by your hip. You melt beneath his touch, his tongue gliding into your mouth, gently stroking yours. Breathless, you separate. Your purple eyes sparkle, your lips are slightly swollen. Cregan thinks you've never looked more beautiful.

His skin tingles as you slowly slide your hand down his chest and stand upright again, your hand resting on his chest.

"That felt good," you say. Cregan's lips curl into a smile.

"Aye." he agrees. His heart stumbles in his chest as hot desire races through his veins. You look at him, and for a moment Cregan forgets everything around him. If you knew how hard he has to pull himself together not to take you immediately and make you his, you would probably run away screaming. Instead, you turn around in his arms turning your back to him.

"Will you help me with my dress?" you ask, smoothing your black curls out of the way.

Cregan begins untying your dress. His breath hits the skin of your neck and when he notices your slight shiver he can't help but place a gentle kiss on your neck. You immediately lean into his touch.

"How does that feel?" he whispers in your ear.

"Good." Your voice trembles. Cregan opens your dress further, pulling it down slightly and placing kisses on every exposed bit of skin. You slip out of the sleeves and finally Cregan can pull the dress down completely. He gives in to the urge to put his arm around you and gently press you against him while he kisses your neck. Your warm body presses against him, and you lean your head slightly to the side to give him more space. His hands stroke your side, he feels the warmth of your skin through the thin undergarment. A pleasant shiver runs through his body.

A soft moan escapes your lips. The sound spreads through Cregan's entire body, causing all his blood to rush to his middle. He's already addicted to the sound of your moans.

You gasp in shock when you feel his hardness against you. But when Cregan gently runs his tongue over your neck, you lean back against him. He manages to pull himself away and turns you around. He bends slightly on his knees, lets his arm slide into the back of your knees, and lifts you up in one swift movement.

"Cregan," you call, laughing as you wrap your arms around his neck to hold on tight. Cregan turns you around and carries you the few steps to the bed. When he's set you back on your feet, he lets his gaze wander over you.

His wife stands before him in a nightgown of fine, almost transparent silk, and Cregan is glad he forbid the bedding ceremony. This sight, you are only for him. Cregan wonders for a moment where this strong possessiveness comes from, but your gentle voice completely captures his attention.

"Do I please you husband?" you ask, the way the corner of your mouth twitches tells Cregan that you know you're beautiful.

Nevertheless, he takes the opportunity to compliment you. "You're breathtaking," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You smile gently at him before taking a deep breath. For a moment, uncertainty flits through your eyes, then you slip the straps of your nightgown over your shoulders. The fabric slides to the floor. You try not to let it show, but your hands tremble slightly betraying your nervousness.

Cregan lets his gaze wander hungrily over your perfect body. He's certain of one thing: If you allow him, he'll spend the next few weeks worshipping every inch of you.

"A bit unfair. I'm standing here naked, and you husband are still fully clothed." a smile plays on your lips. Cregan doesn't need to be told twice. He immediately begins to slip out of his clothes. You watch him. Warmth rises within him as he notices your gaze wandering over his bare torso, and you're probably unconsciously chewing your lower lip. Fuck Cregan wishes he could read your thoughts. He continues to undress, carelessly throws the clothes on the floor.

Your gaze is still on his body, as if you want to memorize every little scar, every inch of his skin. When your gaze reaches his midsection, your eyes widen and you swallow slightly. Cregan enjoys the ego boost. Your gaze flicks back up to his eyes.

"You can change your mind at any time. One word is enough. Anytime."

"I'm not changing my mind." despite the blush on your neck and cheeks, your voice is firm. You take a step toward him, place a hand on his chest, right on his thundering heart. "Is that okay?" you ask.

"Yes. Always. Touch me whenever you wish." he encourages you. Your hand gently caress his chest. You raise your other hand, stroking his arm with your knuckles. Your eyes follow the movement. Cregan's skin tingles under your touch. You stop at his shoulder, this time stroking his arm down. Your fingertips are warm. When you stroke his pulse at his wrist, a hot shiver runs through his entire body. Cregan intertwines your fingers.

Your gaze flickers from your hands to his eyes. A grin creeps onto your lips. "Anytime? Even if we argue?"

Immediately, his thoughts race and he imagines your eyes flashing with angry sparks, only topull Cregan into a passionate kiss in the next moment, that ends with him taking you on his desk while your nails leave bloody scratches on his chest.

At this thought his cock twitches and his heart begins to beat so fast in his chest that he's sure you can feel it.

He forces his attention back to the moment. Back to you. He has to pull himself together. You're still looking at him, now curious about his answer.

"Yes, even when we argue. Especially when we argue." he winks at you. Then he reminds himself that you're still a maiden. He's sure he'll get to know your temperament soon enough. Now isn't the time for that.

You nod. Cregan is glad you can't read his thoughts. "Okay, I'll remember that." you stretch slightly and gently place your lips on his.

Cregan resists for a heartbeat, then he places one hand on your cheek, grabs your hip with his other hand, and pulls you against him. His tongue slides into your mouth, claiming your mouth as his. You gasp softly as he deepens the kiss, your hands glide over his chest you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer to him. Cregan takes a step forward, pushing you slightly toward the bed. Without breaking the kiss you let yourself fall, pulling him with you.

The young Lord supports his weight with one upper arm so he doesn't crush you as he carefully places his body between your legs. He's painfully aware that if he pushed his hips just a little higher, his hard cock would brush against your core.

Your body radiates a pleasant warmth. Carefully, Cregan pulls his lips away from yours. He looks at you, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

"I want you to tell me what feels good." his voice heavy with his northern accent. You shiver in his arms. Cregan can't suppress a small grin, he'll remember that.

Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. Your eyes begin to sparkle in a way that simultaneously sends waves of hot desire through his body and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as if there were danger.

You don't even try to hide your grin. "Yes, my Lord." you almost purr as you gently press your body against his, his cock twitching, and it takes all his strength to hold back from pressing against your soft middle. Cregan is sure you know exactly what you're doing. He curses under his breath, and you begin to giggle before capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. "I told you, I have read about it." you stroke down his neck to his shoulders. Your touch is gentle, slightly uncertain. It grounds Cregan. He lets his lips gently wander over the skin on your neck, and you lean your head to the side. When he begins to place gentle kisses, you inhale sharply. You place your hand on his neck and begin to scratch his curls.

Cregan can't resist and sucks lightly on the soft skin of your neck. You gasp, probably unconsciously pressing your hips against him. The slight friction sends desire down his spine. As Cregan turns away from your neck, his mark decorates your skin. The sight makes his cock twitch slightly. You recoil, of course you feel his hardness pressing against your thigh. You pull him into a kiss again. This times its you who deepened the kiss, let him feel your desire for him.

Cregan begins to gently caress your body. He remembers every spot that makes you gasp, remembers where you're ticklish. He runs his hand over the soft skin of your neck, his knuckles caressing the curves of your breast, and you tremble beneath him. His lips travel down your body. He takes his time. He caresses you gently, kisses your soft skin, runs his tongue over your nipples, and moves lower. He takes his time. His hands and lips explore your body while he carefully observes your reaction. Your breathing quickens, you wiggle slightly beneath him, leaning into his touch. Cregan pushes your legs carefully apart to make himself comfortable between them. His fingers caress the skin of your thigh.

"What are you doing?" you ask, slightly startled, as his lips move further towards your core.

"I thought you had read about this," he teases you slightly, kissing your hipbone. He notice the goosebumps over your skin.

"I did. But I thought that was only done with whores and mistresses," you say.

The corners of Cregan's mouth twitch slightly, but he continues to concentrate on kissing down your body. His hands stroke lower and lower down your thighs. Cregan isn't sure if you notice that you're leaning towards him, open yourself for him a little more.

"Why would I deny my wife this pleasure and give it to a whore?"

Suddenly, you flinch and look at him. Cregan stops in his tracks, straightens up slightly. You close your legs. Immediately Cregan slides back a bit. Even though everything inside him is screaming to push your legs apart and bury his tongue in your wet center. You set the pace here.

"Are you going to take whores into your bed?" you ask, and Cregan almost laughs at the thought. Your serious look stops him. Only a wildling would take a whore when he has a woman like you in his bed.

"No. Never," he says seriously.

Your gaze pierces him for a moment. He can see you thinking. "Good," you say after a moment, letting your head fall back against the pillows. "If I ever find out you did, I'll burn you with Veraxes." with those words, you open your legs for him again, a little wider this time. The threat should scare him but instead the sight of your pussy right in front of him sends hot desire racing down his spine.

Cregan can't stop a warm laugh from rising in his chest. " I have no doubt that you will," he says and then begins trailing kisses down your knee as he settles back between your legs again. "Relax," he says, noticing how his northern accent is thicker but that's no surprise given the sight before him. You spread your legs a little wider for him, your folds glistening with your wetness. Cregan has to restrain himself from pouncing on you and eating you out as if you were his last meal.

He slowly lowers his lips to your core. He carefully lets his tongue glide through your wetness. You flinch slightly, but Cregan gently pushes you down. He begins to place gentle kisses. Your intoxicating taste fills him. He has to moans softly. His tongue slowly runs through your folds, noticing how you relax beneath him. As he gently strokes your opening, you moan.

Your moan resonates through his entire body. Your moan is his new favourite sound, and if you allow it he'll do anything to hear it every day. He repeats the movement, then runs his tongue up. You squirm slightly in his arms. Your breathing quickens.

He lets his tongue flicker against your clit. You flinch. "That didn't feel good," you say.

"Okay," he says, moving back between your folds. He lets his tongue gently stroke your entrance again. You gasp again. He repeats the movement, feeling your body relax. You push yourself against him. After the third time is tongue circles you entrance you moan again as your fingers dig into the sheets.

Hot desire races down Cregan's back. Gods you make it very hard for him to hold back, still he needs to know what you like and what not. He will not let his wife left unsatisfied. Never. So he takes his time, lets his tongue exploring your core. Licking up every drop of your delicious wetness. Cregan watches every reaction you give him as he figures out what you like.

When he wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks, you whimper again, arching toward him as your fingers bury themselves in his hair. This time his tongue flicker only soft over your clit, you didn´t flinch, instead you gasp.

Cregan groans. Fuck, he feels like he could eat you out the whole night. Nevertheless he removes his lips reluctantly from your core and sits up slightly. You let out a protesting gasp and look down at him.

"Patience, wife," he says, winking at you before his hand moves down your thigh, lets his knuckles glide over your bare skin. His cock is almost painful hard. Still he takes his time and caress your legs until he gets to your middle. Gently his fingers run over your entrance, gathering your wetness. You lean back against the pillows. Cregan listens to your breathing as he lets his finger sink inside you.

"How does that feel?" he asks, not moving his finger but slowly letting his lips sink back to your clit.

"Good," you reply, slowly pushing your hips forward so that a finger slides deeper inside you. Your hand grips the sheets. Cregan lets go of your clit as he pushes his finger further inside you, carefully moving inside you. After a moment, he adds a second one. He waits until you relax before he gently moves his fingers and begins sucking on your clit again.

You moan, your fingernails scratching his scalp. A shudder runs through his entire body. He moves his fingers inside you, curling them slightly and you moan again. He sucks on your clit as his fingers work inside you.

"Cregan… I…" your sentence ends in a moan. You flutter around his fingers as pleasure washes through you. Cregan slows his fingers, carrying you through your orgasm before slowly pulling them out. He sits up slightly, examining you closely. The skin on your neck and cheeks is slightly flushed, your purple eyes sparkle as you slowly catch your breath.

"We can stop." he begins but you don´t let him speak.

"No," you pull him up to you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss. Cregan lets his cock stroke through your folds, gathering your wetness around his cock. You gasp softly, your hips thrusting toward him. Cregan places a hand on your hipbone to pushe you back into the soft fur. If you continue like this, he'll lose control. Cregan looks deep into your eyes as he slowly sinks into you. Your warm, wet walls surrounds his tip. Cregan needs all his self-control not to thrust into you. He keeps his gaze fixed on your face, watching your every move. You grimace slightly in pain. Cregan stops.

"I'm fine," you say, pushing your hips up to take him inside you. Cregan's grip on your hips tightens slightly again. His cock throbs. He needs a deep breath to stop the feeling that he's going to spend inside you in the next second. Fuck. You are incredible, feeling incredible. You make his blood run hot and clouds his brain with lust.

You gasp for air, but don't strain, so Cregan pushes a little further. He carefully slides into you again until he's completely seated. He closes his eyes, breathes in your scent, and tries not to lose himself into you.

"Are you good, wife?" he whispers, his rough voice in your ear makes you shiver again. You blink away the tears in your eyes and nod. But that's not enough for him. "Words. Always words."

"Yes, I'm fine. Please move."

He pushes back slightly, then forward again. His rhythm slow, careful not to hurt you. You relax more with each thrust. Your hands begin to stroke his shoulders again, your lips find his neck. Goosebumps spread with your tender kisses. Cregan places a hand on your cheek, pushing your head back slightly so he can place his lips on yours. His tongue slides into your mouth, gently caressing. Your hand rests on his neck, leaning into his touch. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. Cregan moans against your lips. Hot desire races down his spine.

"Fuck," he curses, letting go of your lips.

"Are you good, husband?" you ask, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. The gesture is so tender that Cregan has to smile. His heart floods with warmth.

"Yes. I'm very good, wife." he begins trailing kisses up your neck, lightly biting your earlobe. "You´re feeling like heaven." he can feel you pulsing around his cock. Cregan's body reacts automatically, and he sinks into you in one swift thrust. You moan again, moving your hips toward his. A yalyrian curse escapes your lips, the sound of your native tongue is like music to Cregan. He quickens his thrusts, and you push your legs a little further, allowing him to penetrate deeper. This time you both moan. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing around each other, your fingernails scratching the skin on his shoulder. Cregan strokes up your hip, his finger gliding over the edge of your breast. Sweat forms on his forehead. Thrust after thrust, he sinks into you. Intoxicated by your warm tightness, your gaps, your kisses. Cregan can no longer notice anything but you.

You begin to flutter around his cock again. He sinks deeper into you. Pleasure burns down his lower back, and he has to take a deep breath to keep himself from coming.

"Cregan," you moan his name into his ear as you come around him, and Cregan loses the fight with himself. A groan escapes his lips as he comes inside you. You gently stroke his neck, holding him tight while he thrusts into you a few more times until he spend himself complete. He kiss you forehead, your cheeks, your lips as you both slowly catch your breath.

He carefully pulls out of you, cum and blood seeping into the sheets beneath you but that's a problem for tomorrow morning.

Cergan lies himself next to you, pulls you into his arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. You snuggle into his arms, wrap your legs around his, and rest your head on his chest. Cregan is sure you can hear his rapid heartbeat. He gently strokes your arm. Calm spreads through the young lord.

"That felt good," you say into the comfortable silence, looking up at him.

“Incredible,” he agrees pulls you closer to him. He can´t get enough of the warm feeling of your skin against his. Suddenly, a shadow passes over your face. Cregan's heart sinks into his stomach.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he asks after a moment.

"Do you want me to leave for my own chambers?" you ask, he hears in your tone that you don't want to leave. This makes his heart skip a beat before it starts racing again.

Cregan's grip on you tightens slightly. The very thought seems absurd to him, as if he were going to let you go now. He knows it's not customary in your position to share a bed outside of marital duties, but he still wishes that you sleep beside him at night.

"You may try to leave this bed and these chambers. However you won't get far."

You laugh, genuine and warm. And Cregan has to correct his thoughts. Your laughter is his favourite sound, and he'll do anything to hear it every day.

#cregan stark #cregan stark x targaryen!reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark smut #cregan stark fic #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #cregan stark x you #cregan stark fanfiction #ice and fire

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peppertoastuniverse · 1 year ago

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pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

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dollgxtz · 6 months ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt.15

Word Count: 25.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears, attempted murder, threats, suicide threats

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AN: This is on A03! Pls heed the tw!! This is an intense chapter and its okay to put it down and come back later. Take care! <3

Check my masterlist for the other parts!

“I did all of this. For you,” Xavier said, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. He stood frozen, his shoulders tense, his fists trembling at his sides as he stared at you. “You left with me. You wanted to kiss me too… in the cabin.” His tone grew quieter, almost disbelieving, as though he couldn’t reconcile what had just happened with what he thought you shared.

Xavier’s voice cracked again, barely above a whisper. “Tell me. Was it really a lie?”

Sylus wasn’t a stupid man. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to see through others, to read them like open books no matter how tightly they tried to shut their covers. To know even their deepest desires. And today, you had been an especially transparent read. The slight changes in your tone, the fleeting glances you cast around the mall, the way your fingers twitched nervously when you thought he wasn’t looking—it all painted a clear picture. You had been planning something from the moment you stepped foot outside the car.

Still, he had allowed it to play out. Part of him had hoped, against better judgment, that you might surprise him. That for once, you might set aside whatever fire still smoldered inside you and truly appreciate the lengths he had gone to for this day. The shopping trip, the presents, the brief taste of freedom—it had all been for you. A chance for you to feel a semblance of normalcy before the baby arrived, a chance to understand the life he was building for you and your daughter.

But you were predictable, as always. He had given you an inch, and you had taken a damn mile.

As he stood by the railing outside the store, watching from a distance, he felt no anger. At least, not the fiery kind that consumed lesser men. No, Sylus’s anger was a cold thing, methodical and patient. He had learned long ago that rage blinded the mind, and he preferred to see things with perfect clarity. And now, as his sharp crimson eyes followed you across the store, clarity was all he felt.

There you were, running straight into the arms of him. The ash-blond man with those annoyingly sincere blue eyes. Xavier.

Sylus watched as the two of you embraced, your body trembling as you clung to him like a lifeline. Xavier’s arms wrapped around you with a possessiveness that made Sylus’s jaw tighten. It wasn’t just the embrace that irked him—it was the look in Xavier’s eyes. The way they softened as he gazed down at you, as though he had every right to hold you like that. As though Sylus hadn’t already claimed you.

The sight should have infuriated him. And yet, Sylus remained calm. He couldn’t bring himself to feel the boiling rage that others might have in his place. No, this wasn’t anger—it was confirmation. Proof that Xavier had to be dealt with, once and for all.

The faintest smirk tugged at Sylus’s lips as he watched Xavier grab your hand, his movements hurried and frantic as he led you out of the store. Sylus knew exactly where the two of you were headed. The parking lot. Of course. It was laughable, really—this desperate attempt to run, as if Sylus didn’t already have his web spun tightly around you in more ways than one.

How quaint.

Sylus turned, his steps measured and deliberate as he began walking toward the mall’s main entrance. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, dialing without hesitation. The line clicked almost immediately.

“Have the car ready,” Sylus said, his voice calm and smooth, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yes, sir,” came the twins’ simultaneous reply before the line went dead.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Sylus continued toward the glass doors, the faint hum of mall activity buzzing around him. He passed by the bustling food court, his mind turning over possibilities with calculated precision. What would Xavier’s next move be? Would he drive you straight out of the city? Find a safe house? Attempt to flee beyond his reach?

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. You could run as far as you'd like, he would find you. He had proven that before, and he would prove it again.

His thoughts drifted to you, to the desperation in your eyes as you’d clung to Xavier. Did you think this was freedom? Did you truly believe that running to another man’s arms would save you? Sylus’s chest tightened as he imagined the way you must have felt—hopeful, relieved, like a bird released from a cage. But you hadn’t escaped anything. Not really.

“My little dove,” he murmured to himself, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Fly as far as you like. Your cage will always be just behind you.”

The glass doors of the mall slid open as Sylus stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He paused for a moment, glancing around with a faint smirk. His car was already idling by the curb, the twins standing attentively by the doors, their bodies relaxed but ready. He made his way toward them with the same unshakable composure he always carried, his mind already working through the steps ahead.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Sylus climbed into the car, leaning back against the seat as he stared out the window. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, his eyes glinting in the bright light. The game had shifted, and the hunt was on. But he wasn’t worried.

Because he always won.

You flew into Xavier’s arms, clinging to him as though letting go would rip him away forever. Your body trembled uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks in hot, unrelenting waves. Every ounce of strength you’d used to hold yourself together for months crumbled in an instant, leaving nothing but raw emotion in its place. His arms wrapped around you tightly, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. His warmth, his scent—everything about him screamed safety, familiarity, home.

It was real. This had to be real.

Your shoulders shook as you sobbed into his chest, your fists gripping his shirt with a desperation that felt primal. “This…isn’t a dream, right?” you whispered, your voice broken, barely audible between your gasping sobs. “You’re real?”

Xavier’s arms tightened around you, his voice low and steady, a soft balm against your chaos. “I promise I’m real, my love,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your hair. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and the tenderness of it made your heart clench painfully.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt. You could feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and reassuring, a rhythm you had yearned for but feared you might never hear again. For months, you’d clung to the fragile hope that you’d find him, but now that he was here, holding you, it felt like an impossible dream.

But the dream crashed into reality when you felt a sharp kick from your belly. You froze for a moment, the sensation pulling you back to the present. Your daughter moved again, a firm reminder of her presence. You shifted slightly, and Xavier stiffened, his body instinctively adjusting as if to shield you. His gaze dropped, and you knew he felt it too—the undeniable proof of your pregnancy.

His hands loosened slightly, giving you space as he stepped back just enough to look down at you. His blue eyes widened as they flickered to the swell of your stomach, his expression shifting from relief to surprise, then to something gentler—something you couldn’t quite read.

The shame hit you like a tidal wave. Heat rushed to your face as your tears faltered, and you quickly averted your gaze, unable to bear the silent question lingering between you. You opened your mouth, scrambling for words, for a way to explain what couldn’t be explained. “This…this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t willingly—”

“Shh.” Xavier’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, calm and firm yet full of compassion. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that still clung to your skin. “You don’t have to explain,” he said, his gaze locking with yours. “I know. I know.”

His words sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there was no time to dwell on it. His grip on your hand tightened, and the softness in his expression hardened into sharp focus. His eyes darted toward the entrance of the store, scanning the area with practiced precision.

“We can’t talk here,” he said quietly, urgency lacing his words. “There’s no time. He’s not dumb. He’s probably already realized you’re not coming back.”

Your stomach churned at his words. He was right. Sylus was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them. If he hadn’t already figured out what was happening, it wouldn’t be long before he did. You could practically feel the weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze, even though he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Xavier’s hand on yours kept you steady as he began guiding you out of the store. His movements were purposeful, each step measured but swift. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you could barely hear the ambient noise of the mall around you—the faint murmur of shoppers, the echo of footsteps on polished floors, the distant hum of escalators.

Your eyes darted around nervously, scanning for any sign of Sylus. Every passing shadow, every sudden movement made your pulse spike. The fear that had been simmering in the back of your mind now roared to life, a suffocating weight pressing down on you.

“Keep moving,” Xavier whispered, his voice barely audible but commanding. He cast another glance over his shoulder, his body tense, ready for anything. “We’re almost there.”

The two of you weaved through the crowd, the press of bodies both a comfort and a curse. On one hand, they shielded you, made it harder for anyone to track you. But on the other, every stranger’s face felt like a threat, every curious glance like a dagger aimed at your heart.

As you approached the mall’s glass doors, the cool evening air beyond them became a beacon, a promise of freedom. You focused on that sliver of light, letting it guide you, letting it fuel the hope that was slowly beginning to grow.

But your legs felt heavy, like they might give out at any moment. The adrenaline that had carried you this far was starting to falter, leaving behind the exhaustion of months spent holding everything together. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, but you forced yourself to keep moving.

Finally, the two of you reached the doors, and Xavier pushed them open with one hand, keeping the other firmly on yours. The cool air hit your face, a sharp contrast to the stifling tension inside. For the first time in what felt like forever, you took a deep, steadying breath.

But it wasn’t over yet. You weren’t free yet.

“Stay close,” Xavier said, his tone protective as he led you toward the parking lot. His grip on your hand was firm but gentle, a tether that kept you grounded as the world spun around you.

You nodded, unable to form words as your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. What if Sylus was already out here? What if he was watching, waiting? You couldn’t afford to think about it. Not now. Not when freedom was so close you could almost taste it.

The two of you moved quickly, Xavier’s steps confident and unrelenting as he navigated through the rows of parked cars. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half expecting to see Sylus’s crimson eyes cutting through the air. But the parking lot was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of car alarms.

As Xavier reached into his pocket for his keys, you couldn’t stop the question that slipped from your lips. “What now?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Xavier turned to you, his expression both determined and gentle. “Now, we get you out of here. Both of you.” His hand rested briefly but hesitantly on your belly, his touch reassuring. “And then we figure out where to keep you so your safe. For good this time.”

His words sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of hope. For the first time in months, you felt like escape wasn’t just a dream. It was a possibility.

As Xavier opened the car door and helped you inside, you cast one last glance at the mall behind you. The faint flicker of lights, the bustling crowds, the life you were leaving behind.

And somewhere in the shadows, you knew Sylus was watching. Waiting.

But for now, you were free.

The hum of the car engine filled the heavy silence, a low and constant reminder of the miles slipping by. Outside the windows, the scenery blurred into a muted palette of greens and grays, the fading light of morning casting long shadows across the road. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, your mind racing with thoughts that felt too big to untangle.

Xavier hadn’t said much since you climbed into the car. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale against the leather. His jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on the road ahead as if the act of driving required every ounce of his attention. The silence between you was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything you’d both endured.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Why didn’t you come for me sooner?” you asked, your voice quiet but sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade. You didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but the question had been burning in your mind ever since he had come for you.

Xavier flinched slightly at the words, his shoulders tensing as he exhaled through his nose. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and you thought he might brush the question off entirely. But then, he spoke, his voice low and steady, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—regret? Shame?

“He blackmailed me.”

You blinked, startled by the admission. “What?”

Xavier’s grip on the wheel tightened further, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he continued. “Sylus. He blackmailed me. He made it impossible for me to act without risking everything.”

Your breath caught, confusion and disbelief swirling in your chest. “What do you mean? Blackmailed you how?”

Xavier hesitated, his jaw working as if he were weighing the words before saying them aloud. “It started after you disappeared,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “I was looking for you. I left no stone unturned, no lead unexplored. I didn’t care what it took—I was going to find you. But Sylus…” He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He made sure I couldn’t.”

The weight of his words sank into your chest, leaving you breathless. “What did he do?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Xavier finally glanced at you, his blue eyes dark with a mix of anger and guilt. “He threatened to hurt you if I kept looking. To hurt people who had nothing to do with this too."

Your stomach twisted as the pieces began to fall into place. You’d known Sylus was ruthless, manipulative, but hearing it from Xavier made it all feel more real. “He…he threatened to hurt me?” you whispered, horrified. You almost couldn't believe it.

Xavier nodded stiffly, his hands flexing on the steering wheel. "He had his eyes everywhere, his reach in places I didn’t even know existed. He made it clear that finding you would come at a cost—and not just to me.”

A wave of guilt and sorrow crashed over you, rendering you speechless. You turned away, staring out the window as you tried to process what he was saying. The silence returned, heavier now, laden with the weight of his confession and the reality of what Sylus had done to both of you.

You felt like you should say something, offer some kind of comfort, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you sat there, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts that refused to settle.

“I didn’t stop looking for you,” Xavier said after a long moment, his voice breaking the silence again. There was a quiet desperation in his tone now, a need for you to understand. “I couldn’t. But I had to be careful, deliberate. Every step I took felt like walking a tightrope, and I knew one wrong move could…” He trailed off, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I hated it. Every second of it.”

You nodded slowly, though your gaze remained fixed on the passing trees. “I didn’t know,” you murmured, your voice shaking. “I didn’t realize he…” The words failed you, leaving you to sink further into the silence.

For the next few minutes of the drive, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of your breathing. But the tension in the car was no longer suffocating—it was raw and open, a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had been stolen from both of you.

"You know…he blackmailed me too kinda," you said softly, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the car. Your voice was tentative, almost drowned out by the faint hum of the engine. You kept your gaze on the road ahead, unable to meet Xavier’s eyes as the weight of your words settled in the confined space.

Xavier glanced at you, his blue eyes earnest and filled with quiet concern. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready,” he said gently. His voice was steady, warm—a stark contrast to the turmoil raging in your chest.

You shook your head slowly, your hands trembling as they rested on your belly. “No,” you whispered. “It’s fine. I want you to know. You deserve to know.”

He didn’t push, didn’t press for details. Instead, he waited, his silence giving you the space to gather your thoughts. The words felt heavy, lodged in your throat like stones, but you forced them out anyway, each one cutting into the fragile peace that had momentarily settled between you.

“He said if I ever spoke your name…he’d kill you,” you said, your voice cracking on the last word. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress as you glanced down at your stomach, your shame and fear twisting into an unbearable knot. “He also said if I didn’t feed the baby…” You swallowed hard, the memory still as sharp and raw as the day Sylus had first uttered the threat. “He’d kill you then, too.”

The confession hung in the air like a dark cloud, oppressive and suffocating. The only sounds were the faint rumble of the car and your own unsteady breathing. Your heart raced as you waited for Xavier to respond, your mind spiraling into a hundred different worst-case scenarios. What if he was angry? Hurt? Or worse, what if he couldn’t look at you the same way after hearing it all?

Xavier didn’t say anything right away, but the tension in his jaw told you he was processing it. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, but his face remained calm. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured. “I understand,” he said, his tone careful. He paused, glancing at you again before asking hesitantly, “Are you…are you keeping it?”

The question hit you like a slap, not because it was inappropriate, but because of how much weight it carried. You knew what he meant, but even so, the word “it” stung. Xavier must have realized immediately, because he winced and quickly corrected himself. “Ah, sorry. Not ‘it.’ I don’t know the gender.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his awkwardness, and for the first time in what felt like hours, a small laugh escaped your lips. It was faint and fleeting, but it was there—a fragile spark in the sea of tension.

“The baby is a girl,” you said, your voice softening. “It’s okay.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze shifted back to the road, his jaw tightening again as if bracing himself for whatever came next.

“And…I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice wavering. “Just a day ago, I was preparing to accept my new life as a mom. I told myself I had to. That I didn’t have a choice.” You paused, taking a shaky breath as your hand moved to your belly, tracing slow circles over the fabric. “And now…now my brain is all over the place. I just want her to be safe. To grow up happy.”

Silence enveloped the car again, heavy and suffocating. You stared out the window, the glow of sun illuminating the streets. Your daughter kicked again, and you pressed your palm against your stomach, trying to reassure her even as your own fears consumed you.

When Xavier didn’t respond, your chest tightened with a fresh wave of anxiety. Was he regretting this already? Was this too much for him? The thought was like a dagger, sharp and cold, and before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

“I understand if this is a lot,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your head slightly, your eyes searching his face for any sign of his thoughts. “If you don’t want me anymore…”

The moment the words left your lips, Xavier’s head snapped toward you, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. His expression was equal parts shock and disbelief, and for a terrifying second, you thought you’d made a mistake.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that.”

You flinched at the firmness in his tone, but before you could retreat into yourself, his hand left the wheel and reached for yours. His palm was warm, his grip steady as his fingers laced through yours. The gesture was grounding, a lifeline in the sea of doubt.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice softening but losing none of its conviction. “This is a lot. I won’t lie to you about that. But it’s not too much. Not for me.”

Your breath caught as he continued, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Do you really think I’d give up now?” he asked, his voice almost breaking. “After everything? After months of looking for you, of fighting to get to this moment?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as his words wrapped around your heart like a protective shield. You tried to speak, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Instead, you nodded, the motion small and uncertain.

“I don’t care about the circumstances,” Xavier said, his voice steady. “You’re still the woman I love. And that little girl you’re carrying?” His gaze flickered briefly to your belly before returning to your face. “She’s part of you. That’s all I need to know.”

The dam inside you broke, and the tears came freely now, your shoulders shaking as the weight of everything you’d been holding finally crashed down. Xavier didn’t flinch, didn’t let go. If anything, his grip on your hand tightened, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles over your knuckles.

“You don’t have to figure this all out today,” he said softly. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

His words hit you with the force of a tidal wave, overwhelming and comforting all at once. For the first time in months, the crushing weight on your chest eased just enough for you to take a full breath. You nodded again, your hand squeezing his as you leaned back against the seat.

For now, you didn’t need all the answers. For now, it was enough to know that you weren’t alone.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing you recalled was the rhythmic hum of the car’s engine, a soothing lullaby against the backdrop of a long and emotional day. Now, you woke to the soft crunch of gravel beneath tires, and the faint thud of a door shutting pulled you fully back to consciousness. Blinking groggily, you rubbed your eyes, the world outside the window coming into focus—or not. Darkness enveloped everything, the trees standing like silent sentinels against the faint glow of the moon.

The realization hit you quickly: this wasn’t home. Your heart skipped a beat as unease crept in, sharp and unwelcome. Before you could dwell on it, the passenger door opened, and cool night air rushed in. Xavier leaned into view, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the car’s overhead light. His expression was calm, reassuring, but you couldn’t ignore the flutter of anxiety in your chest.

“Where are we?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep. Your fingers curled around the seatbelt instinctively, holding you in place.

Xavier offered his hand, waiting patiently for you to take it. “Someplace safe,” he said simply. When you didn’t immediately move, he crouched slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “I know this is sudden, but I need you to trust me. It’s too dangerous to go back to the apartment right now. He knows where we live.”

The mention of Sylus sent a shiver down your spine. Logic told you Xavier was right, but fear still gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. Hesitantly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and allowed him to help you out of the car. The ground was uneven beneath your feet, the faint crunch of dirt and leaves the only sound as you stood there, blinking into the darkness.

“I thought we’d go back to your place,” you murmured, your voice wavering. Your gaze flickered around nervously, trying to take in your surroundings, but the dense forest offered no clues. “Why…why here?”

Xavier’s hand tightened around yours, his warmth grounding you. “I know it’s a lot,” he admitted, his tone gentle. “But I needed to bring you somewhere Sylus wouldn’t think to look. This cabin—it’s not much, but it’s off the radar. Trust me, it’s safer.”

Despite his reassurances, unease still prickled at the edges of your mind. You weren’t sure if it was the unfamiliar surroundings, the memories of Sylus’s threats, or the sheer exhaustion weighing on your body, but something about the situation left you unsettled. Still, you nodded, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. Xavier wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t put you in danger.

“Come on,” he said softly, tugging your hand. “It’s not far.”

The walk to the cabin was short, but every step felt like a battle. Your feet ached fiercely, the swelling from the pregnancy making each movement a painful reminder of your body’s limits. By the time the faint outline of the cabin came into view, a soft grunt of pain escaped your lips, and you winced, trying to mask it. Xavier stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“You okay?” he asked, his brows knitting together in concern. His gaze dropped to your feet, his expression softening when he noticed your discomfort.

“It’s just a pregnancy thing,” you muttered, embarrassed. “My feet… they’re swollen. And they hurt.”

Xavier frowned, his concern deepening. “We should’ve stopped sooner. I’ll see if I have anything at the cabin to help with that.” His voice carried a mix of determination and regret, as if he felt guilty for not noticing sooner.

You nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness but unable to shake the wave of shame that washed over you. He was doing so much already—too much. This wasn’t his responsibility, no matter how much he claimed to care. As he guided you the last few steps to the cabin, you couldn’t help but wonder if he really meant what he’d said earlier about the baby. Did he truly believe what he’d said, or had it been an attempt to comfort you in the moment?

The cabin was modest, its wooden beams gleaming faintly in the moonlight. When Xavier pushed open the door, the soft golden glow of the interior lights spilled out, revealing a small but cozy space. There was no clutter, no decorations—just a bed, a wood-burning stove, and a small kitchen tucked into one corner. It was practical, not personal, and the emptiness made your chest tighten.

“Sit down,” Xavier said, his tone gentle but firm as he guided you to the bed. “I’ll get some water and find something for your feet.”

You sank into the mattress, relief washing over you as the pressure on your swollen feet eased. As Xavier moved around the cabin, his actions quick and purposeful, you watched him, your emotions a tangled mess of gratitude and guilt. He shouldn’t have to take care of you like this. He had no obligation—not to you, and certainly not to the baby.

When he returned, he knelt in front of you, setting down a bowl of warm water and a clean towel. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice apologetic, “but it should help.”

You stared at the bowl for a moment, your throat tightening. His kindness was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, the question you’d been holding back tumbled out.

“Do you really mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier paused, his hands stilling over the bowl. He looked up at you, his blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Mean what?” he asked softly, his tone careful.

“What you said earlier. About the baby,” you clarified, your voice trembling. “That it doesn’t matter to you…that she’s part of me, and that’s all you need.”

His expression softened, and he reached out, taking your hand in his. “I meant it,” he said, his voice steady. “That doesn’t mean this isn’t a lot to take in. It is. And I won’t pretend otherwise.” He paused, his gaze searching yours. “But none of that changes how I feel about you. Or how much I want to be here for you—whatever you decide.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace. “Whatever I decide?” you echoed, your voice breaking.

Xavier nodded, his thumb brushing gentle circles over your knuckles. “If you want to keep her, I’ll be here for you both. If you decide adoption is the right choice, I’ll support you. This is your decision. Your future. But whatever you choose, I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears came freely again as the weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your hand tightened, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else could. He truly was the man you loved and continued to be despite everything.

Your stomach rumbled loudly, the sound startling in the quiet cabin. It was as if your body had finally caught up with everything else, demanding attention you didn’t feel ready to give. You let out a nervous laugh, instinctively placing a hand over your belly as another tiny kick pressed against your palm. Your daughter was restless, rolling and kicking as if in protest.

“I guess we’re both starving,” you said softly, your voice carrying an edge of self-consciousness.

Xavier glanced towards the small kitchen area, his face softening. “There’s some canned food in the cupboard,” he said, already moving and pulling open one of the creaky wooden doors. “I’ll cook something for you. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll do.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt small in comparison to what he was doing for you. As you watched him move around the kitchen, his slightly broad shoulders slightly hunched in concentration, guilt gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. He was doing so much for you—for both of you. And yet, no matter how much he reassured you, that persistent question lingered: how long could this last? How long until it became too much for him?

You shifted on the bed, your hand still resting on your belly as your daughter continued her acrobatics. Your thoughts spiraled, each one more overwhelming than the last. What were you going to do? The question haunted you, clawing at the edges of your mind. Once Sylus was no longer a threat, you’d still have to make a decision about the baby.

Would it be better to give her up? The thought made your chest tighten painfully, but it felt like the only logical choice. If you kept her, Sylus would find her. He always found a way. But giving her up didn’t guarantee safety either. What if she ended up closer to his reach, easier for him to manipulate and control? Your head swam with possibilities, each one more suffocating than the last. You closed your eyes, willing the torrent of thoughts to stop, but it was like trying to hold back a flood.

“Xavier…” you began hesitantly, your voice barely audible over the faint sizzle of something on the stove. He turned slightly, his head tilting to show he was listening, but his hands didn’t stop moving as he stirred a pot. “Shouldn’t we go to Captain Jenna? The police? I mean…I’m technically still missing, aren’t I?”

Xavier stilled for a moment, the rhythm of his stirring coming to an abrupt halt. The tension in his shoulders was subtle, but it was enough to make your stomach churn with unease. Slowly, he resumed stirring, his back still to you. “You’re not legally missing,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Sylus made sure of that.”

Your breath hitched, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer.

Xavier turned down the heat on the stove, his movements deliberate as he picked up a plate and began serving the food. “He made me spin a story,” Xavier explained, his tone clipped. “According to me, you announced that you were leaving the country. Made it seem like a planned move.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily breathless. Of course Sylus had thought of everything. He always did. Every possible angle, every potential loose end—he’d tied them all up neatly in a web of lies. “What?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But…that doesn’t mean we can’t tell someone what really happened, right?”

Xavier didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured the steaming vegetables from the pot onto the plate, the vibrant mix of greens, oranges, and yellows standing out against the plain white dish. He carried it over to the small coffee table in front of you, setting it down gently. The aroma of cooked pork and seasoned vegetables filled the air, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on him, searching for some kind of reassurance.

“It’s best not to get anyone else involved,” he said finally, sitting down across from you. His voice was measured, careful, but there was an underlying tension that made your stomach twist. “Sylus is dangerous. The people you’re thinking of going to—Captain Jenna, the police—they can’t protect you from someone like him.”

“But—” you began, desperation creeping into your voice.

“Besides,” he cut in gently but firmly, his gaze meeting yours, “you’re pregnant. If we try to explain this now, all it’s going to look like is you ran off for a fling. That’s how Sylus has framed it, and it’s the story people will believe.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. You wanted to argue, to shout that it wasn’t fair, but the truth of what he was saying kept your protests lodged in your throat. Sylus’s lies were insidious, and the world was all too quick to believe the worst about people. Even if you tried to explain, who would believe you?

Xavier leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” he said softly. “And I know it’s not fair. But the most important thing right now is keeping you and the baby safe. That’s all that matters. Once I can secure a better place for you, I'll move you both out from this cabin.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking about the baby… about what’s best for her. I don’t even know if keeping her is the right choice. But giving her up…what if that puts her in even more danger?”

Xavier’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand covering yours. His touch was warm, grounding, but it didn’t erase the storm raging inside you. “I don’t have all the answers,” he said honestly. “This is your decision. And it’s not an easy one. But whatever you choose—whether you keep her or give her up—I’ll be here to help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“How can you say that?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “She’s not even yours.”

Xavier didn’t flinch. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles over your knuckles. “I know,” he said simply, his voice steady. “But regardless, I love you. If you keep her, I want to be involved with everything to do with you."

The sincerity in his voice left you breathless, your chest aching with a mixture of gratitude and overwhelming emotion. The enormity of everything still loomed over you, but Xavier’s words felt like a lifeline, anchoring you to something solid amidst the chaos.

You nodded slowly, wiping at your eyes as you reached for the fork. The first bite of food was warm and comforting, easing some of the tension in your chest. It was nothing compared to the lavish meals Sylus would feed you, but for the first time in a long time the food was truly delicious. Xavier watched you silently, his presence steady and unyielding. The crushing weight of fear and uncertainty seemed to lift—if only just enough to breathe.

Tomorrow would bring more questions, more decisions. But for tonight, Xavier’s quiet support was enough to keep the darkness at bay.

The hours stretched on, the crackle of the wood-burning stove providing a soothing backdrop as you and Xavier talked. At first, it was about the kidnapping, the things you had endured, and the horrifying grip Sylus had over your life. Xavier was angered to learn Sylus had physically cut out your birth control himself. And you were saddened to learn you no longer had an apartment. But as the tension began to ease, the conversation shifted. Xavier told you about what he’d gone through to find you, the lengths he’d gone to prepare for what felt like an impossible rescue. Every word felt surreal.

“So… you’re part Polar Wyrm now?” you asked, your tone incredulous.

Xavier nodded, leaning back a bit, his broad shoulders catching the warm glow of the stove’s firelight. His lips quirked into a half-smile, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. It’s…complicated. I didn’t have a choice, not if I wanted to be strong enough to face him again. I thought—” He paused, his blue eyes flickering with something unspoken. “I thought it would give me a better chance to bring you back.”

You stared at him, trying to process the enormity of what he had done. Polar Wyrms were no ordinary Wanderers—powerful, ancient, and dangerous. To think Xavier had willingly taken on that kind of burden for you made your chest ache with a mix of gratitude and guilt.

“I didn’t ask you to do that…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His eyes softened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You didn’t have to,” he said quietly. “I would’ve done anything to find you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I’m sorry,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The words tumbled out of you in a rush, fueled by the weight of everything you’d been carrying. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger—”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle but firm, cutting through your apologies. He reached out and placed a hand over yours, his touch warm and grounding. “You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this was your fault.”

You nodded hesitantly, though the guilt still lingered, a heavy presence in your chest. It wasn’t something that would go away overnight.

Eventually, the conversation turned lighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, you caught glimpses of the man you missed and dreamed of, the one who could make you laugh, who made the world feel less daunting. When he brought up baby names, it caught you off guard.

“I always thought that if I had a daughter, I’d name her Evia,” he said, his voice thoughtful. He leaned back, his gaze distant as if imagining the life he once thought he might have. “It means ‘life’ or ‘to live’ in Hebrew.”

You were lying on the bed by then, exhaustion tugging at your body despite the lively energy of your daughter, who seemed intent on keeping you awake with her constant movements. Your fingers traced idle patterns over your belly as you considered the name.

“Evia,” you repeated, the sound delicate and full of promise. “It’s such a pretty name.”

The idea stirred something inside you—a flicker of hope, fragile but persistent. Could this be a fresh start? If you named her something Xavier had chosen instead of something Sylus would have controlled, it might mark the beginning of a new chapter. A life where you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, where your daughter could grow up without fear.

Xavier must have sensed the shift in your mood because he gave you a small smile, the kind that lit up his face and reminded you of how much you had missed him. “Of course, if you wanted something different, it’s your choice,” he added quickly, his tone light but sincere.

Your heart fluttered at his words, at the way he seemed to effortlessly put you first, even now. How you’d missed that smile. His voice. His eyes. This wasn’t just love—it was something deeper. Something that had endured pain, separation, and fear, only to emerge stronger.

“Xavier…” you whispered, his name barely more than a breath as it passed your lips. It felt strange to say it now, after all this time, after everything that had happened. Yet it grounded you, tethering you to the moment as you turned toward him on the bed.

He was kneeling beside you, his arms resting on the edge of the mattress. The warm light of the fire danced across his face, casting shadows that made his features seem sharper, more defined. But his eyes…they were soft, steady, filled with something that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken.

He tilted his head slightly, a quiet hum of acknowledgment escaping his throat. His blue eyes flickered down to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat, before lifting back to meet your gaze. The unspoken question in his expression sent a shiver through you.

Your heart pounded, the sound of it filling your ears as if it were echoing in the quiet cabin. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin, subtle but enough to make you hyperaware of just how close he was. You could see the faint line of eyebags on his face, the way his lips parted slightly as though he wanted to speak but didn’t.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt electric, charged with an intensity that made the air in the room seem heavier. Your stomach fluttered—not with the restless movements of your daughter, but with something else. Something thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned forward. The fabric of the bed shifted beneath you, and your hand pressed against the mattress for balance as you closed the distance between you. Xavier mirrored your movement, his posture rigid at first but softening as he leaned closer. His eyes never left yours, flickering with emotions you couldn’t quite name but felt in your core.

You could feel the heat radiating from him now, could see the way his chest rose and fell with slightly uneven breaths. The faint scent of him—something clean, with a hint of the woods—filled your senses, making your head spin. Your lips were so close you could almost feel them brush against his, the space between you impossibly narrow.

His hand moved, hesitating for a moment before coming to rest lightly against your jaw. His touch was warm, his thumb barely grazing your skin as though he were afraid you might pull away. The gentle pressure made your breath catch, your eyes fluttering shut as the anticipation built to a dizzying crescendo.

And then the doubt crept in.

Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled back slightly, your chest tightening with the weight of your insecurities. How could you let yourself get lost in this moment when everything about you had changed? You were pregnant. Your body wasn’t the same, marked and reshaped by the life growing inside you and the things you had been through. How could he still want you like this?

“Never mind,” you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You started to lean back, but Xavier’s hand moved quickly, capturing your wrist with a firm yet gentle grip.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. His thumb brushed over the delicate skin of your wrist as he held you in place, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

His free hand lifted to your cheek, tilting your face back toward him. The way he looked at you made your heart skip—an unguarded, almost raw expression of longing and determination. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The words trembled with vulnerability, as though he wasn’t certain you’d say yes.

Your lips parted in surprise, your pulse racing as you searched his face for any hint of doubt. There was none. His eyes were locked on yours, unwavering, filled with a quiet intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“You still...want to do that?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Even if I’m like this?”

His brows furrowed slightly, as though he couldn’t understand why you would even question it. “Always,” he said simply, his voice steady and sure.

The sincerity in his tone sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. Your chest ached, your breath hitching as you realized just how much you had missed him—his touch, his presence, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

Slowly, you leaned in again, your movements tentative at first but growing bolder as you closed the distance between you. Xavier met you halfway, his hand still cradling your face as his thumb traced a slow, soothing circle against your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered shut again, and you tilted your head slightly, your lips just a breath away from his. You could feel the faintest brush of his mouth against yours, featherlight and tantalizing, and your heart leapt in anticipation.

And then, a sharp, piercing “CAW!” shattered the moment.

Your eyes flew open, your head snapping toward the window. Outside, silhouetted against the moonlight, was the unmistakable shape of a crow. Its black feathers gleamed in the dim light, and it perched on a gnarled branch just outside the cabin.

“No…” you breathed, the sound barely audible as a chill ran down your spine. The crow let out another sharp cry, its beady eyes fixed on the cabin, unblinking.

“Mephisto...” you said, the name tumbling from your lips in disbelief as you sat up abruptly, your heart racing.

Xavier frowned, his hand still on your wrist as he followed your gaze to the window. “Who’s Mephisto?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

Your mind raced, a storm of thoughts and memories flooding in all at once. Mephisto wasn’t just a crow. He was Sylus’s crow. A creature bound to him in ways you still couldn’t fully understand, serving as his eyes, his ears, his shadow.

If Mephisto was here, it could only mean one thing.

“We have to go,” you said urgently, your voice trembling. “Now.”

Xavier didn’t question you. His expression hardened, his movements quick and efficient as he rose to his feet and grabbed the car keys. The easy, tender atmosphere of moments ago was gone, replaced by a tension so thick it was suffocating. You couldn't go back. You had just gotten a small taste of true freedom again and he was coming to rip it all away.

As you scrambled to your feet, your hand instinctively went to your belly, your daughter’s frantic movements mirroring the fear coursing through you. You cast one last glance at the window, but the branch was empty now.

Mephisto was gone.

The urgency was palpable as you and Xavier bolted toward the car, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cabin, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap. Every sound—the snap of a twig, the rustling of leaves—set your nerves on edge, each one magnified by the oppressive darkness surrounding you.

“Come on,” Xavier urged, his voice low but firm as his hand closed around yours, pulling you along the uneven path.

Your swollen belly made it hard to keep up, each step sending a jolt of discomfort through your body. The terrain seemed to conspire against you—rocks and roots threatened to trip you, the soft soil beneath your feet feeling like it was pulling you down. Your breaths came in shallow pants, and your free hand pressed against your abdomen as though to steady the restless movements of your daughter within.

“I…I can’t run like this,” you panted, your voice shaky with fear and exertion.

Xavier slowed immediately, his grip on your hand tightening as he wrapped his other arm around your back to steady you. “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice softening despite the tension etched across his face. He guided you forward, his movements careful yet urgent. “We’re almost there.”

The car came into view, its dark shape barely discernible against the shadows of the forest. Relief surged through you, momentarily easing the tightness in your chest. The two of you reached the vehicle, and Xavier opened the passenger door in one swift motion, helping you inside.

“Lock it,” he said firmly, his blue eyes meeting yours through the glass before he hurried to the driver’s side.

With shaky hands, you reached for the lock, the click of it sliding into place offering a fleeting sense of security. The cabin lights dimmed as Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine roared to life, and for a moment, your pounding heart began to slow.

But the moment shattered as the car lurched forward an inch before stopping abruptly, the tires spinning uselessly against the ground. The engine growled in protest, but the vehicle refused to budge.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice trembling as dread crept back in.

Xavier’s brow furrowed as he shifted the car into park and back to drive, trying again. The tires spun helplessly, the grinding sound sending a chill down your spine. He muttered a curse under his breath, slamming the gearshift back into park as the car remained stationary.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tense. “Stay here. I’m going to check it out.”

Panic surged through you as he stepped out of the car, the chill of the night air rushing in before he shut the door. You watched as he crouched near the front tire, his movements quick and precise. Every second felt like an eternity as you sat there, clutching your belly protectively, your daughter’s frantic movements adding to your unease.

When Xavier finally returned, the grim set of his jaw sent a fresh wave of fear through you. He climbed back into the driver’s seat and closed the door firmly, exhaling through his nose as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Don’t panic,” he began, though his tone did little to reassure you. He turned to you, his blue eyes steady but shadowed with tension. “The tires are all slashed.”

The blood drained from your face. Your stomach churned as the implications sank in. You didn’t need to ask who had done it; the answer came to you instantly, chilling and absolute. “It was them,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “The twins.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened at your words, his eyes narrowing. “The twins?” he repeated, his voice sharp with concern. “Who are they?”

“Sylus’s henchmen,” you explained quickly, your words tumbling out in a rush. “They’re basically his…his shadows. If Mephisto was here, then they can’t be far behind. They always work together.”

Xavier’s lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze flickered toward the dark forest outside. The air in the car felt suffocating now, thick with the weight of unspoken fears. “So they were watching us this whole time,” he said grimly, his tone more a statement than a question.

You nodded, your hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the seat. “They had to have been. They’re not just criminals—they’re smart. Calculated. If they wanted us stuck here, then—”

“Then this was planned,” Xavier finished, his expression hardening. He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers briefly tugging at his hair before dropping to his lap. “Damn it.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the reality of the situation pressing down on you. The car was useless now, and the forest outside felt more menacing than ever. Every shadow seemed to shift, every sound amplified as though the trees themselves were conspiring to hide your pursuers.

“What do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear in your chest felt suffocating, your breaths shallow and uneven.

Xavier’s gaze snapped back to you, his expression softening slightly. “We’ll figure something out,” he said firmly. “But first, we need to stay calm.”

The sound of a branch snapping in the distance made you flinch, your heart leaping into your throat. Xavier’s head snapped toward the noise, his body tensing as his hand instinctively went to the knife strapped to his belt.

“They’re out there,” you said, your voice trembling. “Aren’t they?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the darkness outside the window. His posture was rigid, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. “Maybe,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “But if they wanted to come in guns blazing, they would’ve done it already. They’re waiting.”

“For what?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

Xavier shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For us to panic. To make a mistake.” His hand moved to yours, covering it with a gentle but firm grip. “Listen to me. I won’t let them take you and the baby. Do you understand?”

You nodded, though the fear in your chest didn’t subside. Your mind raced, every scenario more terrifying than the last. The car was no longer an option, and the cabin behind you suddenly felt like the least safe place in the world.

Another sound echoed through the forest—a low, distant rustling that sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through you. Xavier’s hand tightened around yours as his gaze snapped back to the window.

“We need to move,” he said, his voice firm. “But not yet. We’ll wait until the timing is right. They’re trying to force us into running blindly. We won’t give them that.”

The seconds stretched into minutes as the two of you sat there, waiting, the oppressive silence broken only by the sound of your unsteady breathing and the faint rustle of leaves outside. Your daughter stirred again, her movements frantic, as if she could sense the danger surrounding you.

You pressed a hand to your belly, whispering a silent promise to her: you would find a way out of this. That neither of you would have to go back.

The forest was quiet, the kind of quiet that thrummed with anticipation. Sylus stood at the edge of the clearing, his sharp eyes fixed on the distant glow of the cabin windows. The cool night air brushed against his face, but it did little to soothe the fire raging beneath his calm exterior. His hands, gloved in soft leather, clenched and relaxed rhythmically as he waited.

Mephisto broke the silence, swooping down from the shadows above and landing neatly on Sylus’s shoulder. The crow’s claws dug lightly into the leather, but Sylus didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a faint smirk as his mind reached out to the familiar connection, letting the images Mephisto had captured flood his vision.

What he saw made the smirk vanish instantly, replaced by a cold, volatile fury.

There you were—his woman, his fiancé—lying on a bed, your face lit with an expression of vulnerability and longing that twisted something deep in his chest. And then there was Xavier, that thorn in his side, that meddling pest, kneeling beside you. Xavier leaned in close, his face hovering near yours, your breaths mingling in a way that made Sylus’s blood boil.

The calm he had maintained so carefully shattered, his pulse pounding in his ears as the next images unfolded. Xavier’s hand brushed against your cheek, his gaze locked onto yours with a tenderness that made Sylus want to rip him apart. Then, you leaned in, your lips parting slightly as if to meet Xavier halfway.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sylus as he clenched his jaw tightly. How dare he? How dare that pathetic little knight touch you, try to kiss you, as if you weren't already marked by another man’s seed? His seed. You carried his child and yet Xavier had the audacity to act as though he still had any claim to you? The very thought made Sylus’s hands curl into fists, his nails digging into his palms beneath the leather gloves.

The next moments in Mephisto’s broadcast showed the two of you scrambling to your feet, startled by the crow’s sudden cry. Your panic was clear, your hand instinctively going to your belly. Sylus’s chest tightened at the sight, a twisted mixture of anger and possessiveness flooding his veins. Even in your fear, you looked radiant. Fragile, yes, but his.

A voice crackled in his ear, snapping him back to the present. “Boss,” came the low, gravelly voice of Luke, one of the twins. “Tires have been slashed already. They’re sitting in the car, looking pretty spooked. Let us know when you want us to move in.”

Sylus closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a slow exhale. He rolled his shoulders, his jaw tightening as he composed himself. When he opened his eyes again, they were steely, his expression hard yet laced with a faint, unsettling smirk.

“Don’t do anything rash before I get there,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “He’s mine for the kill.”

Luke’s voice came back immediately. “Understood.”

Sylus allowed himself a moment to flip a coin absentmindedly, his mind racing with plans. Every fiber of his being demanded action, demanded that he tear Xavier limb from limb for daring to touch what was his. But he wasn’t a man who acted without precision. No, Xavier would pay, but it would be on Sylus’s terms. And you…you would see that no one could love you the way he did. No one could protect you, provide for you, the way he could.

His gaze flicked toward the cabin again, his expression softening just slightly as he thought of you. You had been his obsession, his guiding star, for far too long. The thought of you with another man—especially one as undeserving as Xavier—was unbearable. It made his blood seethe, his mind cloud with thoughts of retribution. But beneath it all, his love for you burned brighter than his anger.

“She’ll understand,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and reverent. “Once that pest is gone, she’ll see it was always meant to be me.”

Mephisto cawed softly, tilting his head as if to mirror Sylus’s thoughts.

“Let’s move,” he murmured, his voice low and sharp, carrying the weight of his resolve. His fingers brushed over Mephisto’s feathers as his lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “It’s time to bring her back where she belongs.”

With one last glance toward the cabin, Sylus turned and disappeared into the shadows. His movements were precise, deliberate, like a predator closing in on its quarry. Tonight, he would end this charade. Xavier’s interference would be silenced for good, and you would finally see—you had always been his.

Sylus materialized in the clearing with a flash of red mist, the energy dissipating into the night as quickly as it had appeared. He stood among the trees, his presence shrouded in shadow, but his vantage point offered a clear view of the car and the unfolding scene. The twins had closed in, their movements deliberate, like wolves circling prey. Xavier, bold as ever, had stepped out of the car, his posture taut with readiness.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. Bold choice, Xavier. He leaned casually against a tree, his arms folded as he watched, curiosity piqued. This could prove entertaining.

“Long time no see, my old friend!” Kieran called out, his voice carrying a mockery that grated against the stillness of the night. He stepped closer, his confident strides deliberate, rife with mischief.

Xavier’s entire body went rigid, his arm snapping out as if on instinct. In a flash of shimmering light, a massive blue sword appeared in his hands, its surface glowing with a brilliance that contrasted sharply against the night. He held it out in front of him, its weight steady in his grip, the tip pointed menacingly at Kieran.

Sylus tilted his head, his smirk widening. So, Dr. Merill wasn’t kidding. The bastard really is working with EVER. His eyes flicked to the weapon in Xavier’s hands, taking in its construction and energy signature. Impressive. But not enough. He chuckled quietly to himself, staying hidden among the shadows.

“Get back if you know what’s good for you,” Xavier warned, his voice low and edged with fury. His glare was sharp enough to cut, but Kieran seemed unfazed.

“Woah, woah, calm down,” Luke interjected, his hands raised in mock surrender as he approached from the other side. “We’re not here for you. Just picking up what belongs to the boss.”

Luke gestured lazily toward the car, his grin widening. “If you just let her go, we’ll all get out of here unscathed. Well,” he added with a shrug, “she will either way. But you know what I mean.”

The tension snapped like a coiled spring as Xavier lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Luke narrowly dodged the strike, his reflexes sharp, but not sharp enough to escape unscathed. A thin piece of his hood fluttered to the ground, the fabric severed by the glowing blade. Luke glanced at it, then laughed, the sound rough and full of derision.

“Woah, you actually managed a hit this time!” he said, his demeanor twisting into something darker. “Time to get serious then, eh?”

The fight erupted in a blur of motion.

Xavier pressed the attack, his blade a streak of blue light as it arced through the air. Luke countered, twisting and dodging with practiced ease, his movements fluid as water. Kieran joined the fray, his twin daggers gleaming wickedly as he darted in and out, testing Xavier’s defenses. The two moved in perfect synchronization, their coordination seamless, but Xavier held his ground, his blade a glowing barrier that kept them at bay.

Sylus watched with mild interest, his gaze shifting between the clashing figures. Every strike, every dodge, was a calculated move, and yet…his focus drifted.

His eyes found you in the passenger seat of the car, your face fear stricken and drawn, your hands trembling as they clutched your belly. Even from this distance, he could see the anxiety etched into your features, the way your shoulders shook with barely contained sobs. His chest tightened, a pang of something tender cutting through his fury. Poor thing. Terrified. This isn’t good for your heart-or the baby’s.

How he longed to end this now, to sweep you into his arms and whisk you far away from all of this chaos. To hold you, to remind you that you were his, that you were safe as long as you were in his arms. But it wasn’t the time. Not yet.

A flash of blue light snapped his attention back to the fight. Xavier had unleashed a wave of energy from his blade, the force slamming into the ground and sending a shockwave through the clearing. The twins scattered, their footing faltering for a moment before they regained their composure.

Kieran darted back in, his daggers flashing as he aimed for Xavier’s flank. Xavier pivoted, his sword meeting the strike with a deafening clash of steel. Luke moved in from the other side, his strikes precise and unrelenting. The three danced a deadly rhythm, the clash of their weapons ringing through the night.

And then it happened.

Xavier unleashed another wave of blue energy, this one larger, more unstable. The force of it shattered the window on the passenger side of the car, sending shards of glass raining down. Your scream pierced the air, high and raw, the sound cutting through the chaos like a knife.

Sylus’s composure shattered.

His eyes locked onto the broken window, his breath catching as he saw you huddled inside, your arms wrapped protectively around your belly. Fear radiated from you, palpable even at a distance. The sight made his blood run hot, his fury igniting into something all-consuming.

“Enough,” he growled, the word barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

In a blur of his Evol, Sylus stepped forward, emerging from the shadows with deadly intent. The twins faltered for a moment, sensing his presence before they saw him. Xavier froze, his glowing blade still raised, as Sylus appeared at the edge of the clearing.

“This ends now,” Sylus said, his voice low and sharp, each word dripping with authority. His eyes burned with a mix of fury and possession as they fixed on Xavier. “Step away from her, or I’ll make you regret ever coming near what’s mine.”

The clearing fell into an uneasy silence, the tension crackling like a storm ready to break.

Sylus had entered the fray, and there would be no escape.

"Ah, look, the man of the hour," Xavier said through clenched teeth, his voice laced with venom. But his gaze wasn’t on Sylus. It wasn’t on the twins, who had stepped back to watch the show unfold. No, his focus was entirely on you, huddled in the passenger seat of the car, your body shaking as sobs wracked through you.

Sylus followed his line of sight, his own jaw tightening as he took in the scene. You were crying—crying because of him, because of this idiot who had dragged you into a situation you were never meant to endure. His vision blurred with rage, and his hand clenched at his side, crimson energy crackling around his fingers. How dare he look at you. How dare he make you cry.

Your tears belonged to him and him only.

“Eyes on me, Xavier,” Sylus growled, his voice low and cold. Without waiting for a response, he sent a sharp burst of red energy hurtling toward him.

Xavier moved quickly, throwing himself to the side just as the energy blasted through the space where he had been standing. The ground shook from the impact, a cloud of dirt and debris rising into the air, but Xavier recovered almost immediately, his glowing sword at the ready.

“You missed,” Xavier taunted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Sylus smirked darkly. “Never twice.”

The second wave of crimson energy struck true, slamming into Xavier’s chest and sending him hurtling backward. He crashed into a tree with a sickening thud, the bark splintering under the force. The impact was enough to send a gasp of pain from Xavier, but to Sylus’s annoyance, the man was already on his feet again, the blue glow of his sword flaring brighter.

“Persistent as ever,” Sylus muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Should I break the rest of the bones in your body?"

Xavier didn’t waste words. With a determined cry, he lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Sylus sidestepped effortlessly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re still not enough,” Sylus said, his voice calm, almost bored. He ducked beneath another swing, his movements fluid and precise, like a predator toying with its prey. “Not for me. And certainly not for her.”

The jab hit its mark. Xavier’s face twisted with anger, and he pressed the attack, his strikes coming faster, harder, each one designed to break through Sylus’s seemingly impenetrable defenses. But Sylus was faster. He weaved through the onslaught with practiced ease, his body moving with an unnatural grace that made it seem as though he were barely trying.

“You really thought this would end differently?” Sylus sneered, blocking a particularly aggressive strike with a burst of red energy that sent Xavier staggering back. “After everything you’ve seen, everything you know about me, you still thought you could win?”

“I don’t need to win,” Xavier spat, his chest heaving as he steadied his grip on the sword. “I just need to buy enough time to get her away from you.”

Sylus’s smirk vanished, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Get her away from me?” His voice was low, deadly quiet. “You mean my woman. The mother of my child.” He advanced on Xavier, his crimson energy pulsing with every step. “You think you have any claim to her? That you can just erase the mark I’ve left on her body, her soul?”

Xavier lunged again, this time aiming for Sylus’s side, but Sylus deflected the blow effortlessly, the clash of energy and steel ringing out like thunder. Their fight became a blur of movement—Xavier’s sword glowing brilliantly as it carved through the night air, Sylus’s crimson bursts lighting up the clearing like flashes of lightning.

“You’ve always been a pest, Xavier,” Sylus taunted as he dodged another strike, his tone dripping with mockery. “An irritating, self-righteous thorn in my side. But now?” He parried with a burst of red energy that sent Xavier skidding backward. “Now you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“Better than being a monster,” Xavier shot back, his voice filled with defiance. “She deserves better than you.”

Sylus laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Better than me? Let me make one thing clear—there is no better than me. You’re a cheap imitation of a savior, playing hero while I’ve given her everything. Protection. Security. A future.” His eyes gleamed with malice. “And let’s not forget who put that life inside of her.”

The words struck a nerve. Xavier roared in fury, his blade flaring brighter than ever as he charged forward. Sylus met him head-on, their energies colliding in a dazzling explosion of red and blue energy. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the clearing, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

The fight reached a fever pitch, each strike more desperate, more vicious than the last. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, their bodies moving on instinct as they sought the final blow. Sylus’s crimson energy swirled around him like a storm, each burst pushing Xavier closer to his limit. But Xavier held his ground, his sword a beacon of determination as it clashed against Sylus’s unrelenting power.

And then, just as they both prepared to strike again, a scream tore through the night.

“Stop! Stop! I love him!”

The sound froze them both in place. Xavier’s sword wavered, the light flickering as his gaze snapped toward the car. Sylus’s red energy dimmed, his breath catching as he turned to face you.

You were standing outside the car now, your body trembling as tears streamed down your face. Your hands were pressed protectively against your belly, your voice cracking with desperation as you continued, “I love him. Please, stop this.”

The clearing fell silent, save for the sound of your sobs. Sylus’s chest tightened as he stared at you, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, confusion, jealousy—all of it warred with the ache in his chest at the sight of you so distraught.

“She doesn’t mean you,” Xavier said, his voice quiet but filled with a quiet certainty. His sword lowered slightly, but the fire in his eyes remained.

"Please," you sobbed, your voice breaking with raw emotion. "I love him."

Your tear-stricken face was illuminated by the faint glow of the shattered car window, your trembling figure standing between the two men like a fragile barrier. Sylus’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he looked at you, his crimson energy dimming completely. For a moment, he seemed to falter, his lips parting as if to speak.

But before he could say a word, you closed the distance between you, your movements shaky yet determined. Your hands rose, cupping his face as your lips pressed against his in a desperate, trembling kiss.

Sylus froze, his entire body stiffening in shock. His hands hovered uncertainly at your sides, his breath catching at the unexpected intimacy. The warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips, overwhelmed him, sending a jolt of emotion coursing through him. Slowly, he began to relax, his arms coming around you tentatively at first, then tightening as if he were afraid to let go.

The world seemed to vanish around you both, the tension of the fight dissolving into nothingness. For a fleeting moment, there was no Xavier, no fight, no fear—just the two of you. Sylus’s eyes fluttered shut, his grip on you firm but reverent, as if he were holding something he had thought lost forever.

When you finally pulled away, your hands lingering against his jaw, Sylus’s eyes opened slowly, searching yours for meaning. His breaths were uneven, his usually sharp features softened by something unguarded, something vulnerable.

But as his gaze shifted, it landed on Xavier.

Xavier stood frozen, his glowing sword lowered but not extinguished, his expression a mask of disbelief. His eyes darted between you and Sylus, the realization of what he had just witnessed spreading across his face like a storm cloud.

Sylus’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, his arms still encircling you as if to stake his claim. But behind the smug satisfaction in his expression was something deeper—a glint of triumph, yes, but also tenderness as his attention returned to you.

For Sylus, this moment was victory enough.

He was going to kill him.

You could see it in Sylus’s relentless movements, the sharp precision of his strikes. Every motion was calculated, each blow aimed to end the fight with finality. You had seen Sylus survive the unimaginable—a gunshot to the heart, wounds that would leave any other man lifeless. He wasn’t just strong; he was unstoppable. And Xavier, despite his determination, was still part human. Mortal. The inevitable loomed before you like a shadow, suffocating and cold.

As you watched them clash, glass crunching beneath their feet and bursts of light illuminating the clearing, you could feel your world spiraling out of control. The thought of Xavier bleeding out, his lifeless body crumpled on the ground while you stood by and did nothing, was unbearable. Your daughter kicked violently within you, as though mirroring the chaos outside. One hand clutched your stomach, trying to soothe her, while the other shook at your side. You had to stop this.

Luke’s voice startled you as he opened the car door. “Miss,” he said, his tone calm and measured, “it’s better if we take you over there. It’s safer.”

His hand reached for your shoulder, firm but not rough, intending to guide you away. The thought of leaving the fight—leaving Xavier—ignited something desperate within you. Without thinking, you jerked away from Luke’s grip, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Miss—hey!” Luke called after you as you stumbled out of the car, but you didn’t stop. Your feet carried you forward, your chest heaving as you approached the fight. The chaos of the battle was deafening—the clash of Sylus’s crimson energy colliding with the brilliant blue glow of Xavier’s sword. The two men were locked in a brutal dance, their movements fast and unrelenting, and you knew there was only one way to stop it.

You drew a deep breath, your voice breaking as you screamed, “Stop! Stop! I love him!”

The words seemed to pierce through the clamor, freezing both men mid-strike. Sylus’s crimson Evol dimmed as he turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, while Xavier’s glowing sword lowered slightly, his face contorting with confusion.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you stumbled closer. “Stop… please don’t hurt him,” you sobbed, your voice cracking. “I love him.”

Their reactions couldn’t have been more different. Sylus’s crimson eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing as though trying to process your words. Xavier, on the other hand, stood frozen, his sword wavering in his hand, the light dimming as his disbelief deepened.

Before Sylus could respond, you closed the distance between you and him, your legs trembling beneath you as you took each step. The weight of what you were about to do crushed you, but there was no other choice. You couldn’t let Xavier die.

You reached up, your hands shaking as you cupped Sylus’s face, and pressed your lips against his.

Sylus froze beneath your touch, his body stiffening in shock. His Evol flickered, dimming entirely as the kiss lingered. Then, slowly, he began to move, his hands coming up to your waist as he leaned into the kiss. His embrace was firm, possessive, pulling you closer as though to confirm what he couldn’t quite believe.

Your stomach churned, your heart splintering into pieces as you allowed it to happen. You didn’t mean it—not any of it—but this was the price you had to pay to keep Xavier alive.

When you finally pulled away, your breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming down your face. Sylus’s crimson eyes searched yours, his features softening as though he had found something he had been searching for all along. You couldn’t look at him for long. Slowly, reluctantly, you turned toward Xavier.

The sight that met you shattered what was left of your heart.

Xavier stood a few feet away, his sword now lowered completely, the glowing blade extinguished. His chest rose and fell heavily, his breaths uneven as he stared at you. His eyes, usually so strong and full of fire, were wide with disbelief and hurt. A tear slipped down his cheek, catching the faint light, and his lip trembled as he tried—and failed—to speak.

“You’re lying,” he said finally, his voice a strained whisper. His body leaned forward slightly, as though he were about to take a step, but he stopped himself, his fists clenching at his sides. His eyes pleaded with you, searching your face for some sign that this wasn’t real.

You wanted to run to him, to throw your arms around him and tell him the truth. To tell him that it wasn’t real, that it was a lie, that you loved him and only him. But you couldn’t. This was the only way to save him.

“I do,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “I do mean it. I love Sylus, Xavier. Please, let’s all just stop this now.”

Xavier flinched as though you’d struck him, his entire body trembling. His lips parted, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue, might demand the truth. But then you continued, your voice trembling as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

“I’ll go back with you,” you said, turning to Sylus, your tone pleading. “Just don’t kill him. Please. I don’t want anyone to die because of me.”

Sylus’s expression softened instantly, the edges of his fury melting away as he reached up to brush your tears from your cheeks. “You don’t have to cry, honey,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “I won’t.”

He wrapped his arms around you, his hold firm but comforting. His warmth surrounded you, and you felt yourself crumbling inside. You hated his touch, hated the way your body betrayed you by finding even the smallest sense of safety in his embrace. You hated that this was what you had to do to protect Xavier.

Behind you, a broken voice called your name.

You turned, your heart lurching at the sound, and what you saw next almost brought you to your knees.

Xavier’s face was streaked with tears now, his strong shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself together. His lips quivered, his eyes full of unspeakable pain as he stared at you, the depth of his betrayal etched into every line of his expression. Another tear fell, rolling down his cheek before dripping to the ground.

You wanted to run to him, to fall to your knees and beg him to understand. But all you could do was watch, trapped in Sylus’s arms, as the man you loved shattered before your eyes.

“I did all of this. For you,” Xavier said, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. He stood frozen, his shoulders tense, his fists trembling at his sides as he stared at you. His words came slowly, as if each one cost him something. “You left with me. You wanted to kiss me too… in the cabin.” His tone grew quieter, almost disbelieving, as though he couldn’t reconcile what had just happened with what he thought you shared. “Are you saying that was all a lie?”

The air seemed to leave your lungs. Each syllable he spoke cut into you, deep and unrelenting, making it harder to breathe. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, your heart screaming no, no, no, but your lips refusing to move.

Xavier’s voice cracked again, barely above a whisper. “Tell me. Was it really a lie?”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your knees threaten to buckle. How could you answer? How could you stand there and tell him the truth when Sylus was mere steps away, watching every move, waiting to retaliate at the slightest provocation? The truth would get Xavier killed, and that was something you couldn’t bear.

You wanted to scream the truth at him, to tell him it wasn’t a lie, that everything in the cabin—the kiss you almost shared, the way you trusted him with your fears—was real. But you couldn’t. You had to protect him. The lie sat like poison on your tongue, burning as it fought to escape.

Finally, trembling, you forced the words out, your voice hollow and shaking. “Yes,” you said, barely audible at first, but then louder, steadier, as though repeating the lie could somehow make it more convincing. “I was just mad at Sylus. I’m sorry.”

The words fell like stones between you, heavy and suffocating. You saw the light in Xavier’s eyes dim as though you’d extinguished it yourself. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his jaw tightening as he fought to process what you’d just said. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes searching desperately for some crack in your resolve, some sign that you didn’t mean it.

But there was nothing you could give him. Your body was frozen, your voice gone, leaving you to stand there in silence as the man you loved broke before you.

Xavier took a step back, his lips parting as though to protest. He looked at you with the same disbelief that had first crossed his face, only now it was mixed with something far more devastating—pain, betrayal, devastation. His voice came again, barely above a whisper. “That wasn’t real to you? Any of it?”

He took another step forward, his hand rising slightly as though he might reach for you, but it faltered in mid-air. “You wanted to kiss me. You stayed with me because you wanted to. Are you saying none of that mattered?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Your heart screamed at you to tell the truth, to let him see what you were truly feeling, but your voice wouldn’t obey. Tears welled in your eyes as your silence stretched on.

Xavier’s hands dropped to his sides, clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He looked as though he wanted to say something more, as if he was still clinging to the hope that you might tell him it was a lie. But before he could, Sylus stepped in front of you, his presence commanding and deliberate.

“You heard the lady,” Sylus said, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on Xavier, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “I’m being merciful because that’s what she wishes.”

Sylus took a step closer, placing himself between you and Xavier completely, his hand brushing against your waist in a possessive gesture that made you flinch. His voice dropped lower, colder, as he added, “But don’t mistake that mercy for weakness. You’d be wise not to test me again.”

Xavier’s eyes snapped to Sylus, blazing with barely contained fury. His body trembled with the effort of holding himself back, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to remain still. But his gaze quickly flicked back to you, the fire in his expression dimming as he took in your tear-streaked face.

“Is this really what you want?” Xavier asked, his voice breaking completely. The question wasn’t for Sylus—it was for you and you alone. His tone was raw, desperate, filled with so much pain that you felt your heart crack under the weight of it.

You wanted to scream no, to tell him this wasn’t what you wanted, that none of this was real. But Sylus’s presence loomed over you, a silent reminder of what was at stake. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak for a moment.

“Yes,” you whispered, the lie barely audible. But it was enough.

Xavier flinched again as though you’d physically struck him, his entire body sagging under the weight of your words. His eyes glistened, tears slipping free despite his best efforts to hold them back. His lips quivered, his hands shaking as he struggled to find something to hold onto—some reason not to believe what he was hearing.

But there was nothing you could give him that wouldn't put him in more danger.

Another tear slid down Xavier’s cheek as he turned his head away, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to contain the sob that threatened to escape. Without another word, he stepped back into the shadows, the faint glow of the fight long gone.

And just like that, the man you loved disappeared into the night, leaving you behind with a man that had changed everything.

You crumbled to your knees, your sobs breaking through the stillness of the night like jagged shards of glass. The weight of the moment bore down on you, crushing your chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The day you’d spent with Xavier flashed before your eyes—the way he’d smiled at you, held you, made you feel human again, even if just for a fleeting moment. For months, you had known nothing but fear and dread, but with him, you’d felt something you thought you’d lost forever: hope.

And now it was gone.

The realization tore through you, raw and unrelenting. Xavier was gone, his pain etched into your memory, and the hollow ache in your chest was unbearable. All hope of being with him, of building a life together, had vanished. You’d given it up. Given him up. You had to, or Sylus would have killed him. Trying to hold onto him, yearning for him, would be his end.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You longed to run after him, to throw yourself into his arms one last time, to bury your face in his chest and tell him the truth. You wanted to see his eyes again—those eyes that had looked at you with such unwavering love—just once more. But your body betrayed you, too heavy with despair to move. You collapsed further onto the ground, clutching your stomach as your daughter kicked violently, her tiny movements only adding to the chaos inside you.

“Shhh,” Sylus’s voice sliced through the haze, low and soothing, dripping with false warmth. “Come now, my love. It’s over."

You felt his arms slide beneath you, lifting you effortlessly from the ground as though you weighed nothing. His touch was gentle, yet his strength was undeniable, a reminder of the control he had over you. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, cradling you against his chest as though you were something precious. “You don’t need to cry anymore.”

You flinched at his touch, disgust curling in your stomach, but your body was too drained to resist. Your sobs turned to quiet gasps as he carried you toward his car, his lips brushing your hair in a mockery of tenderness. The scent of him—warm, sharp, and faintly earthy—made your head swim.

“Lets go home,” he murmured into your ear, his voice a soft hum that made your skin crawl.

The twins followed swiftly behind, their movements efficient as they climbed into the driver and passenger seats. You barely registered them. Everything felt distant, muted, like you were drifting underwater. Sylus placed you carefully into the car, fastening the seatbelt over your trembling form before sliding in beside you. His presence was suffocating, his warmth oppressive as he leaned closer, his eyes fixed on you.

“Say it again,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking through the fog in your mind.

You blinked, your tear-streaked face tilting toward him in confusion. “Wh-what?” you stammered, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Say it again,” he repeated, his crimson eyes boring into yours, intense and unyielding. His hands reached for your face, cradling it gently, almost reverently. “Say you love me.”

Your stomach twisted violently, the bile rising in your throat as his words registered. The sheer audacity of the request—no, the demand—made your breath hitch. His gaze was burning, his expression raw with yearning and something darker, more possessive. It wasn’t just a request. It was a need, a hunger that radiated from him like a physical force.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to pull away from his grasp. “I can’t. It was a lie. I don’t love you.”

You braced yourself for his anger, for his retaliation. You’d seen him unleash his fury before, had witnessed the cold, ruthless man he could become. But to your shock, Sylus didn’t lash out. Instead, his lips curved into a small smile, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t care,” he said softly, his voice steady, almost amused. “You already chose me. I just want to hear it again.”

Before you could react, his gaze dropped to your lips, and he leaned in, capturing them in a kiss so intense it left you breathless. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that was almost overwhelming, as though he wanted to consume every part of you. His hands tightened on your face, holding you in place, his warmth pressing against you until it felt suffocating.

When he finally pulled away, his lips didn’t linger far, trailing a deliberate, heated path down to your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale brushing against the sensitive curve of your throat and sending a shiver racing down your spine. His movements were slower now, almost maddeningly so, as though he was savoring every inch of you. His lips pressed lightly, his touch deceptively soft as his presence loomed over you, suffocating and consuming.

“Say it,” he whispered against your skin, the word vibrating through you like an electric current. His tone was lower now, husky, his lips brushing against the delicate pulse point in your neck as he spoke. “Please.”

The word stopped you cold. You froze, your breath catching as his plea registered. Please. Sylus had never said “please” before. The sheer vulnerability in the word felt so alien, so at odds with the man who had destroyed and controlled everything in your life. His dominance was still there, suffocating and unrelenting, but beneath it, you could hear a strange desperation, a yearning that twisted your stomach into knots.

Your body betrayed you, the proximity of him igniting a sensation you couldn’t suppress. The heat of his breath, the faint brush of his lips against your skin, sent an unwelcome tingling sensation spreading through you. It was subtle at first—a faint, involuntary reaction to the closeness, to the warmth—but it grew stronger with every second he lingered, every featherlight graze of his lips against your neck.

Was it desire? Was it longing? Or was it just a physical response you couldn’t control? Whatever it was made you feel sick. Your skin tingled with an unwanted awareness of him, the sensation making you hyperconscious of the way his fingers lightly pressed against your jaw, the way his breath fanned out across your throat.

You hated it. Hated the way your body responded against your will, the way the sensations made it harder to focus, harder to think. Every nerve felt raw, heightened, betraying you in ways that made your chest ache with anger and despair. You wanted to pull away, to scream, to tell him to stop, but your body was frozen, caught between the weight of his presence and the sharp, pulsing awareness of every point of contact between you.

“I won’t,” you finally managed, your voice trembling but resolute. The words came out more as a breathless whisper than the firm refusal you wanted them to be. You turned your head sharply, breaking the connection between his lips and your skin, your tears spilling freely as you struggled to regain control of yourself. “I won’t say it.”

His low chuckle rumbled against you, sending another unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice carrying an infuriating amusement, as though your resistance only intrigued him further. “Have it your way, then sweetie.”

You hated him. Hated the smugness in his voice, the possessiveness in his touch. You hated the life growing inside you—not your daughter, never her—but the circumstances that bound you to Sylus. You hated everything he had taken from you—Xavier, your freedom, your hope.

The ache in your chest grew sharper, hotter, until it felt like your heart was being squeezed by an iron fist, crushing every beat into a strained, painful rhythm. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a maelstrom of grief, despair, and rage all colliding in a storm you couldn’t contain. Your lungs tightened, each breath coming in short, shallow gasps that left you lightheaded. Your hands trembled violently as you clutched at your chest, your nails digging into the fabric of your dress as though you could physically tear the pain away.

Your vision blurred with tears, the edges of the car around you becoming indistinct smudges of darkness. The warmth of Sylus’s presence beside you felt suffocating, his closeness amplifying the weight pressing down on your ribs. You felt as though you were being crushed under the enormity of it all—your betrayal of Xavier, your surrender to Sylus, your complete and utter loss of control over your life.

Your sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw. Each gasp for air was a battle, your chest heaving as if it were trying to force the pain out with every broken breath. Your skin burned, clammy with sweat that made the night air feel colder than it should have.

“It hurts,” you gasped, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, soaking into the collar of your shirt as your body shook. “It hurts so much…”

The ache radiated outward, stabbing through your arms, your neck, your back, until it felt as though your entire body was rebelling against you. Your heart pounded erratically, each beat sending a sharp, searing pain through your chest. Panic flooded your senses, drowning out reason, making it impossible to focus on anything but the relentless, suffocating pain.

Your mind spiraled, disjointed thoughts flashing through the haze of agony. Is this what heartbreak feels like? Is it my heart—my actual heart? Oh God, what if something’s wrong with the baby? The thought sent another wave of fear crashing over you, your hand moving instinctively to your stomach, trembling as you tried to feel some sign of reassurance, some movement that would tell you everything was okay.

But the kicks you’d felt earlier were gone. Or maybe they were there, and you just couldn’t sense them through the overwhelming fog of pain. The uncertainty made your sobs grow louder, more desperate. You tried to call out, but your voice failed, the words catching in your throat as your chest tightened further.

The edges of your vision darkened, your head spinning as though the world itself had tilted off its axis. You could hear Sylus’s voice beside you, sharp and urgent, but the words didn’t register. Everything was slipping away, your senses fading one by one, until all that remained was the unbearable, unrelenting ache in your chest.

Your vision blurred, your body trembling violently as the pain in your chest became unbearable. The edges of the world grew darker, the sounds around you fading to a dull hum.

“Luke, drive faster,” Sylus barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Kieran, call Dr. Merill. Now!”

The last thing you registered was the sound of tires screeching, Sylus’s arms tightening around you as his voice grew distant. The pain eased into a strange numbness, the darkness swallowing you whole. Then, nothing.

The forest swallowed him whole.

Xavier moved through the dense shadows like a ghost, his steps heavy and unsteady, each one dragging him deeper into the dark. The clearing, the fight, your face—they all faded into the background, but they lingered in his mind like haunting echoes. The cold night air bit at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. The ache in his chest was too overwhelming, too consuming to notice anything else.

His vision blurred, but not from the darkness. Hot tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the ground as his breaths came in short, ragged bursts. He stumbled over a root, catching himself on a nearby tree, his palm scraping against the rough bark. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the searing agony in his chest. His heart felt as though it had been torn apart, the raw edges twisting with every step.

She chose him. She said she loves him.

The words repeated in his mind, relentless and cruel. They rang louder than the crunch of his boots against the leaves, louder than the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to keep moving. But the ache wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t relent, and neither would the tears.

Tears. He hadn’t cried in years. Not really.

As a child, maybe, he had shed a few tears when the world became too big or too frightening to handle. But after that? He had learned to swallow his pain, to bury his emotions deep inside where no one could see them. Tears were for the weak. He had told himself that for so long, believed it so fiercely, that he’d come to think himself immune to them.

But now? Now the dam had broken, and he couldn’t stop. The sobs wracked through his chest, guttural and raw, tearing free from a place so deep he hadn’t even known it existed. You were the only person who could bring him to such a state. He staggered forward, his hand gripping the trunk of a tree to steady himself as the weight of his grief crushed him.

“I love him.”

Your words felt like a knife twisting in his chest, each syllable cutting deeper than the last. He wanted to scream, to curse, to deny it, but all that came out was another broken sob. He slid to his knees, the cold, damp earth biting against his legs as he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his cries, his breath coming in short, shuddering gasps that left him dizzy.

Why? Why would you say that?

Xavier lifted his head, his tear-streaked face turning upward toward the canopy of trees. His fists clenched, his knuckles white as he pressed them against the ground. “Dammit!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stillness. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

He slammed his fist against the dirt, over and over, each strike a futile attempt to expel the rage and anguish coiled in his chest. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. The pain was still there, sharp and unrelenting, twisting like a vice around his heart.

“She’s lying,” he muttered, his voice shaking. He sat back on his heels, his hands trembling as they fell to his sides. “She has to be lying.”

But even as he said it, doubt crept in, insidious and cruel. What if you weren't lying? What if you truly had chosen Sylus, had willingly gone back to him? The thought made him sick, his stomach churning as fresh tears blurred his vision.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if to banish the thought. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No, she wouldn’t…”

But the image of you in Sylus’s arms burned in his mind, seared into his memory like a brand. The way you had looked at Xavier, your tears streaming down your face, your voice trembling with those words—it haunted him. And the way Sylus had held you, his eyes gleaming with triumph, his hand possessively on your waist—it made Xavier’s blood boil.

“She left with me. She…she wanted to kiss me,” he muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to make sense of it all. His thoughts were disjointed, fragments of memory colliding with the present. “That meant something. It had to.”

The tears came harder, the cold, damp earth biting against his skin. He doubled over, his forehead pressing against the dirt as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

With the weight of her choice crushing him, he couldn’t stop. The sobs wracked through him, raw and uncontrollable, each one tearing free from the depths of his chest.

His thoughts turned to the cabin, to the way you had looked at him, the way your voice had trembled when you told him your fears, the way you had leaned in, so close to kissing him that he could still feel the ghost of your breath. That wasn’t a lie. That wasn’t fake. It couldn’t have been. You had even wanted him to father your baby. It couldn't have been...

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he spoke the words into the void. He lifted his head, staring into the darkness as tears streamed down his face. “I love you too, Evia. Though we'll never meet.”

But you both were gone. And Xavier was left alone in the dark, his heart shattered, his tears falling freely for the first time in a long time.

The world came back to you slowly, like waking from a deep, fevered sleep. At first, it was just a faint hum—a low murmur of voices that seemed distant, like they were coming from the other end of a tunnel. Your body felt heavy, almost detached, as though the weight of the world had pinned you down. Each breath was a shallow struggle, your chest rising and falling weakly. When you finally blinked your eyes open, the soft glow of dim lights stung, making you wince. You knew this place immediately. The pristine decor, the faint scent of cedar and leather—it was unmistakable. You were back in Sylus’s house.

The first thing you registered was the cool sensation against your stomach. Turning your head slightly, you saw Dr. Merrill seated beside you, his expression focused as he maneuvered an ultrasound wand over your belly. The sight of it brought a brief flicker of awareness. Your daughter. The rhythmic beeping of a nearby machine was faintly reassuring, though you weren’t entirely sure why. Merrill’s attention was on the monitor, his sharp gaze scanning the screen as he spoke to someone just out of view. His voice was steady, clinical, but you caught the faint undertone of concern in his words.

“Sylus,” Dr. Merrill said, his tone low but firm. “She seems stable, but there’s still a risk of—”

A soft groan slipped from your lips as you shifted slightly, the effort sending a dull ache through your entire body. Both men turned toward you instantly, their conversation halting mid-sentence. You could feel the weight of their gazes, sharp and assessing, as though waiting for a sign that you were truly awake.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before she awoke,” Dr. Merill said, offering a small, measured smile as he set the wand down on a nearby tray. His voice carried a practiced calm, but there was something calculating behind his eyes, as though he were studying you. “How are you feeling?”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Your throat felt raw and dry, your tongue heavy in your mouth. The truth was, you felt terrible—your head throbbed, your chest ached, and your entire body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. But all you managed was a faint, pitiful whimper. The effort alone left you exhausted, your head sinking back into the pillow.

Sylus was at your side in an instant. His eyes searched your face with an intensity that made your stomach churn, his worry palpable as he brushed a hand across your forehead. His touch was warm, lingering as he frowned. “She’s burning up, Merrill,” he said, his voice tight with concern.

“I’ll get an ice pack,” Dr. Merrill replied briskly, already turning to rummage through his medical bag. His movements were precise, his hands steady as he searched for what he needed.

Sylus didn’t move. His other hand came to rest lightly on your arm, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture that was meant to be soothing but only filled you with dread. His gaze never left your face, his expression softening slightly as he leaned closer. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. Just rest.”

You wanted to turn away from him, to shrink from his touch, but your body felt like it was weighed down by lead. Your mind was too hazy, too heavy with exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite name. The pain in your chest had lessened, but the ache lingered, a reminder of everything that had brought you here.

Dr. Merrill returned, pressing a cool ice pack against your forehead. The sensation was immediate, cutting through the feverish heat clouding your senses and bringing a small measure of relief. “She’ll be fine,” he said, his tone firm and professional as he looked toward Sylus. “Her Protocore Syndrome flared up—too much stress, combined with her advanced stage of pregnancy. Her heart simply couldn’t keep up.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened, his hand lingering on your arm as his gaze flicked to your belly, then back to Merrill. “And the baby?” he asked, his voice clipped, as though he was bracing himself for the answer.

“The baby’s fine,” Merrill reassured him, gesturing to the monitor. “Strong heartbeat, no signs of distress. But,” he added, his tone growing sterner, “she needs rest. No excessive movement, no stress, nothing that could exacerbate her condition. She’s nearing the end of her term, so I recommend daily walks outside to keep her circulation steady—but only in moderation.”

Sylus nodded curtly, his expression unreadable, though his eyes remained fixed on you. There was a strange mix of emotions in his gaze—possessiveness, concern, something darker you couldn’t quite name. His hand moved to brush your hair back from your face, his touch careful, almost tender, though it made your stomach churn. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet finality.

You barely registered their words. Your mind was far away, trapped in an endless loop of memories and pain. Xavier’s face was burned into your thoughts, a constant, inescapable image. The way he had looked at you—his heartbreak, his disbelief, the tear that had slipped down his cheek. It replayed over and over, a cruel reminder of what you had done, of the man you had destroyed to save him.

You have to let him go, you thought, the words like a knife in your chest. You have to shove him down, bury him so deep he can never surface again. But the harder you tried, the more his face rose to the surface, vivid and all-consuming.

“She’s disassociating,” Dr. Merrill said softly, his voice breaking through the haze of your thoughts. His perceptive gaze fell on you, his tone calm but laced with subtle concern. “Her body may be recovering, but her mind isn’t. She needs time.”

Sylus’s hand tightened slightly against your arm, his touch grounding but heavy. “She’ll have all the time she needs,” he said firmly, his voice low and protective. “I’ll see to it.”

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. His expression was resolute, his gaze steady as though daring you to challenge him. But you couldn’t. You simply nodded faintly, closing your eyes as the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak pulled you back under.

And as the darkness crept in, Xavier’s tear-streaked face lingered in your mind, unyielding and inescapable. No matter how deep you tried to bury him, he refused to let go. And somewhere deep inside, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

The days blurred together as you spent them confined to Sylus’s bed. It wasn’t confinement in the strict sense—there were no locks on the door, no chains tethering you to the room—but you might as well have been imprisoned. Sylus’s presence loomed constantly, his gaze watching your every move with a vigilance that made your skin crawl. Ever since the scare with your heart, he had taken it upon himself to monitor you closely, doing everything in his power to keep you "comfortable."

He did almost everything for you. Too much, in fact. He brought your meals, adjusted your pillows, even attempted to spoon-feed you once. That particular moment had tested what little patience you had left. You’d snatched the fork from his hand with a sharp glare, refusing to meet his amused smile as he murmured something about how stubborn you were.

But even with Sylus hovering and managing every detail of your physical care, your mind remained your own battleground. Xavier haunted you, his face a constant presence in your thoughts. The ache in your chest didn’t ease—it had simply settled into a dull, persistent throb that you carried with you everywhere. What is he doing? Where did he go? Is he still alive?

No matter how hard you tried to push the questions away, they always returned, stubborn and relentless. The moments when Sylus wasn’t in the room were the worst, the silence amplifying your thoughts until they were deafening. Still, you didn’t cry. You had cried so much over the past several months that the tears felt meaningless now. They hadn’t helped you before, and they wouldn’t help you now. There was no catharsis to be found in them, no solace. It was time to accept your circumstances, even if the acceptance tasted bitter on your tongue.

You had fought. You reminded yourself of that every time the despair threatened to pull you under. You had fought with everything you had, and you had lost. But at least you could tell yourself it wasn’t for nothing. Xavier was alive—somewhere—and that had to mean something. At least your loss had bought him time, bought him freedom. That small, fragile victory was all you had to cling to.

And in the quiet moments, you reminded yourself that things could be worse. Sylus could have been cruel in ways that made your skin crawl just to imagine. He could have beaten you, starved you, locked you away in a cage like an animal. But he didn’t. Not physically, at least. His punishments were subtler, his control over you no less suffocating for its lack of physical violence.

It surprised you, though, that Sylus hadn’t punished you at all for running away with Xavier. You had expected fury, retribution, but instead, he had been calm. Gentle, even. It didn’t make sense, and that unsettled you more than if he’d lashed out. Sylus was unpredictable in ways that made it hard to breathe when you were near him.

Your sadness wasn’t just for yourself anymore. It extended to the tiny life growing inside you, to the daughter who had no say in any of this. She would grow up in a world you couldn’t protect her from, tied to a father you couldn’t shield her from. You hated that you couldn’t give her the life she deserved. You hated that you couldn’t even summon excitement for her arrival, though you tried. Coping was all you could manage—coping and surviving.

Eventually, Sylus allowed you to move around the house, though his watchful gaze followed you even then. One night, you found yourself in the nursery, a room you hadn’t spent much time in until now. The soft glow of a lamp lit the space, casting warm shadows over the pale walls and the carefully arranged furniture. A crib stood in the corner, draped with a delicate mobile of stars and clouds, and shelves lined with toys and books hinted at the life your daughter would one day have.

You sat on a small chair by the window, a basket of freshly laundered baby clothes at your feet. Onesies and tiny socks were scattered across your lap, their pastel colors bright against the dim room. Your hands moved automatically, folding and smoothing each piece as you tried to distract yourself with idle fantasies. What will she look like? What will her voice sound like? Will she laugh easily? Cry often?

You weren’t particularly excited, but in these quiet moments, you allowed yourself to wonder. Even if it hurt, even if you felt like you were building castles in the sand while the tide crept closer.

The sound of a voice startled you, and you jumped, the onesie in your hands slipping to the floor.

“You look peaceful,” Sylus said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You turned sharply, your heart racing as you saw him leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t move, but his presence filled the room, oppressive and inescapable.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I was just… folding her clothes,” you said, your voice weaker than you intended.

Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile as he stepped inside, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. “You’re up later than usual,” he said, his tone almost amused. “I wasn’t sure you’d adjust so quickly.”

Your hands clenched into fists around the fabric in your lap, the forced calm of his words grating against your nerves. You didn’t respond. What was there to say?

Sylus reached your side, his fingers brushing against the chair’s backrest as he loomed over you. “You’ll be an excellent mother,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to your belly. “She’ll be amazing. Just like you.”

His words felt like a vice tightening around your chest, the weight of his expectations pressing down on you. You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze dropping to the onesies scattered at your feet as your stomach churned.

“Why are you here?” you asked finally, your voice strained.

Sylus tilted his head, his smile deepening. “Because I wanted to talk,” he said simply. And somehow, that answer felt worse than anything else he could have said.

“What’s there to even talk about?” you asked, your voice subdued but tinged with quiet frustration. You kept your gaze on the tiny clothes in your lap, your hands moving aimlessly as you tried to ignore the weight of Sylus’s presence behind you.

“The penthouses,” he said smoothly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “I wanted to know if you’d made up your mind about which one you’d like to move to.”

You sucked in a breath, the mention of it sending a jolt through you. Of course. How could you forget? A larger prison was waiting for you, dressed up as luxury, right after you gave birth to a child you weren’t even sure you could raise or love properly. The thought sat heavy in your stomach, twisting into an ache that threatened to rise to your throat. But you couldn’t let it show. You couldn’t let him see.

Keeping your voice as even as possible, you replied, “Ah. Sorry, it slipped my mind, love. I’ll take a look at them again in the morning, okay?”

You didn’t turn to look at him, your focus firmly planted on the onesies in your lap. The word “love” felt foreign and bitter on your tongue, but you said it anyway, hoping it would keep the moment from escalating. For a moment, the room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric.

But Sylus wasn’t the type to be brushed aside so easily.

Sylus leaned down next to your head, until you could feel the heat of him breathing next to your ear. His voice was lower now, more commanding as he said, “Look at me.”

The tone of his words left no room for refusal. Your body tensed instinctively, but you obeyed, turning your head slowly to meet his gaze. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as though he could see every thought, every secret, every feeling buried deep within you. The weight of his stare made your chest tighten, your breath catching as you waited for him to speak.

He didn’t, not at first. The silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, as he simply studied you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice softer now but no less penetrating. “Are you doing okay these days? You’ve been very quiet.”

The question threw you off balance. His tone carried an air of genuine concern, but you didn’t trust it. Not fully. How could you possibly be okay with everything that had transpired? With everything you’d endured? You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you struggled to find an answer that wouldn’t tip the balance.

“I honestly…don’t know,” you said finally, your voice faltering. The admission felt dangerous, like exposing a raw nerve, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. “Everything’s happening so soon and yet so fast at the same time. And sometimes…”

You hesitated, unsure if you should continue. The rest of the sentence hung on the tip of your tongue, heavy and uncertain. Sylus tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he leaned closer, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. “Sometimes?” he prompted, his voice low and coaxing.

You sucked in a nervous breath, your fingers twisting the fabric of a onesie in your lap. The words felt fragile, as though saying them aloud would make them too real, but the look in his eyes made it clear he wouldn’t let it go. Finally, you forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling as you said, “Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if we had met…y’know, normally.”

His reaction was immediate. His crimson eyes widened slightly, the flicker of surprise unmistakable. For a man who seemed to pride himself on being unreadable, he wasn’t prepared for your words. He blinked once, his lips parting as though he meant to say something, but no sound came out.

Finally, he exhaled slowly, his expression shifting to something contemplative. “That’s…an interesting thought,” he said, his voice quieter now. He straightened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to draw closer, his gaze softening as he studied your face. “I’ve thought about it too.”

The admission sent a ripple through you, unsettling and confusing all at once. The idea that Sylus, the man who had orchestrated so much of your suffering, had entertained thoughts of a different life was difficult to reconcile. “You’ve thought about it?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “More than once,” he admitted, his tone quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “I wonder…if we’d met under normal circumstances, if I could have shown you the kind of man I wanted to be, instead of the man I had to become.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unexpected. There was something raw in his tone, something almost regretful, and it left you feeling off-balance. You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. Instead, you looked down, your hands fiddling with the baby clothes as the silence stretched between you.

Sylus let out a soft sigh, stepping closer until he was right beside you. He knelt down, lowering himself to your eye level as his hand reached out to brush against your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid you might flinch. “I know I’ve made your life… difficult,” he said, his voice steady but laced with a rare vulnerability. “But I want to be a better man for you both."

His hand moved to rest lightly on your belly, the gesture both grounding and suffocating. You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you struggled to process his words.

“Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly, his voice soft but unyielding.

The question hit you like a punch, and your breath caught in your throat. You looked at him, startled by the rawness in his expression. For once, there was no smugness, no calculated charm—just an earnestness that made your heart twist.

“I…” The word stuck, your mind reeling. Did you hate him? You wanted to. You felt like you should. But the emotions tangled inside you were too complex, too messy to pin down. “I don’t know sometimes,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

Sylus nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “I can live with that,” he said softly. “As long as there’s a chance for something more.”

He lingered for a moment longer, his hand brushing against yours before he semmed to ponder something. “You don’t have to decide anything about the penthouses, tonight,” he said, his tone returning to its usual steadiness. “Just…think about it.”

But , he didn’t leave. Instead, to your surprise, he leaned beside the basket of baby clothes at your feet, his crimson eyes scanning the scattered onesies and socks as though considering them for the first time. Without a word, he reached for one—a pale yellow onesie with tiny embroidered stars along the collar—and held it up between his fingers.

For a moment, the sight of him holding something so small, so innocent, caught you off guard. It was almost surreal to see Sylus, a man who wielded power with such ease and ruthlessness, gently smoothing out the fabric of a baby’s outfit. His expression softened, and he glanced at you with an almost shy smile.

“These are…smaller than I imagined,” he said quietly, his tone thoughtful. “It’s hard to believe she’ll be wearing this soon.”

You blinked, momentarily disarmed by the gentleness in his voice. “Yeah,” you said softly, your hands stilling on the onesie in your lap. “I guess it’s hard to picture. The size of your hands probably don't help much for comparison though.”

He nodded slightly, his fingers brushing over the fabric before he began folding the onesie carefully, his movements precise but unfamiliar, like someone mimicking an action they’d only ever seen. You watched him silently, unsure of how to process the sight.

When he finished folding, he placed the onesie neatly on the growing pile of clothes and reached for another. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, glancing at you briefly. “I’m probably terrible at it.”

A faint, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “You’re…actually not bad,” you said, your voice softer than you intended.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at your words, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his expression. He picked up a pair of tiny socks next, holding them up with a bemused look. “These are very tiny,” he said, almost to himself. “Will they even fit?”

“They will, at least for a little while” you replied, reaching out to take the socks from him. Your fingers brushed against his briefly, and you pulled back quickly, focusing on folding the socks and setting them aside.

Sylus seemed to notice your reaction but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he continued picking up the clothes one by one, his focus now fully on the task at hand. The silence between you was no longer heavy or strained—it felt almost…normal. The rhythm of folding, smoothing, and stacking clothes became a strange sort of peace, a momentary reprieve from the weight of everything else.

As you worked together, Sylus spoke again, his voice quiet but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot about her,” he said, his gaze dropping to the clothes in his hands. “What kind of father I’ll be. What kind of life I can give her.”

His words surprised you, and you glanced at him cautiously, unsure of where he was going with this. “And what did you decide?” you asked tentatively.

He paused, his fingers lingering on a pale pink onesie with tiny hearts on the sleeves. “I decided that I want to do better. For her. For you.” His crimson eyes lifted to meet yours, his expression unusually vulnerable. “I know I can’t change the past. But I can change what happens next.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The sincerity in his voice left you speechless, leaving you struggling to find the right words. Instead, you nodded slightly, your hands moving automatically as you folded another onesie.

Sylus seemed to sense your hesitation, but he didn’t press you. He simply continued folding, the two of you working in quiet companionship. It was a strange moment—so ordinary, yet so weighted by the complexities of your relationship. You didn’t know if you could trust his words, his intentions, but for now, you let yourself focus on the simple, tangible task in front of you.

Because for now, it was all you could manage.

“You’re leaving again?” you asked, your voice edged with disbelief, though you tried to mask it. You watched Sylus move briskly around the room, the scent of his shower lingering in the air—a mix of cedarwood and something faint that seemed uniquely him. Water still clung to the ends of his hair, wet and glistening as he combed it back with quick, practiced strokes. He was buttoning up a crisp red shirt, the tailored fabric clinging perfectly to his broad frame, his every movement purposeful and efficient.

“How long this time?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your arms folding instinctively over the curve of your belly as you tried to steady yourself. The weight of your pregnancy, both literal and figurative, made his sudden departure feel heavier, more precarious than usual.

Sylus paused, his crimson eyes flicking to meet yours briefly before returning to his task. There was something in his expression—regret, maybe, or something close to it—but his voice was steady when he spoke. “Not long. As much as I hate to leave you, this isn’t something I can ignore.”

The words felt rehearsed, polished, as if he’d already prepared for this conversation in his mind. He moved toward the dresser, fastening a sleek watch around his wrist, the faint metallic click of the clasp echoing in the quiet room. His calmness only unsettled you further.

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of your belly as you took in his explanation. “The twins are staying behind to watch you,” he added, his tone matter-of-fact, as if that solved everything. “If anything changes—or your water breaks—they’ll let me know immediately.”

You blinked, absorbing his words. The twins. Of course. They were always his solution when it came to you, a pair of silent shadows who loomed wherever Sylus directed them. It wasn’t exactly reassuring. The thought of those two watching your every move, reporting back to Sylus, made you feel more like a caged bird than ever.

“And this couldn’t wait?” you pressed gently, trying to keep your voice neutral. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, your heart pounding as you braced for his response.

Sylus turned back toward the mirror, running a hand through his damp hair as he grabbed a small vial of cologne and dabbed it at his neck. The scent mingled with the steam still clinging to the room, rich and sharp. He exuded control, a man preparing for something important. You couldn’t help but wonder where he was going—and why it seemed to demand such attention to detail.

The thought gnawed at you, spiraling into an uncomfortable suspicion. Why does he need to look this good? You didn’t want to voice it, didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, but Sylus must have noticed the flicker of doubt in your expression.

He let out a low chuckle, crossing the room in a few long strides until he stood directly in front of you. “This isn’t to see some other woman,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. His crimson eyes softened slightly as he leaned down to press a swift kiss to your lips. “Calm down.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat rising to your face. “I wasn’t—” you started, but the words died in your throat as Sylus knelt in front of you, his attention shifting entirely.

He placed his hands lightly on either side of your belly, his touch firm but gentle, and leaned in to press a featherlight kiss against the taut skin. The gesture sent a jolt through you, the intimacy of it disarming you entirely.

“Don’t make your mommy too sick while I’m gone, okay, little dove?” he murmured, his voice lower now, carrying a warmth that felt almost too genuine to bear.

Your heart twisted, conflicted by the tenderness of the moment. Sylus had a way of doing this—disarming you, leaving you unsure of where you stood or how to feel. One moment, he was the man who had torn your life apart, and the next, he was murmuring to your unborn child with a warmth that almost seemed genuine.

Your daughter responded with a faint kick, and your hand moved instinctively to the spot. Sylus noticed, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “She’s awake,” he said softly, his hand brushing yours for the briefest moment before he straightened.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. “Just…don’t be gone too long,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost resigned.

Sylus reached for his jacket, sliding it on in one fluid motion. His movements were quick, efficient, but he paused as he grabbed the doorknob, glancing back at you. His gaze lingered, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened again.

“I won’t be,” he said, his voice steady but not entirely convincing. “And remember—you’re in good hands.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the door, a silent reference to the twins.

You nodded faintly, your hands moving back to your belly as you tried to ground yourself. “Safe,” you murmured under your breath, the word feeling hollow in the air between you.

Without another word, Sylus opened the door, the cool air of the hallway brushing against your skin as he stepped out. The sound of his shoes echoed faintly as he disappeared down the corridor, leaving you standing alone in the quiet room, your thoughts louder than ever.

You let out a shaky breath, sinking back into the chair by the window. The weight of his absence settled over you, but it was quickly replaced by something else—an unease, a gnawing feeling that refused to let go. You didn’t know where Sylus was going, or why it felt like this time was different. But the thought of him leaving so close to your due date filled you with a quiet, gnawing dread.

The twins weren’t so bad. They were entertaining to watch, at least. They were as attentive as Sylus in some regards, albeit a bit clumsy. While Sylus always carried an air of control, the twins sometimes felt like they were figuring things out as they went along. It was endearing, in its own way—though you’d never admit that to their faces.

You often found yourself watching them out of boredom, your days stretching endlessly in the quiet house. They didn’t talk much unless they had to, and when they did, it was usually to argue with each other in low tones. But their constant presence, though stifling, offered a strange sense of consistency in a life that felt increasingly unsteady.

One morning, you found yourself restless. The nursery had already been organized and reorganized, the house was spotless, and you couldn’t stomach the idea of lying in bed another second. You wandered into the kitchen, the idea of cooking something—anything—suddenly appealing. The smell of vegetables sizzling on the stove, the sound of a knife against a cutting board… it was something tangible, something normal. Something that was yours.

But as soon as you began pulling ingredients from the pantry, the twins appeared. Luke leaned casually against the doorway, his features hidden behind his mask as he watched you. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

“Cooking,” you replied simply, setting a carton of eggs on the counter.

“Cooking,” he repeated, tilting his head. “You sure you don’t want us to just order something? Less dangerous that way.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling a few vegetables from the fridge. “I’m sure. And if you’re going to hover, you might as well help.”

Luke laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s in my job description.”

Kieran, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his head shifting between you and the array of ingredients on the counter. “What are you making?” he asked, his voice calm.

“Stir-fry,” you replied, grabbing a knife and starting to chop. “Nothing fancy.”

Kieran nodded, moving to the sink to wash his hands. Luke, on the other hand, stayed planted in the doorway, watching with mild amusement.

“You’re actually helping?” Luke asked, incredulous.

“She shouldn’t be standing this long,” Kieran replied simply, taking a carrot from the counter and slicing it with precise, mechanical movements.

“I’m right here, you know,” you muttered, shooting him a glance.

Luke chuckled, finally stepping into the kitchen. “Fine. But if I burn something, it’s on you.”

The three of you worked in an awkward sort of harmony—Kieran slicing vegetables with military precision, Luke fumbling with the stove controls, and you guiding them both with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Despite Luke’s earlier protests, he eventually started to take the task seriously, though his grumbling never entirely ceased.

When the food was finally done, you all sat at the kitchen table, the tension between you lightened by the mundane simplicity of the moment. For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of normalcy.

That sense of normalcy didn’t last long.

It was the middle of the night when you woke to a sharp, tightening pain low in your belly. You gasped, your hand flying to your stomach as panic set in. Was this it? Was she coming early? The room felt too warm, too quiet, and you called out instinctively.

“Luke? Kieran?”

The door flew open almost immediately, Kieran stepping inside first with his usual calm intensity. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his head scanning you quickly, assessing the situation.

Luke appeared behind him, looking far less composed. “Is it the baby?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your heart racing. “It hurt. I think… I think it’s starting.”

Luke grabbed his phone, muttering something about calling Sylus, while Kieran moved closer, crouching beside the bed. “Breathe,” he instructed, his tone steady but not unkind. “Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”

You tried to describe the sensations, your words tumbling over each other as another wave of discomfort rolled through you. But just as quickly as it had started, the pain subsided, leaving you feeling exhausted and embarrassed.

“I don’t think it’s labor,” you said finally, your voice shaky. “Just… Braxton Hicks, maybe?”

“Braxton what?” Luke asked, still clutching his phone like a lifeline.

“False contractions,” Kieran supplied, his attention still on you. “It’s common.”

Luke groaned, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I was scared shitless that I was about to deliver a baby” he muttered, though his voice carried more relief than frustration.

Despite the scare, you managed a faint smile. It was almost comical, seeing these two hardened boys thrown off balance by something so mundane.

The next day brought more excitement, though of an entirely different kind.

You were sitting in the living room when the house alarm blared, its piercing wail sending your heart racing. The twins appeared almost immediately, Kieran with a knife in hand and Luke wielding a gun.

“Stay here,” Kieran said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You nodded, clutching your belly as you watched them disappear down the hallway. Your mind raced with possibilities—an intruder, an attack, something that Sylus would undoubtedly be worried about. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the twins returned.

Kieran was carrying something in his arms—a small, scruffy cat. Its fur was matted, its eyes wide and curious as it squirmed in his grip.

“Seriously?” Luke muttered, silencing the alarm. “A damn cat?”

“It tripped the door sensor,” Kieran said evenly, though his grip on the animal suggested he wasn’t thrilled about the situation either.

You blinked at the sight, the absurdity of it cutting through your lingering fear. “So…no intruder?”

“Unless you count this thing,” Luke replied, gesturing at the cat.

Despite yourself, you laughed softly. “What are you going to do with it?”

Kieran looked down at the cat, then at you. “What do you want to do with it?”

For a moment, you considered keeping it. The idea of a companion, even a scruffy stray, was tempting. But the reality of your situation hit quickly, and you shook your head. “Let it go. It’s probably just lost.”

Kieran nodded, carrying the cat to the door and setting it outside. As he returned, Luke clapped his hands. “Well, that was the most excitement we’ve had all week.”

For once, you couldn’t disagree.

A week had passed, and the weight of your thoughts seemed to get heavier with each passing day. Sylus’s absence felt more oppressive than ever. Though he checked in regularly, his vague answers only left you with more questions. You could tell he wasn’t being completely honest with you, but there was little you could do about it. The twins were always around, their watchful eyes following you from a distance. It wasn’t comforting, but it was better than being completely alone.

You did your best to keep yourself occupied—books, music, TV, whatever you could to keep the crushing weight of your thoughts at bay. The daily walks outside helped too, though even those were becoming more difficult. Your belly was undeniably huge, the weight making even the simplest movements feel like monumental tasks. At 36 weeks, you were well into your ninth month, and the pressure on your body was relentless.

You had to grip Kieran or Luke’s shoulders sometimes to keep your balance, and even then, it felt like you might topple over at any moment. You could only mutter to yourself, “Just a few more weeks…” as you breathed in the cool air of the N109 Zone. The breeze hit your face, refreshing but fleeting, before it was replaced with the growing ache in your lower back.

Luke and Kieran were chatting behind you, laughing softly over some trivial conversation, both of them sipping cans of soda. It was funny they had to life their masks to do so. You didn’t want to slow them down, so you walked ahead, trying to ignore the heaviness in your belly and the increasing tightness in your abdomen. But just as you were about to wave them off, a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower stomach. Another Braxton Hicks contraction.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your hand instinctively moved to your belly. The pain passed quickly, but the sensation left your heart racing. You turned to stop the twins but before you could get the words out, Luke collided into you from behind. The impact caused him to spill his entire can of soda all over the front of your shirt, a cold, sticky mess.

“Ah! Miss! I’m so, so sorry!” Luke’s voice cracked in panic, genuine shock evident in his movements. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could respond, Luke’s hands were frantically pulling his coat off. “Here! Take it!” he said, draping it hastily over your shoulders in an attempt to hide your bra. “I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You sighed, your voice strained but calm. “It’s alright, Luke. It was an accident. But I’d really appreciate a towel…I don’t feel like going all the way back into the house.”

“Yes, ma’am! Right away!” Luke practically sprinted back to the house, leaving Kieran standing behind you.

Kieran’s sharp gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable as he watched you shift, trying to keep your composure despite the discomfort. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone cautious but steady.

You nodded slowly, leaning against the statue in front of the house for support. “I’m fine. Just…a little uncomfortable. Nothing to worry about.”

Kieran didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he said nothing, hovering near you as if he was nervous. You absentmindedly slid your hand into the pocket of Luke’s coat, the fabric thick and warm against your cold skin. Your fingers brushed against something cold and metallic, and a strange jolt ran through you.

Wait. Is that...?

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. The shape was unmistakable, the hard, smooth surface of a handgun. Slowly, your fingers curled around its grip, the coolness of the metal biting into your skin as you pulled it out. The weapon was compact but weighty, its matte black finish glimmering as you turned it. The barrel was short and blunt, the kind of design meant for concealment and close quarters. It felt foreign in your hands, the ridges of the grip pressing into your palm like a warning.

The safety was off. You saw the small red dot near the trigger, glaring at you like a silent alarm, and the realization sent your heart into overdrive. This wasn’t a precautionary tool; it was ready to fire, lethal and unforgiving. A faint scratch along the slide spoke to use, the weapon far from pristine but well-maintained—a stark contrast to your trembling, inexperienced hands.

Your pulse spiked as you stared at it, your breath quickening. A faint smell of oil and metal clung to the gun, sharp and distinct, mingling with the earthy scent of the dirt around you. The weight of it felt heavier with every second, its presence as real and pressing as the danger it represented.

What the hell?

“Miss, put that down,” he said, his tone colder, sharper than you’d ever heard it before. His body immediately stiffened, his hands rising slowly in a placating gesture. His usually calm demeanor was replaced with something taut and tense, his gaze seemingly locked onto the weapon with unflinching precision.

“You don’t want to do this,” he added, his voice steady but carrying a note of urgency, as though he were trying to reason with a cornered animal.

But his words barely registered. The gun felt like a live wire in your hands, humming with possibilities both terrifying and exhilarating. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had control—real control—and the realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

Your hand shook, but you held the weapon steady, pointing it directly at Kieran’s chest. “Stay back,” you warned, your voice trembling with raw fear. But there was something else in your chest—something fiercer, something that burned like a fire. This was your only chance.

Kieran’s expression hardened, his hands still raised, but his eyes flickered with hesitation. “Miss, please, don’t—”

“Shut up!” you screamed, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You could feel the blood rushing in your ears, the adrenaline fueling every shaky breath you took. The gun felt heavy in your hands, but it was also the only thing that offered you control—control over this situation, over your own fate. “Move any closer and I’ll shoot.”

Kieran froze, his body clenched, clearly unsure of what to do. He took a small step back, his head darting between you and the weapon.

You heard footsteps approaching quickly, and you didn’t need to look to know that Luke was back with the towel. He entered the yard, his demeanor shifting to shock as he saw you holding the gun, pointing it at Kieran.

“Shit…Miss, just put it down. No one has to get hurt.” Luke’s voice was strained, full of disbelief as he held up his hands in surrender. “Please. Just…put it down.”

“I said stop!” you yelled, swinging the gun between the two of them. They both froze for a moment, their gazes locked on the trembling barrel, but then Luke gave a slight nod to Kieran. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

You watched, heart pounding, as they began moving again—slowly, cautiously, closing the distance between you step by step. “Stop! Stop moving!” you screamed, your voice growing more frantic, but they didn’t listen.

They won’t stop. They’re not afraid of you.

Panic surged in your chest as your mind raced. Think. Think. If the threat isn’t towards them…

Your breath caught as the realization hit you like a lightning bolt. But if it’s towards me and the baby…

Your hands trembled as you turned the gun, the cold barrel pressing against your temple. The metal felt like ice against your skin, grounding you in the chaos of the moment. The twins froze instantly, their expressions shifting from caution to shock.

“Move any closer, and I’ll shoot,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. The fear in their eyes mirrored your own, their hesitation palpable as they exchanged a quick, uncertain glance.

“Miss,” Luke began, his voice low and steady, though it wavered slightly, “I understand you’re upset, but this is no way to—”

“Shut up!” you screamed, your finger brushing the trigger. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each beat echoing in your ears. “Don’t try to talk me down. Just move out of my way!”

For the first time, they stopped. Completely. The tension in the air was suffocating, their eyes glued to you as though you were a fragile bomb about to go off. And maybe you were.

This was your one chance, and you weren’t going to waste it. “Move,” you repeated, your voice shaking with desperation. “Move, or I swear I'll blow my brains right here.”

“Miss…the baby,” Luke began, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Think of the baby. She deserves a chance to live at least, right? Just a few more weeks, maybe we can try and talk to Sylu—”

Before he could finish, you raised the gun and fired two sharp, deafening shots into the air. The sound shattered the quiet, echoing through the trees and startling birds into flight. Both twins flinched, their gazes snapping back to you with widened eyes.

“Out of the fucking way, Luke!” you shouted, your voice hoarse but unyielding. “I won’t ask again!”

Your hands trembled as you leveled the gun back toward your own head, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making your vision sharpen, your focus narrowing to the two figures in front of you. The raw power in your voice surprised even you, but you didn’t let yourself falter. Not now.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The wind stilled, the trees silent, as if the earth itself was waiting to see what would happen next. Luke and Kieran exchanged a quick glance, their expressions unreadable but tense. It was Kieran who moved first, his hands still raised as he took a deliberate step to the side. Luke followed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

You didn’t wait to see if it was a trick. The second the path cleared, you bolted. Freedom felt so close you could taste it, and nothing—not the twins, not Sylus, not the aching weight of your belly—was going to stop you.

You dodged past them, your movements unsteady but fueled by sheer determination. The gun felt like an anchor in your hands, but you kept it close, your finger hovering over the trigger just in case. Each step felt like a small victory as you made your way toward the front gate.

“Miss, don’t—” Luke started to call after you, but his voice faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

The front gate loomed ahead, its black iron bars glinting in the sunlight. You reached it, your hands fumbling with the latch before swinging it open with a force you didn’t know you had. The hinges groaned in protest, but the gate gave way, and you stumbled forward onto the gravel road beyond.

Keep moving. The thought roared in your mind, drowning out everything else. You needed to find a car, something fast, something that could put as much distance between you and this nightmare as possible.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, your chest heaving as you pressed on. You didn’t even feel the strain of your belly anymore, the adrenaline numbing everything but your will to escape. The gravel crunched beneath your feet, each step carrying you farther and farther away.

The reality of your situation gnawed at the edges of your mind, but you shoved it aside. The twins would already be calling Sylus, alerting him to your escape. You had no illusions about how quickly he’d come after you. But for now, for this fleeting moment, you were free. The chains that had bound you—physically, emotionally, mentally—were broken, and the rush of it was almost overwhelming.

You glanced over your shoulder as you reached the end of the drive, half-expecting to see Kieran or Luke chasing after you. But they hadn’t moved from their spot by the gate, their figures still as statues as they watched you go. It was almost unnerving, the way they stood there, as though they were waiting for something.

But you didn’t have time to wonder what. You turned your gaze back to the road ahead, your mind racing with plans and possibilities. Get a car. Cover as much ground as possible. Don’t let this be like last time.

The thought burned in your mind like a mantra as you pushed forward into the eternal night once more, the taste of freedom bitter but intoxicating on your tongue. Whatever happened next, at least for this moment, you were free.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #lads #love and deepspace smut #sylus x reader smut #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #lads xavier #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deep space sylus #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space smut #love and deep space

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

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Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset.

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it.

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud.

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds.

Still.

Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink.

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations.

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say.

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’

Nope.

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure.

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake.

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them.

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through.

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing.

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse.

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something.

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here.

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may.

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?”

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house.

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him.

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.”

Likely a lot of things.

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it.

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give.

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.”

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice.

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked.

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle.

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat.

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth.

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.)

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?”

Wayne nodded once, slow-like.

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again.

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?”

“I did.”

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say.

Wayne took advantage.

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.”

“‘Bout trust.”

Eddie blinked at that.

“Trust.” He echoed flatly.

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--”

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.”

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him.

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.”

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway.

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with.

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.”

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like.

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns.

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.”

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.”

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had.

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.”

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.”

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through.

Wayne sat with him as he processed.

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did.

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked;

“What if he finds out?”

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home.

It took Wayne a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret.

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over.

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly. It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself.

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved.

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’

“He won’t.” Wayne said.

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.”

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side.

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other.

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest.

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose.

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine.

Hurt, absolutely, but alive.

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body.

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol.

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door.

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch.

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible.

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup.

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him.

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely.

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior.

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.)

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!”

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it.

Wayne rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door.

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries.

“I think I promised you a game, son.” Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall.

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

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elysiality · 15 days ago

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WISH YOU WERE HERE ! [ TAPE 1 ] ☾ jackie.

꒰ (e.) cryo /ˈkɹʌɪ.əʊ/. — involving or producing cold, especially extreme cold. ꒱

Jackie loved you. she really, really did. but she couldn't claim to be ecstatic when you started crying every time she brought her future up.

DARLING, I SHOULD TELL YOU. THIS TAPE CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT AND IS RATED R:

angst . slowburn. hurt, no comfort. omniscient dynamics. graphic descriptions of cannibalism n gore. dead dove, do not eat. sweet moments of bliss before a storm. canon compliant (so far).

5k words. no beta, we die like Laura Lee. (oh wait, this isn't A03)

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

TK-SHH. the sound of a woman's heavy breathing comes over the mic, crackly and nearly cacophonous. "Uh..." the hesitation in her soft voice is clear. the sound of buttons being pushed makes it through the screen. "Van, is this thing on?"

somebody, presumably Van, sighs and fiddles with some buttons. the audio quality is considerably better now. another woman clears her throat. "So... we're making a couple of tapes, to try to remember what happened to her. Back then." her voice is raspy but the catch in her voice is audible as she utters the last syllables.

there's a beat of silence and then another voice, eager and enthusiastic, pipes up. "Well, she was part of the Yellowjackets." there's a couple of 'duhs' and grumbles of 'can it, Misty'. Misty obliges without any objections.

Van clears her throat. "Uhm....she liked to hang out with all of us. In the woods, usually." she chuckles placidly.

"Jackie- Jackie hated the creepy-crawlies in there. But she would always go when she asked. No matter what. They- they were close. I think. Jackie and her. Jackie and her 'cinder'."

Jackie Taylor was perfect. perfect girl, perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect life— that was her to a T. if you asked someone to define flawless, they'd probably point you in her direction.

and she maintained the image well. captain of the school’s star soccer team. prom queen. a best friend who bent over backwards to make her happy. it's all a teenage girl could dream for and more, right?

wrong. there was nothing more Jackie Taylor hated than being ‘perfect’. a doll in someone else's playhouse, an untouchable goddess whose smiles were bestowed upon everyone like gifts.

her future was set in stone. a script, written for her to play Barbie and Ken with Jeff, live a perfect demure life with frilled aprons, a huge family, to stay quiet and bury all her dreams, to waste her twenties scrubbing stains out of her husband's stiff-collared shirts while waiting for him to come home to his dingy apartment from his 9-5.

if she'd known that picking the pretty boy from the litter to be her boytoy would lead to this perdurable life, she would've just sucked it up and admitted that she liked girls, even if it meant her parents would boot her to the curb.

college was just something to pass time till Jeff put a ring on it, her parents would tell everyone. it's why they were sending her to Rutgers. a nice, sensible finishing school would've been better, of course, but their daughter needed a complete education at least (even if she would be holed up in a trashed living room for the next living years of her life).

she'd agree politely, letting honeyed words roll off her tongue, pretending that all her dreams of becoming a journalist, a professional soccer player, of being free were just tongue-in-cheek, ignoring the bitter aftertaste that came with them.

she longed to lash out, to scream at the world that she didn't want to be who they were forcing her to be, to sob her pain of not being understood by anyone, not even Shauna, who seemed to shut down every implication that Jackie’s life was anything less than perfect with a subtle laugh.

but let's be real. little miss perfect would never do anything that didn't fit others’ images of her.

that's why she liked you. why she admired you. why she loved you.

she knew how the other kids spoke of you. ‘mad as a march hare’, ‘off her rocker', ‘nutty as a fruitcake’ and a variety of other names too crass to repeat, even in her head.

how they'd avoid you when they saw you gliding down the halls, feet never making a sound, like a mouse. how she'd been warned several times by classmates to ‘stay away from the looney tunes girl’ whenever she was called for soccer practice.

how even coach looked at you like you were a ticking timebomb, liable to explode.

but she couldn't, for the life of her, understand where those misconceptions came from. she could never pin all those stupid rumours to a vision of you in her mind’s eye. ‘crazy’ sounded like an oxymoron next to your name.

if anything, you were a wallflower. an observer, not an instigator. quiet, taciturn, walking like you were on the most fragile of ice, always smelling like lavender and rain and something so faintly earthy, she couldn't put a name to it.

she used soccer as an excuse to get closer to you. she wasn't quite sure why you even joined the team. you were a star player, an ace up their sleeves for sure, but you didn't seem all that interested in kicking balls and getting all sweaty in soccer jerseys and whatnot.

you were popular among the team if not among the school, at least. everyone wanted a piece of you— which was both gratifying and incredibly annoying when Jackie just wanted you to herself.

she'd ask you to come with her to the new cafe downtown? you'd apologise and tell her that Lottie already asked you to go see her mother's new flower show.

she offered to lend a hand with the little thatch of flowers you were growing in your own little corner of the outskirts of town? Nat had already come around and pulled weeds with you the previous weekend.

getting you alone was a task akin to pulling teeth, but the reward was worth it.

she'd show up to the outskirts of town in her most comfortable clothes— usually some overalls and a loose shirt, sneakers already covered in mud (something that would've given her mother a heart attack had she not stowed them away in a shoebox under her bed), hair tied in a scrunchy, car coated in a fine inch of dust from not being used, and wait for you to show.

you didn't tell her where your house was, and she didn't ask.

it was just an unspoken rule— she'd camp around the edge of the woods surrounding Wiskayok and you'd show, copious amounts of flowers in your hands, a camera slung around your neck, inconspicuously handing her poppies and leading her by the hand into the heart of the wilderness you seemed to know so well.

she'd watch, enamoured, as you sang to the flowers around you, coaxed the creepers to grow, cajoled the skittish squirrels onto your arms and then petted their trembling heads. she'd never had a green thumb, Jackie, much to the woe of her pitiful mother, but she liked it on you. it suited you, the real you.

she'd often take these opportunities to articulate her miseries, venting her frustrations of being the perfect moldable doll to you, knowing that unlike the rest of the world, you'd listen.

sometimes, Jackie would wonder if you were the earth personified. she could think of no other explanation, no other reason why the woods would listen to you so well, why you seemed like such a wild child, why your presence felt like being cocooned in a warm blanket of magma and shrubbery, so nurturing, so unselfishly caring.

your penchant for getting reclusive baby animals to love you had earned you the affectionate nickname, ‘Cinder’. “Like Cinderella”, she had proclaimed to you proudly, resting her arm against the metal locker, strands of wispy auburn hair sticking to her chin.

you'd just snickered and accepted your new moniker with grace. it was another reason why she liked you. she could be herself around you. playful and warm and awkward like every other teen, not docile and obedient. not perfect.

you'd listen to her patiently, stroking your fingers along the tapered, paper-thin wings of the butterflies that perched on your fingertips, one ear tilted to her, the other tilted to the ground like you were trying to listen to it too.

and when it was all over, when she was shaking with rage and animosity towards everything, when her hands would go to clutch at the poppies in them and crush the petals just because she could, you'd look at her. really look at her. the eyes are a gateway to the soul, someone had once told her. if that was true, you may have seen hers— but she certainly couldn't see yours.

your eyes were always fogged over, distant. like you were staving off the thought of a place that wasn't here, like your heart was in a home completely detached from your body.

but there was always that piercing glint in them. that look that spoke a thousand, raucous words that rang in your ears only, but were hushed husks of whispers to her.

there was a knowing appearance to them— not pitying, just sad. full of empathy. like you were let in on secrets that she wasn't. for once, it brought solace to her. she wasn't sure she wanted to know what kept a gentle soul like you up at night— if you even slept.

“The frost will override the heat one day, Jackie.” you'd tell her ruefully, your typically steady hands shaking as you set a magpie down on the moss, watching it spread its wings to soar away, it's belly full of seed you'd just fed it from your pocket.

she snickered, nudging your arm with her elbow. “Uh-huh. And what's that supposed to mean?”

but you didn't elaborate. you never did.

this same statement was repeated to her several times, and each time she would question it and each time you would just…go mute, like you wanted to tell her but you couldn't— tugging at your hair nervously, plucking at your clothes like they were too tight on your body— so she'd just let it go.

the closest she got was that one time you convinced her to scale a tree. she was panting as she crawled up behind you, muttering a small ‘fuck’ as she noticed the small tear in her shorts— the hem had caught on a stray branch or whatever, clearly.

you were balanced precariously on the far end of a broad branch, shuffling what appeared to be a deck of cards in your hands, muttering something to yourself. that wasn't new.

she'd caught you talking to yourself in hushed voices many times, only to come to a terse stop everytime someone else came near you. she could only make out a few words each time and none made sense.

‘mother’ and ‘snow’ and something about grief that her brain had tuned out automatically— the cons of having mastered the ability to blank out basically everything.

and yes, she's aware that eavesdropping is a shameful crime, yada yada yada, but it doesn't technically count if you're spying on just one person, right?

as she settled herself against the less hazardous limb of the tree, you looked up at Jackie, your eyes fire in the cool morning air of a New Jersey sunday. her heart beat faster and she beat off the feelings with a stick. ‘She’s a girl', she told herself firmly. ‘And you have a boyfriend.’

“I'm going to try to tell you what I see today.” you had said urgently, face staid and earnest in perfect juxtaposition.

Jackie nodded just as dourly, though she was not ashamed to admit that she was suppressing titters. she doubted she could ever see what you saw— you were just wired different.

you saw colours where they didn't exist, people who were long gone, emotions as swirls and mists rather than something abstract. it sounded cool on paper, but even Jackie wasn't oblivious enough to ignore the haunted look in your eyes, the jittery cadence of your voice.

you shuffled the cards so rapidly, Jackie couldn't keep track. you held them out to her, your voice louder than usual, almost eager. “You're the querent, you have to draw.”

“The que- what now?” you ushered her in the direction of the cards. she shrugged and took off the top card.

“The Hierophant.” she drawled with an air of blitheness. she turned the card around and showed it to you. a priest, sitting in front of his disciples.

“That is who you are.” you told her. “It represents traditionalists, following the norms of society, accepting your fate without looking at new approaches.”

she winced internally. well, she couldn't argue with that. she didn't want this life. she didn't want that prom crown, she didn't want Jeff to be her king. she didn't want him as much as she wanted you, as much as she wanted Shauna. but she went with it, because it was the right thing to do.

“Lucky guess.” she murmured, realising only too late that you heard it. but you didn't bother to comment.

instead, you held out the deck again, taking her old card and placing it in between you two. “Take another one.”

she eyed the deck suspiciously. “How many do I have to take before this is over?”

“Six.”

she blinked, holding back a groan of agony, instead deferring gracefully, picking up another card and turning it around for you. “This one's upside down.” she commented descriptively. she'd always had an eye for details like that.

“Your past. Temperance Reversed.” you noted, placing it on one side of the center card. “Lack of balance, excess pressure. You're unable to fit the pieces of yourself together, because they were all made by other people, you're unwilling to change.”

Jackie’s stomach tightens. she’d always felt like that— a body with two left feet, with odd hands, limbs and organs that didn't belong to herself, clothes she didn't even like. it was like churning in a pressure cooker. being forced into beauty pageants as a child, being made to walk across hallways with books on her head like her home was some fucked up princess school.

she took another card silently, holding it up for you. you plucked it from her grip solemnly and placed it down on the other side of the center card.

“Your present. The two of Wands, reversed. You could break the cycle, you could break free. The leap is right there, but you're unwilling to make it. You're afraid of failure, of losing your safety, so you don't move on.”

Jackie shifted uncomfortably, her clothes suddenly feeling too stiff on her, too ragged. she knew you were right.

it was right there. the escape from her gilded cage. Rutgers may not have been the best school she could have gone to, but getting any education at all would mean that she could leave her home behind. find her own way.

but she didn't like the thought of having no warm fireplace to come back to, no love to fall back on, the prospect of working a long job just to barely afford rent.

another card.

“Your future. Seven of Cups. You will struggle to find meaning, you won't be able to reach for any possibilities, any hope. Without drastic change, your fate is sealed to be devoid of hope.”

Jackie scoffed playfully, but there was a clandestine hint of fear in her voice. she'd always been a skeptic, a non-believer. she went to church because her parents wanted her to, not because she actually found faith in God.

“A lot about change, huh?” she snorted, folding the edge of the future card that was placed in front of her. “Is someone going to come from the sky and pelt me with lightning bolts or something?”

you shot her a withering glare that paused her weak chuckles. “I don't believe in these cards as much as I believe in my intuition. I believe what they're insinuating, because I can feel it in my bones. You will strike yourself down if you're not careful, if you don't drop your attitude, if you don't change."

she sobered up immediately, assuming the expression one would have on the deathbed of a dear friend. she picks the next card with unnatural stiffness, offering it to you like she was presenting an award.

you examine it carefully. “Your obstacle. The Moon Reversed. Betrayal, confusion, misinterpretation, fear. Somebody will betray your trust when you need them the most, and you won't understand why.”

Jackie started, her eyes widening as you place it across the centre card. “Wait- who's gonna betray me?” you shrug. “I don't know.” something told her that you were fibbing. but like always, Jackie never asked.

she reclined again, stretching to reach for the final card.

“Your destination-”, you started off as she grasped the topmost card. “Death.” she finishes, staring at the card in trepidation. a pit suddenly formed in her stomach, boring holes into it.

she put it face down, like it was a bomb about to explode, gaping at it. there was an uneasiness that wasn't there before, and she didn't like it. she wasn't gonna be a superstitious idiot after shunning fallacy for so long.

“Inverted Death.” you correct. she looked up at you, startled. your voice was squeaky, wavery. “End without change. Rot. Decay.”

and you burst into tears.

Jackie immediately scrambles forward, her face etched with concern as she reached for you. the cards promptly fluttered to the ground, covered by the shrubbery. she didn't give a damn.

she realised pretty quickly that the branch was snapping far too low, bending under your combined weight, so she took your hand and practically hauled you to the sturdy limb, taking you in her aching arms.

growing up in a household where she was coddled and comforted for even tiny papercuts meant that she knew exactly what to do when the tears started.

she whispered words of affirmation in your ears, reassuring you over and over again that they were just ‘silly cards that should've been used for poker or something' and it wasn't real, that nothing would happen to her.

she couldn't even tell if she herself was at rest with her reading, but what did it matter, when you were sobbing into her shoulder like your heart was cracking, like a flood of sorrow had just emerged from somewhere deep rooted inside you and shown itself in such a raw way?

you seemed damn near inconsolable when the weeping started, but you stopped just as quickly, wiping frantically at your eyes, almost bashedly, like you were ashamed of displaying such lack of self control.

Jackie fished around for her handkerchief, the one engraved with her initials and handed it to you. you wiped your flushed face with shaky hands and stowed it away in your own pocket, mumbling a promise to have it back to her by Monday.

Jackie shook her head no. “Keep it.” she had told you. “It's yours now. Just a token. To tell you that I'm all right.”

you looked unconvinced, but thanked her anyway, enveloping her in a hug that lasted far too long, that had her drunk on your scent. the scent of the earth.

“Hey. Tell you what. Let's go down to that new diner that opened like two blocks from here.” she talked to you like one would a startled animal. "You didn't wanna go last week because of all the terribly-kept plants, but you might like it now..." something in her voice seemed to soothe you. your mask appeared again, the one that made you seem so reticent.

you smiled sweetly at her, nodding as a sniffle escaped you. “Only if you foot the bill.” you said slyly, taking her hand in yours. she rolled her eyes. “Gladly, freeloader.”

she helped you down the tree— your legs were trembling like leaves.

she started to walk off, leading you by the hand like it was a leash. a tight leash. but you tugged on her wrist. she turned around almost stiffly, like a plastic doll. she was more affected than she was letting on.

“Jackie.” you started off, your voice urgent, “I need you to promise me. That you'll be more aware- that- that you won't ignore what's right in front of you.”

she stared at you for a bit, and then laughed, like you were pulling her leg. “Oh c'mon, I know I can be a bit oblivious sometimes, but I'm not that bad.”

she tried to start walking again, but you didn't budge an inch, staying mired on the ground. “No, Jackie I'm serious. Promise me you'll change.”

change. there was that word again, that annoying word that crawled into her head like a parasite and rooted itself there.

“I promise.” she sighed after tarrying for a bit. “I'll try.” you hold out your pinky to her. childish, but the only bond you ever truly trusted. a bond that ran deeper than blood pacts.

she looked at your jutted pinky and silently sealed the promise. you finally uprooted yourself from the mud, watching as she turned around and started trampling her way through bushes.

you pretended to not notice her smile fade when her back was turned to you. she pretended not to see the look of distress in your eyes when she turned away.

and look, Jackie loved you. she really, really did. but she couldn't claim to be thrilled when you'd start crying every time she brought up her future.

when the private plane to nationals (courtesy of Mr. Richy Matthews) crashed, when she was jogged out of her peaceful sleep to the sounds of screams and what she had no doubt was her death knell, her eyes were drawn to you and to Shauna— who was unconscious.

her throat closed up in panic, her lungs wouldn't work properly. she knew Lottie would take care of you, she knew she wouldn't let you die. she had Shauna to deal with now.

she dragged Shauna out of the burning wreckage of the plane twice that day, both times with guilt in her stomach, the last time with tears in her eyes as Van screamed for help behind her, screamed to not be left alone with the burning bodies of her teammates and her own voice.

Shauna clattered on the ground like a sack of potatoes, cuts forming a mosaic on her face, but she was safe. Jackie's eyes darted around the carnage and the wreck, searching desperately for the figure she knew would be dressed in blue.

she spotted a blue blur out of the corner of her eye just as she was about to start screaming your name, and she caught you by the waist just as you jumped into her arms, toppling over.

her wobbly hands clutched at your shirt desperately, trying to make sure you were real. she pulled back, her eyes scanning the wounds littered on your face. “Are- are you hurt anywhere else? Do- do we need to-”

“Where's Van?” you cut her off, staring around the wreckage with wide, sparkling eyes. your eyes reflected the fire behind her right in her face and she shrank back automatically, the shame creeping over the relief she felt.

she rubbed her arms nervously, clambering to her feet. “I….she's…”

“You left her.” the words come out of your mouth so cold, so hostile that Jackie’s knees nearly cave in. her mind is wiped clean of all the multiple excuses she once used to maintain her perfect image.

the look you give her, the look of pure revulsion, so different from that warm gaze of yours— the one that made her feel on top of the world, makes bile rise in her throat. she clutches her stomach like she's trying to hold her innards in— or perhaps rip them out and give them to you.

you push the hand that's reached out to graze the edge of your loose shirt away, shooting her one last scowl before taking off— right towards the inferno burning at the plane.

“Cinder— wait !” Jackie starts to chase after you, but aciculur fingers tug at her shoulder, pulling her back. It's Lottie, looking oddly steely. her eyes gleam with something as she watches your retreating back, her arms locking Jackie to her place— adoration, maybe. Jackie knows where you're going. where you'll always go.

with Lottie practically pinning her against her body, preventing her from dashing to your side like a dame in a bloody letterman jacket, Jackie wriggled out of her grasp to check on an incredibly pissed Shauna. no matter. she knows Shauna, knows how she'll always forgive her, knows how she'll always be there, even if you're not.

sure enough, when she's trying to wheedle an acceptance to her apology out of Shauna, you show up— with Van in tow.

you're both covered in ash and soot, Van looks the worse for the wear— but you're still alive. that's a lot more than she could say for certain other people, she thinks, as she gawks at Coach’s body, lolling over a tree, dripping tiny droplets of blood like rain.

she catches Van's eye, then yours, and she knows she's not welcome. the harsh glares bore into her like a stake to the heart. she turns and walks away as Tai engulfs Van in a hug that lasts far too long to be friendly.

and thus grows the emotional rift between you two. the longing glances she shoots in your direction, only to be met with radio silence or often times, nothing at all. but you're not petty. you never were, and she knows and god, it makes it so much worse.

to know that you still stand up for her, still defend her indolence when she lazes around instead of helping with gruelling chores, still defuse the tension between her and the others, even though there's the hatchet that can never be buried in between you two.

losing Laura Lee was painful for everyone, but more so to you and Lottie. she was there, watching the plane fall just as quickly as it rose, watching you run out to the lake, Lottie following suit, watching as you dropped to your knees, Lottie screaming her heart out beside you. she padded into the frigid waters and held you to her chest, her heart beating in time with yours as you sobbed silently, each gulp of air a wheeze that probably rendered you blind with its fervidity.

you drank the soup with everyone else at Doomcoming. you watched her go off with Travis, your eyes all knowing, shining with a clarity that no other foggy eyes held. you locked her in the closet that night. not out of spite, but out of fear for her own safety. this hive was no longer hers to control, no longer looked up to her like she was their queen who hung the moon in the sky. and you knew better than most, like you always did.

she started to protest as you shoved her in, cans of stale food crashing to the ground as she gripped at the wooden shelves for support. “Stay here, Jackie!” you hissed, your voice unnaturally deep. the look in your eyes was…proud. confident. like you knew what you were meant to do, for once in your life.

Jackie wiped the dust off on her dress, starting to follow after you as you took long strides towards the door. but you whipped around, pushing her back in with a force that was practically inhumane. she stared at you, her mouth agape. “I'll come back for you, I swear!”, you seethed. she didn't miss the slight hint of rancour in your voice as you made the promise.

silently, she extended her pinky to you. the harsh shadows that had settled on your face seemed to clear, if only for a moment. you clamped your pinky around hers, locking eyes with her own clear hazel. then, you slammed the door shut behind you as she slid to the floor, curling in on herself.

but you didn't come back for her, did you? not when she needed you the most, not when she needed you to bring her back in from the cold. literally. when the inevitable fight with Shauna came, when years of hidden acrimony and malice surfaced, when feelings that had never been communicated to her— ugly, jealous feelings, came to light, she had no one.

she had fallen from her throne. no longer the untouchable goddess. no longer the high-horsed queen. in a setting where morality and traditionalist ideas didn't matter, Jackie had nothing going for her.

Shauna, with no qualms about the ‘eat or be eaten’ rule, with nothing holding her back, unloaded years of anger and scorn onto her, and everyone turned their backs on her. her, who held fast to civilized behaviour, she who refused to adapt as the situation required.

Jackie gathered up her pillows and blankets, marching to the door on feet that felt unnatural on her body, her eyes locked onto the pretty, soft hands that were useless, that no longer mattered in a callous life. everything she had known collapsed in on her. she had lost all meaning, all purpose, all will to live, to eat and to do anything that once mattered to her.

she turned back one last time, to make one last cutting remark at Shauna. but something stopped her. you were huddled by the fire, counting your fingers, dressed in a loose, thin-strapped black dress that was so far off from what you would've usually worn, Jackie wasn't even sure she was looking at the same person anymore.

but then again, it seemed she had never known any of these people, jammed together in a dilapidated cabin in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. it was the look in your eyes when you raised your head that stopped her cold.

your eyes glittered like gemstones, reflecting the firelight in a way that should've been impossible. instead of the warm atmosphere your gaze usually gave her, the butterflies, the red cheeks, Jackie felt like there were a million bugs crawling up her legs, binding her, suffocating her. you gave a fleeting glance towards the door and returned to counting your grimy fingers, like nothing ever happened. like her conceited self deserved her fate.

like you never even knew her. not the mask she put up, not the face behind it.

it crushed her. because fuck, it hurt. it hurt so bad, she didn't know it was possible for an ache so deep to exist after all the pain she had just suffered through. it gave her the courage she needed to walk out the door, to feed her own ego.

you didn't want her anymore? well fuck you. she didn't want you either. she wouldn't change. not for the world, which was always given to her on a silver platter, but had now rotted with her heart.

your last words to her rang in her ears, crept into her dying dream as her body grew colder and her soul grew warmer. “I'll come back for you, I swear.” you're reneging on your promise, just like she did on hers. eye for an eye, huh?

when Jackie woke the next morning, she was no longer herself. she was detached, more detached than she had ever been. she rose and her body did not follow. she couldn't say she was very surprised, staring at the white snow that coated everything, every surface, every treetop, even her own cold, cold body. so your damn tarot reading came true after all.

she wanted to see your reaction to finding her like that. blue-faced, but peaceful, more peaceful than she had ever been in life. and hey, she certainly left a pretty corpse behind for you to find, right? she blocked her ears against Shauna’s screams. they were too blood-curdling, too painful to hear, even if she had declared the brunette dead to her mere hours ago.

she had one priority and one priority only. her transcluent eyes scanned your impassive face. nothing. not a tear. just cold disinterest, like she had never mattered to you at all. all she could glean was a twitch of your lips and nothing more.

Jackie decided to stick around. somehow, she knew that there was no ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ waiting for her. she would be free when she chose to be. she hadn't panned out in life and she wouldn't move on in death. take that, reversed Temperance. she knew exactly who she was. a petulant, stubborn bitch who wouldn't let go.

over the course of the blazing winter, somehow, the darkest, murkiest parts of her had manifested into this twisted version of herself that communed with Shauna sometimes, mocking her and taunting her for the death that was, in Jackie's opinion, at least, entirely her own fault.

but she was pleased to know she was haunting someone, if not you. or maybe she was.

because after Tai found out that PTSD Shipman was playing dress up dolly with her two month old corpse and the spontaneous decision to cremate her was made, you stepped up just as Shauna was about to light the fire. you stooped down to her body and pressed a kiss on the forehead of the stinkin cadaver, before gently unhooking the necklace that rested on her bony collarbones.

you fastened it around your own neck, untangling the golden chain with an almost reverent hand, kissing the heart charm.

your eyes were closed, but she could feel the sorrow around you like an aura, emitting towards her in a way your feelings never had before. maybe she was having like a spiritual connection to you or something. cuz of the necklace. maybe she had haunted the necklace with like— her skin cells or something.

she had expected to feel some tie to her physical body post-humous cremation. some agony tantamount to being burned alive or something. but as she watched her former teammates rip into her perfectly cooked carcass, scarfing down chunks of her flesh like it was ambrosia, sucking her fingers like they were cornucopias and would leak nectar, she felt nothing. nada. not even disgust, let alone anything physical.

she supposed she didn't have anything corporeal to feel her pain with anymore. there goes her plan of being a vengeful ghost.

Jackie never really put herself in your shoes. she never saw what you saw. she loved you, but not enough to consume you. not like you did now. you weren't ravenous like the others, weren't giving into your baser instincts, despite being as emancipated as anyone else.

you took your time, running your fingers along smoked flesh, the curve of her hip, the trail of her face. no one else noticed or commented, lost in their gluttony. you picked carefully, sitting at the metaphorical head of the metaphorical table.

her feet, nearly burned to a crisp, a symbol of humility. her eyes, the gateway to her soul. her hands, the ones that had made so many promises with you over the years. her lips, the ones which you had grazed with your own on nights when she was too tired to lie to herself.

she felt those, even though she didn't. placebo effect or whatever, but she did. a pleasant burning in her eyes. featherlight fingertips over her feet. a warm press in her numb palms. a brush of plush, chapped lips on hers, reminiscent of a time when her future was still set for her, but not as bleak when she was still on top.

you looked straight at her and the hole where her heart should've been gave a feeble twang. a desire for what could've been. you've always been one to love like that. devouring her like an animal with all the softness of a human. when she looked at you, you looked right back at her. aware. always so aware.

so no, Jackie never really did understand you. but there, looking at your eyes, the only ones filled with tears at a table full of beasts as wild as yourself, but in your senses, so painfully aware, gave her an inkling that even if it was for just that small moment, she did.

a/n : ran into so many hiccups on the way but it's finally here ! this is part 1/10 ! find the main masterlist here.

TAGLIST: @beaucate @theoreticalfreak @f4riedimples @scatorcciosbabe @theworldscalamity

#۶ৎ(っ- ‸ - ς) wish you were here !#yellowjackets #yj #yj show #(๑>◡<๑) works !#yj season 1 #yj season 2 #yj s2 spoilers #yj season 2 spoilers #jackie taylor #yellowjackets spoilers #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets s4 #yellowjackets show #yellowjackets season 4

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myfictionaldreams · 2 years ago

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⁀➷ Mafia!Stucky Masterlist⍟✪ 📚

Hello lovely, I hope you’re having a great day. I thought it was about time I made a list dedicated to my favourite boys, so welcome to my Mafia!Stucky masterlit!I love to write in my spare time, and the fiction I create is for 18+ readers ONLY. Also, everything is character x fem!reader, and please, read the tags carefully before continuing.

Masterlists ♥ A03 ♥ Tags ♥ Question? ♥ latest works ♥

✧ you're mine // Steve loves showing off what's his, you. What does he do when he sees someone staring at what's his? (smut, angst, dark)

✧ i need more // You’d been off all day, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Steve. He’d do anything to make you feel better, so when you started begging him to help you have some release, he didn’t hold back. (fluff, smut)

✧ ruined orgasm - kinktober // He had given you one rule: do not interrupt the meeting. So, of course, you had to walk straight into the meeting that had all of America’s most notorious gangsters (smut)

✧ Steve's birthday wish (P.1) //Steve’s birthday was approaching, and you had no idea what to get him. Bucky suggests asking the Mafia boss what he would like, but would you regret your decision when you hear what Steve truly wants? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ When Two Become Three (P.2) // It has been a few weeks since Steve sat back and watched you be pleasured by his best friend, Bucky, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially, the part where Steve confessed his fantasy to have a threesome, but would you ever agree to it? (fluff, smut)

✧ one more meeting // For all of the years that you had known Steve and Bucky, you had never seen them lose control of their anger. All of the murders and violence are always calculated, calm, and dangerous. But today, that all changed, and for the first time in years, you were truly scared of the boys you loved. (fluff, smut, angst, dark)

✧ repeat after me // It wasn’t often that you had to attend a party with your boyfriends, but today, you found yourself at one, filling you with anxiety and dread. How will the boys react when they find you close to a panic attack and starting to doubt their love for you? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ how many? // Steve had finally found time to take you and Bucky on holiday. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that today, he wanted to see just how many times he and Bucky could get you to orgasm. (fluff, smut)

✧ I can’t lose you // Being the girlfriend of the Mafia leader and his second in command had its dangers, but for years, you'd never had to experience this—until now. How will the boys react when you're put in danger? (fluff, smut, angst, dark)

✧ No touching // You blatantly ignored their instructions, and now you have to suffer the repercussions of your actions. (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ I don’t care // 'The reader has a menstrual cycle, this one just a little worse than others, and Steve and Bucky are worrying and helping her through it.' (fluff, smut)

✧ The one weakness // It wasn't often you were by yourself, so when you quickly go to the coffee shop, what happens when the enemy is watching and waiting nearby? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ overwhelming // It had been your birthday a few days ago, and Steve and Bucky had made it their mission to give you the most lavish party, followed by intense, long nighttime activities. However, something didn't feel right as you lay in bed on Monday morning. (fluff)

✧ the fun game // Steve and Bucky had forgotten about your date, leaving you waiting for two hours in the restaurant. How will they react when you decide to play your little game as payback, and how far can you go before they finally snap? (fluff, smut)

✧ harder, please // Your mind was clouded with lust and pleasure, as you begged repeatedly for more from Bucky, but what happens when you get hurt in the process? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ protect and forget // Life as the girlfriend of the Mafia boss and his second-in-command was not always smooth sailing; everything did not always go to plan. Two weeks before your birthday, a threat was made to your life. What happens when Steve and Bucky begin to push you away as they search for the threat? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ All Eyes On You // “Do you know what we would have done if we had turned up to that restaurant and seen you all dolled up like that? We would have bent you over the table in front of everyone and shown them exactly who you belonged to". - Steve Rogers (smut)

✧ You belong to me. These girls knew you were dating Steve and Bucky, so why did they think it was okay to have their hands all over you? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ Don't fall asleep // It was supposed to be a typical day, but not in fate's eyes, as you and Sam are hit by a drunk driver. How will Steve and Bucky react when they hear their girl has been hurt? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ rule number one. // It was Bucky's birthday, but even a surprise party won't stop Steve and Bucky from punishing you for not looking after yourself. (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ Last Hope (CH. 1) (CH. 2) // Before dating Steve and Bucky, your life felt like a steel cage you couldn't escape because of your family business. There was no happiness or hope, but what happens when the infamously heartless mafia leader, Steve Rogers, finds you alone? (fluff, smut, angst, dark)

✧ our little bean // You stared unblinking at the Doctor who had just told you the news you couldn't quite comprehend. You were on birth control, so why is the test in his hands saying that you're pregnant? Accidents happened, but is this a happy one? (Yes it is). (fluff, angst)

✧ the limit // Everyone has a limit, this includes Steve and Bucky. What happens in different situations where each of you felt compelled to use your safewords? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ sick day // Bucky had warned you that dancing in that rain without a coat would lead you to be ill, maybe you should have listened more to his warning. (fluff)

✧ accident’s happen // You were visiting a friend when you were accidentally hit in the face, leaving behind a cut across your cheekbone. How will Steve and Bucky react when they see their girl injured? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ everyone is breakable // Steve and Bucky were invincible in your eyes. They'd never been injured or in a situation where you thought they weren't the ones in control. That is until one day Bucky doesn't return from meeting with a client. (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ winter soup // There was no better feeling than a bowl of hot soup when you're feeling unwell and, what's even better is when it's delivered to your door every day by your new guard. It tasted amazing and you could always trust everyone in the Mafia... right? (fluff, smut, angst)

✧ something new // The mafia leader was known to be possessive and enjoy showing off his girl but what happens when he wants to do this by being intimate in front of his gang? (smut)

✧ pegging - kinktober // Steve had once instructed bucky how to pleasure you but what happens when you’re the one being given the instructions? (smut)

✧ cockwarming - kinktober // You’re feeling needy and restless so Steve offers you something to suck on, much to Bucky’s amusement. (smut)

✧ double penetration in one hole - kinktober // You were adament to prove Steve wrong and do something you’ve never done before. (smut)

✧ fear play - kinktober // You woke up to darkness, your phone was missing and, all you could was silence echoing around the house but, you knew you weren’t alone. (smut, dark)

✧ role reversal - kinktober // For once, you were the one shouting at the enemy, demanding that they leave your office. Steve and Bucky were in awe so you tried to keep up this confidence and burn off some energy with them. (smut)

✧ Duke, Duchess and Knights // You get so lost in the fantasy dream that when it turns into a nightmare, you're not sure what reality is when you wake up screaming. (fluff, angst)

✧ Merry Christmas // It was a simple question: Have you been naughty or nice this year? (fluff, smut)

✧ Safety Measures // It was the anniversary of Steve and Bucky saving you from your sadistic brother. Usually, it was a time of celebration for you, but this year, you couldn't help but feel paranoid and unsafe. (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

✧ edge of glory // Defiance is something you are not accustomed to, but when the love of your life is in danger, there is no stopping you. Now, the repercussions of your actions have you contemplating the decisions that you've made. (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

✧ being on top // After Steve's life is threatened, you're left reeling in how fragile life is and what better way to remind you what's life about than having the Mafia leader handcuffed to the bed for you to play with? (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

✧ seven // One week is all it takes for your world to come crashing down. Even though you could have everything you'd ever wanted, for some reason, something isn't right. Will your emotions and the smothering of overprotective Stucky come to an end? (Angst!, Smut, Fluff)

✧ into the deep // A garden party pushes you too far—and into unexpected subspace. Bucky and Steve bring you back with firm control, soft words, and the reminder that you’ll always belong to them. (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

✧ sweet & armed // In a world of danger and dominance, she’s the soft center — until the day she proves she can bite just as hard as they bark. (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

✧ taught in love // When trust is tested and old wounds resurface, you decide it's time to shift the power. (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

✧ anchor me // When an unexpected wave of illness leaves you shaky and off balance, comfort comes in the form of tender care, warm hands, and the two men who would do anything to keep you safe. (Smut, Fluff)

Drabbles

The first to give their jacket when reader is cold

Mad & Sad moments

Saying the wrong thing

TikTok trend: no kissing

Who is more protective?

safe space in your new home

Halloween Costumes

#mafia!stucky #mafia stucky #mafia steve rogers #mafia bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #mafia au #mafia!stucky masterlist #mine*#mafia stucky masterlist #steve rogers masterlist #bucky barnes masterlist

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allbrows04 · 2 years ago

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ok listen i love mob psycho and there are so many wonderful works in that fandom that have genuinely changed the trajectory of my life,,,, but the amount of messed up stuff in that corner of ao3 that i have to filter out is insane

okay wait fuck that post. tell me the media with the WORST quality fanfiction youve ever read

#this is more of a minor complaint #but also all the serei fics start becoming the same #i like serei a decent amount #but idk how many times i can read the same exact fic #also they keep characterizing serizawa as this perfect angel who does everything right somehow while still being charmingly awkward #let the man make some mistakes #hes an ex terrorist #he doesnt always have to be ideal boyfriend material #yall are clearly just inserting yourselves into reigens situations sorry not sorry #anywayyy genfic is my fave bc it has more opportunities to be unique #but its hard to find #which is weird considering how the show is #u would think there would be more mp100 genfic #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #a03 #fanfic

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iraot · 5 months ago

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Warnings: M/M intimacy, tooth rotting fluff?, rough sex, knotting, abo dynamics, p in v sex, p in a sex, oral sex, throuple, power dynamics?, play, hair mentioned i think, Pairing: Alpha Zayne x Omega F!reader x Alpha Caleb A/N: this is the last OFFICIAL part of my ABO series, at least until the sixth LI comes out. I am taking drabble requests for any of the relationships so feel free to shoot me a DM and I'll get to it as soon as I can! :3 If you also just wanna yap hit me up too! I'm a chronic yapper. A03

𝟙𝟝 𝕐𝔼𝔸ℝ𝕊 𝔸𝔾𝕆 The summer sun was beginning its lazy descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet as the three of them raced through the field behind Linkon University’s faculty housing, where their families worked. The rampantly growing wildflowers swayed in the evening breeze, the scent of earth and grass filling the air as laughter rang out between them.

Caleb was the fastest, always the first to dart ahead, feet barely touching the ground as he bolted through the field. His dark brown hair was a wild mess, violet eyes bright with excitement as he whooped and called over his shoulder, “Come on, slowpokes! Last one to the tree has to carry the backpacks home!”

She groaned dramatically but pushed forward, her legs burning as she tried to keep up. She wasn’t as wild as Caleb, but she had her own brand of playful competitiveness. “Not fair! You took off before we even started counting!”

Zayne, as always, was more calculated in his approach. He didn’t immediately rush in after Caleb but instead gauged the distance, the lay of the ground, the way his two best friends moved. With a quiet, knowing smirk, he adjusted his pace, waiting for the right moment to surge ahead. “You should know by now that Caleb doesn’t play fair,” he murmured as he passed her, his black hair catching the last of the sunlight.

She huffed, trying not to grin. “And you’re still letting him get away with it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Just as Caleb was about to reach the massive oak tree that marked their usual finish line, Zayne suddenly veered to the right, cutting through the tall grass. Caleb was too caught up in his own momentum to notice until the last second—when Zayne stretched out a hand and tagged the tree first.

“What—? You cheated!” Caleb gaped, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

Zayne simply leaned against the bark, arms crossed, utterly unbothered. “I played smart.”

She reached the tree a few seconds later, panting but laughing. “Guess that means Caleb’s carrying the backpacks.”

Caleb groaned, falling onto his back with an exaggerated sigh. “You two always gang up on me.”

“We wouldn’t have to if you weren’t always running off,” Zayne pointed out, nudging him with his foot.

She plopped down beside Caleb, staring up at the sky with a contented sigh. “One day, we’ll probably have to start acting our age. Be all proper and responsible.”

Caleb turned his head to look at her, grinning. “Not happening. I’ll make sure of it.”

Zayne shook his head, but there was fondness in his gaze as he sat beside them. “At the very least, I’ll make sure neither of you get into too much trouble.”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “So, what’s the verdict? Backpacks?”

Caleb groaned again but grabbed one of the bags with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. But only because I’m gracious in defeat.”

She and Zayne exchanged an amused glance before gathering the rest of their things, the three of them falling into an easy rhythm as they made their way home. Even then, before their designations, before their world became infinitely more complicated, they had been something unshakable—three parts of a whole, bound together in a way none of them could fully put into words.

Not yet, anyway.

PRESENT The change in the air was subtle at first—just a shift, something quiet, creeping beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break. But then it thickened, coiled, twisted into something heavy and undeniable, something that seeped into the walls, the sheets, their skin. It was a slow, smoldering burn, creeping into their bones, filling every breath with something sharp, something deep.

Zayne felt it like a pulse beneath his skin, a slow ache spreading through his veins, settling low in his gut, curling tight around the heavy weight of his cock where it lay against his thigh. He exhaled through his nose, trying to stay steady, but even that was a fucking struggle. His body was already turning against him, heat building behind his eyes, muscles going taut, coiling in anticipation. He wasn’t in rut yet, not fully, but it was coming. He could feel it.

Caleb was worse off.

The other Alpha was already shifting where he sat, restless, his hands twitching before curling into fists against the edge of the mattress like he was trying to tether himself. But restraint wasn’t in Caleb’s nature. Never had been. His body knew what it wanted, and it wanted now. It was evident in the way he pressed up against Zayne, broad chest to chest, his scent thick with rut, flooding the space around them. His lips curled, sharp, wicked, as he rolled his hips down in a slow, deliberate grind, dragging against Zayne’s cock just to watch the way his throat bobbed with the effort of restraint.

“Fuck, you’re already holding back?” Caleb murmured, voice rough, teasing, layered with heat that he wasn’t even pretending to hide. His breath ghosted against Zayne’s jaw, lips so fucking close but not touching, not yet, just enough to make it worse.

Zayne let out a low, guttural sound, more growl than breath, his hand snapping up to grip the back of Caleb’s neck, fingers flexing against sweat-damp skin. “We don’t need to do this,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

Caleb huffed out a sharp breath, biting down on his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth before releasing it with a quiet, breathy laugh. He rocked his hips again, grinding down, the friction sending a sharp, burning heat through both of them. “That’s cute,” he rasped. “Like you’re not already fucking soaked in scent.”

Zayne clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched at the words, the way his body ached for more, craved it, demanded it. Caleb was right—he fucking reeked of rut, the deep, dark spice of it thick in the air, mixing with Caleb’s scent in a way that was fucking dizzying, overwhelming. It curled around them both, binding them together in the worst best way.

Caleb didn’t wait for an answer. He surged forward, closing the space between them, capturing Zayne’s mouth in a kiss that was all heat and teeth, hungry, restless. Zayne let him, let Caleb take, let him press him down against the mattress, let his hands slide down his back, gripping muscle, feeling the way Caleb trembled under his fingers.

The rut hadn’t hit full force yet, but fuck, it was close.

And this—this wasn’t going to be enough.

Zayne barely remembered how they got here, barely remembered shoving off their clothes, the frantic, desperate way their hands tore at fabric, the way Caleb’s nails dug into his shoulders, dragging down his back, leaving angry, red streaks in their wake. But now, Caleb was beneath him, panting, gasping, his face buried in the sheets as Zayne pressed into him, his cock stretching Caleb open, filling him, dragging against the tight, slick heat of him inch by inch.

Caleb shuddered beneath him, his breath catching on a moan, his hands fisting the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white. “Fuck,” he gasped, voice wrecked, body burning, back arching as he tried to push back, to take more, to take all of it.

Zayne gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the sharp curve of Caleb’s hips, holding him still as he sank deeper, forcing himself to go slow, to drag it out. He wanted to wreck him, to pound him into the mattress until neither of them could fucking breathe, but he knew Caleb—knew the way he liked it, knew the way his body craved the stretch, the ache, the feeling of being taken apart, piece by fucking piece.

The sounds Caleb made—broken, breathless little noises, gasps and moans and desperate little whimpers—sent heat ripping through Zayne’s spine, curling low in his gut, tightening around his cock like a vice. “Fuck,” Zayne grunted, forehead dropping to the sweat-slick expanse of Caleb’s back, his breath coming in ragged, heavy pulls. “You’re—fucking squeezing me.”

Caleb let out a rough, choking sound, body trembling, shuddering around him. “Maybe—” he sucked in a sharp breath, shivering as Zayne pulled back, dragging his cock against the slick, swollen clutch of his body before pressing back in, slow, deep, almost mean. “Maybe I don’t—wanna let you go.”

Zayne groaned, his hips snapping forward, his restraint fraying, shattering. His thrusts picked up, deeper, harder, grinding into him, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. Caleb sobbed out a sound, arching, his hands clawing at the sheets, his body tightening, locking down around him.

It was too much.

Zayne growled, deep and primal, his knot swelling, locking them together, forcing him deep, keeping him buried inside. Caleb gasped, his whole body jerking, tensing, his muscles twitching under Zayne’s hands, his breath coming in sharp, uneven little moans.

Zayne let out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead to the back of Caleb’s neck, his lips dragging along sweat-damp skin. His hands smoothed down Caleb’s sides, feeling every tremor, every little aftershock still working through him. The scent of rut was still thick in the air, suffocating, clinging to the sheets, to their skin.

They stayed like that for a while, panting, twitching through the last tremors of it, their bodies spent, their muscles locked, shaking.

Zayne’s head snapped up.

The apartment wasn’t silent.

A noise.

Faint.

Something breathy. Unsteady.

Caleb stirred beneath him. “You hear that?”

Zayne’s gut twisted, instincts locking onto something new, something dangerous. His world had been narrowed to Caleb for hours, but now—now that the haze was ebbing, another scent was creeping in, something sweet, thick, suffocating.

Omega. Not just any Omega. Her.

Zayne was moving before he had even fully untied from Caleb, instincts screaming, body demanding action. Caleb cursed behind him, barely managing to catch himself as Zayne pulled free, the knot finally giving way. He groaned, rolling onto his back, but his expression shifted the second he inhaled deep.

“Shit,” Caleb muttered, already moving. “That’s—”

Neither of them wasted time. A quick rinse, scrubbing the worst of their rut from their skin, before shoving on loose clothes, still radiating Alpha heat as they stalked into the hallway.

The scent hit them full-force in the living room.

She was there, curled on the floor, trembling, fingers twitching against the oversized fabric of her hoodie. Her scent was thick, pouring off her in waves, her heat pressing against every inch of the apartment like a fucking siren’s call.

Fuck.

She wasn’t supposed to go into heat for another few weeks.

Caleb exhaled sharply, glancing at Zayne, his violet eyes still dark with leftover rut. “Well,” he muttered, voice tight. “That’s a fucking problem.”

She whimpered when Zayne lifted her, fingers clutching weakly at his hoodie, her heat scent clinging to his skin like a plea. Zayne clenched his jaw. Caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line.

The scent was overwhelming now, worse than before–worse now that she was in their arms–the slick-sweet haze of her heat wrapping around them, sinking into their lungs. She had just been in heat last month. There shouldn’t have been a reason for her to go into heat for several months, but with two Alphas coming into rut at the same time; well, the odds weren’t in her favor.

Zayne exhaled slowly through his nose, tightening his grip around her as he stepped into her room. The space was warm, the air thick with her scent, but what caught his attention was the bed—the carefully arranged pile of blankets, pillows, soft things she'd unconsciously gathered over the past few days.

A nest.

Her nest.

He hadn’t noticed. Neither of them had.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered under his breath.

Zayne carefully knelt, setting her down at the center of the nest. She let out a breathy sound, rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric, her body instinctively curling into the space she had made for herself. But when he tried to pull back, her hand shot out, clumsy and shaking, grabbing at his wrist.

Her eyes cracked open—barely focused, pupils blown wide. “Don’t—” her voice was small, raw, “don’t leave.”

Zayne swallowed hard.

Caleb ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. “Shit.” He dropped to his knees beside the nest, watching as she tried to reach for them again, her body moving on instinct, seeking their warmth, their scent.

Because they did this.

She whined again, softer this time, her fingers flexing weakly as they curled into Zayne’s hoodie. Her scent pulsed in the air—sweet, thick, drowning them in it. It was impossible to ignore, seeping into their skin, into their bones.

Zayne forced himself to breathe slowly, carefully, even as every part of him wanted to sink into her scent, press closer, give her whatever she was begging for.

She didn’t understand what she was asking. Not yet.

Caleb let out a sharp breath beside him, rubbing the back of his neck like it might help clear his head. It wouldn’t. Not with her lying there, heat-flushed and trembling, pupils blown wide as she looked at them.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered under his breath. He was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world. Then he dragged a hand down his face and sat back on his heels, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We—shit, we did this to her.”

Zayne swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He knew. The second he smelled her, he knew. Their ruts had thrown her cycle off-balance, pulled her into heat too soon. Her body reacted to them.

Her heat was because of them.

Zayne’s jaw ticked as he reached down, smoothing his palm over the sweat-damp skin of her arm. “We didn’t mean to,” he said, voice low, rough. It felt like a weak excuse.

Caleb huffed out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t change shit, does it?”

She whimpered softly, shifting in the nest, her thighs rubbing together, seeking friction that wouldn’t satisfy her. The motion sent another wave of scent through the air, and Zayne felt his stomach clench.

Fuck.

Caleb’s whole body went tense beside him. He dragged in a shaky breath, then shoved himself away, back hitting the wall. He tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling like that would help anything.

“This is bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Really, really fucking bad.”

She whimpered again, eyes fluttering open, hazy and unfocused. “Please,” she breathed, fingers twitching toward them.

The sound of her voice sent something deep and primal rolling through Zayne’s chest. His Omega. The thought shouldn’t be there, but it was. Her heat was crying for them, her instincts pulling her toward them. She wanted—needed—

Zayne gritted his teeth. No. She didn’t need them like that. Not when she was like this.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and controlled. Focus.

She shifted again, her body aching for warmth, for touch. “Too hot,” she mumbled, voice thin. She tugged weakly at her hoodie, but her fingers were uncoordinated, trembling. Her heat was draining her strength fast. Too fast.

Zayne moved before thinking, reaching out to help. But the second his fingers brushed the fabric, she made a sound. A breathy, helpless little whimper.

His vision went red for half a second.

Caleb swore.

“Zayne,” he warned.

Zayne’s breathing was too slow, too careful. His muscles coiled under his skin, his entire body wired tight with restraint. He could feel her heat in his palm, radiating through the hoodie, sinking into him. So soft. So warm. So—

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

Caleb exhaled hard. He was watching, eyes dark, knowing. “That close?” he murmured.

Zayne clenched his jaw. “Shut the fuck up.”

Caleb didn’t push, which meant he wasn’t any better.

The room was silent except for her soft, needy breaths. Zayne could feel the way she was still reaching for them, the way her body was practically singing for them to come closer. His instincts screamed at him to do exactly that.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done—not touching her.

Caleb let his head drop back against the wall again, breathing in slow, measured drags. “We can’t leave her alone like this.”

Zayne exhaled sharply. “I know.”

“She’s not gonna last long like this, man.” Caleb’s voice was quieter now, but just as strained. “She’s already burning up.”

Zayne looked at her. Her skin was flushed, her lips slightly parted as she panted through the heat pulsing through her body. She needed them. But not like this.

Not like this.

His stomach twisted.

Caleb ran a hand down his face. “I hate this.”

Zayne did too. Every instinct in him wanted to take care of her, to fix this, but fixing it meant crossing a line neither of them were willing to cross.

Instead, he reached for the blankets in her nest, pulling them up around her, tucking them in close, careful not to let his fingers brush her skin again.

She sighed at the warmth, curling deeper into the soft fabric, murmuring something under her breath that neither of them could make out.

Caleb let out a slow breath. “So, what the fuck do we do?”

Zayne stared down at her for a long moment, watching the way her fingers curled weakly around the edge of the blanket, the way her lashes fluttered as she fought against the haze.

“Stay,” he said simply.

Caleb’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Because as wrong as this situation was, leaving her like this would be worse.

So they stayed.

They stayed.

Time crawled.

Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours.

They stayed.

At first, they’d kept their distance—one on either side of her nest, unmoving, watching her carefully, speaking only when necessary. They kept their hands to themselves. They kept their instincts leashed.

It wasn’t enough.

She was getting worse.

Her breaths were coming too fast now, shallow and desperate. Sweat slicked her skin, dampened her clothes, leaving her overheated, burning alive. She twisted restlessly in her nest, whimpering in pain more than need now. Her body was fighting itself, spiraling deeper into heat at a rate neither of them had ever seen before.

Zayne felt his stomach clench.

“Fuck,” Caleb whispered hoarsely, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This—this isn’t normal, man.”

Zayne’s jaw ticked. “I know.”

They both knew.

This wasn’t like last time. Last time, she’d had a warning. Time to prepare, to take suppressants if she wanted, to lock herself away and ride it out at her pace. This? This was something else.

Her body hadn’t been ready for heat. It had been thrown into it, dragged under like a drowning animal, and it was killing her.

She let out a weak whimper, barely able to move now. Her eyes cracked open—dazed, unfocused.

She didn’t even recognize them anymore.

That was it. That was the line.

Zayne and Caleb locked eyes.

Neither of them spoke at first. They didn’t have to.

They both knew what the other was thinking.

Zayne swallowed, his throat dry. “She’s not gonna make it through this alone.”

Caleb’s face was tight, his whole body rigid. “I know.”

Another whimper from the nest—softer this time, weaker. Her fingers barely twitched where they were curled into the blanket, as if she were trying to reach for something she couldn’t even see anymore.

Zayne clenched his jaw.

Caleb exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for half a second before opening them again. “She’s gonna hate us for this.”

Zayne nodded, a sharp, decisive motion. “Probably.”

Caleb swallowed, his throat working. He hesitated, then exhaled. “I’d rather have her alive and pissed at me than—” His voice caught. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Zayne inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the thick, sweetened haze of her heat. His instincts roared, ready, waiting. But his mind was still steady, still clear.

“We do this right,” he said roughly. “Slow. Careful. No claiming.”

Caleb’s nostrils flared, but he nodded.

There was no more debate after that.

The first thing they did was slow her down.

She was panting now, her body trembling violently in her nest, her skin slick with sweat. The fever was burning through her too fast, too hard. She needed more than just their touch—she needed care.

Caleb was already moving, his fingers deft as he reached for the water bottle on her bedside table. He cracked the cap open, shifting closer to where she lay tangled in blankets, barely lucid.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough but softer now. He reached for her, cupping the back of her head gently, lifting her just enough to press the bottle to her lips. “Drink for me, yeah?”

She whimpered at the contact, her hands weakly grasping at the front of his shirt. She tried to press herself into him, into his heat, his scent, but he held her steady.

“Not yet,” Caleb murmured, his voice soothing. “C’mon, baby, need you to drink first.”

Her lips parted obediently when he tilted the bottle, and she took slow uneven sips, swallowing between shallow breaths.

Zayne watched, his body tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. He could smell her exhaustion, her frustration. She was running on nothing but need now, instincts taking over, seeking, reaching—pleading.

His gut twisted. She shouldn’t have to beg.

The second Caleb pulled the bottle away, her hands were moving again, small and clumsy, reaching out, seeking them.

Zayne exhaled slowly, leaning down, his palm finally finding the curve of her thigh. She shivered under his touch, a choked sound leaving her lips.

“Easy,” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, measured paths up the length of her thigh, easing her open. “We’ve got you.”

Her breath hitched.

Zayne’s palm dragged higher, so slow, so careful, skimming over damp heated skin. His fingers spread, grazing, teasing, preparing.

Her whole body reacted.

Caleb chuckled, rough and breathless. “That’s what you wanted, huh, sweetheart?”

She whimpered.

Zayne’s gaze flicked up, meeting Caleb’s over the curve of her body. They had her. She was theirs.

Caleb exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shifting back down to her. He ran his knuckles along her flushed cheek, his mouth quirking into something almost fond.

“She’s desperate for it,” Caleb murmured.

Zayne hummed. “She’s gonna get it.”

And then he kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Lazy.

Not rushed, not greedy, not taking. Just giving.

Her whimper turned into a shuddering moan against his lips, her body arching into him, for him, melting beneath his hands as he prepared her, opening her up.

Caleb pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “We’ve got you, baby. We’ve got you.”

Zayne settled between her thighs, a wall of heat and muscle, pressing her down into the soft tangled mess of blankets beneath them. His body was solid, heavy, unyielding, the sheer size of him a reminder that she was completely at his mercy. She was so small beneath him, so soft, so pliant—her body trembling with exhaustion but still moving, still seeking, still aching for more. The fevered flush of her skin burned against his, sweat-slicked and desperate, her scent thick enough to drown him, coating his tongue, clinging to his lungs. It made his head swim, made his muscles coil tight with the effort of restraint, made his cock throb where it lay heavy between them.

Even now, wrecked and ruined, she was still trying to move, her hips rolling weakly, a slow, pitiful grind against the underside of his length. She was struggling, her body too far gone to manage anything more than pleading little movements, rubbing against him, seeking relief, lost to the hunger of her own heat. She didn’t have to fight for it. She didn’t have to beg.

Zayne had her.

His hands traced over her body, slow, steady, dragging heat in their wake as they mapped over every inch of flushed, fevered skin. He spread her open with easy, effortless strength, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His thumbs pressed into the soft dip of her hips, his fingers gripping the curve of her thighs, steadying her. She was so wet—pulsing, dripping, her slick coating his fingers, her body already preparing itself for him.

For him.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through his ribs, sinking deep into the space between them.

She whimpered at the sound, an immediate, instinctive reaction, her body going tense before shuddering apart again, thighs twitching like she wanted to wrap them around his waist, to pull him closer, to lock him in. She was burning up, feverish, overwhelmed, but she still wanted to. Still needed.

Zayne exhaled sharply, dragging his cock through her soaked folds, coating himself in the mess of her slick, feeling the way her body quivered at the contact. The heat of her, the sheer wetness, the way she clenched around nothing—it nearly undid him. His muscles went rigid, his fingers flexing against her skin, restraint hanging by a thread, fraying with every shuddered breath.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, hoarse with the weight of his need. He let the tip of his cock nudge at her entrance, push, press, tease—just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her squirm—but not enough to give her what she needed. Not yet.

“This what you needed?”

She made a choked, needy sound, her fingers twitching against his biceps, nails barely scratching at his skin, useless and weak but still trying.

Zayne chuckled, low and lazy, but there was something dark beneath it, something possessive, something just a little cruel.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmured, soothing, promising. “Gonna give you exactly what you need.”

And then he pushed in.

Her gasp broke into a moan, her back arching, her body tightening around him, sucking him in, taking him.

Zayne’s jaw clenched, a growl catching in his throat as he forced himself to go slow, to keep himself steady. She was so fucking wet, her body made to take him, welcoming him, milking him—but she was tight, too tight, scorching around him, squeezing down like she wanted to keep him there forever. His fingers dug into the softness of her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her open, watching the way her face twisted, overwhelmed, undone, lost in the feeling of him.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice rough, gravel-thick. “Takin’ me so well, baby. Fuck.”

She whined, a high, broken sound, her legs finally locking around his waist, ankles hooking behind him, desperate to keep him close, to keep him inside.

As if he was ever going to leave.

Zayne exhaled harshly, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing her in, drowning in her scent. His hips rolled, deep, slow, dragging the full length of him inside her inch by inch, stretching her open, filling her until there was nowhere left to go, until he was buried to the hilt, locked in place by the clutch of her body.

She pulsed around him, clenching, gripping, desperate.

He groaned, his hands dragging up her waist, feeling the way she trembled beneath him, barely able to hold herself together.

“You needed this bad, huh?” he murmured against her ear, his lips brushing her overheated skin, his voice dripping with amusement, with affection.

She whimpered, nodding weakly, helpless.

Zayne’s lips curled.

He pulled back, the thick drag of his cock against her swollen walls making her gasp, before thrusting back in—slow, deep, perfect.

Her whole body shuddered.

From his place at the edge of the nest, Caleb let out a sharp breath, barely more than a muttered, “Shit.”

Zayne ignored him. His focus was on her. Only her.

His rhythm was unhurried, deliberate, every thrust measured, controlled, every roll of his hips drawing a fresh gasp from her throat, a fresh clench of her body around him. Her fingers clung to his back, weak and trembling, like she was afraid he’d pull away, like she was afraid she’d wake up and find herself alone, still aching, still empty.

“That’s it,” Zayne murmured, voice rough, full of praise. His hand slid up, cupping her jaw, tilting her face up, forcing her dazed, heat-fogged eyes to meet his. “Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

She moaned, nodding, lips parting like she wanted to answer, but only breathless sounds escaped.

He shushed her, thumb dragging slow over her cheek. “I know, baby. I know.”

His thrusts picked up, deeper, stronger, pushing her higher, pulling her apart.

Her body reacted instantly, her back bowing, her legs squeezing tighter, her cries turning sharper, higher, desperate.

Zayne gritted his teeth, feeling the way she clenched around him, taking him, milking him, her body pulling him in, demanding more. His knot was swelling, stretching, locking him in, binding them together.

She sobbed out a sound, her body tensing, shaking apart beneath him.

Zayne groaned, his lips finding her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Almost there, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “Gonna lock you down, keep you so full—”

She cried out, breaking.

Zayne felt it—the way she clenched, trembled, shattered around him, her body spasming with pleasure, dragging him down with her.

It tipped him over the edge, his knot swelling fully, locking them together, forcing him deeper.

He growled, deep and satisfied, pressing her down, keeping her still as he spilled inside her, filling her, marking her in the way her body demanded.

His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged.

She whimpered, soft, spent, perfect.

Zayne stroked her cheek, his fingers slow, soothing, grounding. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.

Caleb let out a rough exhale. “She’s still got hours left, man.”

Zayne lifted his head, meeting Caleb’s gaze over her trembling form.

His lips curled.

“Then we’d better take our time.”

The heat was still there, a slow, smoldering burn licking at the edges of her senses, no longer all-consuming but still refusing to fade completely. It coiled deep inside her belly, an ember rather than an inferno, waiting to be stoked back into flames with just the right touch. Her breath came in soft, uneven gasps, her body trembling with the aftershocks, the last echoes of pleasure still ghosting through her nerves. Everything felt raw, sensitive, too much and not enough all at once.

Zayne was still locked inside her, the thick swell of his knot keeping them bound together, his body a solid immovable weight pinning her to the nest. He was heavy in the best way, grounding her, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressing against hers, steady, strong. His warmth seeped into her skin, a contrast to the fever still simmering in her veins. His lips brushed lazily over her temple, the softest of touches, unhurried and absentminded, like he had all the time in the world.

And then there was Caleb.

He sat at the edge of the nest, legs crossed, forearms resting on his knees, one hand running through the mess of his dark hair, fingers gripping like he was trying to steady himself. His sharp violet eyes stayed locked on her, the intensity of his stare sending a different kind of shiver down her spine. He looked wrecked—tense, drawn too tight, like the last few hours had taken a toll on him as well. She didn’t doubt it.

“Hey,” Caleb murmured, voice low and rough, tinged with something unreadable. “You with us, sweetheart?”

She blinked, slow and dazed, the weight of their gazes anchoring her back into herself. She wasn’t floating anymore. She was here, present, body aching but mind clear enough now to think. She shifted slightly, testing, but the moment she tried to move, Zayne’s grip tightened on her waist, holding her still.

“Easy,” he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion, but there was something firm beneath it, something protective.

Her throat felt raw, dry, words catching before she could form them properly. She swallowed, tried again, her voice coming out hoarse and raspy, the edges frayed. “Did you two seriously wait until I was half-dead to do something?”

Caleb exhaled sharply, a sound between a groan and a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayne huffed a quiet breath against her skin, his chest shaking slightly with a low chuckle. “Yeah, she’s back.”

She tried to glare at them, but it was useless. She was still too wrung out, every muscle in her body slack and boneless, wrecked beyond measure. Instead, she just huffed out a breath and shifted again, deliberately, grinding herself against the thick stretch of Zayne’s knot, feeling the deep residual throb still pulsing inside her.

Zayne grunted, fingers digging into her hip, his breath going sharp against her temple. “You keep moving like that, sweetheart, and we’re gonna have a real problem.”

A slow smirk curled across her lips, lazy and teasing. “Maybe I like causing problems.”

Caleb let out a strangled noise, something that sounded dangerously close to actual pain. “Can we not do this right now? Jesus.”

She turned her head slightly, blinking up at him, feigning innocence. “What, jealous?”

Caleb’s jaw clenched, his violet eyes flashing dark with something sharp, something hot. He rolled his eyes, but it was too late—she’d already seen it, already caught the way his fingers twitched where they rested against his knee, like he was fighting the instinct to reach for her.

Zayne chuckled, voice low and rough, full of amusement. “She’s still a menace. Good to know heat doesn’t change that.”

She huffed, shifting again just to test, just to push, just to see how far she could take it. The answering growl that rumbled through Zayne’s chest sent a shiver through her spine.

“You guys gonna help me or what?” she muttered, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Caleb inhaled sharply through his nose, visibly reining himself in before shaking his head. “Not until you drink more water and eat something.”

She groaned, loud and dramatic, throwing her head back against the pillows. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb muttered, already reaching for the bottle of water nearby. “You’re not dripping slick out of thin air, princess. You’re gonna dehydrate if we don’t take care of you.”

Zayne’s breath was warm against her ear, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “See? Bossy little shit.”

Caleb made an annoyed sound before promptly throwing a vitamin packet at Zayne’s head.

Zayne caught it effortlessly with one hand, not even bothering to lift his head.

“Fuck both of you,” Caleb muttered under his breath before tearing open a protein bar, breaking off a piece, and holding it out toward her. “Eat, now.”

She groaned again but took the food, chewing slowly. The burn in her veins hadn’t faded, hadn’t cooled, but the food helped ground her, settled something deep in her gut, something instinctual.

Caleb watched her carefully, eyes tracking her every movement, every little twitch of exhaustion, his expression unreadable. He was always like that, always noticing everything, always seeing too much.

“You scared the shit out of us,” he muttered, quieter now.

Her chewing slowed.

Zayne’s fingers traced slow, absent patterns over her hip, soothing, steady. “Your body wasn’t ready for this heat,” he murmured. “We knew it wasn’t normal, but we didn’t know how bad it was gonna get.”

She swallowed, finally looking at them—really looking.

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze darting away for the first time. “We weren’t gonna do anything, you know.” His voice was rough, strained. “Not without you actually saying you wanted it.”

Zayne hummed against her skin, the sound low, full of unspoken agreement. “But when you stopped recognizing us…” His grip on her hip tightened, just slightly, just enough for her to feel the way his fingers trembled. “We weren’t gonna let you suffer, sweetheart. We weren’t gonna let you—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

She knew.

Her chest tightened, something hot and aching blooming behind her ribs, pressing up into her throat.

“You guys are so fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, lacking its usual bite.

Caleb arched a brow, lips pressing into a flat line. “Excuse me?”

She exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to bury her face into the curve of Zayne’s neck, breathing him in. His scent was warm and familiar, something deep in her body recognizing it, settling into it, soothed by it. “Of course I wanted you to help.”

Zayne went still.

Caleb blinked, his entire body tensing.

She sighed, nuzzling closer, her voice muffled against Zayne’s skin. “Like I wouldn’t have picked you two anyway.”

The silence stretched, thick, weighted, something unspoken settling between them.

Then Caleb let out a sharp, exhausted breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Zayne huffed a low laugh, his grip on her easing, shifting, turning into something warmer, something softer. “Should’ve said something sooner, sweetheart.”

She scoffed, lips brushing against the side of his throat. “Maybe I wanted to make you work for it.”

Caleb groaned, head tipping back. “You’re literally killing me.”

She grinned. “Not yet.”

Zayne let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, his lips ghosting over her ear. “Then let’s fix that.”

The nest was still thick with the scent of heat and rut, the air charged with something heavy, almost tangible. It clung to them, settled deep in their bones, in their lungs, in the spaces between their bodies. She could feel it, the way it wrapped around her like a second skin, the way it refused to fade even as the worst of the frenzy passed.

Zayne was still inside her, still thick and locked, his cock pulsing faintly with the aftershocks of his release. Every now and then, a slow, lazy throb worked through him, making her whimper softly, body tightening instinctively in response. He smirked against her hair, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to her temple.

“Still sensitive, sweetheart?” His voice was a low murmur, thick with satisfaction, with something else—something deeper.

She wanted to snap at him, to roll her eyes, but the truth was that she was still trembling, her body wrung out but still burning, still hungry, still aching. The heat wasn’t gone. The worst of the desperation had dulled, but her body still thrummed with need, still whispered more, more, more in the back of her mind.

Caleb watched them from where he sat at the edge of the nest, jaw tight, fingers flexing where they rested on his knee. His violet eyes were darker than usual, almost black in the dim light, and she could feel the weight of his stare, could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, sharp and obvious. There was a reason Alpha’s didn’t typically share burning ire for one another usually did it but she had a feeling that the relationship between them wasn’t typical.

It never had been.

She let her gaze drift over him, slow, assessing, deliberate. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. The way he was breathing a little too fast. The way his thighs tensed subtly, like he was holding himself back. The way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but wouldn’t let himself.

Her lips curled slightly, lazy and knowing.

“Caleb.” Her voice was hoarse, rough from all the moaning, the gasping, the crying out, but she still managed to make it sound teasing, sweet.

His jaw tightened. “What?”

She shifted against Zayne, feeling the stretch of his knot, the way it locked her open, kept her full. She sighed, rolling her hips just slightly, just enough to feel that dull, aching throb of overstimulation, the wet, slick mess between her thighs.

Caleb’s nostrils flared.

She licked her lips, slow. “Are you just gonna sit there and watch all night?”

Zayne made a low noise in his throat, amusement curling at the edges of it. “You’re such a menace.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, looking up at Caleb from beneath her lashes. “What’s wrong? Don’t want me anymore?”

His expression darkened, something sharp flashing across his face. “You know that’s not it.”

She did. She could see it. Could smell it, the way his rut was still simmering beneath the surface, the way his restraint was fraying, threadbare and weak.

Zayne chuckled against her skin, his fingers dragging over her waist, possessive, lazy. “You’re really trying to break him, huh?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his shoulders rising and falling with something unsteady, barely contained. “Fuck.” His voice was rough, wrecked. He was losing.

Good.

She held out a hand, palm up, inviting. “Come here, Caleb.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles going white. He was still hesitating, still fighting against whatever last shred of self-control he had left.

Zayne huffed, amusement thick in his voice. “If you don’t take her up on that, man, I will.”

His breathing was ragged, uneven, his muscles tensed like he was still holding himself back, still fighting not to crush her under the weight of his need.His pupils were blown, his gaze hungry, his body trembling with restraint.

“You sure?” His voice was a growl, low and dangerous.

Her breath hitched, her pulse jumping. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Something in him changed completely as his mouth crashed against hers, rough, claiming, all teeth and heat and hunger. With his hand cradling her jaw he pulled her closer and sighed into her mouth as she moaned into it, arching, pressing up against him, feeling the hard, unrelenting lines of his body, the way he fit against her like he was always meant to be there.

Zayne let out a deep, satisfied hum against the side of her neck, still lazily grinding his hips against her, still half-hard despite already being locked inside her. “About fucking time,” he muttered.

Caleb ignored him, his grip tightening on her waist, his body pressing against her side and holding her as close as he could. His rut was catching up to him fast, hitting him hard, sending a violent tremor through his muscles. His scent spiked, thick and sharp, making her head swim, making her mouth water.

She could feel him, the hard line of his cock pressing against her outer thigh, heavy and burning hot, so close to where she needed him but not close enough.

She whined softly, shifting, pressing up against him. “Caleb.”

He growled, low and guttural, his hands dragging down her arms, over her ribs, down to her waist, gripping, kneading, feeling. His fingers dug in, possessive, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her, the way she felt under his hands.

Zayne chuckled lazily against her neck, his own hips still shifting in slow, teasing movements, his knot keeping him locked inside her, keeping her stuffed full. "Losing your mind already, huh?" His voice was thick with amusement, with satisfaction.

Caleb growled, low and warning, but it only made Zayne laugh. Tired of waiting to have to pop his knot, but also tired of not having her in his arms.

"Relax," Zayne murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "She can take it. Can't you, sweetheart?" His fingers ghosted over her stomach, slow and teasing, as if to emphasize how absolutely ruined she already was, how full she was stretched between them.

Zayne shifted against her first, the motion sending a dull, aching throb through her body as his knot pulsed inside her, still keeping her stretched around him, still locked in place. He exhaled a low, pleased sound against her neck, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of her waist, possessive and indulgent.

"Fucking perfect," he murmured, lips brushing over her sweat-dampened skin. "Completely wrecked between us, huh?"

She barely managed a sound in response, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, her body still trembling in the aftermath. Caleb was slumped over her on the other side, his breath coming in slow, and uneven pants, his face buried against the crook of her neck. His hands were still gripping her thighs, still digging into her skin like he wasn’t ready to let go, like the last of his rut was still clinging to him, refusing to let him pull away.

She was utterly trapped between them, pinned by the weight of their bodies, by the thick unyielding knot still keeping her locked, still filling her past the point of sanity.

And god, she loved it.

Zayne chuckled, the sound low and smug as he shifted again, pressing even closer, rubbing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “Still burning up, sweetheart?”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers twitching where they rested against his chest. “It’s not gone yet,” she admitted, her voice raw from moaning, from gasping, from crying out their names until her throat ached.

Caleb groaned against her skin, his hands tightening on her thighs, his breath shuddering. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Of course it’s not.”

Zayne only hummed in amusement, his hand slipping lower, dragging slow, teasing circles over the curve of her belly. “Well,” he mused, his tone deceptively thoughtful. “I suppose that means we’re not done, are we?”

Her breath caught, something molten twisting low in her belly, a new wave of heat licking at her nerves, sparking her body back to life. The thought of more—the thought of being taken again, of being used until there wasn’t a single ounce of heat left in her—made her thighs clench instinctively, made a quiet, needy whimper slip from her throat before she could stop it.

Caleb groaned again, his entire body going tense, the sharp flare of his scent spiking around them like a warning. “You can’t just—fuck, Zayne, don’t start that shit—”

Zayne only laughed, smug as ever, his fingers dipping lower, skating teasingly close to the mess between her thighs, to the place where he was still locked inside her, still keeping her stretched and full.

"Why not?" he murmured, his voice dark and knowing. "She wants it."

Caleb let out a low, warning growl, but he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop the way his fingers flexed on her thighs, like he was already losing the battle with himself.

Zayne smirked, dragging his teeth over the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Tell him, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Tell him how much you want it. How much you need it.”

She shivered, her body already betraying her, already responding to his words, to the promise laced in his voice.

She swallowed, tilting her head just slightly, her lips barely brushing against Caleb’s ear as she whispered, breathless and sweet—

“Please.”

Zayne’s knot softened first, the pressure inside her easing just enough that she could feel the slow, messy slide of his cock as it withdrew, leaving her gaping, dripping, a wet, obscene heat clinging to every inch of her skin. The absence was unbearable, a sudden, aching emptiness that sent a shudder through her, her body clenching down instinctively, desperate to hold onto the fullness that was slipping away.

A needy whimper broke from her lips, unbidden, her thighs twitching, her breath catching on the loss.

Zayne groaned as he pulled back, his hands gripping her waist for a moment, steadying himself. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. “Look at you—still so fucking open for us.”

She couldn’t answer—could barely think—because even before she could process it, before she could do anything but tremble from the loss, Caleb was there. No hesitation. No restraint.

He shoved himself into the space Zayne left behind, filling her in the same instant she lost him, pushing his cock into her slick, and swollen heat with a force that made her cry out, her body arching, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her. His rut was still running hot, still burning through his veins, still demanding more, more, more—and he gave in to it completely, burying himself to the hilt, groaning low and wrecked at the feeling of her wrapped tight around him, soaking, stretched, trembling.

His hands gripped her hips hard, pulling her against him, dragging her body up to meet his brutal, claiming thrusts.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice ragged, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. “I can still feel him in you.”

She sobbed at the words, her entire body clenching around him, overstimulated, ruined, and yet—still aching for more. The heat hadn’t faded. It still whispered in the back of her mind, still begged for everything they had to give, still kept her body open, pliant, desperate.

Zayne chuckled somewhere beside her, his hands sliding over her stomach, possessive and slow. “That’s because she’s meant to be filled, Caleb.” His voice was dark, knowing, his fingers ghosting lower, dipping between her thighs where Caleb was already fucking into her, spreading her open all over again.

Caleb snarled, thrusting deeper, harder, chasing his own knot, his body tensing with the sheer force of his need. “I know,” he growled. “I know.”

Where Zayne was gentle and firm, Caleb was ruthless. His thrusts were deep, punishing, merciless. His grip on her hips was bruising, his fingers digging into sweat-slick flesh, holding her in place, making sure she didn’t slip away from him—not even an inch. Not that she could or that she wanted to.

She was wrecked between them, overstimulated, stretched raw, completely lost in the haze of her heat. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Her body clenched down on Caleb’s cock, demanding more, sobbing for more.

Caleb growled, the sound feral, half-crazed. “So fucking tight,” he bit out, his hips snapping against her, his cock dragging against every sensitive, swollen inch inside her. “Still so fucking wet.”

Zayne chuckled—low, dark, satisfied. He was still close, kneeling beside her, watching where Caleb slid in and out, filthy and slick. His fingers traced absent, possessive patterns over her stomach, teasing at the skin, pressing down just enough that she could feel every thick, throbbing inch of Caleb inside her.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” Zayne murmured against her ear, his voice all dark amusement, all wicked promise. “How deep he is? How perfect you take him?”

She whimpered, ruined, her nails digging into the sheets, her body trembling, helpless beneath them. Caleb’s breath hitched, his pace faltering for a second—just for a second—because he felt it too. Felt the way her body pulled him in, refused to let him go, milked him for every inch, every thrust.

He wasn’t going to last. Not with her like this. Not when she was soaked, stretched, dripping from both of them. His fingers slid down, gripping the backs of her thighs, spreading her wider. He pounded into her, relentless, deep, unyielding.

Zayne hummed, dragging his fingers down lower, brushing over where she and Caleb were joined, slick, messy, obscene. He groaned, shaking his head. “Fuck, Caleb—look at her. She’s taking you so well.”

Caleb swore, shaking, sweat dripping down his spine.

He was close. So fucking close.

His knot was swelling, throbbing, pulsing inside her.

Her broken moans, her slick heat, the way she gasped and whimpered and sobbed for it— it was pushing him over the edge, driving him insane, making it impossible to hold back.

Zayne’s voice was low, knowing. “She’s ready, Caleb.” His lips brushed over her temple, soothing, taunting, unshakable. “Go on. Knot her, I want to see it happen this time,” having been on the receiving end more than once. While it did feel good in its own way, he always wondered just how it looked.

Caleb snapped, thrusts turned brutal, desperate, losing all rhythm. His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her wide, open, his. She sobbed his name, shaking, coming apart, her walls clenching, fluttering, sucking him in deeper, deeper, deeper and then his knot swelled completely, locking them together, sealing him inside her.

He roared, wrecked, trembling, spilling deep, filling her, marking her completely.

Zayne groaned beside them, his hands still dragging slow, teasing circles over her sweat-drenched skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick, rough with satisfaction. “That’s it. Take it.”

The room was quiet now, the only sound was the steady rhythm of her breathing, the occasional soft sigh as she shifted in her sleep, pressed between them, utterly relaxed. Caleb’s knot had softened, and after a long, slow, careful withdrawal, they’d cleaned her up as best they could. She’d barely stirred, only murmuring softly, nuzzling into Zayne’s chest as he tucked the blanket around her, fingers brushing absently over her spine.

They’d promised to make her shower later, but for now, she needed rest. Zayne leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly. His body was heavy, exhausted, but his mind was still racing.

Caleb was sitting at the edge of the bed, phone in one hand, ordering food while keeping one eye on her.

“She’s gonna be starving when she wakes up,” he muttered, swiping through the menu. “You know how she gets.”

Zayne huffed out a tired laugh. “Yeah. If she doesn’t eat exactly what she wants, she’s gonna be a menace.”

Caleb’s lips twitched. “So, extra dumplings.”

“Obviously.”

A few more taps, then Caleb put the phone down, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms behind his head. His body still thrummed with residual heat, but it had eased now, settled. For a while, neither of them spoke. Zayne let his eyes drift to her—curled up, completely wrecked, completely safe. Her scent was still thick, sweet, lingering in the air, mixing with theirs, claiming every inch of the bed.

Something in his chest tightened, Caleb must have noticed, because he exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair before finally saying, “So… what the fuck happens now?”

Zayne’s fingers stilled against the sheets. He knew this conversation was coming. Had been waiting for it.

Still, he kept his voice even. “With her?”

Caleb’s jaw tensed. He glanced at her, then at Zayne, then looked away. “With all of us.”

Zayne breathed in deep, then let it out slowly.

They’d been here before. Not exactly here, not tangled up in heat and sweat and exhaustion, but close enough. Close enough that the weight of it pressed against his ribs, something unspoken and old and complicated.

Alpha-on-alpha relationships weren’t easy. They were incredibly misunderstood, people assumed it was all about dominance, about fights and aggression, about who was stronger, who was more in control, that had never been what it was like with them.

Zayne shifted, leaning forward slightly, his forearm resting on his knee. He met Caleb’s gaze head-on. “You tell me,” he said, quiet but steady. “What do you want to happen?”

Caleb’s throat bobbed. He looked away for a second, then back at Zayne, something raw and uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

“I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t fucking know, man. I just—”

His hand twitched at his side.

Zayne knew him too well to miss the tension in his shoulders, the hesitation that wasn’t really hesitation at all.

Zayne’s voice softened. “Yeah, you do.”

Caleb let out a frustrated sound, raking a hand through his already-ruined hair. “Fuck. Fine. Yeah, I do.” He exhaled, pressing his palms together, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking to her again before settling on Zayne. “I want—” He exhaled sharply. “This. I want this.”

Zayne watched him carefully.

Caleb’s throat worked as he swallowed, his jaw tight, tense, conflicted. “I want her,” he admitted, voice low but unwavering. “And I want you, and it's the only thing I’ve ever wanted for as long as I can remember.”

Something hot and sharp flashed through Zayne’s chest. He should have expected it. Had expected it. But hearing it—hearing it out loud—was different. It shouldn’t have been but it was.

Caleb scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know it’s not fucking normal,” he muttered. “People don’t get it. They don’t get us. They think we’re supposed to—what? Fight it out? Figure out who the ‘real Alpha’ is? Fuck that.”

Zayne’s lips quirked. “We both know you’d lose.”

Caleb let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck you.”

Zayne huffed a laugh, but it faded quickly because beneath all the teasing, the truth still sat there, heavy between them. This wasn’t a new conversation but it was the first time they’d had it like this. Seriously.

Caleb’s voice dropped, quieter now. More serious. “I don’t want to choose.”

Zayne exhaled slowly.

Caleb shook his head. “I won’t choose.”

Zayne’s chest ached. He understood that. He understood it so fucking well.

And fuck, maybe it was selfish, “I don’t want to, either,” Zayne admitted, the words barely above a murmur. Caleb’s shoulders sagged slightly, something like relief and exhaustion hitting at the same time.

Zayne glanced down at her again—the third piece of this equation, the one who changed everything. He let his fingers brush over her bare shoulder, a silent touch, grounding.

Caleb watched, then reached out, too. His fingers tangled with Zayne’s over her skin. A beat. A breath. A decision made in silence.

Caleb swallowed, his voice quieter now. Surer. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Zayne nodded. “Yeah.”

No matter how hard it had been or how hard it was going to be or what people would think of them or how Alpha’s were supposed to act. He didn’t care, and neither did Zayne. Because when it came down to facts, they had always been stronger together.

The nest still smelled like her.

Sweet and slick, heat-heavy, soaking into the blankets, into their skin, their bones. But her scent had started to fade just enough that Zayne was aware of something else—something that had been there all along, lurking beneath the haze of instinct and need.

Caleb.

His scent was thicker now, sharper. Not as raw as before, but still simmering, still coiled tight in his muscles, in his breath.

Zayne could feel it.

Could feel him.

The weight of Caleb’s gaze, the restless way he shifted beside him, fingers flexing against the sheets.

They were both still wired, still burning under their skin.

And she was still asleep between them, her soft breaths even, her body completely spent.

Zayne exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to settle the static under his skin.

Caleb moved before he could react.

A sharp press of lips, firm hands shoving him back.

Zayne barely had a chance to let out a low grunt before his back hit the blankets, Caleb’s body following, pinning, claiming.

Zayne’s lips parted—surprised, breathless, already sinking into it.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

Not really.

Caleb’s mouth was hot, relentless, bruising, his hands already finding Zayne’s wrists, pinning them above his head, holding him still.

Zayne growled against his lips, pushing up, testing, challenging. Caleb just chuckled darkly, biting at his bottom lip.

“You’re still wound up,” he murmured, breathless, lips dragging along Zayne’s jaw.

Zayne exhaled sharply, fighting the instinct to roll them over, take control. “So are you.”

Caleb smirked against his throat. “Yeah. But I’m the one on top.”

And then he pushed down, grinding their bodies together, their cocks already hard, aching, slick with leftover heat.

Zayne let out a sharp breath through his nose, eyes dark, and hazy. Caleb’s weight was solid, grounding and overwhelming.

Zayne knew how this worked.

Knew that when Caleb wanted to take, he took.

And fuck, maybe Zayne wanted to be taken.

Caleb must have felt his body go still beneath him, because his smirk widened. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along Zayne’s throat, teeth grazing. “You’re gonna let me have you, aren’t you?”

Zayne exhaled, tilting his head back, baring his throat just enough to tell Caleb exactly what he already knew.

“Do it,” Zayne rasped.

Caleb didn’t hesitate.

He shoved Zayne’s legs apart, settling between them, spreading him wide. His grip was tight, unrelenting, keeping Zayne exactly where he wanted him.

And then he pushed inside.

A low, wrecked groan tore from Zayne’s throat, his head falling back against the blankets. Caleb was thick, heavy, deep, stretching him open.

Zayne’s fingers curled into fists, his body tense, taut, barely holding on.

Caleb laughed softly, rough with strain. “So fucking tight,” he muttered, voice thick with heat. “Still trying to fight it, huh?”

Zayne growled, his hips bucking up, trying to take more, trying to challenge.

Caleb let out a sharp, delighted breath—then grabbed Zayne’s wrists again, pinning them hard against the mattress.

“Oh, no,” Caleb murmured, his voice like gravel, smug and knowing. “You’re gonna take it, Zayne,” then he fucked into him, deep, hard, brutal. Zayne gritted his teeth, his whole body jerking with the force of it.

He’d forgotten what it was like—how Caleb took, how he claimed, how he pressed Zayne into the mattress and didn’t let up. Zayne was burning, overwhelmed, gasping through clenched teeth.

Caleb just kept pounding into him, rolling his hips with sharp, perfect precision, one hand still locking Zayne’s wrists down while the other wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with every thrust.

Zayne’s breath stuttered. His hips bucked helplessly into Caleb’s grip, caught between the push and pull of pleasure, nowhere to go, completely trapped.

Caleb’s forehead pressed against his, breath uneven, voice nothing but gravel.

“Come on, baby,” Caleb muttered, filthy, rough. “Come with me.”

Zayne let out a low, broken sound, his body tightening, coiling, trembling. Caleb’s knot swelled, locking them together, keeping him deep. Zayne snarled, body jerking, pleasure ripping through him like a live wire, blinding, unbearable. Caleb groaned against his mouth, spilling deep, marking him completely. Zayne’s head fell back, gasping, spent, owned.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. A small shift. A rustling sound. Zayne’s head snapped to the side. She was awake. Propped up on one elbow, watching them, eyes dark, lips curled into something lazy and knowing. Zayne went still.

Caleb, panting against his throat, still knotted inside him, let out a slow, rough chuckle.

“Well,” Caleb muttered, voice wrecked. “Good morning, sweetheart.” She didn’t look away.

Zayne could feel her gaze on him—dark, knowing, heavy with something he couldn’t name. His lungs still heaved, his body still trembled, still pinned beneath Caleb’s weight, still locked around his knot, still marked, still claimed.

And she had seen all of it.

Heat crawled up his spine, not embarrassment, not quite, but something else—something raw, something vulnerable, something that felt too big to fit in his chest.

Caleb, the bastard, only let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered against Zayne’s throat, voice still wrecked, thick with the last remnants of rut. “Didn’t think we’d have an audience.”

His breath was hot, teasing, his hands still pressing Zayne into the nest, his fingers still firm, still grounding. Zayne clenched his jaw. He felt vulnerable like this, opened up by Caleb’s cock and tied to him being bred in the only way he could be. She was still watching. Zayne turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze fully for the first time since realizing she was awake.

She wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t mocking. Her expression was lazy, slow, something unreadable sitting behind her half-lidded gaze. Her lips were curled just slightly, just enough, but it wasn’t amusement. She looked—comfortable.

Like this was natural. Like watching them was something she was allowed to do. Zayne swallowed, his throat dry, tight. His voice came out lower than intended, rough with something unsteady. “How long?”

She huffed a small breath, amused. “Long enough.” Zayne’s stomach twisted with something uncomfortable, he recognized it as fear though he was certain that Caleb felt the same way. For so long this had been real only for them. He hadn’t had to share this side of himself or Caleb with anyone.

Caleb’s fingers flexed against his wrists, and Zayne flicked his gaze back toward him, only to find those sharp violet eyes watching him closely. Caleb’s lips quirked. Something slow, something knowing. “You look like you just realized something important.”

Zayne exhaled sharply through his nose. Fucker.

Because yeah. He had. There was no fear in her gaze. No hesitation. No confusion. She knew exactly what she was looking at, what they were to each other, what they could be. She’d watched Caleb take him apart. Hadn’t looked away, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t run. And now she was here, still curled in their nest, still tangled up in their scents, still theirs.

Zayne swallowed hard. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, Caleb smirked.

She stretched slightly, slow, languid, satisfied then crawled towards them wanting to be closer to the heat of the nest which was undoubtedly these two. Then she tilted her head at him, something curious, teasing, just a little wicked.

“So,” she murmured, her voice still sleep-rough, still low, still drenched in heat and something thicker. “You gonna kiss me too, or what?”

Zayne forgot how to breathe as Caleb laughed. Low. Rough. Delighted.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Caleb murmured, still knotted deep inside Zayne, grinning like the devil himself. “You have no idea what you just started.”

Three days later, the apartment felt different.

The thick, suffocating weight of heat and rut was gone, finally lifted. The air no longer reeked of desperation, of raw need, of pheromones clinging to every surface. The sheets had been washed, the windows cracked open for fresh air, and for the first time in days, the three of them weren’t tangled together in a nest of blankets and sweat-slick bodies.

But something lingered.

Something heavier.

She sat at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a mug of tea, her posture loose but tense at the same time. She was wearing a hoodie—one of Zayne’s, if the scent was anything to go by—but her bare legs were draped over Caleb’s lap, her body angled toward him instinctively.

Zayne stood at the counter, silent, watching.

Caleb was the one to break it.

“So,” he said, fingers tapping against her thigh, slow, absent, thoughtful. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

She exhaled softly, rolling her mug between her palms. “Yeah,” she murmured. “We should.”

Zayne finally moved, stepping forward, leaning against the table, arms crossed. “Alright,” he said, voice even. “Let’s talk.”

A beat of silence.

Then Caleb huffed out a slow breath. “Look. We all know this isn’t… standard.”

She arched a brow at him. “No shit.”

Caleb’s lips twitched, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes.

“We’re Alphas,” he continued. “And you’re an Omega. That alone is rare enough these days. But two Alphas bonding an Omega?” He shook his head slightly. “It’s not unheard of, but it’s not exactly easy, either.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “Because Alphas aren’t supposed to share.”

Caleb made a displeased sound. “Yeah, well. That’s bullshit.”

She finally looked up, her eyes steady, sharp. “Do you think we can?”

Caleb turned to her, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“Share,” she said simply.

Zayne’s stomach tightened.

She wasn’t asking in a teasing way, or a playful way. She was looking at them both, expression serious, assessing, waiting.

Because this wasn’t just about them wanting her.

This was about them choosing her. Choosing each other.

Caleb exhaled, rubbing his thumb along the curve of her knee. “Yeah,” he said, quiet but firm. “I think we can.”

Zayne didn’t hesitate. “I know we can.”

She searched their faces for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. Zayne could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed, the way the tension in her spine eased. Not because the conversation was over. But because it was starting.

She shifted slightly, turning more fully toward them. “If we do this,” she said carefully, “it means all three of us. Not just me and one of you. Not just when it’s convenient.”

Caleb nodded. “Of course.”

She met Zayne’s gaze. “And you?”

Zayne held her stare, steady, unwavering. “You’re mine,” he said simply. “But Caleb is, too.”

Caleb blinked, his jaw tightening slightly.

Zayne didn’t back down. “I’m not gonna pretend we’re like every other bond out there. We’re not. But that doesn’t mean we don’t work.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp. “Unless you want something different.”

Caleb scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Zayne smirked slightly.

Caleb sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, though. This isn’t gonna be normal.”

Her voice was softer now. “Do you care?”

Caleb huffed out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

Zayne glanced at her. “Do you?”

She stared down into her mug for a long moment.

Then she sighed. “I think…” She exhaled. “I think the world doesn’t like things it doesn’t understand.”

Zayne watched her carefully.

She looked up, gaze flicking between them. “But I don’t care about the world,” she murmured. “I care about you.”

Something in Zayne’s chest tightened, burned, settled.

Caleb hummed, pleased, satisfied. “Good answer, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, kicking his thigh lightly. “Shut up.”

Caleb chuckled, but then his expression shifted, turning serious again.

“Alright,” he said. “Then let’s talk logistics.”

Zayne lifted a brow. “Logistics?”

Caleb gestured vaguely. “Mating bonds. How we do it. When we do it. How we handle things after.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean, ‘handle things after’?”

Caleb met her gaze evenly. “We’re gonna bond you,” he said simply. “Both of us. That’s permanent.”

She nodded. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Caleb’s voice was quiet. “Because it means no backing out. It means our instincts will be locked onto you forever. It means if you get hurt, if you get sick, if something happens—we feel that. It means we’re all tied together for the rest of our fucking lives.” Zayne’s jaw tightened. Not because he disagreed but because it was true. She was silent. Then, slowly, she reached forward, wrapping her fingers around Caleb’s wrist.

“I know,” she said softly.

Caleb stilled. Her grip was firm, steady.

“I wouldn’t be here,” she murmured, “if I didn’t know.”

Caleb exhaled. Then he nodded. Once. Firm. Decisive. Zayne watched them both.

Then, quietly, he murmured, “Then it’s settled.”

#zayne x f!reader #zayne x reader #zayne x caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x freader #lads smut #caleb smut #zayne smut

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godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

Text

It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

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

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

So sure, until you're not.

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

Word Count: 10.9k

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

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

“They are.”

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

“You sound quite certain of that.”

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

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

“No thanks, I’m-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Every-“

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

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

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

“Changed from-“

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

“Everything?”

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

Because he does not look okay.

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

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

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

He’s really pretty.

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

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand.

One metal hand.

——

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

You frown. “Need to know?”

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

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

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

“Yes, it is. Name.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s Bucky.”

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

That’s part of the problem.

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

“He told me.”

——

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

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

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

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

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

He turns and looks at you.

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

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.”

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

“That’s a weird name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

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

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

It’s kind of electrifying.

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

“About me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Goats.”

“Did you name them?”

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

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

“You named your phone?”

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

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

“Better than Bucky.”

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

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

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

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

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

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

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

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

———

“You’re back!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

He never seemed to mind.

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

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

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

You mostly just like him.

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

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

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

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

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

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

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

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

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

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

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

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

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

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

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

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

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

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

This seems less like a dream every night.

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

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

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

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

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

“My apartment.”

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

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

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

You think.

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of this is real.

———

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

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

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have a moose face-“

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

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

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

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

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

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

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

“I don’t know what that is-“

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

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

And everything feels alright again.

———

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that’s it.

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

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

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

And now you’re here.

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

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

But you can really feel this.

And it’s heaven.

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

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s naked now too.

And he’s perfect.

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

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

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

“Bucky-“

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

You’d have to be insane to say no.

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

“You-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

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

Happy.

You’re happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

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

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

And you don’t know how to move on.

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

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

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

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

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

Alone.

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

———

“And after the blip?”

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

———

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

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

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

And he’s there.

Bucky’s right fucking there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

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

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

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

So She had to be real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soulmate.

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

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

“But-“

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

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

Soulmate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That wasn’t good.

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

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

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

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

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

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

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

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

Her.

In person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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