#chapter 3 is done at 4k words

[prince-liest]

my toxic character trait is that I think I'm so fucking funny

[desertduality]

New Ad Astra chapter tomorrow :)

[paul-ster]

Guys- GUYS!?!?

HELP ME WHY AM I POSSESSED BY WRITING GODS!?!? I FEEL LIKE SYLIVA PLATH WITH HOW PRODUCTIVE I AM

[i-eat-deodorant]

mmmmm wish i could work on projects without all the motivation draining out of my brain within a week

[total-serene560]

up to 3k words from yesterday on Ch.3. Turns out that fixing Mike's perspective in Ch.1 gave me a lot more to work with lol

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 7: It's Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just a little bit smaller than the others and it's a little bit of a filler, but I promise that it is preparing for the coming angst!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“I can’t believe you let him around those children. What were you thinking?” Annie asks wielding a curling iron like a sword. "He's a terrible influence!"

It was t-minus one hour and thirty minutes before the party started and Annie was doing your hair and makeup for the mission. Butcher decided that Ben and you would infiltrate and see if you could find anything suspicious inside, while Butcher, Frenchie, and Mm watched the streets outside the building.

Your chair was turned away from the scuffed vanity in Hughie's bedroom at the apartment the team shared. Why he had that you weren't sure, but you figured it must be for Annie. Her makeup bag, hair spray, gel, cream, curler, flat iron, and other paraphernalia was littering the soft butter colored top. There were more things sitting there than you knew the names of.

Annie had always been better at things like that than you. She'd done your hair and makeup for every high school dance and date you went on, so you'd agreed to let her do your hair and makeup for the mission. Not to mention you trusted her not to make you look too over the top or absolutely ridiculous.

As soon as she had gotten you into Hughie's bedroom she had practically pounced on you, demanding to know everything about the past few days that you had spent living in the apartment with Ben. You'd foolishly told her that you'd had to babysit the Wilson's children last night and she was horrified that you let them anywhere near him.

Granted you also would have had the same reaction if someone had told you that they had let Soldier Boy around little children.

But he wasn't terrible to them. You think to yourself. He was actually kind of sweet. It was the first time that you'd ever associate that word with Ben, but you believed that it was true. You remember how he sat with Marty at the kitchen table and allowed her to make a friendship bracelet for him. A bracelet, that he hadn't thrown away, despite what he'd told you after she gave it to him. You'd found it on the sink in the bathroom this morning when you got up, given a place of honor in the ceramic jewelry dish you used for your bracelets.

After Ben had gone out on his "date" you'd cleaned up, made your last cup of noodle, and then went to bed hoping to forget exactly what Ben was doing. The problem was that you were disappointed and you had no idea why. You'd tossed and turned thinking about Ben and the time you'd spent together watching the kids, until finally falling into an unsatisfying slumber.

Ben had sauntered through the front door at 3 am smelling like perfume and sweat, his hair tousled and standing up like someone had ran their fingers through it, while you were drinking a calming herbal tea from your favorite mug at the kitchen table in a post-nightmare haze. You'd had them your whole life following the accident that took the lives of your parents and was thankful that one hadn't hit when Ben was home. You didn't want to explain to him why you had woken up screaming and gasping for air just as you’d done since you were twelve years old.

When you'd first moved in to the apartment and you'd had the nightmare, Mike had banged against your front door, shouting for you to answer. He'd thought that someone was trying to kill you in the middle of the night, but you'd explained to him that you had nightmares and that you were okay.

The next time it happened, Mike's mother had left a large basket of herbal tea and homemade muffins outside the door of your apartment. Even though the muffins were almost inedible, it was incredibly sweet. You might not have wanted to date Mike, but he and his mother were some of the sweetest people you'd ever met.

When he saw you up, Ben had made a comment about you waiting up for him and stated that he was ready to go again if that's what you wanted, but you'd only waved your hand and rolled your eyes while taking another sip from the mug. You weren’t in the mood, not when you could still feel the chill of sweat against your skin and hear the sound of metal on concrete from the dream. He had sat at the table across from you and asked why you were still awake, you'd lied and told him that you couldn't sleep. You knew that he knew you were lying, but he only shrugged and went to take a shower while you finished your tea and fled to your bedroom to avoid him coming out in a towel again.

"He wouldn't leave. What was I supposed to do? Make him walk the plank?" You respond as Annie inserts the warm curling iron into your hair.

"He's just so-" She tugs your hair back as she curls it.

"It wasn't as bad as you think.” You consider thinking about how he let Martha make him a friendship bracelet and how he had held Joshua and made Joshua laugh. "He was actually kind of nice to Marty and to Josh.”

"Nice? Are you crazy! The guy's got a nuclear reactor in his chest and an uncontrollable temper. Why do you think it would be okay for him to be around children?”

"He didn't get angry or lose control. And I can't believe you're chastising me about this, the other day you were all for Ben and me sleeping together!"

"That wouldn't involve children." She takes another piece of your hair, gently wrapping it around the curling iron.

"Yeah, but it would still be him close to another human being-"

“He seems to be perfectly in control when he has sex. Or else there would be a string of destroyed apartments all over manhattan.”

"I can't believe you." You huff.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Have you guys kissed again?" She asks.

"I shouldn't have told you that." You grumble under your breath. "And can you keep your voice down? Ben can hear you."

He was in his old bedroom getting ready for the mission. The bedroom was exactly next to Annie and Hughie's bedroom, and you were sure that he was listening to Annie and you talk.

Because he can't keep his big nose out of anything. You think. Or rather can't keep his perfectly structured nose out of other people's business.

"I'm sure he has better things to do than listen to the two of us talk." Annie responds, but she begins to blast the ABBA gold album from her Bluetooth speaker, filling the room with the sound of 'Our Last Summer' "Come on-"

"Come on what?" You open one of your eyes to glare at her. "I told you it wasn't going to happen again."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Ben is- Ben. And I don't want to waste my time with someone who's not interested in having a relationship." You shut your eye again to avoid her gaze.

"It's not a waste of time if he looks like that-" She trails off, inserting the curling iron one more time.

"I will agree that Ben is good-looking, but that's all he is. He doesn't care about other people, he only cares about himself and what feels good." You say it, but for the first time since you'd met Ben you weren't sure if it was true. Not after he spent his entire day yesterday helping you with the kids and not after he had bought you that bookshelf.

He cared enough to get that for you. A little voice whispers. But why? You wonder again. Why would he care about something as little as a bookshelf?

"You're making that face again." Annie says. "Did something happen?"

"No. I mean- he-" You sigh to yourself. "He keeps confusing me."

"How?"

"Well the other day he bought me a bookshelf."

"What? Why?"

"Because he said that stack of books in my bedroom was annoying him." You roll your eyes behind your eyelids.

"Why was he in your bedroom?" Annie's smirk is audible and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Shut up. He needed some clothes and I had some from the last time Darren stayed with me-"

Annie audibly groans when you mention your brother's name. They didn't get along. She thought that he was manipulative and that he used you. But you didn't see it. He was your brother, your blood, the only family you had left beside your grandmother and Annie.

"Please tell me he's not coming by soon. If he does I will be busy doing anything else."

"I don't know why the two of you can't just get along-" You sigh.

"Because he's the worst." Annie states loudly, dropping the curling iron and bringing the mascara brush up to your eyes.

"Can we please not have this conversation again?"

"Fine. Close." Annie holds up the mascara brush to your eyes. "Did you at least join one of those online dating apps or try to go on a date?"

"It’s been 3 days since we last talked about this-“ You feel the gentle stroke of the brush against your eyelashes.

“So?”

“No I haven’t.”

"Y/n-"

"I know, I know. I mean Jake did try to ask me out the other day but-"

"He WHAT?" Annie squeals, awkwardness about your brother forgotten. "Next time lead with that! Did you go out with him? Did you guys talk all night long?" Annie is hoping from foot to foot now, practically dancing to the music still blasting from the speaker on the dresser.

"I said no." You open your eyes to look at your friend.

"WHAT! Why?" She looks like you kicked a puppy. "He's so perfect for you! He likes plants and he's funny and he's got a great sense of humor, plus he's gorgeous and he's interested in you-"

"First he wanted to do something today and I knew Butcher had plans for me. Second, I didn't know he was asking me out, Ben told me he was." You close your eyes again so Annie can continue to do your makeup.

"Wait, Ben was there when he asked you out?" 

"We went to IKEA to get a couch for the apartment and Jake showed up and asked me out." You explain.

"You took Ben to IKEA?"

"He'd never gone there before, can you believe that?" It made you smile as you remembered how surprised he had been when you went inside. You’d had fun with him, walking around, testing out the couches, it almost felt… normal. And you kind of got the impression that Ben had a good time too. It was kind of cute when he did everyday things, when you saw him in normal settings and he was just a little bit awkward because he still couldn't figure out how to act in another time period.

"Yes I can, he's a million years old. Let's circle back to you saying no to the PERFECT man."

"He's not a million." You defend Ben. "And Jake's not perfect." You frown to yourself, thinking about the fact that Jake wasn't a supe. It wasn't something that you had cared about before, but ever since Ben brought up the idea of you "snapping Jake in half" it scared you.

Because what if I did? What if I hurt him? You didn’t know how Ben had sex so often with people who weren't supes. Maybe he just doesn't care if he does. Or maybe he’s done it so much that he’s able to control himself.

"What do you mean? I thought you liked him?"

"I mean I do. He's kind and he understands me and he loves plants as much as I do, but-" You shrug, feeling Annie begin to apply eyeliner. "I don't want to make things complicated. I mean we work together, he’s my boss. What if it doesn’t work out? Then I’d have to quit and I like my job.”

“I mean that’s kind of hot-“

“Hot in what? A sexual harassment kind of way?”

“No. It’s not harassment if it’s two consenting adults.”

“I’m still not sure that it’s a good idea.” You mutter more to yourself. But this time your mind didn’t go to Jake and you having a relationship even though he was your boss, instead it goes right to Ben. You can't help but slip into the fantasy of dating Ben, of you and him trying something new-

You shake off the image. He doesn’t want a relationship, doesn’t think that’s important. The thought is almost like a mantra, trying to convince yourself to push past Ben’s charm and good looks, but this time it makes you consider something else. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s important now, but maybe he used to think it was before Countess.

You’d heard the stories, seen the newspaper articles and clips of film of Ben and her together, remembered what Hughie said that Ben had wanted a family with her that Ben had told her that he loved her. That meant at some point in Ben’s life he had loved someone else, cared for them, wanted to be more than just fuck buddies.

Maybe he's just afraid to fall again, because he's not sure someone else will be there to catch him. Maybe Ben doesn't want to admit that he cares for anyone else because he's afraid that they'll push him away or stab him in the back the way that Countess did. And maybe he hides it all underneath the macho attitude.

Ben is strong. He told me that he didn't need anyone else. You press your lips together in a tight line. But I think he does.

You hated that she’d hurt him. You hated that she’d pushed him away, told him she never loved him, and stabbed him in the back. You couldn’t imagine doing that to someone, telling them that you loved them, and manipulating them with the promise of love. It almost made you nauseous to consider it. It made you want to travel back in time to the moment she stabbed him in the back and shove a bouquet of sunflowers up where the sun don't shine.

You pause on the thought. You weren't a terribly violent person, but if someone ever hurt your friends your anger was legendary, practically divine. You'd never thought that you'd want to do something for Ben, but you were realizing more and more that Ben was becoming your friend. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

“Alright what if he wasn’t your boss.” Annie gently brushes eyeshadow over your eyelids. “Then would you go out with him?”

“But he is my boss.”

“Use your imagination.”

The song has ended and there’s an awkward pause between the end of it and the slow beginning of the next one.

“I mean yes?” You shrug. “I can see myself with him. He’s the kind of person I’d want to date. He cares about other people, he remembers what kind of coffee I like, he actually contributes to the conversation, he makes me laugh, he actually gets my jokes, he’s nice to sit with, he doesn’t get under my skin-“ As you list each of those things you couldn't stop your mind from comparing Jake to Ben. You didn't know when Ben became the level by which you judged other men, but it had happened sometime in the past few days and you didn't know what it meant.

But Ben did remember what kind of coffee I like and he does contribute to conversations, well, he contributes with a disgusting comment… The thought trails off when you remember the small conversations that you'd had with Ben that weren't sexual in nature, when the two of you watched the movie on the couch and talked briefly about your parents, when Ben asked you how your day was the other day back at the apartment, and when the two of you talked on the couch while the children slept between the two of you. In those moments you had seen another side of Ben, the side that he seemed to hide away from everyone else, but not from you, not all the time.

Plus Ben is kind of funny sometimes, disgusting but funny. Doesn’t understand my jokes. And yes he gets under my skin but sometimes it’s kind of exciting and nice to have that happen. With Jake sometimes he’s just too happy or too eager to agree with me.

"Hmm." Annie considers. "How did Ben react when Jake asked you out?”

You don’t answer immediately. “Normal.”

"You hesitated"

"No I didn’t."

"Yes you did! He reacted didn’t he?!” Annie pokes you with her finger

"No he didn’t.” You lie.

“He did! Holy shit he was jealous wasn’t he?”

"No he wasn’t.” You swat her hand away. "He was just opinioned."

He sure looked jealous. You think to yourself remembering the way he glared at Jake from the other side of the room. The memory of the way his eyes darkened when he told you exactly why he wasn't jealous and exactly what he would do to you to make you forget all about Jake sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Yeah. Opinionated over why you shouldn't go out with Jake because Ben wants you all to himself." Annie crows.

"Shut-"

"But it doesn't matter. Because Ben's going to have a heart attack when he sees you wearing this." Annie steps back from you. "My work here is done. Try to make it to the mission without ripping each other's clothes off."

"We are not going to-"

Annie spins your chair back to the mirror and your next words dry up.

Your hair is perfectly curled back from your face, the lipstick is a dark shade of crimson that makes your lips look fuller and more plump, the eye make up is dark and dusky making the color of your eyes pop against the darkness in a mysterious alluring way that seems almost hypnotic, and your face is shaded and contoured so well that you look dangerous and sexy.

"I'll take the silence as a 'Thank you Annie! You're so beautiful and talented and you're the best friend I've ever had!'" She laughs, standing back behind you with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I mean all of that is true, but-" You stand up from the chair to get a better look. "You've really outdone yourself."

"Well thank you. Had to. It's your first date with Ben." She makes goo-goo eyes and you try to punch her in the shoulder, but she dodges it.

"Shut up. It's not." You look down at the dress that Butcher picked out for you to wear. "I love you, but I hate Butcher."

The dress was a red scrap of fabric that clung to your curves, but left very little to the imagination. It was completely backless with an exaggerated wrinkle that fell just over the top of your ass. The front was sinched at the back of your neck secured only by a small piece of fabric that you were afraid would break at any moment and fell open in a "v" that stopped just under the swell of your breasts. There was a large prominent slit that cut up the left side of the floor length gown that stopped just shy of the top of your thigh. Annie had cinched a black choker around your neck to match the black pair of stilettos you wore

Personally, you though that the stilettos were overkill, you had no idea how the hell you were going to run after the supe if you saw him, let alone fight him.

"You look so hot." Annie says pleased. "You really should wear that all the time babe. I'd take you out to dinner just to show you off."

"You're the worst." You groan.

"I love you too honey." She winks. "Now come on. Butcher and the others are waiting for us." She turns off the speaker and walks out the door of the bedroom, but you linger there, looking at yourself in the mirror one more time.

You'd never worn anything remotely like this before, but even you had to admit, you looked good.

“Come on Poppet. You can’t hide in there forever.” Butcher chuckles from the living room.

He’s having too much fun with this. You huff to yourself finally leaving the bedroom to make your grand entrance, grabbing the black bejeweled clutch as you do.

Butcher, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie are waiting outside the door while Kimiko sits on the couch scribbling away.

Hughie's mouth drops open,  Butcher gives an approving shrug, and Frenchie lets out a breath.

"You look beautiful." Frenchie takes your hand and gives you an appreciative twirl.

"Shut up." Your cheeks redden.

Hughie is still looking speechless at you. "I told you." Annie states elbowing him with a proud smile.

“You look-“ Hughie stutters.

“Good enough to eat.” Ben finishes, appearing in the hallway to your right. His hand traces the curve of your hip, thumb ghosting over your bare back.

“Just because I’m dressed like a hooker, doesn’t mean my brain’s not working.”  You slap his hand away ignoring the warm feeling that remains where he touched you. You could feel your heart beat begin to pick up in your chest.

“Baby I love your brain-“ Ben smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t love your body more.”

You felt your cheeks turn the same shade as your dress with his compliment before you can stop them. It was difficult to pretend that you didn't feel any attraction for him, not when he looked so good.

He had trimmed his beard and brushed back his dark hair, so you could see his emerald colored eyes gleaming. He was wearing a black suit with a white button up shirt, but chose not to wear a black tie, instead unbuttoning the top few buttons to give just a hint of his muscular chest beneath.

Why does he have to look so good all the damn time?

“Shut up.” You grumble turning back to Butcher. “So are you happy? I dressed up, my IQ dropped a billion points.”

“Ecstatic poppet.” Butcher grins taking a sip from the cup of tea in his hand. “Now remember anything happens, you detain the supe, no killing."

“He’s talking to you.” You elbow Ben.

Ben shrugs. “I won't apologize for doing my job."

You sigh again and walk towards where Kimiko is writing in one of her workbooks on the couch. 

"You look hot." She signs at you.

It had been difficult to learn the sign language she used, but you liked to think that you had a handle on it so you could understand simple conversations. When things got too confusing she would use her phone.

"I know. I was mad at Butcher at first for picking this dress, but I kind of like it." You sign back. "Don’t tell Butcher I said that."

She crosses her fingers over her heart. "Soldier Boy is looking at you."

"He’s always looking at me. I'm glad I can't read minds. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking."

Kimiko snorts, raising her hand to sign "I think the look on his face says it all."

You half turn and look at where Ben is again, he’s not talking to Butcher like you thought he was, he’s staring at you, pupils dilated, eyes darkening in a way that makes your heart feel like it's beating so hard it'll explode out of your ribcage.

No. No. Keep it together. Heart of a warrior.

"You two have fun!" Annie smirks widely, taking a picture of Ben and you like you're going to prom and you know she's going to send the photo to taunt you with it later.

“Shall we?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Ladies first.” Ben smirks.

 You roll your eyes at him as you walk to the front door of the apartment. “Don’t pretend to be a gentleman Gramps. We both know you just want to look at my ass.”

“I’ll never get tired of looking Doll, especially not when you’re wearing something like that.”

A/N: I know this chapter is a little bit of a filler, but I wanted to give Annie and the reader some time together, aka. Annie telling the reader to do the one thing that we ALL know she should do. 😂

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

Word Count: 15.k...(oops)

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, comfort sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation if you squint, mentions of murder, nightmares, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, tw for panic attacks, rape flashbacks, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey,

AN: Hi everyone! This is also on A03! Please someone stop me, how the hell did I manage to squeeze in like 4k extra words than last time??? Anyways, enjoy the meal, I definitely have missed writing smut with yan!sylus and reader :3. Also a gentle reminder that reader has no specific skin tone! I just use images that I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you’d like ^^

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt. 5

The car roars down the empty road, its tires devouring the distance between freedom and your inevitable return to captivity. Luke sits at the wheel, his face completely hidden behind the bird shaped mask. You can’t see his eyes, can’t gauge anything from the way he’s holding himself—just the silent, unyielding presence of the man steering you back to your prison.

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

Kieran sits beside him, his mask just the same, his fingers tapping a light, almost carefree rhythm on the dashboard as he finishes humming a cheery tune. His face, too, is entirely concealed, leaving you with nothing to hold onto—no eyes to search for clues, no expressions to read.

In the rearview mirror, you sense Kieran shift his head to look at you but can't entirely tell, his hidden gaze offers you nothing. The silence stretches on, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady, deliberate breaths of Sylus against your neck, the heat of his body keeping you trapped in more ways than one.

Sylus holds you tight, as if the moment he loosens his grip, you’ll dissolve into the darkness beyond the windows. His large hands are splayed possessively across your thighs, pinning you in place on his lap. Each minute that ticks by in this confined space feels like a countdown to something you can’t define, but the feeling of impending dread settles deep in your bones.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts swirling in an endless, chaotic loop. The gunshot that ended Reese’s life thunders in your head, over and over, refusing to let you go. You can still see it so clearly—the way his body slumped to the floor, lifeless, his eyes wide with the shock of it all.

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

Yes, Reese was a monster. He’d kidnapped you, lied to you, dragged you into a nightmare you never deserved. But even now, that part of you—the part that still clung to honor, to a sense of right and wrong, the part of an honorable deep space hunter—hated what had happened. You hated yourself for it. He should have been locked away, brought to justice, not gunned down like that.

Your chest tightens. Why didn’t you stop it? You could have, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to let your anger take over, didn’t have to spit those words at him, didn't have to tell him to go to hell. If you hadn’t done that, Sylus wouldn’t have killed him right? The weight of it presses down on you, like you’re suffocating under the guilt.

You can feel it in your bones—the sharp sting of your failure, the way you let your emotions run wild. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be the reason a person died, no matter how twisted or evil they were. You were supposed to be better than that.

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

The guilt coils tighter around your chest. You can almost taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, a relentless reminder of how you failed. Maybe if you had just kept your mouth shut. Maybe if you had found some way, any way, to de-escalate the situation, he’d still be alive. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of his death.

But you didn’t. And now it’s too late.

This is your fault.

You feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly suck in a breath, forcing them back. You can’t let them fall—not here, not now. You can’t let Sylus see the storm raging inside you. If he sees you faltering, sees your weakness, he’ll think he’s won.

You sense his eyes on you, watching, studying, but thankfully, he says nothing. His grip around you tightens slightly, as if he’s aware of the cracks forming in your resolve, but for once, he stays silent, leaving you alone with the war you’re fighting within yourself.

Instead of crying, you shift, turning your head to focus on the window. The dark tint makes it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. You can just make out the blurred outlines of buildings as they whip past, vague shadows in the distance.

How much longer would this take? How far had you come?

You think back to the agonizing walk that had led you to the convenience store—the endless hours of trudging through unfamiliar streets, hoping for an escape. Time had lost all meaning then, just like it had now.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your body betraying you, your exhaustion creeping in. You start to drift off against your will, feeling the heaviness pulling at your eyelids as you sink further into Sylus’s lap. You fight it, not wanting to rest your head on his chest, fearing what you might wake up to. But it’s been days since you’ve had proper rest, and the pull of sleep is relentless.

Minutes stretch into eternity, and despite your best efforts, your body begins to give in. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when suddenly, Sylus’s gruff voice cuts through the silence, startling you awake.

“Luke, tell the chefs to have dinner ready in an hour. Kieran, cancel my meeting with the general.”

Luke and Kieran both nod silently, their masked faces giving nothing away, and just as you’re trying to make sense of the words, the car abruptly comes to a stop.

“Yes, boss!” the twins respond with a clipped tones, as if this exchange is routine.

Everything happens so quickly. The moment the car parks, Luke and Kieran scramble out of their seats with swift, practiced efficiency. The sound of the doors opening and shutting echoes in the quiet night. Sylus shifts beneath you, opening his door, and you awkwardly slide off his lap, trying to maintain some semblance of balance as he exits the vehicle. You watch through strained, weary eyes as he steps out, his figure towering over the open car door. Then, he stretches out his hand toward you.

You hesitate.

The gesture, though outwardly polite, is anything but friendly. It’s not an offer—it’s a command, an unspoken reminder of your captivity. The world seems to close in around you, the air growing thicker, and your heart begins to pound in your chest. Your mind races, but there’s nowhere to run.

“If you’re thinking about driving off,” Sylus says with a low chuckle, leaning down to peer into the car, “Luke’s already got the keys, kitten.”

You can’t help but shoot him a sharp glare. You’d thought about running, yes, but not now—not when escape was utterly impossible. The moment passes quickly, and you open your mouth, wanting to explain yourself, to insist you weren’t planning anything. But the words stick in your throat, useless.

Instead, you shut your mouth, swallowing your frustration, and glare at him in defiance. Wordlessly, you reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, as he helps you out of the car. Carefully, you step onto the ground, your heart still racing, knowing you’re walking back into your cage.

You glance around as Sylus pulls you forward, your hand still trapped in his. The sight of the mansion looms ahead, its grand, imposing silhouette becoming clearer with each step. Tall iron gates and bird statues loom in front of you, a place that might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the dread curling deep in your chest.

The mansion is more than just a building; it’s a cage, one that now feels even more suffocating as Sylus forces you to walk beside him, hand in hand like you’re something precious. But you know better. This is control, a quiet but undeniable display of power.

With each step toward the front door, the walls of the world seem to close in tighter, and your heart races faster. The echoes of your own footsteps blend with the eerie silence of the night, the only sound that reminds you how very trapped you are in this place—never truly alone, but never free either.

As you walk toward the towering front doors, your eyes drift upward, almost unconsciously, to Sylus. His appearance has always been striking—red eyes that seem to glow with a mix of malice and amusement, and white hair with subtle gray undertones, catching the faint light of the mansion. His angular features, so sharp and perfectly controlled, show signs of wear now. You can see the tension in his brow, the tiredness in the slight creases around his eyes—things you hadn’t noticed before. It makes you wonder how much stress your escape had caused him. How much had he sacrificed in the time you were gone? Had he been frantic, furious?

As if sensing your gaze, Sylus turns his head slightly, catching you in the act of studying him. A smirk plays across his lips, and his crimson eyes flicker with amusement. "What’s the matter? Falling in love?" His voice is a low drawl, teasing, but there’s something predatory in it—like he’s already enjoying this little game.

Heat rises to your face, a mixture of irritation and something else you refuse to name. You look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him. His taunts are the last thing you want to entertain, especially when your mind is still spinning with the weight of what lies ahead. Still, the words linger, taunting you as much as his smirk did.

Finally, the massive front doors loom before you, framed by the same wrought iron and heavy stone that always made the mansion feel more like a fortress. Sylus stops, standing tall beside you, his hand still gripping yours as if to remind you that escape, or even defiance, is out of the question.

He gestures toward a small panel embedded into the wall near the door. "Lean down," he orders, the edge of his voice soft yet commanding, "in front of the scanner."

Confused, you glance between him and the scanner, unsure of what he’s planning. You hesitate, but his unblinking red gaze locks onto you, expectant, leaving you little choice. Slowly, you lean forward, lowering yourself until your eyes are aligned with the scanner. A soft beep fills the air, followed by a click as the door unlocks.

You straighten, startled, staring at the door in disbelief. "Wait," you stammer, turning to Sylus. "Aren’t you trying to prevent me from escaping?"

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head, the white strands of his hair shifting slightly as he leans in closer, his red eyes flashing with amusement. "Your eyes," he says with a grin, "can only get you into this place." He leans in further, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not out."

His words settle heavily in your chest, and a knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Your eyes—the very thing that could open doors here—were also the key to locking you in. Any hope you might have had, any fleeting thought of escape, is crushed in that moment. The world seems to warp, the walls of the mansion now looming around you like a trap. A cage disguised as opulence.

Why had he even bothered with something like that? The thought gnaws at you as you stand at the threshold of the mansion. Did he seriously think you would ever want to come back inside? The idea seems absurd. You were his captive, forced into this nightmare. There was no version of this where you willingly returned.

But as you glance back at him, his smirk still lingering on his face, you wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. He’s a man who thrives on control, on bending people to his will, and the thought that he might relish the idea of making you come back to this place, on your own terms, sends a shiver down your spine. Would he leave you out there in that desolate city, waiting, desperate, only to watch you break down and crawl back inside? The idea feels like a twisted game only he could design—where escape was impossible not just because of physical barriers, but because he'd burrowed deep into your mind.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but the question lingers, settling like a weight in your chest. Did he think that, over time, you’d surrender? That this grand mansion, this cage, would eventually become a place you’d walk into willingly?

Sylus catches your hesitation, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Strange, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth and casual, as if he could read the questions racing through your mind. “A key that only lets you in. But maybe someday…you'll want to use it.”

His words hang in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken, anger mixing with the uncertainty swirling inside you. He can’t seriously believe that, can he? That one day you’d walk back into this place of your own accord?

The very thought of it makes your stomach turn. You can’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay away from here. Yet, there’s an unsettling confidence in the way he says it, a certainty that leaves you with more questions than answers.

“As if I would ever, prick,” you spat, your voice sharp and defiant.

Sylus laughs, his amusement rolling off him in deep waves, rich and unhurried. His red eyes gleam, locking onto yours with a look that holds something deeper than mere satisfaction. There’s affection there—twisted, yes, but genuine.

“Ah, there she is,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “I was starting to wonder if the N109 Zone had fully broken you.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firm and reassuring, as he leads you into the grand mansion. To him, this was always meant to be your home, even if you couldn't see it yet.

You grimace at his words, irritation bubbling up inside you, making your heart race. This was still a game to him—a challenge, but not one born of cruelty. No, he found your defiance amusing, like a kitten batting at the hand that feeds it. He loved it, even.

You silently curse him under your breath as he leads you deeper into the grand house, your feet moving mechanically while your mind fights to keep up. The familiar sights come back into view, flooding your senses like a slow wave of nausea. The glossy black tile beneath your feet, the dark, lavish décor that loomed from every corner—it was all the same, just as cold and suffocating as you remembered.

Your eyes flick to the kitchen entryway, a place that had once offered a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape. You remember fleeing into it, heart racing, desperate to get away from all of this, only to be dragged back into Sylus’s grip. The memory gnaws at you, bringing a fresh wave of bitterness.

It makes you sick.

Every inch of this place, every dark aesthetic, seemed designed to remind you of your captivity. This was a cage, no matter how opulent or luxurious it appeared on the surface. And the worst part was the weight of his hand around yours—the possessiveness of his grip, the unspoken reminder that escape, no matter how hard you tried, was out of reach right now.

Sylus gently guides you toward the stairs, his grip still firm, giving you no room to hesitate. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as your feet start moving up the dark, winding staircase. Every step feels heavier than the last, your pulse thrumming in your ears as memories flood back—memories of when you had fled, heart racing, legs burning, desperate to escape this place. You’d made it down these very stairs once before, only to have freedom ripped away from you.

Now, you were being forced back up, step by agonizing step, into the room you had fought so hard to leave behind.

With every step upward, your resolve starts to crumble. The closer you get to that door, the more you feel the weight of your captivity settling in again, suffocating you. The darkened hallways, the oppressive silence—it all presses down on you, reminding you that no matter how much you fight, this is where you’ll always end up. Trapped.

You hesitate when you finally reach the door to the bedroom. The sight of it makes your stomach twist, your feet glued to the floor as a wave of dread washes over you. Everything in your body screams not to go inside, not to let yourself be locked in that room again. To run, to fight.

But Sylus is right behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence, his breath warm and steady, almost unnervingly calm. His grip on your hand softens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin, as if to soothe your frayed nerves. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with that unsettling authority. “Go on, sweetie.”

The way he says it is almost tender, but it only deepens the knot of anxiety in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s real kindness or just another layer of control. That soft, coaxing tone… it unnerves you more than his laughter, more than his taunts.

Despite every fiber of your being wanting to resist, you find yourself moving, stepping forward under the weight of his quiet insistence. You cross the threshold into the room, your body betraying you even as your mind screams to stop. The door clicks shut behind you with an almost imperceptible finality, and just like that, the familiar four dark walls of your prison close in around you once more.

You fight back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes as you step further into the room. The familiar surroundings feel like a punch to the gut—the large, imposing bed where Sylus had forced himself on you many many times, leaving behind scars you hadn’t realized had cut so deep. The leather couch in the center of the room, cold and impersonal, where you’d sat, waiting for the next wave of control to sweep over your life.

It’s too much.

For a moment, your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the weight of it all pressing down with crushing force. The memories—dark, suffocating—swirl around you, making it hard to breathe. You almost crumble right there, unable to withstand the flood of emotions, of trauma that suddenly feels too close to the surface.

But before you can collapse, Sylus is there, his hand wrapping around your arm, guiding you away from the room and into the bathroom. His touch is firm but oddly gentle, a contrast that makes you even more uneasy. He’s pulling you toward the tiled space, and your mind races, trying to understand what’s happening as he begins to carefully, methodically, lift up your shirt to undress you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your body goes stiff, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding onto it could somehow protect you. “No,” you repeat, a little louder this time, your voice shaky and uneven. The tremors wrack your body, panic rising in your chest.

Sylus looks at you with something akin to worry, his touch slowing, but not stopping. He doesn’t force you, but his actions continue with a sense of inevitability, as though he believes this is just part of taking care of you, of ensuring you’re where you belong.

"I'm not going to do anything to you now, you just need a shower, sweetie."

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Flashes of memory assault you—dim lights, the scent of damp stone, and the overpowering fear of when you were in that basement. The man who had tried to force himself on you, who had pressed you against the bed with a hunger that still made your skin crawl. Your breath hitches as you remember his hands, his twisted smile. The terror, the helplessness—it's all too real, crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply the trauma had sunk into you. Not until this moment, with Sylus standing in front of you, touching your clothes, his touch too familiar, too close to the horror you’d endured. You had been holding your emotions back but you couldn't now.

You flinch, your body recoiling instinctively as the memories close in around you. Your voice cracks, barely holding back the sob building in your throat. “Please…don’t.”

Sylus’s hands pause, and for the first time that entire day, you see it,—hesitation flickering across his sharp features. His red eyes, usually so calculating and cold, soften just enough for you to notice. His grip loosens, his fingers no longer working to take off your clothes but instead resting lightly on your shoulders, as if afraid of causing more harm.

“Be still,” he says again, his voice quiet and strangely tender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But his words barely register. The panic has already set in, tightening around your chest like a vice. Your breathing grows shallow, quick—too quick. Your thoughts scatter, your heartbeat hammering so hard it feels like your ribcage might shatter under the pressure. The room spins around you, and suddenly you’re not here anymore. You’re back in the basement, cold stone beneath your feet, that man’s hands on your skin, forcing you against the wall. Forcing you on the bed.

You gasp for air, but each breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts. Your vision blurs, and your knees wobble beneath you. It’s happening all over again. The helplessness, the terror. It’s like your body has been pulled back into that moment, and no matter how much you try to claw your way out, you can’t.

Sylus moves swiftly, pulling you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong and grounding, his chest solid against your trembling form. “Breathe, sweetie” he whispers, his voice low, soothing, as if trying to coax you back from the edge of your panic. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, the gentle rhythm fighting against the chaos inside you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. The air won’t come. Your breaths are sharp and shallow, your body on the verge of shutting down as you feel the world slipping away. You struggle, pushing weakly at him, but his arms only tighten around you, holding you firmly in place, anchoring you.

“Shhh, shhh…” His voice drops even lower, soft and almost tender. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The warmth of his body presses against yours, his presence somehow steadying the storm inside you. You eventually cling to him, not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing that keeps you from spiraling into complete panic. His hand continues to stroke your back in slow, measured motions, and though your heart still pounds in your chest, his touch starts to break through the suffocating fog.

“I’ll turn around, okay?” he says gently, as if sensing the root of your fear. “You can undress yourself. I won’t watch.”

There’s something in his tone—something that feels honest, reassuring, like he’s not just saying the words to control you but because he wants you to feel safe. You weakly nod, barely, but he catches it. He loosens his grip and takes a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender, his red eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll give you some time. You don’t have to rush.”

With a careful turn, he faces away from you, his broad back filling the room but no longer imposing. His actions aren’t threatening; they’re deliberate, giving you the space he knows you need.

Your breathing slows and you blink back tears, but your body still trembles. You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes with a shaky hand, glancing around the bathroom as the panic begins to ebb. And then you notice it—something is different.

The bathtub is gone.

It had been there before, you remember. A large, ornate tub that had taken up the corner of the bathroom, a symbol of something luxurious in this prison of yours. But now, it’s nowhere to be seen. Your brows knit together in confusion as you stare at the empty space.

“Where’s the tub?” you ask, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sylus doesn’t turn around, but his response is quick and calm, as if he expected the question. “I had it removed,” he says softly, his voice strangely careful, almost cautious. “I didn’t want you to drown yourself again.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. He thought…no, he knew. He knew how deep the darkness inside you could go, how close you’d come to actually dying. He’d taken precautions—not just to keep you here, but to keep you alive.

You stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space where the bathtub used to be, and the reality sinks in—there’s truly no escape. Not from this place, not from Sylus, and not from the relentless grip of your own mind. He’s stripped you of every option, every avenue, until there’s nothing left but this.

Nothing left but him.

The exhaustion presses down on you, heavier than ever before. With slow, mechanical movements, you step into the shower, your limbs feeling distant, as if they don’t belong to you anymore. The warm water hits your skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in your chest. You close your eyes, hoping that the steady stream of water can drown out the chaos inside your head—the panic, the hopelessness, the memories.

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

Images flash behind your closed eyelids—memories of that basement, the cold stone walls pressing in, the terror that gripped you when the man came too close, his hands reaching, his breath sour. You press your hands against the tiled wall, your body shaking as you fight the memories back, but they keep coming, like waves crashing over you, dragging you under.

And then there’s Reese.

You can’t stop seeing it—the moment his body hit the floor, the sound of the fatal gunshot echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. His face, twisted in shock and pain. Your fault. The words circle in your mind like a dark mantra, mixing with the trauma of that basement. It’s all tangled together, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make it stop.

"Go to hell, Reese."

The water cascades down your back, but it doesn’t wash away the guilt. It doesn’t drown out the horror. The images of blood and brain matter sliding down concrete walls.

You press your forehead against the cold tile, letting the water soak through your hair as you fight the rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You want to believe that there’s a way out, some form of freedom—maybe not from this mansion, but at least from the grip of your own mind. But right now, standing under the relentless stream of water, you know that freedom is further away than ever.

No matter how much you fight it, you’re trapped. Inside this house. Inside yourself.

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

You feel the tears begin to well up, hot and uncontainable, spilling over before you even realize you’ve let them go. They mix with the water, disappearing beneath the steady stream of the shower, unseen, unclaimed by anyone but you. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is watching. Not even Sylus.

You let the sobs come quietly, your body trembling as the tears fall, merging with the warm cascade. It’s a strange relief, knowing that in this moment, he isn’t witnessing your breaking point. Sylus had made it clear—your pain, your misery, your tears, they all belonged to him.

But right now, this moment is yours.

As the tears fall silently, you press your forehead against the cool tile, letting yourself cry in a way you hadn’t allowed before. The sobs are shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water, but they are real, raw, and they are yours alone. The stream washes them away before they have the chance to leave a trace, like they never existed at all.

Even as your heart aches and the trauma still weighs you down, there’s a strange comfort in the tears that go unnoticed. For just these few minutes, you aren’t his broken thing to fix or keep. You’re just a person, trying to survive, trying to breathe.

And even though the water doesn’t drown out all the pain or the memories, it gives you enough space to let the emotions pour out—if only for a little while.

Xavier’s breath came in shallow bursts as he navigated the empty streets of Linkon City, the familiar hum of his hunter’s watch glowing faintly on his wrist. His blue eyes flicked between the road and the holographic screen hovering just above the watch face. The blue light illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp focus in his eyes. The signal from the phone booth was still there, blinking steadily. That was his main lead—the last place you’d been before everything went silent.

His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the call, every word etched into his memory. Kidnapped. You hadn’t said much, but the panic in your tone had been unmistakable. The moment the call cut, something in him snapped. There was no hesitation, no second thought—he had left almost immediately, speeding through the city, your trembling words echoing in his head.

"Yeah, his name is S—"

Your words echoed in Xavier's mind, over and over, like a haunting refrain. You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before the call had abruptly cut out, leaving him with nothing but that single, meaningless syllable. S. It replayed in his head as the car sped forward, finally breaking free from the limits of Linkon City and onto the dark, winding road that would lead him toward the N109 Zone.

He had tried to call back the second the line went dead, his hands trembling as he frantically redialed the number, but it was no use. The call wouldn’t connect. Maybe you had run out of money for the payphone. Maybe something far worse had happened.

The not knowing gnawed at him.

Who was S? The question had burned in his mind from the moment you said it. A name. It had to be a name. But just that one letter wasn’t enough to figure out who this person was, let alone why they had taken you. He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the dark road stretched out before him.

Whoever S was, they were dangerous enough to bring you to the N109 Zone. That part made his blood run cold. This place wasn’t just desolate—it was the kind of area that most people in the city pretended didn’t even exist. It was lawless, forgotten. A place where the desperate went to disappear, where the city’s darkness festered beneath the surface and on top of it, darkness everywhere you turn.

But why there? What did this S want with you? And why take you so far from the city?

He replayed the phone call in his mind again, your voice shaky but steady as you’d tried to tell him what had happened. The fear had been there, simmering just beneath your words, but you had clearly fought to stay calm.

Xavier’s heart pounded harder with every mile. There was something else that bothered him, something gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why had you been targeted? You were strong, capable—smart. One of the best deep space hunters around. You wouldn’t have let yourself be taken easily. That meant whoever S was, he’d planned this, thought it through, and knew how to get to you. That thought made Xavier’s stomach twist. This wasn’t random. It was calculated.

The car hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present, but his mind still raced. He needed to find you, needed to get to you before this S—whoever he was—did something unforgivable. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there, scared and alone, waiting for help that felt too far away.

He glanced at the holographic display on his hunter’s watch again, watching as the faint signal pulsed from the N109 Zone. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best lead he had. That phone booth, that single clue you’d left him before the call ended, was his only connection to you now.

Who are you, S? The question echoed in his mind as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car roaring down the empty highway.

He didn’t know what awaited him in the N109 Zone, but he knew one thing for sure: he was prepared to fight like hell for you.

After what felt like an eternity, buildings whipping past him, Xavier finally pulled up to the phone booth, his heart hammering in his chest. The headlights illuminated the cracked pavement and the battered glass of the booth, standing alone at the edge of the desolate lot like a ghost from another time. But of course, you weren’t there. The booth was empty. You were nowhere to be found.

Xavier’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he sat there for a moment, staring at the empty phone booth. His mind raced, thoughts tangled in frustration and fear. You had told him you would call back—you had said you were going to that strange man’s house, and then you’d come back to tell him what it looked like. But now, standing there in the middle of the N109 Zone, it felt like that plan had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face as he approached the booth. His eyes scanned the area, up and down, looking for any sign of you. But there was nothing. Just silence. The eerie kind that made his stomach twist with unease.

The booth was run-down, even worse up close. He stared at it, his thoughts flickering between panic and regret. Should he wait for you to come back, as you said you would? Or had something already gone terribly wrong? Every second that passed felt like a ticking clock, time slipping away, leaving him more uncertain than ever.

He leaned against the booth, raking a hand through his hair, trying to decide. You had been so determined—so sure you could handle this. You’d said you were going to check out this strange man’s house, get some rest, and then return. But the thought of you going there alone, to that man—whoever he was—made him sick.

I should’ve told you not to go with him.

The regret hit him hard, twisting deep in his chest. He should’ve been more forceful, should’ve stopped you. The second you’d mentioned this man, this stranger who had somehow convinced you to follow him, alarm bells had gone off in his head. He had sensed something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he told you to stay away? Why hadn’t he made sure you didn’t go?

But you were strong, capable—you had always been stubborn, determined to handle things on your own. And he had trusted you to do that. But now…now you were missing. And he was standing in an empty lot with no idea where you were or who had taken you.

Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the phone booth as if willing it to give him answers. The last place you had been. He thought about turning around, driving through the N109 Zone, checking every corner, every building. But the reality of how vast and dangerous this area was made him hesitate. He didn’t even know who to look for. S. The mysterious man whose name had been cut off by the phone’s disconnect. That wasn’t enough.

Xavier’s stomach growled, pulling him from the fog of his frantic thoughts. He hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him was finally wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, the pang of hunger a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d stopped moving. He didn’t want to waste time, but he knew he needed to eat, to think straight.

Reluctantly, he climbed back into the car and started driving, scanning the streets of the N109 Zone for anything that looked remotely functional. This part of the city was basically wasteland—most of the buildings were crumbling, their windows broken, and the streets were nearly empty. He almost decided to give up before spotting a flicker of neon in the distance.

It was a convenience store—small, dingy, and barely lit—but it was open. The cracked neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a dull glow over the entrance. It didn’t look promising, but it was all he had. He pulled up, the car’s tires crunching over the broken pavement as he parked.

Xavier stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he approached the entrance. The store looked as worn out as the rest of the area, its windows covered in grime and dust, but the lights inside told him it was still in business. He pushed the door open, the warmth of the store enveloping him.

The place reeked of stale air and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the narrow aisles, most of them half-stocked but there was variety. Xavier grabbed a few snacks—whatever looked edible—and made his way to the counter, where a grimy man with disheveled hair and yellowed teeth sat behind the register, staring at him with a disinterested scowl.

“Do you take gold?” Xavier asked, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for places outside Linkon City to not take gold, as a lot of places were still living in the past. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

The man behind the counter laughed, a rough, guttural sound that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Gold, huh? Figures. You Linkcunt folks just keep coming in here actin’ like it’s worth more than it is.” He leaned forward, eyeing Xavier with something between amusement and suspicion.

"No, we don't take it."

Xavier pocketed the small pouch, unsurprised by the man's harsh words, “You said Linkon folks? Who else from the city has been here?” His tone was casual, but his heart skipped a beat. Maybe someone else had seen you?

"Linkcunt," the man corrected with a sneer. The man’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly. “Why, you looking for someone?” He eyed Xavier and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on an edge of curiosity.

Xavier pressed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe. Just wondering who else might’ve been through here recently.”

The man scratched his stubbled chin, considering. “Well, there was this disheveled-looking girl who came through a little while ago. Had a lot of attitude, that one. Demanding help. Swiped some snacks and shit when I wasn’t looking. Took off before I could do anything about it.” He shrugged, clearly not too bothered by the theft. “But that’s basically all I know.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. A disheveled girl… Could it have been you?

His pulse quickened, the pieces clicking together. You must have come through here before disappearing. The man didn’t seem to know much more, but this was a sign. You had been close—you had been right here.

“What’d she look like?” Xavier asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The man waved a hand lazily. “Didn't look that closely to be honest. Bitch looked like hell, though. Clothes all messed up, like she’d been through something. But she was quick—didn’t stick around long enough for me to really notice much else. Don’t know where she went after that. Just up and vanished with my stock”

Xavier nodded, feeling a surge of both hope and frustration. You’d been here, that much was clear. But now you were gone again, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

"You really shouldn't talk about women like that".

He paid for the snacks with some dollar bills he kept in his car for out of city trips, and turned to leave, leaving the disgruntled cashier. His mind already racing to figure out where you could’ve gone from here.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back outside, the cold night air hitting him like a wall. You’d been here. Not long ago, from the sound of it. He could almost picture it—your disheveled form rushing through the aisles, grabbing whatever you could before vanishing into the shadows again. You were close, too close to give up now. But where had you gone?

He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty streets. There were too many directions, too many places you could have disappeared to. The N109 Zone was vast, a labyrinth of forgotten corners and abandoned buildings, and there was no telling where you might have run off to next.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the little he knew. You had come here to get food, maybe out of desperation—running on fear and adrenaline. And then, like the man said, you were gone. No tracks, no sign of where you’d been taken.

Xavier pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing over the faded image of a sleek pair of boots. It was the same pamphlet the shoe store clerk had given him earlier, and now, it seemed like his only other lead. A shoe store… It might seem like a stretch, but he had learned to follow even the smallest clues. If he couldn’t figure out where you had gone, maybe he could figure out more about the man who had taken you. And starting with something as small as his shoes might just be the break he needed.

He studied the pamphlet again, his eyes narrowing as he recalled his brief conversation with the clerk. The shoes had been expensive, high-end—definitely not something most people in the N109 Zone would be wearing.

But S wasn’t like most people, was he?

Xavier’s mind spun as he hurriedly typed the address from the pamphlet into his hunter’s watch, the holographic screen glowing softly as it processed the information. The watch pinged, highlighting the location of the store in the city. It wasn’t far, but it was a place he wouldn’t have expected someone from the N109 Zone to frequent.

If S was wearing those shoes, it meant he had money—or at least access to it. That was something Xavier could work with. People like that left trails, even in places where they thought they could stay hidden.

He started the car again, his pulse quickening as the watch projected the route onto the windshield. The shoe store was his next stop, and if he was lucky, he could get more information about who S really was. Maybe someone there had seen him, or better yet, could point him in the direction of where he lived or did business.

As the car sped toward the heart of the city, Xavier’s determination sharpened. He was getting closer to answers—closer to finding you. If he could learn more about this mysterious man, this “S,” then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out where you were being held.

As Xavier sped through the dark, crumbling streets of the N109 Zone, the world outside his car blurred into a mix of shadows and faint streetlights. His mind was focused on finding you, piecing together the next step in his search. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car lurching to a stop as his heart raced. The sound of the scream echoed through the desolate streets, raw and desperate. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the cry for help. Then he saw her—a woman stumbling into the dim light from a broken streetlamp, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain.

“Help! Please, help me!” she gasped, her voice cracking with panic as she looked directly at him, her body collapsing onto the cracked pavement.

Xavier’s hunter instincts kicked in immediately. He couldn’t just leave someone like that. He shoved the car door open and rushed toward her, his eyes darting around, looking for any potential danger. The streets of the N109 Zone were unpredictable, but he couldn't just ignore someone in need.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm as he knelt down beside her.

The woman’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and contorted with pain. She clutched her ribs, wincing with every breath. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was attacked. I need help… please…” Her eyes were wild with fear, darting between Xavier and the shadows beyond, as if expecting someone—or something—to come after her at any moment.

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind racing. “I’ll get you some help,” he assured her, reaching for his phone. But as he fumbled for it, he felt a shift—something wasn’t right.

The woman’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, her panic momentarily replaced by something colder, more calculating. Before he could react, a blur of movement rushed behind him.

A sharp clink. The keys.

Xavier’s blood ran cold as he spun around, just in time to see a man slip past him, keys glinting in his hand. The stranger, quick and agile, darted toward Xavier’s car, jumping into the driver’s seat. How did I not see this coming? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—this was a setup.

“Hey!” Xavier yelled, lunging forward, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was too late.

The woman, now standing tall with no trace of pain or injury, smirked at him, her expression smug and mocking. “Thanks for the ride, city boy,” she sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she ran toward the passenger side of the car. She moved easily now, as if the earlier fear and desperation had been nothing but an act. It had been.

Xavier’s mind raced as he sprinted toward the car, but the engine roared to life before he could even get close. The man in the driver’s seat gunned the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

His heart sank as he watched the taillights disappear into the darkness, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. His car. His keys. Everything—gone in an instant. And with it, any chance of quickly finding you.

He'd have to walk on foot.

The steam from the shower still clung to your skin as you stepped out, your mind swirling in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate. The hot water had done little to wash away the weight of everything pressing down on you—the memories, the fear—but it had, at least, cleaned the grime from your body. You were left feeling raw and exposed, unsure of what was coming next.

You opened the glass door of the shower and grabbed a towel laying on the counter, wrapping it around yourself quickly before exiting.

You saw Sylus had elected to lean against the doorframe when you stepped out, and he turned around to face you. His eyes, those sharp, red eyes, softened when they met yours. "The chef has prepared food for you," he said, his voice gentle. The tenderness in his tone felt unnerving, like everything else with him, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.

But before you could respond, he gestured to a set of neatly prepared shopping bags laid on his bed outside the bathroom. “I want you to open these first. Consider them gifts I had planned for you… before you ran off.” The edge in his words lingered, but his expression remained neutral. You vaguely remembered him clipping your nails while you were in the bathtub, a pile of shopping bags at his feet.

Ah, you had forgotten all about those. You wrapped the towel around yourself tighter, a knot of discomfort forming in your stomach.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you began to take out the "gifts". The first bag contained delicate pieces of underwear—soft, lace, and undeniably expensive. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease crawl up your spine.

“Gifts for me? Or for you to see on me?” you muttered, unable to hide the malice in your voice, the bitterness slipping out.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile, his red eyes flickering with that familiar, unsettling glint. "Why not both?," he replied softly, the weight of his gaze lingering on you as though he found your defiance amusing.

These weren’t just clothes; they were symbols of his control, of how he saw you. Like you were his little doll to dress up. Still, you nodded hesitantly, accepting the garments with quiet reluctance.

Beneath the underwear were more practical clothes—soft, comfortable tops, leggings, and dresses. Each piece was chosen carefully, and despite yourself, you appreciated the effort, if only because you were desperate for something to wear to avoid Sylus's lingering gaze on your damp body. You chose a simple, slightly loose white dress, letting it fall over your damp skin. Then slipped on one of the many underwear he had bought for you. Sylus watched you quietly, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to finish.

“You might've lost a few pounds from stress, once you start eating more, it’ll fit better,” he said casually, his tone matter-of-fact as though he hadn’t just casually referenced your weakened state. The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of how long you'll be trapped here. Then, with a surprising softness, he added, “You look beautiful nonetheless, honey.”

“Honey.” A new pet name.

Surprisingly, instead of making you grimace like his usual endearments, it sends an unwelcome heat crawling across your face. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to react, but the flush is unmistakable. Against your will, your gaze drops, and you look away from him, the sudden surge of embarrassment catching you off guard.

Sylus notices, of course. His smile deepens slightly, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes as if he can sense the effect his words have on you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you—steady, watchful—his presence filling the room in an unnerving way that makes it harder to breathe.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture oddly tender and yet impossible to trust. You hesitated, unsure if taking it would solidify his power over you further or if refusing would draw out something worse. But you take it, residing to the fact that you didn't have much choice.

He moved toward the door, your hand held in his grip. “Come,” he said. “The food is waiting.”

Your stomach growled again, and despite the tension between you and him, you found yourself trailing after him, your body driven by the gnawing hunger you couldn’t ignore. As you stepped into the dining hall, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food hit you like a wave.

The table was filled with an extravagant feast. Platters of roasted meats sat alongside bowls of vibrant vegetables, glistening under the kitchen lights. There were thick, tender cuts of lamb, still steaming from the oven, their edges crisp and golden. Roasted chicken, its skin perfectly browned and seasoned with herbs, sat atop a bed of caramelized onions and garlic. Beside them, a platter of seared duck breast, cooked to perfection, its fat rendered into a rich, savory glaze.

On another side of the table were bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery, their surface dusted with flecks of chives. A dish of roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and beets—was arranged in a beautiful display, their edges crisp and caramelized, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. There was a vibrant salad of mixed greens, tossed with fresh pomegranate seeds, crumbled goat cheese, and candied walnuts, the dressing a light, tangy vinaigrette that made your mouth water.

A basket of freshly baked bread sat in the center of the table, the rolls warm and soft, their golden crusts begging to be torn apart. Small bowls of whipped butter, infused with honey and herbs, accompanied them, the scent sweet and savory.

But it didn’t stop there. Desserts, too, were laid out, tempting you even further. A decadent chocolate tart with a glossy ganache topping, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries, sat next to a platter of delicate fruit tarts, their centers brimming with custard and topped with glistening berries. A tower of macarons in various pastel shades—lavender, pistachio, rose—completed the lavish display.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his smile widening as he watched your eyes dart from one dish to the next. "Well don't just stare, sit down".

The sight and smell overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you felt like a prisoner presented with a royal meal, knowing full well the chains still bound you. But hunger gnawed at your insides, and no matter how conflicted you were, your body screamed for sustenance as you sat.

"Eat," Sylus urged, taking a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting for your reaction.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a piece of bread, the warmth of it soothing in your palm. You tore it open, the soft dough yielding beneath your fingers, and dipped it into the whipped honey butter, taking a small bite. The flavors burst in your mouth, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

The food was perfect—too perfect. And as you took another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this all part of the game too? Or was it simply nourishment after the storm?

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you as you ate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, just watched you in that unsettling, familiar way—like he was always studying you, always thinking, always planning. His silence, for once, was almost a relief, allowing you to focus on the food and ignore his presence as much as possible.

You couldn’t help it. The hunger gnawed at you, and the feast before you was impossible to resist. The flavors were rich, the textures comforting, and before you realized it, you had cleared almost four plates. Each bite had momentarily dulled the chaos in your mind, letting you push aside the fear, the memories, and the discomfort that still lingered in your chest.

Sylus didn’t comment as you reached for more, nor did he interrupt. He seemed content to let you eat in peace, his eyes never leaving you but his lips remaining closed. It wasn’t until you finally pushed the last plate away, feeling the fullness settle in your stomach, that the silence between you felt heavier.

The weight of exhaustion began to settle over you. The warmth from the food and the sheer relief of being full left you feeling heavy, your eyelids growing heavier by the minute. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until that moment. Your body felt like it had finally reached its limit.

Sylus stood up, breaking the silence. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he pushed his chair back, his gaze never leaving you. “You must be tired,” he said softly, the same unnerving tenderness in his voice as before. “It’s time for bed.”

You tensed slightly at his words, but your body, worn down by hunger and stress, didn’t have the strength to protest. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what might come out if you did. There was no point in resisting, not tonight.

Sylus moved toward you, his hand extending again as if offering comfort. You hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, but you didn’t have the energy to reject him. You let him guide you, his touch gentle yet firm as he led you toward the bedroom you were dreading your return to.

You don’t remember when exactly you slipped into unconsciousness, but the world had faded into nothing after Sylus lifted you into the bed. His arms were unexpectedly gentle, cradling you with a kind of care that felt entirely out of place. You were vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in, but then everything went dark. The exhaustion you had been fighting all day finally consumed you, and you sank into the deepest sleep you’d felt in what seemed like forever.

There was comfort in the darkness, the kind of peace that only comes with complete surrender to sleep. No fear, no panic, just the void. You floated there, cradled in warmth. But soon, the darkness gave way to a dream, vivid and consuming.

Xavier appeared first, stepping out of the shadows of your mind. His familiar figure brought an immediate sense of relief. His ashy blonde hair fell into his face, and his striking blue eyes bore into you with the same warmth and intensity that always made your heart flutter. There he was, just as you remembered—strong, dependable, and safe. He reached out, his hand extending toward you, and without hesitation, you moved toward him.

The moment your hand met his, your heart melted, the overwhelming sense of security flooding through you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe. You felt home.

But something changed.

Xavier’s gaze, once filled with affection and care, shifted. His eyes darkened, turning cold, distant. The warmth you’d found in his presence quickly evaporated, replaced by something harsh and unfamiliar. His lips curled downward, a shadow crossing his face, and his grip on your hand tightened. The shift was sudden, the dream warping around you like a twisted reflection of reality.

"Why did you want him dead?" His voice cut through the dream, sharp and cold, the softness you’d expected from him nowhere to be found.

You blinked, confusion gripping you as his words sank in. “Huh?” Your face faltered, your heart pounding in your chest. His cold stare drilled into you, and you could feel something inside you cracking under its weight. What was happening?

"You're the reason Reese is dead," Xavier said, his words landing like a punch to the gut. His voice, usually so steady, so comforting, was now filled with anger, with accusation. His grip on your hand turned painful, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost crushing force.

“No...” Your voice wavered, barely able to push the word out as your mind reeled. “That wasn’t my fault, it was Sy—” You tried to explain, to say anything to stop the blame from settling on your shoulders. But the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t finish. You couldn’t get them out.

His face twisted, contorting with anger and something that looked like disappointment. His blue eyes, once a source of warmth, were now filled with icy judgment, the coldness sinking into your skin like knives. His grip tightened further, pain shooting through your hand, but no matter how hard you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

The dream around you blurred, the edges of reality warping and distorting. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, while Xavier's figure loomed larger, his presence suffocating. The weight of his blame pressed down on your chest like a stone, suffocating you, filling your lungs with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You tried to explain again, your voice strangled by the intensity of the moment, but Xavier wasn’t listening. His hand was like a vice, his fingers digging into your skin as his gaze pinned you in place. His words repeated in your mind, echoing louder and louder—“You're the reason he’s dead.”

Xavier's face began to twist, distorting into something grotesque, something no longer human. His once gentle features morphed and stretched unnaturally, his blue eyes darkening into hollow, accusing pits. His grip on your hand became unbearable, crushing the bones in your fingers as his form continued to change, shifting from the man you loved into a nightmare. The warmth that had briefly comforted you was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to pull away, but the force holding you was relentless. You stared in horror as Xavier’s form became unrecognizable, his skin taking on a gray, cracked texture, his mouth elongating into a grimace filled with sharp teeth. His eyes, now nothing more than deep, empty voids, bore into you with a hatred that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re a murderer,” the figure spat, its voice now a low, guttural growl that echoed in your ears, far louder than it should have been. “Murderer.” The word hit you like a physical blow, making your entire body tense as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you desperately tried to defend yourself. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—”

“You have blood on your hands!” the figure roared, its voice shaking the world around you. Xavier’s face continued to twist and contort, veins bulging from his neck, his body looming over you like a towering monster. “You told him to die!”

The words echoed again and again, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. The weight of guilt slammed into your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you as the grotesque version of Xavier leaned in closer. His voice became more vicious, more unforgiving. “You let him die, and now the blood is on your hands!”

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat. Blood. It was everywhere—on your hands, dripping from your fingers, pooling at your feet. Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you tried to wipe it away, but no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply, staining your skin, your clothes, everything around you.

“You’ll never wash it off!” the figure screamed, its voice shaking with rage. “Never!” It grabbed your shoulders, shaking you violently as it continued to scream. “You’re a murderer!

You struggled, trying to pull free, but the figure’s grip was unbreakable. The dream spiraled into chaos, the world around you collapsing into darkness as the screams filled the air, overwhelming your senses. The blood seemed to rise like a tide, crawling up your arms, soaking through your skin. You gasped for air, but it was suffocating, the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Murderer!” the figure roared again, louder this time, shaking you until your vision blurred. “Murderer! Murderer!"

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the accusations wouldn’t stop. The guilt, the blood, the rage—it was all around you, suffocating you, crushing you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the figure stopped. It stood over you, silent now, but its eyes—those hollow, accusing voids—were locked onto you. “You can never escape what you’ve done,” it whispered, the venom in its voice chilling you to the core.

You shot up in bed, heart hammering in your chest, a scream tearing through your throat before you even knew what was happening. The sheets clung to your sweat-soaked skin as you gasped for breath, the nightmare still gripping you in its suffocating hold. Your hands shook violently, fingers instinctively rubbing at your palms, expecting to see the blood, the thick, crimson stain that had haunted you moments before.

But there was no blood.

The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp settled on the nightstand. Sylus sat beside you, awake, casually reading a book. His red eyes glanced up from the pages, calm and steady, showing no sign of surprise at your sudden outburst.

“You’re okay,” Sylus said softly, his voice low but steady. He closed the book, setting it aside as he reached out, pulling you closer, into his arms with a gentle grip. The warmth of his body on yours was meant to be comforting, but the lingering terror from the dream made his touch feel heavier, suffocating.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of the nightmare still gripping you. The blood, the screams, the weight of guilt—it all felt so real, too real to shake off. Your hands trembled in your lap, still trying to rub away the invisible stain that wouldn’t leave.

“Shhh,” Sylus soothed, his voice soft as he stroked your back with deliberate calmness. “It was just a nightmare, kitten.”

But his words barely penetrated the thick fog of panic swirling in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of Xavier’s cold, accusing gaze still lingered in the corners of your thoughts, leaving an ache in your chest that refused to fade.

Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. He was patient, his grip around you getting stronger as you fought to regain control, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, though it was impossible to tell how much of it was real. He watched you wordlessly, waiting patiently for your breathing to slow as he rubbed your back in soothing motions.

And you did, eventually. Slowly, your heartbeat began to slow, the cold sweat drying on your skin as the nightmare finally started to loosen its grip. You were still shaken, but reality was settling back in.

Sylus smiled, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You feel better?"

"It's not my fault..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as tears began streaming down your face, hot and unstoppable. The weight of the nightmare still pressed against your chest, the guilt wrapping itself around your heart. "Reese... I told him to die, kinda. But you killed him!"

Your words trembled in the air, and for a moment, the room felt suffocatingly silent. Sylus’s arm stilled on your back, his red eyes watching you closely. His face remained calm, unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or even amusement. He began rubbing your back again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “I killed him because he took what was mine,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t pull the trigger, I did. Don’t fool yourself, sweetie.” His fingers gently wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks, lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary.

“His fate was sealed the moment he touched you. You’re not responsible for his death.”

Your heart ached, the confusion and guilt twisting inside you. The memory of Reese's lifeless body, the sound of the gunshot, played over and over in your mind. You knew that Sylus had been the one to end it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your words, your anger, had driven the final nail in the coffin.

"But I—" you started, your voice cracking, but Sylus shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t burden yourself,” he whispered, his voice soothing but firm. “Reese was a pest, and pests are dealt with. It wasn’t your fault. You said what you needed to say in the moment” His eyes softened, his gaze almost affectionate. “And now, you’re here—with me. Safe.”

"Am I?" you sobbed, the weight of your emotions crashing down on you all at once. The tears came faster, and with them, the memory of that night—the night Sylus had taken everything into his own hands, literally. The sharp pain, the feeling of your skin being sliced open as he calmly removed your birth control implant, resurfaced in vivid detail. The raw fear that had gripped you then returned now, surging like a wave you couldn't hold back.

"At least Reese never hurt me," you choked out between sobs, your voice trembling, barely holding together. "You, on the other hand..."

Your hand instinctively went to your arm, tracing the faint scar left behind from when Sylus had decided, without a second thought, that he would control every part of you—inside and out. The scar was still there, but it wasn’t just on your skin. The memory of that violation ran deeper than any wound that could heal.

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift at your words. His calm gaze remained fixed on you, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. His hand paused in its comforting motions, hovering just inches from you, as if calculating how to respond.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice calm, controlled, almost dismissive. "Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. Why are you crying over a man that handed you and countless others over for crack?"

The flood of emotions broke through all at once at his words.

"Because-because he wasn't supposed to die. Hunters aren't the reason people die, we save people...he could've went to jail he wasn't supposed to-"

You crumpled, sobs wracking your body as the weight of everything—of all you had endured—became too much to bear. Memories you had tried to suppress, to bury deep within you, rose to the surface like dark waves crashing against fragile walls.

The man from the basement. His hands grabbing you, the smell of his breath, the sheer terror that had paralyzed you as he tried to force himself on you. You had fought, screamed, but the memory was still there, etched into your mind like a brand that would never fade. The nightmare you had just woken from had only served to rip open the scars you had so desperately tried to heal.

Your words came out in broken fragments, incoherent between sobs. "That other man…he tried… I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop him…" Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you babbled through the memories, the trauma wrapping itself around you like a suffocating shroud. "He—he wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared…"

You weren’t even sure Sylus was listening. You couldn’t look at him. Everything blurred together, your mind overwhelmed by the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped again in that moment. You curled in on yourself, trembling as the sobs became uncontrollable, the terror of that night suffocating you all over again.

Then you felt it—Sylus’s hand, soft and deliberate, gently cradling your cheek. He leaned in, his voice softening into something almost unbearably tender, a tone you never thought he was capable of.

"Poor thing, you're such a mess," he murmured.

His eyes lingered on you with a mix of pity and affection, as though you were something fragile, something cherished. It was as if watching you unravel before him caused his heart to ache.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears with slow, careful strokes. “Let me take the pain away, kitten. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”

His words were soothing, like a lullaby coaxing you away from the edge of your breakdown. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his presence surrounding you like a cocoon, making it harder to pull yourself out of the depths of your despair. For a brief moment, the way he looked at you—like he truly cared—made you falter.

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

You hesitate at his words. The rational part of your mind urged you to turn away, not to respond. To pull yourself from his embrace and fight him. But the other part, muddled by trauma, drove you to stay. To seek comfort, any comfort, even in his arms.

From your captor of all people.

“Yes…” you whimpered, blinking away tears. You didn’t know why you answered that way—your mind screamed at you to stop—but you found yourself reaching out, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

His lips crashed against yours before you could even register what was happening, consuming you in a kiss so passionate it bordered on painful. All rational thought evaporated as his tongue plundered the recesses of your mouth, stroking along your palate and tangling with your own tongue in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

You were consumed, caught in the storm of his touch, unable to think beyond the overwhelming need to escape the agony of your memories—even if only for a moment.

Your hands flew to his face of their own accord, fingers threading through his hair as you clung to him like a drowning woman gasping for air. You kissed him back with a fervor born of desperation, pouring all your pent-up anguish and trauma into the hungry clash of lips and teeth. The two of you panted against each other, like animals ready to tear each other to shreds.

Some distant part of you screamed that this was mistake, that doing this with him willingly was certainly wrong. He had kidnapped you after all. Stolen you. But it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the ache of need pulsing between your thighs. His hands slid under your dress, calloused palms skimming over hypersensitive flesh, and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

"Sylus..." you whined, already feeling the desperate ache reach your core.

"I know, kitten. Patience, we just started" he said, amusement adorning his face.

His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, silencing any lingering protests. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and danger that left you craving more. His fingers find the hem of your underwear, wasting no time to remove the obstacle from your wet depths.

Your whole body trembled as Sylus's lips blazed a path down your body, trailing molten kisses along the column of your throat. Each brush of his mouth against your sensitive skin sent electricity singing through your veins, igniting another fiery ache between your thighs. When he nudged aside the fabric of your dress to nuzzle the slick flesh of your cunt, you let out a strangled moan, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The tip of his nose grazed your swollen bud, and your back arched off the bed, every nerve ending sparking with raw pleasure. "Nnnngh…" you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively toward his teasing touch.

Sylus's deep, resonant chuckle rumbled through you, vibrating against your core in a way that made your toes curl. "So responsive," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over your dripping folds. "Tell me, kitten-were you this wet for him? Did he make you shiver and moan like this when he touched you?"

He grips your thighs almost possessively, waiting for your answer.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, plunging you back into reality. Shame crashed over you in nauseating waves, your arousal doused by the realization of how easily Sylus manipulated your body. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, fists clenching in the bedding.

"No," you choked out, voice brittle. "Never. He never touched me like this…Sylus, please…" The plea was torn from your throat, part desperation, part disgust. You felt filthy, tainted by your own traitorous reactions to Sylus's sensual assault on your most intimate parts.

But despite the revulsion roiling in your gut, your body still yearned for more.

"Its hard to say no when you beg me like that," he said, seemingly satisfied with your answer, began trailing a hot, wet streak against your folds. A gasp punches through your throat, eyes fluttering as you try not to lose all control. The mere feeling of his tongue was sending your brain into frenzies. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to block the pain.

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

You grip the bedsheets even tighter when he tenderly cuts off your plea with a moan against your clit, his tongue beginning to spread the entrance of your lips apart feverishly. Your breathing gets rapid when you feel something hot breaking past the entrance, deeper and deeper into your walls. Sylus's tongue delved deeper, stroking along your inner walls with devastating skill.

"You don't have to hold the bedsheets." he says, withdrawing momentarily from your depths. He wordlessly guides your hands to the top of his head, and before you can say anything, he's back licking up and down your folds, eventually making his way back in completely. The immediate shockwaves of pleasure make you grip his hair basically against your will, and you tearfully hold his hair as you neared an orgasm.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo as Sylus's tongue relentlessly stroked your inner walls, each slick thrust driving you higher toward the brink of climax. Broken moans spilled from your lips, intermingling with his hungry growls of appreciation. Tears streamed down your face as your hips rocked shamelessly against his mouth, silently begging for the oblivion that hovered just out of reach.

Sylus's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted upon your aching cunt. He seemed enraptured, almost worshipful in his attentions, lavishing your most intimate places with devoted licks and sucks. He ate you out like a starved man. Like he craved you.

Like he missed you.

Occasionally his nose would rub against your clit again and again, a delicious friction that made you sob with the intensity of it all.

When his lips finally closed around your swollen clit and sucked hard, you nearly vaulted off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"Mhgn! Sylus! Please, I can't…it's too much!"

But he didn't let up, his talented tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. Your vision whited out as you finally reached heaven, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you thought you might drown in it. Your walls clamped down on his invading tongue, pulsing with the force of your release, unwittingly calling out Sylus's name as you did so.

Finally, blessedly, Sylus withdrew. You melted in the sheets, finally letting go of his hair, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath. Tears streaked your face, but for once, they weren't because Sylus had hurt you. He had done quite the opposite actually.

Taking in the sight of you sprawled before him, flushed and panting, your body trembling. With a wicked smirk, he trailed a hand along your trembling thigh, drawing a shuddering moan from your throat. Evidence of your orgasm coated his mouth, and you watch as he licks the remaining from his lips.

"Tired already?" he teased, quite enjoying the way your body tensed under his touch. "For a hunter I expected you to have more stamina."

The haze of post-orgasmic bliss dissipated as quickly as it had descended, harsh reality crashing back in with brutal clarity. Tears pricked your eyes as the weight of your shame threatened to crush you. You had begged him for it, eagerly spread your legs for your kidnapper as if y'all were lovers. What was wrong with you?

"I..." you trail off, vision blurring with tears once more. What were you going to say? What could you say?

Sylus trailed lazy kisses along your jaw, seeming to sense your internal turmoil within your head. His lips rubbed against your sensitive skin, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure skittering through your nerves.

"If you're still able to think," he murmured against your throat, "then I clearly haven't kept my promise of helping you forget." His nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle.

The leather strap slid free of the loops with a hiss, dropping forgotten to the floor. Soon after, you felt the straps of your dress slip past your shoulders, past your waist, and eventually off your body completely. Sylus's gaze raked over you, lovingly and hungry, devouring the flush on your skin, the swell of your heaving breasts. You felt bare under his scrutiny, stripped of all defenses.

"And here I thought I was doing such a good job of distracting you," he purred, palming himself through his jeans. The rigid line of his erection strained against the faded denim, an obscene bulge that made your mouth go dry. You watched as he began taking his shirt off from over his head, his chiseled stomach and chest coming into view.

"Please..." you whimpered, the word torn from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Your body trembled, caught between the whirlwind of conflicting emotions roiling within you. Revulsion. Lust. Desperation. Self-loathing. You don't even know what you're asking for.

Sylus's expression softened as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing away the moisture collecting on your lashes. It was uncharacteristic of you to beg for anything other than freedom. It was pulling at his heart and making him feel weak. "Shhh, it's alright sweetie," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm keeping my promise. Don't think, just focus on me."

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole your breath and shattered your reservations. His lips moved over yours with aching tenderness, sipping at your parted lips as if savoring the sweetest nectar. The press of his body against yours was solid, reassuring, anchoring you in the whirlwind of sensation.

His tongue slipped past your defenses to stroke the sensitive flesh within, each languid thrust a silent promise of the ecstasy to come. One large hand cradled your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other smoothed soothing circles on the small of your back.

When he pulls back, eyes staring down at you, it feels like he's staring into the depths of your soul. His eye begins to glow dangerously, and you begin to feel your mind start to spin and the room start to grow hazy. Voices begin pouring into your ears.

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

But just as quickly as they started, they stopped. You lay there shocked, unable to process what just happened.

"Your mind says a lot more than your mouth does, kitten" he chuckles, and you can only blink confusingly at him as he begins unzipping his pants. He stands up momentarily to remove his pants and you watch as his cock finally spring free. You feel a gush of arousal as you watch it throb, precum slightly leaking at the tip.

"W-what?" you ask, one half of your brain focusing on his raging erection and the other half wondering why the hell your mind felt like it was splitting in half just a second ago.

But you have no time to ponder such questions as Sylus begins to tower above you once more, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart. You squeal at the sudden touch and shiver when his tip rubs against the slit of your opening. His face is twisted with pleasure and his lips are parted, as if he's restraining every part of himself not to push everything into you at once.

"Slow...please" you beg, your hips involuntarily pushing down on the head of his tip when it greets your opening.

"You want me to go slow, yet your hips are lifting off the bed like you can't wait to have me buried inside you," Sylus teased, his voice a low, wicked murmur. He enjoys the way your face twists in annoyance.

 "So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

You words lodge into your throat as you feel the head of his tip pierce your hole. You gasped, back arching as you stretched impossibly around him. A painful stretch causes you to groan and try to pull away, but Sylus puts a hand on your stomach, holding you down and ceasing all resistance.

"Be still, hah, it wont hurt for long". Sylus lips are parted as he lets out his own breathless groan, his senses being overwhelmed with you as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sylus groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought for control. He eased forward slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting you adjust to his substantial size. Your velvety walls resisted initially, clamping down around him like a vice.

Sylus paused, buried to the hilt inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. "Breathe, kitten," he instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Try to relax okay?."

You tried to relax, to focus on the pleasant pressure building deep in your core instead of the dull ache in your stretched flesh. Gradually, you yielded, your muscles unclenching as Sylus began to move.

"Good girl," he managed through clenched teeth, withdrawing until just the tip remained before sliding back in with agonizing deliberateness. Over and over, he set a torturously slow rhythm, savoring every drag of your fluttering walls along his rigid cock.

 Soon, the sting gave way to blossoming pleasure, radiating outward from where you were joined. You found yourself meeting his measured thrusts, your hips rocking up to take him deeper, chasing that euphoric friction. Sylus's pace quickened marginally, his self-control fraying at the edges. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the room, a filthy symphony that drowned out your labored breaths and muffled whimpers.

Each deliberate thrust carried you further from the pit of anguish threatening to swallow you whole. The exquisite drag of Sylus's thick cock along your sensitive walls obliterated every coherent thought, leaving only the raw, visceral pleasure of the moment. Higher and higher you climbed, chasing the blissful oblivion he promised, until the first warnings of an impending climax rippled through your trembling form.

Sylus shifted his angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids as he grazed a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. A strangled moan tore from your throat, lost in the slick slide of bodies and the heady musk of arousal perfuming the air.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coo'd, his voice low and rough with lust. "Let go. Think about the one making you feel good right now. Think about me. Only me."

His words shivered through you, igniting something primal and needy. Your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your mind snapped and went blank. You were drowning in sensation, drowning in him, and you never wanted to surface. Never wanted to think about reality ever again.

"You're so cute like this," Sylus purred, punctuating each word with a savage grind of his pelvis against yours. "Brain empty and filled with too much cock to think. Should just keep you like this..."

His filthy praise melted your reservations, stoking the desperate frenzy consuming your body and mind. Nothing else mattered beyond the slick slide of flesh and the heady perfume of sex saturating the air. In this moment, Sylus owned you wholly, a willing slave to his lust. All you could do was surrender, drowning in the exquisite agony of your impending release.

The coil of tension in your core tightened with each passing second, your impending climax hovering just out of reach. Sylus sensed your mounting desperation, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

"You're so close," he growled, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own completion. "I can feel you tightening up, greedy little thing."

"Go ahead, cum. Let me hear your pretty sounds."

The lewd demand shattered your composure, catapulting you into heaven and you practically screamed his name. Pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, obliterating every coherent thought. All you knew was the pulsing ache in your core, the rhythmic throb of Sylus's cock buried deep, prolonging your climax until you couldn't take the sensations anymore and almost begged him to stop thrusting.

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

Your vision grew blurry as you teetered into overstimulation, your walls clamping down on Sylus's pistoning length like a vise. Thankfully, he was at his own end. You hear a guttural groan of your name in your ear, and then felt the hot splash of his seed painting your insides soon after. His thrusting completely stopped, and the both of you lay there, panting and unmoving.

It was only when you felt his warm seed spilling out onto the bed that you snapped back into reality.

"Did you-"

“Yes, I did it inside,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Where else would it go?”

Before you could even process his words and sit up, he was on you, pinning your arms down to the bed with a swift, ruthless precision, as if anticipating your next move. The weight of him was suffocating, leaving you no room to escape. Panic surged through you, your body instinctively twisting and writhing beneath him, but it was useless. You were trapped.

“After your little escape," he continued, voice laced with playful amusement, "I’ve realized I need to put in more effort. Taming you isn’t as easy as I thought...a baby should be a nice, heavy, leash for you"

“Sylus… please,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. Desperation claws at you as the gravity of his words sinks in. “We don’t need to do this. Not like this. Please, let’s solve this without a child?—I’ll do anything you want. I won’t try to run again, I swear.”

Tears blurred your vision as you begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. But Sylus just smiled, that soft, chilling smile that made your stomach drop. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand disappearing beneath the bed.

“I know you won’t be running away again. In fact…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, terror coiling tighter with every passing second. What was he doing? What was he reaching for? You searched your mind desperately, trying to think of anything, anything at all that might change his mind, but you knew better. Sylus was relentless. He hadn’t forgotten your attempts to resist, and now he was only more determined.

And then you felt it—the cold, unforgiving touch of metal snapping around your ankle.

Your eyes flew wide open, your pulse spiking as you looked down in horror. An ankle chain. You were shackled.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. "No...is this..?"

“Anything I want, you say?” Sylus's voice oozed with satisfaction, a smile creeping across his lips as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the cold metal now binding you in place.

“Then make us a baby, sweetie,” he purred, his fingers tracing lightly down your arm. “That’s what I want most right now.”

The weight of his words settled like ice in your chest. A shiver coursed through your body, your mind racing, searching for some way out, but the chain around your ankle clinked softly with every tiny movement, a reminder of how trapped you really were.

“It’s long enough to reach everything in here, including the toilet and shower,” Sylus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You shuddered beneath him, your tears finally spilling over as the full weight of your situation crashed down on you. “Is this… my punishment for running?” you whispered, your voice fragile and trembling, as if the question itself might break you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “No, it’s not a punishment,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “It’s a necessity, honey.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sealing your fate as surely as the chain around your ankle.

Tears broke free, pouring down your face in uncontrollable waves as the reality of it all crushed you. You sobbed openly, your body shaking under the weight of it, and yet there was nothing you could do. Sylus leaned down, his presence overwhelming, his hand softly brushing the side of your tear-streaked face. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he believed he was offering comfort instead of twisting the knife deeper.

“The faster you accept this,” he whispered, stroking your hair gently, “the easier it’ll be for you. Accept your place by my side and have my baby.”

"I'll take care of both of you, I promise."

His words only made the knot in your throat tighten further. You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being, but worst of all, you hated yourself. Hated the fact that you had once given yourself to him willingly, that you had let the devil himself have your body in a moment of weakness, as if you hadn’t known exactly what he was capable of.

The shame of it burned through you, deeper than any chain ever could. How had you fallen so far? How had you ever let him touch you, let him inside your body, your mind—your soul? The answer twisted cruelly in your gut.

But even despite all the burning hatred you had for him in this moment, another unknown feeling sprouted. One that ached and felt almost unbearable to think about. A longing. Festering within the walls of your strained heart and mind. You refused to acknowledge it though, choosing to drown in the sorrow of your new situation.

Sylus shifted beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if you were lovers instead of captor and captive. His warmth pressed against your skin, a twisted parody of intimacy, and you lay there, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. You felt his breathing slow beside you, felt his presence still as he settled in comfortably at your side. But you were miles away, staring into the abyss above, where there was no escape, no solace.

Only the cold, bitter truth. You had let the devil in, and now, there was no way out.

[tojiwrd]

6: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings mentions toxic family, mentions of forced marriage, emotional infidelity, lots of crying, drama drama drama, confrontation, lots of reminiscing. also not proofread so im sorry for any mistakes !!

word count 4k

a/n sorry for late update lomls my gojo fate is fickle ver. came back into my life after three years of silence so this is chapter is coming straight from my bones guysssss . also i am so so so grateful for the support on this fic, genuinely makes me so happy i love u guys sm thank you SO much !! <3 also credit to the person of the art!! i can't find their name so if anyone knows then lmk <3

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

Gojo Satoru didn’t get on one knee and ask to marry you. He did it when the two of you were in the apartment he bought just a few months prior, laying on the bed as the small opening of the curtains let a thin stream of silver streams in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared because when he slipped the question while the two of you were facing one another, a hint of sleep heavy on the eyes on his moon-kissed face, he backed it up with the ring he’d carefully tucked away in his sweatpants. You swore your cheeks were hinting a fresh glow for the next week.

Maybe it was dumb to think you and Satoru, only twenty-five, would’ve worked out when he proposed on a random Sunday in bed. It did seem dumb, though, while you sat across Hana who was relaying her own proposal story. You’d tuned it out, not wanting to hear her drone on about how it was the most perfect, breathtaking moment when he got on one knee at a rooftop restaurant. You didn’t want to be there, partially because you truly felt as though Hana was painting Satoru out into someone he wasn’t, and partially because you were human and humans tend to get jealous sometimes. 

It was meant to be a simple brunch with ten people, friends of friends of friends. You had Reina right next to you, Reina, whose eyes were continuously twitching as Hana would relearn a new moment from that picture-perfect night and feel the need to share it with everyone on the table. You could also see some of your own friends who were aware of yours and Satoru’s relationship look at her, then you, with furrowed brows. Hers mostly out of confusion, and at you to ask why the fuck are you quiet?

“Ugh!” One of the girls, Jia, exclaimed as Hana finally seemed to get to the end of her engagement story. “I wish I had someone like Gojo Satoru; all these men are so unromantic and act like genuine children.”

Truthfully, if Satoru wasn’t your ex-fiancee, you would be on the same boat as the girls who were unaware of your past relationship. Hana’s story, from the pieces you forced yourself to hear, was dreamlike. A small part of you wanted to tell her that her romantic and unchildlike husband had proposed to her, too, right after he’d done some other things that would end that conversation immediately. But you didn’t because it wasn’t Hana’s fault, even though your mind kept putting some blame on her, that Satoru broke it off with you.

“I hope all of you find somebody like Satoru. He truly is the best,” Hana replied dreamily. 

You clenched your fists. Reina slammed hers on the table. 

“You’re so delusional, Hana, it’s concerning.” You wanted to raise your arms and pull Reina down and ask her to shut up. To not cause a scene. But Hana looked at Reina, a confused, concerningly kind expression covering her features and you realized there lived a monster in you that wanted to see Gojo Hana crumble. “Don’t look at me all coy, high, and mighty. You don’t know shit about your husband. Why don’t you skip over these semantics and really tell them the only reason the two of you got married was because your parents forced you to?”

You delighted in the flash of anger that slid across Hana’s face as she pursed her lips, trying to find the right words. You leaned back and stared, an uncharacteristically numb look covering your features. This, a part of you realized, might be detracking you from your healing process but it was fun.

Hana looked around the table and noticed how all eyes were fixed on her figure. If there was one thing you’d learned from girls' brunches, it was that everybody loved when it blew over and left one or many people scathed. She sputtered over her words, the tangle coming out completely incomprehensible and you almost felt bad. Almost felt bad because it wasn’t expected of her to admit to a whole group of socialites that the marriage to the Gojo heir wasn’t out of love, but out of an arrangement that went in their favor. If you were in her place, you, too, would’ve waxed poetic about your marriage because if the truth would bring the palpable exciting energy down, you would feel bad.

“Perhaps it was suggested by our parents,” she started, glaring at Reina with faux sweetness. “But it was only because our parents saw how in love we seemed with each other.”

You tried to hold yourself back but it was just so simple for you to scoff at her words. When Reina looked at you, a sheen of anger coating her eyes, you pushed yourself to talk. “It’s not love if he cheated on someone with you.”

You had thought about this moment before; you’d wondered if, were you to ever meet Hana again, you would drop the ticking time bomb in her presence that might either blow up her entire marriage or just cause a small blip in the working systems of it. But saying it now, after hearing her say all Satoru had said about you was that your fathers worked together, felt completely underwhelming. Though the shoe was dropped and it was clear everybody managed to get a small tatters of it to whisper about with other people, it felt wrong. Wrong because the way Hana looked at you, eyes brimmed with tears and brows coming together in sadness, you had most likely broken a piece of her.

She gulped then cleared her throat. “Can—Can we talk outside? Alone?” she asked and, without sparing a glance at anybody on the table except for you and Reina, she walked to the sliding doors of the restaurant and into the glaring sun above. 

Reina placed her hand on your forearm and said, “Come on, let’s go.” It was surprising to see a miniscule hint of guilt on her features, and you realized you had to have the conversation. 

Hana had most likely heard the clicking of yours and Reina’s heels because she didn’t turn back to face the two of you. “I know you and Satoru had something going on.”

You froze, stunned and silent. 

“I had heard from my mother that you both were in a relationship. He never mentioned it to me, though, and I didn’t mention it, either.” She turned around, eyes wide as she looked down and shuffled her feet in anxiousness. “I don’t know how it ended or when it ended, but I thought when he—he finally acknowledged there was something between us, the two of you were over. I didn’t want to know. We did get married because our fathers told us to, but I wasn’t lying when I said he was sweet and caring.” Her stare burned you like a billion matches. There was truth in her words, you knew—

“You homewrecking bitch!” Reina’s voice cut off your train of thought as she walked towards Hana, an accusatory finger pointed in her direction. Once again, you didn’t stop her even though you probably should’ve. “If you knew he was in a relationship, how could you even think of flirting with him? They were engaged. God! I swear, both you and Gojo are two peas in the same pod. You deserve each other.” Her words were also ringing through your head and there was confusion bubbling up within the same pot as growing anger. 

“Why’d you pretend not to know when we saw you at the club?” you asked, finding your voice again, in a calm tone that surprised you, too. 

Hana shook her head. Her face had curled up into fury, and you wondered if her nice, docile, angel-sent-from-above personality was a card she held up her sleeve the entire time. “I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know because Satoru was mine—is mine. You weren’t a part of his life anymore, so I didn’t want to add any worries that were misplaced.”

You wondered if you should tell her that Satoru had tried reaching out to you at Suguru’s gallery. 

“If he had told me he was with you, I wouldn’t have tried anything with him.”

You were sure you had moved past everything. 

After more than a year of avoiding any fire from your past with Satoru, the past two weeks had been filled to the brim with situations revolving around him. It was easy to ignore what you had with Satoru when he seemed like a distant memory and then a mere ghost in your thoughts. But when he’s insistent on giving you answers you never asked for, answers you didn’t want to know, and his wife had made an appearance that caused your brain to run without stopping, it was difficult to treat him the way you had. 

No matter how much you wanted to ignore everything and reset your brain back to its default settings, you couldn’t when the world was caving in on you and reality seeped through its cracks to light a bright, pertinent light in front of your eyes. You hated Gojo Satoru with every inch of your bones, but you were never truly able to forget just Satoru himself.

Your mind had an interesting way to deal with the pile of information dropped onto your shoulders. You should’ve been reliving how Satoru made your blood boil when he got engaged with Hana, how he carelessly broke your heart because he began falling for somebody else, somebody brand new while he was taking space on your bed every night. You should’ve been, but you weren’t. 

‘A relationship broken is always a relationship that could’ve been,’ is what you’d read once graffitied onto a brick wall you were leaning against with Satoru once in the middle of the bustling city streets. You’d pointed it out, he’d agreed. He’d agreed. You wish he hadn’t because there was a fragment of you that wished he remembered those words now. The devilish part of you wished that’s what he remembered, recounted abruptly while he was sleeping next to his wife. 

You wished he’d think of the could’ve been’s instead of the measly fears he told you about at the gallery. 

You also wish you had those fears, too. You loved Satoru to a point that he was in everything you did; your clothes smelt like his detergent because you would always take your laundry to his house for the weekends. The lamp next to your bed had his bracelet wrapped around it because he thought it was too loose on his wrist and he’d lose it. You would always accidentally call him because his contact was on your home screen, causing you to press on it when you were scrolling (he always picked up and he always talked to you for hours after, making you forget why you had opened your phone in the first place). The tattoo, a small design of baby’s breaths, on your hip reminded you of how he had held your hand through the pain. 

You knew Satoru’s dreams. You knew Satoru’s biggest fears. So, why did he never tell you the fears he had for the two of you?

As soon as the thought hit your mind, it was followed by you harshly reprimanding yourself by reminding you that it was because he was getting excited over someone else’s calls, someone else’s dreams.

“Y/N, honey.” You heard your mother’s voice call from your ajar bedroom door before she hesitantly stepped in, heel-clad feet grazing over the off-white floor with footsteps following behind her. “Your friend from the gallery here to see you.”

You knew exactly who she was talking about which is why you raised slightly from your bed, a panicked look in your eyes, and only began pleading with her to tell him you weren’t here. Before you could even utter a complete, coherent sentence, Suguru had walked in with his head down and your mother simply walked out of the door, sparing you a sad smile. She didn’t know any of what had happened, but she most likely sensed it wasn’t anything worth toasting to after seeing Suguru’s mood and your reaction. 

“Please, Suguru.” Your voice wobbled, a slight hiccup in your words because this was too much. Even though Suguru was somewhere on the top of your least-favorite people list at the moment, he didn’t deserve to see you get angry at him without having control over your words. “Leave.”

“Listen, listen, Y/N. I just… I heard some stuff and I needed to check on you.” His words were hesitant, as if he’d rehearsed them but had changed the script at the last minute. He walked closer to your bed and you couldn’t find the words to ask him to leave. “Hana told me—”

You snorted, cutting him off. “Hana told you what? That I ended her perfect, dreamy image of her marriage in public? Are you here to—what? Reprimand me? Tell me I was wrong—”

“Fuck, no. Stop, just for one second.”

You did stop because Suguru seemed more tense than you knew what to do with. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly addressed, his body finding its way to the edge of your bed. “I want to say I’m sorry, and you don’t have to accept it. I was wrong—I realize that now but… I was scared, Y/N.”

“Scared of what? I wouldn’t have been any worse if you’d just told me what you knew, Suguru. You hid it from me when you saw how I was going insane the month after the breakup.”

“I was scared of this. How you’ve been feeling since Satoru told you the truth himself.” You couldn’t reply to that. “But I want to tell you that even though I hadn’t told you about it, I did let Satoru know really well what he did was wrong. Not that it’s any better, but I never supported what he did. I—I couldn’t stop him from marrying her because… well, because he’s Satoru. I shouldn’t have assumed you were okay, especially not after finding out about Hana after three months. But I thought you were and—I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking straight.

But I heard from Hana earlier today about what had happened at brunch. She said she was scared Satoru would find out what she said and I—I have no idea why she trusted me with that information. I’m not friends with her. I don’t know why she told me.”

You took in a deep breath processing all the information Suguru kept on dropping. “I’m not telling Satoru anything.”

“But she—”

“She nothing. I don’t want to hear it, Suguru. Whatever she did, even if she actively tried to sabotage me and Satoru, it was on him that he let her.” Your phone lit up from beside you and you glanced at the time, internally thanking whoever controlled it for the real excuse to kick him out of your house. “I have plans with Kento. You need to leave now, actually.”

You didn’t miss the way Suguru’s face flashed with a hint of disappointment at your words. 

Kento Nanami wasn’t understanding—not truly—which is why you were surprised that halfway through your date, when you told him you had to talk to Satoru, he understood. He walked you out of the restaurant, a calm, unwavering hand on your back and told you that no matter what happened, he’d be there by your side. 

And though you knew you had people by your side, you really couldn’t remember who and felt a flutter in your chest. 

By the time you reached Satoru’s (and Hana’s) apartment, the urge and confidence you felt when you came up with your plan ebbed away into pieces and left you lying there in a situation you weren’t sure you could face. You raised your hand up to press a finger against the doorbell regardless, trying to force away the thought that you would see the apartment you helped him move into and decorate. You briefly, for a second, wondered if he had changed it. You also wondered if it would hurt to see the small paintings you’d bought as a present for his new apartment not be in the spots of the wall Satoru put you on his shoulders to pin.

When the door opened, you were met with the same eyes that had haunted your dreams and nightmares. His mouth opened, wide enough for a fly to fly into, then he schooled his features into mere curiosity. You realized that you were the one that sought him out this time, you were the one who dropped in unannounced at his house, which meant you should speak. 

“I need to talk to you.” And frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care if Hana was lurking behind him and able to hear you initiate a conversation with her husband. That was what he was: her husband before your ex-fiance.

He breathed out and shook his head as if willing himself to speak, too. “Yes. Yeah. Come in, Y/N.”

And you did. You saw the walls, the paintings, the small hearts on the corner of the dining table you drew with a sharpie, the couch you picked out, and even the necklace you had forgotten that peeked from under his coat on the coat hanger. You didn’t comment on it, though. 

“Do you want water? Tea? Liquor?” 

You almost laughed at the anxiousness in his voice. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

Satoru’s expression was what you could confidently call crestfallen, and he didn’t try to hide it this time. You forced yourself not to think about it. You merely went down to the couch in his living room that you picked out and placed yourself on the left corner because you always used to sit on the right. It helped you see the TV better. 

“She isn’t home.” You knew who he meant by ‘she.’

“Goj—Satoru, I need you to do something,” you said, unsure of how to start it off. In all fairness, you hadn’t prepared what you were going to say, it was just a messed up, jumbled backbone of stuff that you knew you had to tell him.

His reply was instant. “Anything.”

“I need you to not feel guilty or—I don’t know, keep feeling guilty but just keep it to yourself, okay?” You sounded like you were talking like a preschooler, and it wasn’t much different because Satoru looked at you with the hopeful eyes a kid has before you reject their wishes. But Satoru wasn’t a kid, Satoru was a man who made poor choices and hurt someone by doing something unexcusable, and that made it okay to tell him to stop. 

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t talk to me. If we’re in the same place, don’t talk to me. Don’t ask me not to hate you. Don’t tell me you regret what you did to me.”

It hurt to break your heart by your own words. 

“Y/N, don’t do this,” he trailed off, eyes wide and filled with fear now. “Please.”

“Stop.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears you weren’t going to shed. It was fine dealing with Satoru when he tried to talk to you, but doing it on your own terms gave you an inexplicable feeling of sadness you hadn’t expected. “You’re being selfish.”

“No. How…”

“You take when you want, Satoru. You know more than anybody else that I loved you and lost myself when I couldn’t. You were there that night in the car, holding me when I cried when you left me. You left me!” you exclaimed, pointing your index in his direction that would’ve jabbed him in the face if he wasn’t further away. “You were there even after you left me. You’re there now, making me all confused and angry, when you know you can’t give me anything. You don’t have any intention of being somebody I need in my life, so leave. Make this easier for me and leave. Let me live my life while you live yours.”

He had shifted down the couch, and though he was still not too close, it felt too close. 

“Don’t—fuck, don’t say that, love. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You flailed your arms in the air, his words not helping your case at all. “You can be sorry a million times over, but what’s done is done. You can’t… Fuck, Satoru. You can’t do this.”

A moment passed. Then another. He placed his head in his hands, facing ahead while you faced his shaking body. 

“I love you,” he said, and you were lost. 

“Don’t do this to your wife, Satoru. You love her. You’re supposed to love her. Don’t do this to someone else.”

“I love you,” he repeated, his eyes now looking into yours with a familiar fire of determination. “You know that, right? You know that I love you?” His words broke out into a sob that ripped directly from his scratchy throat. “Tell me you know that.”

“Then please leave. Don’t show up. Stop showing up, and stop explaining something that can’t be understood.”

And when Satoru placed a hand on your cheek, you didn’t push it away because you saw that previous fire dwindle within a second. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he scanned your warm face, your glassy eyes, and he noticed how you were shivering under his touch. You didn’t push it away because Satoru might’ve been selfish, but you were, too. And you would inhale the embers of him before they turned into ash.

“You want this?” he asked, but you could see he knew the answer. You didn’t reply. He continued, “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. But—But I want you to know I wanted it to be you. When Hana walked down the aisle, I thought of you. I wish you’d come. I would’ve never said ‘I do.’ I swear. I’m sorry I fucked up—I fucked us up. I got carried away and…”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t do that to her. You have a chance at being happy, Satoru. Don’t ever do what you did to me again.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have that chance at being happy?”

You thought about the question and Kento’s name flashed in your mind. It might have been small compared to the colossal amounts of feelings you felt with Satoru back then, but it was something. Even though you didn’t shake under Kento’s touch or feel your stomach turning upside down everytime he smiled at you, you felt safe and you knew that if you could stay, Kento would stay, too. 

“I do.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, a single tear falling from his eye. “Is it wrong that I still wish it was me?”

You wanted to say no, it isn’t because a part of me wishes it was you, too. You didn’t. 

He continued, “I can’t let you go, Y/N.” 

Another tear, then another, till they continued streaming down his face. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t react to them. Not even when he took his hand away from your face to messily wipe them away between sobs and hiccups. 

“You said you didn’t deserve me, and you were right. Remember that.”

And even though a larger part of you didn’t want to leave, you left, afraid that you might end up entangling yourself in his arms to cry with him. To get one taste of his lips for the last time before deciding to fuck it all and make one kiss more. To hold onto him for longer, forever. You left because you weren’t sure you could tell Satoru to leave again. You thought you still loved Satoru just not in the way you used to. But when you saw him pleading for nothing because there was no good outcome for the two of you, you realized you might still love Satoru the way you used to, just less and concealed by the hurt. You would’ve chosen all the bad outcomes and then some more if you stayed a minute longer.

[covetyou]

open hand or closed fist would be fine

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, vaginal fisting, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V, creampie, praise kink, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.7k chapter summary: You see Joel everywhere, the sight of him alone making you even more desperate. You turn up to his door, drenched from the rain, and let him give you (almost) everything you need.

A/N: I cannot believe there's only one week to go. Thank you so much for all your support. ily 💛

The last few days I've been chanting "fist it fic, fist it fic" whenever I've gone to write for this. They hype has been real and the triumphant and feral SCREAM I let escape my body when it was done. You probably all heard it. And the amount of squeezing and examining my own hand I did this last week? Unreal. I am deeply acquanted with my own fist anatomy now.

4k of this is pure porn, 2.5k of which is fisting and the build up, my fucking god.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

song: cherry wine by Hozier

You see him everywhere. You're really not looking for him, but everywhere you turn it seems he's there too. Turning a corner as you walk your dad to a job. Talking in the street, Tess by his side, her eyes briefly catching yours as you stare, a smirk tugging at her lips when you dart your eyes away.

You even see him at work. He ignores you, of course, turning to your colleagues to pick up food, exchanging flirty quips and a wink with one of them, making her giggle and bat her lashes, before walking away without a single glance at you.

It's driving you mad. You don't want to talk to him, you wouldn't even dare to, but seeing him is sending the thread of want through you scalding hot, burning through your veins. There's no let up and there's no relief, no matter how much you make yourself come.

Thankfully, collection day comes around fast.

Your dad had been good recently, even with the change in weather. He maybe could have stretched his pills further, gone a bit longer between collections, but you were eager to see Joel again, and even more eager to have him look at you, to touch you. Seeing him around so often had done nothing to ease your desperation either, and by the time your free day rolls around you're trying not to bounce off the walls.

And, of course, it's fucking raining. You hold off as long as you can, watching as the rain drizzles consistently from the gray sky for hours. With no sign of letting up, you head out, resigning yourself to a damp walk to Joel's apartment. You're going to be wet by the time you get there anyway, rain or not.

You're not quite wet through when your cold knuckles tap against the wood of his door.

When he answers, he takes your breath away. He's stood there, pants slung low on his waist, towel thrown over his shoulder, hair damp and touselled. He's shirtless, his usual shirt no longer stretched across the width of his shoulders, and you gape at him. If the last few weeks hadn't been enough to send you stupid with want for him, this certainly has sealed the deal.

There's a glass of whisky in his hand and he takes a sip, looking at you, before he says anything.

"Did you not see the rain?" he quips.

Your skin prickles and burns just looking at him, the cold wet from outside already leached from your bones just by setting your eyes on his bare skin. You swallow heavy and he's talking again before your brain can kick into gear.

"You really that desperate, ain't you?" You don't answer him. You know he's not talking about the pills any more and you know he already knows the answer.

His eyes roll and he twitches his head to the side. "In," he says, moving from the door, taking another sip of whisky. "And take this shit off, I don't want you drippin' on my floor."

You take your coat off and hang it on a hook on the wall, reaching for the button on your pants just as he throws the towel at you.

"Dry yourself off."

You keep your eyes on him the entire time you strip off the rest of your wet clothes. Now that the towel is gone from his shoulder you can see everything - every scar and blemish on his broad torso, every curl of hair. You've never seen him shirtless and you want to take in every part of him now whilst you still can. He might dress whilst you blink and then the moment will be over. Who knows when you'll see him like this again.

"So, you're so desperate for it you came here in the rain, huh?" He asks, taking another sip from his glass. You don't answer. You're stood in just your panties now, grateful for the warmth in his apartment, but that does nothing to stop the pebbling of your nipples and the shudder that creeps down your spine.

"Dad's out of his meds, he -" you start.

"Sure. S'always the pills," he scoffs. "Don't think I ain't seen you lookin' at me. It's like I'm being fuckin' watched with you out there."

You couldn't really help it, if you saw him your eyes were magnetically drawn to him for as long as possible. You didn't think you'd been that obvious but, well, you'd not exactly tried to hide it either.

He's approaching you now, whisky glass discarded on the table.

"Look at me," he says, tilting your head up with a finger. You reluctantly drag your eyes away from his chest and meet his gaze. His own eyes are burning into yours, maybe as much as yours are to his. If you didn't know better you'd think he felt as needy as you did. You hope it's even for you specifically and not just needy for a warm, wet hole.

"What are we gonna do with you, huh?" You shrug - you didn't mind what he did with you, to you, you just know you needed it. "Something's got you showing up needy and wet to my door sweetheart, gotta do something about it. Can't have desperate sluts like you lookin' at me all the time without repercussions."

At his words you tense.

"Hm? Is that what you are?" he's whispering to you now. "S'not enough that I'm giving you your daddy's pills, is it? You need me to give you more."

You nod. You need fucking more, anything more.

"Take the rest of this off. Y'know I like lookin'." He pings the waistband of your panties against your hip, the elastic sharp against your cold skin.

He could complain as much as he liked about you watching him walk down the street, but the way you looked at him in those moments would never compare to the way he looked at you now. You liked him looking.

You quickly tug your panties down your legs, wobbling as you stand upright. You reach a hand out to him to steady yourself, not wanting the humiliation of falling on your ass in front of him and desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips again. His hand reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can make contact.

His thumb brushes across the inside of your wrist. Your heart is hammering and he must be able to feel the thrum of your pulse beneath the thin skin of your wrist. Air huffs from his nose, a single dry laugh coming from him.

"You're wet already, ain't you? I can tell, sweetheart. Always been able to tell." Then he strokes a single thick finger over your body - across your arms, over the swell of your breast, down the valley between your tits, across your belly, stopping at your mound and pulling away.

"Let's get you what you need then, huh," he tucks hair behind your ear, never letting go of your wrist with the other. He's already tugging you to his bedroom when you nod, closing the door to keep in the warmth.

He drops your wrist, telling you to make yourself comfortable as he moves to the window, closing the curtains, keeping yet more heat in.

You climb onto his bed, scooting yourself up and sitting yourself by his pillows, watching his every move.

"It's been a while since I got a proper look at that cunt," he says as he turns around to approach his dresser.

You spread your legs for him instantly, no shame and no heat in your cheeks as your thighs fall flat to the bed, spread so wide the stretch in your hips is almost painful.

He laughs at you, shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he pulls his belt from its loops, placing it onto the dresser before popping open the top button on his pants. You're still staring at his crotch, willing the zipper down with your mind, when he's crawling on his knees toward you, a rough hand smoothing up your calf as he goes.

With no warning, hands clamp around your ankles and you're being yanked down toward him, slipping down the bed and back hitting the mattress with a thud, knocking the air from you.

Joel lets out a deep breath, moving closer to you, massaging your thighs in both of his hands, squeezing the meat of them and dragging thick fingers across your flesh over and over until his fingers meet at the crease of your thigh.

"Jus' look at her," he breathes, eyes transfixed on your cunt. You roll your hips, pulling a smile across his face as he tuts at you. "So desperate."

You nod, trying to hold back a slew of begging as his hands run across your thighs and finally - fucking finally - pull you apart and start stroking your lips, spreading slick over your pussy with one thick finger.

"Barely even touched any of this yet," he says tickling your clit with his index finger before dragging back down through the wetness of your cunt, "and just look at you. You're a fuckin' mess."

You wiggle at the touch of his finger, shifting your thighs to ease the stretch in your hips, and he's holding you down with both hands, staring at you with a stern look.

"I know you want me to spank your pussy again sweetheart, but keep 'em open, lemme see the mess you made."

You moan at the mention of it, tempted to let your legs twitch closed to feel the clap of his hand on your cunt.

"If you're good I'll spank your pussy another time," he smirks as he says it, but you hope he means it.

"I'll be good," you promise in a whisper, watching as his eyebrows raise at your words, shaking his head.

He covers your bared cunt with his hand rubbing softly, gently jerking the nub of your clit between his fingers before spreading them and ducking his head down to swipe his tongue where your clit peaks out from between his fingers. "We'll see how good you are."

His hand drags down you, two fingers stroking your empty hole before pushing in smoothly in one movement. Your cunt is so slick there's no resistance, and Joel notices.

"So easy," he taunts, looking down to where his fingers push into you. "You been keepin' her stuffed at home?"

You had. You couldn't lie. Tess's fingers had felt so good in you, you often stuffed three of your own into yourself and pretended they were hers. You look at him and nod, watching as a soft Fuck falls from his lips. He pushes his fingers down inside you, stretching your hole open as he massages from side to side. The deep pull makes you groan.

You feel his teeth graze your clit, making you buck into his hand just as he's pulling his fingers from you and replacing them with three, sliding them in and flexing them inside of you. He licks at you once more before sitting back on his haunches, watching your hole grip tightly around his fingers.

"My dick not been enough for you?" he suddenly asks, pulling down his zipper and tugging at his pants to free his cock.

You start to shake your head. "It is I-"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts you off, distracting you with the increased movement of his fingers in and out of your hole as he suckles your clit back into his mouth. He releases with a wet pop, giving your cunt a broad lick, sitting back once again. You watch him tug on his cock, fingers still buried in you, thighs still spread and pussy dripping.

He's reaching now, over the side of the bed, fingers keeping a slow pace inside you, the slow drag of them stretching your walls as he flexes and swirls them in you. You hear a familiar snick and look down to see a bottle just as a cold trickle of oil hits your clit, drizzling down to fingers spread into your pussy, funneling it in. He removes them, rubbing broadly over your entire mound with his hand, smearing oil everywhere. You don't think about how fucking long it'll take to wash off this time, you just think of how wet he's making you, staring burning heat straight into your core as he massages your oiled cunt with his heavy hand. You were already a slip and slide, but now you're impossibly wet, cunt and inner thighs shining with oil and your own slick.

His fingers push back into you, the stretch move obvious than before, when you realize four of his thick fingers are seated in you.

"Good girl," he says as you moan, feeling so stretched but not full enough, you want him deeper, you want more. "Your own fingers feel as good as this?"

"Not even close," you say around another moan. Of course they fucking didn't. You wondered if he ever thought about what you did to yourself in the dark of night, what you did the chase the feelings you'd only been able to get in his apartment. You wonder if he ever touched himself to thoughts of you too.

"That's cause a needy pussy like this needs more than your little fingers."

You nod. He'd never said anything more true - you needed more.

"I'll give you more, sweetheart."

A wicked smile pulls at his lips, sending a thrill through you. You'd stopped expecting anything of your visits to the nice apartment on the other side of the QZ, leaving your fate up to Joel entirely the minute you stepped through the door. You could trust him, in some sick twisted way. Somehow, he'd never showed you reason not to.

His fingers push in, curling and squelching inside you as he fucks you with them. A calloused thumb finds your clit, rubbing slick oil across the bared surface of it, making you squirm, throwing your head back as you plead with him.

"That too much?" You shake your head. "Didn't think so. It ain't enough, is it?" You say nothing, just whine through the wet sound if your pussy being fucked by four of his fingers.

There's more pressure, a deeper push of his hand, the ridge of his knuckles stretching and burning the entrance of your pussy as he pushes. The feeling startles you, and you shoot up onto your elbows.

"Wait," you gasp, "What-uhhh."

"Shhh," he says, pushing a hand down onto your lower belly to keep you still.

His slicked thumb never stops circling your clit just as the widest part of his knuckles breach you - he can feel a jerk of movement as the rock of your hips into his palm, desperate to take more of him in, is stopped by the weight of his hand on your belly.

"Fuck, that's it sweetheart. You can take it, just a little more." His words, as always, generate a surge of wetness from you, and with that his four fingers slip into you past the solid ridge of his knuckles and down to the palm of his hand. The only thing stopping him from slipping into you completely is the jut of his thumb.

You pant and still, willing yourself to relax, but instead whine with the immense fullness in your cunt. The length of Joel's cock had prepared you for intrusions battering your cervix, but his impressive girth was nothing compared to the width of his hand.

"Oh I know, I know, that's so much ain't it. So much for this little pussy." He teases a finger around the swollen skin of your hole as he admires the look of his fingers buried in your cunt.

He places a gentle kiss onto your clit, the gentlest he's ever been with you. "Doin' so good for me." He kitten licks the sensitive nub, distracting you from the stretch in your cunt, and before you know it you're liquid beneath him again, writhing on his bed and moaning his name as you get teased closer to the edge once again.

"So good. Reckon you can take it all, sweetheart." He had a knack for asking questions that were never really questions.

"N-no, I can't, it's too much," you beg, his fingers still wedged deep inside you. "This feels good, I promise."

He begins to move his hand, flexing his fingers at first, before twisting his palm this way and that. You stare, mesmerized between your legs as the opening of your cunt stretches across his twisted palm.

"S'not gonna be too much. You'll like it, I promise. Look," he pulls his four fingers from you, the burn so much less this time, and you feel yourself stretch over the bones of his knuckles again before the pressure releases and you're left totally empty.

You whine with the loss.

"She just wants to be filled up. She's gapin' and empty right now, sweetheart. She needs it." He kisses your clit again, holding you open with thumbs that you feel slip inside of you and tug you apart.

He plunges four fingers into you again, drawing them together as much as he can as he fucks you past his knuckles again in one movement, aided by the slick of oil that's now dribbling out of you and making a mess on his sheets. You only just feel his knuckles pop inside you before they're pulling out again, the sensation making you feel weak as you let your arms fall and drop back onto his bed once more.

When he goes to push back in, his thick thumb joins his fingers. You feel it as his knuckles approach your cunt, the stretch even more this time.

"Wait, no I can't do it," the words tumble from your mouth in a panic. You're gripping his sheets, trying not to slam your legs closed at the intrusion of most of his fist seated inside you.

"Yeah you can, you can take it. You wanted more. Remember how empty it feels?"

You nod. You remembered, you felt so fucking empty without him inside you.

A slick hand smooths up your thigh, calming you. "Then lie back and close your eyes, sweetheart. Greedy girls gotta get their pussies stuffed."

The hand never stops caressing your thighs, dragging oil slicked fingers up and down your skin, turning you to putty with each stroke. By the time he's pushing in again, your legs are pinned back, spread obscenely, just for him, as your pussy stretches wide over his fingers.

His hand stills on the apex of your thighs, holding you down, stopping your hips from moving as he tries to seat his entire fist in your desperate cunt. You start to whine when his knuckles pull at your entrance, the sting of the stretch stronger again now.

"You can take it, you can take it," he murmurs, spurring you on.

You breathe deeply, uncontrollable whines falling from your mouth, the stretch is so much you feel like you might burst. You take a deep shuddering breath to steady yourself, and as you breath out Joel pushes his fist in harder, any resistance giving way to his force.

The sound he tears from you as he pushes his fist fully into your pussy is animalistic, guttural. It roars from you and he continues to fuck his fist into you until your hole is clamped down on the thickness of his wrist. You throw your head back and reach for him, fingers touching his where they rest on your leg and you grab onto them.

"Fuck yeah, that's it. That's fuckin' it." He lets you grip his fingers, still moaning as the blood pounds in your ears.

He's smiling up at you, almost laughing, when you next look down.

"Got my whole fuckin' hand in your pussy sweetheart. Hole is so stuffed and stretched out now."

His cock had been a stretch at one time. You were usually so wet that it parted you easily, but you could still feel that ache inside you as you gave way to him. This was new. Even rock hard and standing to attention, his cock had a softness to it. His hand did not. Calloused palms, rough fingers and bone did not yield or give way. The ridges of his fist felt foreign inside your cunt, and yet part of you still wanted to ask for more.

One breath, then another, and another, and your fingers are relaxing their death grip on his own. He twists his hand inside you from side to side just a fraction. Feeling so much moving and writhing inside you feels strange, but the fullness in your cunt and the depth of his hand have you moaning again, throwing your head to the side.

"That good?"

"Yeah, 'sgood," you whine.

His hand twists more, the ridge of his knuckles dragging on your inner walls.

"Ohhhhhh."

"Oh fuck, that's it," he says, pulling his fingers away from your grip and finally letting go of your hips.

You hear the wet sound of his oiled hand on his cock as he strokes himself, gripping his tip tightly and jerking it slowly at the sight of his hand buried in your cunt. Your pussy pulses around his fist as you watch his thumb swipe at a bead of cum about to drip off the tip of his cock and onto his pants to join a wet patch forming there. For all the mess you were making, it seemed he was making plenty of his own.

"Sit up now, want you to watch," he's saying, letting go of his cock and stroking around your stretched hole, dragging more wetness up to your clit.

Joel moves his fist, twisting this way and that, before dragging it back from you. His hand barely releases from your cunt, the edge of you stretching over the lowest part of his palm, before plunging back in. His eyes are locked on your pussy, watching his fist gently fuck into you. You groan at the sight, at the feeling.

"That feels good, huh?"

"Yeah," you whine. "I wanna cry," you're suddenly saying, because it's true, it's so much, so good, that you want to do nothing more than sob.

"That's because you've been so desperate for it, sweetheart," he says, stroking your clit more firmly now as his hand continues its movement in and out of you, barely breaching you before punching in a little further each time. You can see your lower belly bulge and move with each movement of his fist.

"Please," you're begging again. "It's so much. It's too much." You could be begging him to stop, for more, to come, to take it out, you don't know.

"S'too much for your needy little pussy, I know, but I ain't takin' it out 'til you come on it."

"Oh, fuck."

You almost come there and then, but then he's lowering his face back to your pussy, replacing the roll of his fingers with the lick of his tongue.

You start to garble, a blurred mess of words falling from your mouth. You have no clue what you're saying, you just know that you can't stop, can't do anything but focus on the whole fist fucking into your cunt, stuffing you full as he suckles your clit so delicately.

"Stretching you out, no one's gonna wanna use you after this. Goin' to ruin this pretty pussy."

You start begging again. "Please, please ruin me. Ruin my pussy. Please, please." You feel him smile into you clit and you know you're done for.

He latches fully onto you, sucking hard as he flicks his tongue over and over. His hand punches in harder, faster, fucking you and filling you more than anything before. Your insides feel like they're being shifted with each thrust of his fist, your womb jerked forward and back. You're so near, so close and then the hand on your thigh pushes on your belly, feeling each deep punch of his fist as he bottoms out.

The pressure builds and explodes almost instantly, your whole pussy clenching down on his fist, drawing him in with each pulse of your orgasm. Your hips rock, thighs try to clamp shut around his entire body as you scream - scream - into the cavern of his bedroom. He doesn't stop, doesn't relent, fucking his hand into you deeper and deeper as you come undone beneath him.

Only when you stop writhing and your back falls flat against the bed does Joel stop, disengaging from your clit with one final pop, stilling his hand inside you.

He watches as you come down, glassy eyes staring into space as you sigh in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of your life.

"Was that enough?" he asks you as he kisses along your mound. You're shaking your head before you even realize what you're doing.

"Such a needy hole that even stuffed full of my hand it ain't enough?"

You moan, shaking your head. No. It's not enough. It feels so much, so full, stuffed to the brim, but it's not enough.

"Oh fuck, 'course it's not enough for you, sweetheart. Look how fuckin' greedy she is. You want more fingers?"

"No, no," your head is filled with as much clarity as delirium. You don't know where you are but you know exactly what you want, what you need.

"But you need more, sweetheart," he taunts, pushing his fist into you more.

"Hnnnng. Your cock," you gasp out. "Please. Your cock. I need your cock."

"Not sure you're even gonna be able to feel it after this, but I knew I'd have you beggin' for it sooner or later."

He's tugging his hand from you, gently pulling his entire fist out of your body as you bear down and groan with the pressure. It releases with a wet squelch and you watch as he immediately places it over your mound and lower stomach.

"All of that was in there," he says, almost in disbelief. He looks down at your pussy, still gaping. Thick fingers drag back down, past your over sensitized clit and around your hole, watching as you bring yourself together.

He moves closer to you, moving his slicked hand from your body to his own, covering his length with it as his palm slips over himself with ease, massaging his balls before teasing his tip. It's so angry and red now, desperate for some kind of relief, relief you want to give him.

"If you want it that bad, you're gonna have to put it in."

You grab at him, his cock looking huge in your hand. You line him up, dragging his glistening head through your folds before pushing him to your entrance. You roll your hips, feeling the ridge of him drag across your hole before you rock against him, letting the tip of him breach you. You feel your stretched walls pull around him, letting him in, wanting to swallow him whole.

"That's it sweetheart, you put it in," Joel coos, stroking your thighs as your rock yourself onto his tip. He starts to rock his hips with you, plunging his cock into your further as your hand still grips him.

You want to reach out and touch him. Run your hands across the planes of his body, feel how his muscles stretch and contract with every movement. You're still instead, holding his cock as he fucks it inside you.

"Let go now, let me all the way in." You let go of him, gripping your own thigh instead of pulling him toward you like you so desperately want, and he's bottoming out inside you with a deep groan. His cock retreats almost all the way before plunging back in to the hilt again, and you gasp when his tip collides with your cervix.

He watches your face as he bottoms out each time, eyes locked with yours. You feel so close to him, he's so near, you could just reach out and touch him, hold him to you, kiss him.

Before you know it, the world is spinning. He's pulled out of you and flipped you onto your front, laying you flat on his bed. He pulls your ass cheeks apart, notches himself back at your abused hole and pushes in with one easy movement. You grip the sheets, stifling your gasp into his pillow before he's yanking it away from you.

"Nuh-uh, lemme hear those pretty noises. Sound so good when you're moaning on my cock."

You let him hear you, not holding back a single moan as he fucks into you from behind, his weight heavy on your legs. His body falls forward, and he's threading strong arms under your body, hooking them over your shoulders. He holds you tight, the closest thing to a hug you've ever felt from him, as he pulls you down onto him with every thrust.

You're about to turn your head, turn so you can see him, so he can run his nose along your cheek, but a hand grabs your hair, yanking your head back as he slams his hips down into yours.

"Fuck," he gasps into your ear. "Can you even feel that? Can you even feel my cock?" You can feel every part, every ridge dragging across your insides in ways you've never felt from anyone before. You nod your head, hair tugged in his grip as you move.

"Oh fuck yeah, had my whole fucking fist in you but you're still clenching around my dick."

Your mind is blank, you feel dumb from his cock and his fist, fucked out whilst still being fucked. The best you can do is moan out a garbled "yeah" before going back to unintelligible babbling and moans.

"Good girl. Always takin' it all so well. This pretty pussy'll take anythin' I give her, won't she?" he whispers to you, like it's some kind of secret and not the most obvious thing in the world. He nuzzles your hair - he nuzzles your fucking hair - and you're soaring, floating above the clouds on a high you will never come down from.

"Joel, fuuuck."

He's all around you, warm breath on your face, grunts straight into your ear, the sweat of his chest slick on your back, his broad hands anchoring him down to you. You feel his whole body start to tense, shaking and quivering. His hips stutter, slamming into you hard once, twice more before he groans deep, burying his head in your neck.

His weight relaxes on top of you, pushing all air out of your lungs, but he's gone again before you start to struggle for breath, pulling his cock from your used hole. He spreads you, looking down at your pussy, pink and swollen from being so used, first by his fist and then by his cock. Cum dribbles out of you, down to your clit, and he takes his softening cock, swiping it up your folds and to your ass, squeezing out the last dribbles of his cum and wiping his tip on your ass cheek.

You lie still, hoping he'll lie next to you for a while, but his weight leaves the bed and there's the rustle of his jeans as he pulls them on. Before you can even turn around he's opened the door and left you alone, still dripping his cum.

You flop back down, face into his pillows, mind reeling. He'd been so close, felt so near. You could've reached out and touched him, grabbed him, but you didn't. And then the moment was gone. Every time you got near to something, it was gone before you could make up your mind. You were so frustrated you could scream.

Instead, you bury your head into his pillow and breathe deep, calming yourself.

The bed shifts again soon after. You didn't hear him come back in, but Joel's rough hands are lifting your legs and pulling the fabric of your panties up to your knees before he climbs on top of you and yanks them up the rest of the way. He massages your ass in his hands, smearing the remnants of his cum into your panties with the action before climbing off of you.

"You gotta go," he says, simply.

You turn round immediately, panties crooked and not quite covering your pussy. You scramble for an excuse, a reason to stay.

"What if my clothes are still wet." You want more time. You want to stay longer, cocooned in the warmth of this room. Maybe if you stay longer you'll get to feel the weight of him on top of you again.

"It's still rainin' outside so they'll be wet when you get home anyway," he doesn't look at you as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. "Pills are on the table."

And he's stalking out of the room again. You see him flop down onto the couch and pick up a book, as if nothing had even happened, as if the hand holding the pages open hadn't just been buried in you.

There's a chill in the room as you stand. Your clothes are still wet as you put them on. The pills burn your hand as you pocket them, wanting to do nothing more than throw them back at him. If they were for you, you would.

He doesn't walk you to the door, doesn't see you out. You unlatch it and twist the handle yourself, pulling it open and stepping through.

"You gotta stop lookin' at me so much," he calls out as you go to leave. "Not gonna protect you if some asshole thinks you're one of mine."

You don't turn to look at him, you just leave, slamming the door behind you as you make to walk home in the rain.

You didn't even want him to kiss you anyway.

next part

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[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

[milliesfishes]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝓟𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓜𝓮 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 4)

[fem reader] contains: mentions of pale skin, poisoning, mentions of cheating, mentions of miscarriage, innocent reader, reader cares to some level about snow. pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader  summary: (au) you’ve been married to the president of Panem for awhile now, and you thought things were going well, until you find out he’s been cheating (Chapter 4) author’s note: last chapter! I've worked awhile on this one and I hope it's good. About 4k words. This was the ending that made sense for the character, and I hope it's satisfying! Thank you for all the love and support on this series <3 Series Pinterest Board Series Spotify Playlist

The first time you’d gone out since you were engaged, Coriolanus gave you a rose.

It was one of his family’s special ones. You knew it was special, knew the flower was the Snow family’s signature. This gesture was almost more significant than the ring.

As you’d reached for it, your thumb had snagged on one of the thorns, a red pearl of blood blooming from the skin. He’d been a gentleman about it of course, snatching a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressing it to your finger. As he’d held your bleeding hand in his warm one, those ice blue eyes concerned and, so you’d thought, caring, you’d nearly swooned.

Little had you known, it wasn’t the last time you’d be cut by something of Coriolanus Snow’s.

When you woke up the morning after the gala, he wasn’t there. There was a warm spot in the bed next to you, and you rolled over into it, burying your face in his pillow and inhaling his scent. Sometime last night, he’d taken your dress off, and now you were in one of his shirts, no buttons done. Your underwear was the same color as it, white and lacy.

Immediately, the crush of feelings from the night before overwhelmed you, and you hugged his pillow to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut, legs drawing to your chest. Tears filled your eyes as you recalled all that had happened. 

The events of the night flooded your mind like a tidal wave, washing back and forth, replaying, uncovering new details each time. Him carrying you up the stairs. Taking your dress off. Kissing your forehead and telling you to sleep.

Each new facet of information confused you. He was gentle last night. Like he cared about you. The cold, uncaring president of Panem had brushed his fingers over your cheek and told you to stay with him for the night. He’d seemed worried.

Before you’d found out about his infidelity, you’d thought he liked you.

Afterward you were convinced he hated you.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

The complex mind of Coriolanus Snow was an enigma you’d never tried to untangle before because you’d never had to. Now it felt impossibly necessary. He’d cheated on you. He’d hurt you. But last night it’d been like he cared about you, been sorry for how you felt because of him.

It was all a wildfire of tangled contradictions.

A crush of feelings overwhelmed you, and you stayed curled up in a ball on his side of the bed, his pillow hugged tightly to your chest. Your eyes were screwed shut, a pitiful attempt to keep the tears from falling.

There were soft footsteps, and then a weight on the bed next to you. A warm hand placed itself on your thigh, rubbing it soothingly. You inhaled softly, settling into the spot and trying to suppress whatever feelings arose with his touch.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and you opened your eyes, looking up at him. The corners of his lips turned up, just slightly, but you saw it.

You searched his eyes, not even sure what you were looking for anymore. He kept his hand on your thigh, the weight of it comforting to you.

Coriolanus’ hair was damp. He was shirtless and it was clear he’d just showered. He smelled like soap, clean and perfect. You knew you looked a mess, with your curly hair and dried tear tracks staining your cheeks. But the way he looked at you, one would never know that.

You sighed softly and looked away, one of your supposedly withheld tears sliding down your cheek. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, reaching out to catch the tear on his finger, pushing it away.

You tried to look away, but he pulled you into him before you could protest, pressing your face to his shoulder. Weakened from your internal emotional fight, you clung to him, his arms the only solace available.

Coriolanus stroked your hair, his fingers roving over your messy curls. “I like your hair like this,” he mumbled after a long beat of silence. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t respond, face still buried into him. He was so warm, his skin slightly damp from his shower. It was strange to be so casually held by him after everything. But despite your trying to deny it, you’d missed him. 

“Wear it like this for me more often?” Coriolanus asked quietly, thumb rubbing over your hairline.

Silence.

Sitting up from him, you buried your face in your hands, the pure feeling in you more overwhelming than you could say. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, reaching for you, but you shook your head and he stopped.

“What happened last night,” you inhaled softly, your voice small. “Can never happen again.”

“Which part?” he questioned, his face even.

“Any of it,” you said, removing your hands from your face. “The controlling, the secrets, how vulnerable-” you cut yourself off, realizing you’d gone too far. “None of it.”

“I never meant for you to see me with her,” he said plainly. Coriolanus firmly grasped your hand in his. “It wasn’t what you think.”

“Then what was it?” you asked frustratedly. 

“I ended it,” he said firmly, voice hardened, but not toward you. 

Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting. An ocean crashed in your ears as you looked at him, trying to find even a hint of a lie in his eyes, but there was none.

He continued. “The day after our anniversary I was…” he trailed off, wincing a little at the thought. “I was supposed to meet her. But I didn’t. Last night she confronted me and I told her it was over.”

A confusing mix of emotions were released upon you. Anger at the situation, at him for ever stooping so low and thinking it wouldn’t affect you. Guilt, because in a way, you felt as though you were betraying yourself by hearing him out. Relief because he had ended it, at least somewhat of his own volition.

You brought your hand to your forehead, covering your face. “You…”

“It’s over sweetheart,” he said, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “I promise it’s all over.”

“You’ve withheld the truth before,” you said quietly, moving your hand away and looking at him. “How do I know…how do I know it’s true?”

Coriolanus inhaled softly, looking at you, his gaze intense, passionate. “I could never begin to tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t do this to hurt you. Foolishly I didn’t even think it would affect you.”

You just watched him as he attempted to explain, eyes soft.

“I approached her,” he admitted, looking down only briefly before he set his eyes on you again. “She was more than amenable. It seems her marriage with the senator isn’t what she’d hoped.”

“How long?” you asked, your voice even, face somber.

“Two months ago,” he said honestly. 

Closing your eyes, you nodded, head bowing as you processed the information. Two months…not as bad as some of your suspicions, but it still stung nonetheless.

“You were…right last night,” he admitted, and you could hear that it was hard for him to say. “There was too much at my disposal, and I didn’t resist the temptation.” He turned your head to face him with his hand, tilting your chin up, and you did not resist, opening your eyes. “I know I did something awful, and worst of all, I hurt you, sweetheart. I am the most sorry about that.”

It was all too much. His apology, his touch, the earnestness in which he did it. Because you didn’t know any better, you turned back into him, breathing softly against his chest. Coriolanus moved so his back was against the headboard, and he held you close to him, your head tucked under his chin. His parted thighs cradled your body between them, pressed nice and close. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Therein laid the danger.

The rest of that day was spent in and out of bed, but mostly in.

You didn’t stray far from his arms, only getting up to eat and shower. It was like a cloud had come over you, and the confusing emotions from earlier played a big part in it.

He’d apologized, which was a step. But you were hardly concerned with forgiving him. The main worry on your mind was the stupid, unreasonable, uncontrollable feeling inside you that you’d thought you’d suppressed. It killed you inside that even though he’d hurt you, you needed him, wanted him even.

These were the things you struggled with until the next day, when something you’d seen concerned you, and you were forced to have a real conversation with him.

You were standing in Coriolanus’ study, a bevy of newspapers and magazines spread out before you. All of them carried a headline bearing the same news: that you were pregnant.

Just as you’d feared, the pictures from the gala, taken from unflattering angles, zoomed in on your husband’s hand around your waist and covering your stomach, holding you in what must have looked like a protective pose.

Coriolanus was sitting behind his desk, expression firm, hands clasped and covering his mouth. He lowered them to his lap. “They’re just rumors.” He gave you a pointed look. “Right?”

You nodded assuredly. “Right. But what about this one?” The magazine you showed him was a slightly smaller one, opened to a page with a title: “PRESIDENT SNOW CHEATING?”

Coriolanus reached for it and quickly read the story, a brief narrative about how someone had seen him with a mysterious woman at the gala. He looked up at you. “Well, at least it’s not in the main papers.”

“But it’s there,” you pressed, taking the magazine back. “And it’s true. And we both know that the true stories always end up in the bigger headlines eventually. This could ruin everything.”

He nodded, finally seeing your point. The image he’d built up- a loyal husband, dutiful politician- could be tarnished if anyone asked the right people and found out he’d slept with the wife of someone below him.

Coriolanus lifted his chin, studying you for a moment. His eyes held something you didn’t recognize. “What do you think we should do?”

You were surprised. He was asking you what he thought they should do? Biting on your lip, you looked away for a second, mind working fast.

Looking back up at him, you said, “What if…” you trailed off, nervous he’d shoot it down. He noticed.

“This story affects you more than anybody,” Coriolanus stood up, coming around to lean against the front of the desk, closer to you. He folded his arms, nodding encouragingly at you. “We’ll put out whatever story you come up with.”

Nodding back, you took in a breath before speaking. “What if we played on this-” you gestured at all the pregnancy headlines. “-and said I had a miscarriage?”

He was quiet.

You continued, a little shakily. “It’ll garner sympathy from the public and seemingly confirm this ‘self found’ story with an official statement.”

Coriolanus nodded again, curtly. “We’ll put out a statement right away. It’ll be in all the headlines by tomorrow.”

Eyes a little wide, you were slightly surprised he’d agreed. Coriolanus was concerned with his image above all else, and he’d trusted you to come up with something benefitting it- and liked the idea you had.

“Okay,” your voice was small, and you looked down again. “If that’s all?”

“There’s another gala in a fortnight,” he said, eyes still on you, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on the desk. “We’ll have to play the part. And there’ll probably be questions.”

“I can handle that,” you said reassuringly. “It’s not any different…” 

He understood what you meant when you trailed off. It wasn’t any different from pretending they were in love for the public. This was just one more thing. “Of course.”

You stood quietly in front of him, fidgeting with your hands. He looked tired, running a hand through his hair. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, and his tie was loosened. Evidently even without news of the headlines it’d been a rough day. You felt a twinge of sympathy, and then your body acted before you did.

Moving forward, you wrapped your arms around his middle, head pressed against his chest. Immediately he brought you closer to him, pressing your little body into him. You sighed as he did, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry this got out, sweetheart,” Coriolanus murmured against you, holding you tight. 

This was the second apology in two days, and it sent a spark of hope straight into you. 

“It’s okay,” you said softly, lifting your head from his chest and looking up at him. “It’s easily fixed.”

“Still,” he breathed, looking concerned. “This on top of everything…”

“I know.” You laid your head back on his chest. “But it’ll be okay. We’re nothing if not good liars.”

There was a pause, and then he breathed a laugh, kissing your head again. “I’m trying not to be.”

PANEM’S PRINCESS SUFFERS A MISCARRIAGE

It seems things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows with our president and first lady. A statement was put out this morning by the official staff stating that the beloved wife of President Coriolanus Snow suffered a miscarriage early this week. In the statement they ask for privacy on the issue, but will continue to appear at select public events while they navigate this tragedy.

The gala was very nearly torture.

An endless sea of sympathies and unsolicited advice showered over you, all while clinging to your husband’s arm the way you thought a woman who’d had a miscarriage would. And indeed they believed it.

Although you knew the ruse was for the best, it was an exhausting act. Coriolanus kept his regular stone-faced facade, but you knew he was weary of it too. He kept his arm tight around your waist, pressing the occasional kiss to your hairline, seemingly not only for your comfort, but for his as well.

In order to give credit to the story you’d put out, the two of you spent weeks in solitude. You weren’t allowed to go out with your friends or attend parties. Coriolanus was able to work from home, so he was occupied, but you were utterly alone. 

The time ate away at you as if it were years and not weeks. The distance from your husband swallowed any affection he’d born toward you beforehand. You were still sleeping in a separate bedroom, not yet ready to take that step again.

Once again, you were painfully reminded that Coriolanus was all you had. When you’d married him, your family had all but forgotten you, except when they needed your husband’s connections. You had little in the way of friends. With nobody else to turn to, you had been forced to make him your everything. And now you both wanted and didn’t want that, so the only solution was distance.

At dinner every night, you drew into yourself, hardly noticing him across from you. It didn’t matter anyways. He was always reading something. You could tell he was stressed, and many times when you’d walked by his office you heard hushed, urgent conversations. 

But one night when you were nearly finished with your meal, he looked up, noticing your blank stare. “Is everything well, sweetheart?”

Automatically you nodded. “Of course. I’m just…tired.”

There was no fooling him. “Tell me.”

You shook your head. “It’s not important. You’re so busy-”

“Sweetheart-” Coriolanus reached over and took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “-please.”

Inhaling once, you looked down at your mostly empty plate. “I…it’s just been…lonely around here.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re lonely?”

You froze, unsure if it had been a mistake to tell him. “I-”

Coriolanus shook his head, putting an end to your objections. “I apologize sweetheart. I’ve been too preoccupied with work to notice.” He ran a hand down his face, looking stressed. “Things have been tense. Actions will need to be taken that…it doesn’t matter. I’ve neglected you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy…I’m sorry I even brought it up-”

“No, it’s not okay,” he said quietly, meeting your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

A few mornings later, you walked into your room to find the prettiest black cat curled up on a red pillow on your bed. You gasped and moved forward to it immediately. “Hi,” you breathed, petting it gently. The cat lifted its head into your hand, purring, and you smiled.

There was a note on the bed, and you picked it up.

I never want you to feel alone.

-CS

There was a red ribbon around the cat’s neck, and when you inspected it closely, you could see the name “Willow” embroidered on it in gold. A smile spread across your face, and you laughed a little, delighted by the surprise. You picked up the cat and held him close, your heart fluttering.

He cares. It felt stupid to be this excited over the fact that he’d noticed your troubles, but you couldn’t help it. The signs of his affection were becoming more apparent, and it couldn’t be denied. 

Your husband had hurt you to a degree you hadn’t thought possible. It was hard to forget that, everytime you looked at him or thought of him.

But he was sorry. He’d apologized, hadn’t demanded that you immediately come back to him or forgive him like you thought he would’ve. The only question was why?

Willow was your companion for the rest of the day, purring contentedly beside you as you read and occupied yourself. The cat reminded you of the one you’d had in your childhood, and you wondered if Coriolanus had known about it. 

That evening, you were a little late to dinner, having made sure Willow was settled before you went downstairs. You descended with a smile on your face, ready to thank Coriolanus for the gift. He was so thoughtful, so caring towards you.

When you entered the dining room, you were greeted with an unexpected sight. Your husband was sitting at his usual place, and another man was standing beside him, a bottle in his hand. He was saying something to Coriolanus in hushed tones, and he was nodding. The man exited the room and left the bottle beside your husband, who finally looked up at you.

He smiled tightly. “Sweetheart. Come sit-”

“Who was that?” you asked in suspicion, making your way over to him.

Coriolanus’ expression was even. “Just someone who’s helping me.”

Immediately suspicious, you pressed. “Helping you with what?” You were standing closer to him now, eyeing the uncapped bottle on the table.

He saw you looking at it and reached for it, but you were quicker, snatching it up and reading the label.

There was a beat of silence as it sunk in. Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you looked at him, panic flooding your body. “Poison?”

Coriolanus sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It sounds worse than it is.”

“Then tell me,” you demanded, worry in your face. “Why the hell are you using poison?”

“It’s been suspected that my enemies will try to use it against me,” Coriolanus explained calmly. “It’s being inducted slowly into my food so my immune system will get used to it”

The beat of your heart grew quicker as you fixed your horrified gaze on him. “Of all the stupid, paranoid things to do…it could kill you!”

“It won’t kill me, sweetheart,” he kept his tone even, standing up and trying to calm you down. “The situation is under control-”

“There’s no way to control poison,” you scoffed, looking down at the bottle. “You do all these awful things for yourself and don’t even think about how they’ll affect anyone- how they’ll affect me.”

His gaze softened, and he reached for you, hands on your shoulders. “I promise, this isn’t going to end badly. Please, sit and we can talk about this.”

You saw that yelling at him wasn’t going to make him see it your way. So you took a deep breath, thinking through your actions. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, hand on your back as he tried to lead you to sit down. “Now-”

In a swift action, you lifted the bottle to your lips, the poison burning your throat as it went down. Coriolanus’ face fell in shock, and he knocked it out of your hand before you could drink the whole thing, glass shattering on the floor. He called your name in burning tones.

The effects were fast acting, and your legs weakened, your husband catching you, kneeling on the floor and cradling you in his arms as he yelled for help while looking more panicked than you’d ever seen him. You saw black spots before your eyes, and the only thing in your line of blurry vision was him. 

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he said urgently, clasping you close to him. He looked terrified. “Please…don’t…don’t go…” 

You were too feeble to respond, and in the background you heard quickened footsteps, and voices. Coriolanus looked up, shouting something you couldn’t make out and then turning back to you, pressing your cheek to his chest and lips to the clammy skin of your forehead. “Stay here…eyes open for me, come on…”

But the weakness overtook you, and blackness enveloped your vision. The last thing you heard was his voice, calling your name over and over again.

“...starting to wake up…”

“...lucky the antidote was on hand…”

“...a few days, at the most…”

You opened your eyes groggily, your senses starting to awaken as well. There was a warmth pressed against your side and fur under your left hand. Willow.

There was another hand in yours, squeezing it, the cool of a ring relief on your hot skin. You blinked, trying to sit up, but a gentle arm held you down.

“Don’t, you need to rest,” your husband murmured, and you turned your head to the side, able to make him out, his worried expression. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “Just stay down.”

“How long have I-” you asked, your voice scratchy from not being used. 

“Two days,” Coriolanus said, getting up from his chair and kneeling beside you, still holding your hand. “You scared me, sweetheart, never ever do anything like that again.”

“You were going to kill yourself,” you said softly, trying to sit up again, looking at Willow curled up at your side. “And you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No angel, I wasn’t,” he said, still sounding frustrated. “It was all under control. You just drank it-”

“I don’t care how under control you thought it was,” you protested, albeit still a little weakly. “I couldn’t let you…couldn’t…” Your head was spinning, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Coriolanus sat on the side of the bed, trying to make you lie back down. 

“No,” you tried, struggling deficiently. “You…I couldn’t…”

“I know sweet girl, I know,” he murmured, sitting against the headboard and moving his hand to the back of your head so your face was against his chest. “Just rest.” You gave up, closing your eyes as you leaned against him. It just felt so nice being in his arms. “I’m not going to sleep.”

“That’s fine,” he said softly, both his arms around you, Willow getting up to lie across your lap. “Just rest.”

You stayed like that for quite awhile, until your dizziness passed, and you were able to sit up and look at him. Settling a little more into him, you took your hand in his, playing with the fingers, twisting the rings. Then finally, you whispered, “I’m sorry…for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“I didn’t want you to do it,” you murmured, looking up at him. “You were going to hurt yourself.”

“I know,” Coriolanus lifted your hand, kissing your fingers and keeping it clasped in his. “I understand.”

“So you won’t do it again?” you asked with wide innocent eyes.

He paused, looking down at you, his face seeming to soften. Then, a hint of a smile. “No, sweetheart. I won’t.”

Satisfied with the answer, you leaned against him again. Then you spoke again. “You were that worried about me?”

“Of course I was,” he muttered against your head. “You’re my wife.”

“We both know this isn’t what it was,” you whispered, hand running up and down his chest. “This isn’t…how you would have acted before…everything.”

Coriolanus was quiet. Then he nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “You’re right.”

“So what changed?” you asked, looking up at him.

He just looked at you for a moment, and in his gaze you saw a thousand things. But most of all, you saw something you yourself had struggled with all this time.

“When you threatened to leave that night,” he started, his thumb tracing your hand. “It made me realize a lot of things.”

You nodded, watching him try to formulate what he wanted to say.

“I took a wife for the image,” Coriolanus admitted, looking down at your joined hands. “You knew that. I vowed a long time ago that I’d never fall in love because it weakened me. I’ve been burned by it before, and I couldn’t let it happen again.”

He was the vulnerable one now. You’d heard whispers of his past before he’d courted you, but never dared to ask. And even now you knew you wouldn’t press further than what he’d tell you. Past was passed. 

“I didn’t expect it to happen again. I avoided it, thought I’d marry someone I disliked, hated even,” he continued. “But then there was you. You were perfect, and I thought I could resist it. I tried everything I could think of. Even…” he took a deep breath. “Even sleeping with another woman, so I could convince myself I didn’t care.”

The pieces clicked into place, and your eyes widened a bit. “That’s why you did it?”

Coriolanus nodded gravely. “But when I saw how much it hurt you I couldn’t anymore. So I told her it was over. Kept my distance from you for the past few weeks because I knew if we were too close I’d risk falling in deeper. It was about control.”

Everything he was saying was shocking you to the bone. He had cared about you all this time? He just hadn’t wanted to admit it?

“When you drank that poison,” he said quietly. “It threw my entire world off its axis. I was terrified I would lose you. And I realized…I wanted you to know how I felt. Before you woke up I was worried you would die without knowing.”

“Knowing what?” you asked softly, even though you already knew.

“That I love you.”

Your eyes were soft, but held disbelief. He loved you. And you knew in your heart it wasn’t another trick, another mind game he was using on you..

“You love me,” you repeated, squeezing his hand. 

“I love you,” he affirmed.

You felt it bubbling up inside you, the words, the emotions, and finally you didn’t fight it, looking into his eyes as you said it. “I love you too.”

He brought his hand to your face, his expression so sincere you were worried it wasn’t real. But it was, you knew it was. “You’re not just saying it because I said it?”

You couldn’t help your smile. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in Panem, was worried a woman didn’t mean it when she said she loved him. “I love you,” you leaned in and kissed him softly, the first real kiss you’d ever had. “I love you.”

He pulled your head back and kissed you as if he’d been waiting forever for it, as if everything he’d been holding back was free now. Your head was spinning, not from the lingering effects of the poison, but from the butterflies that you didn’t bother quelling.

You both pulled back, and you smiled softly. He held you close, more tender than ever before. 

“This sounds pretty bad out of context,” you murmured, snuggling against him. "But I'm glad I caught you."

Coriolanus smiled, that rare genuine smile you had a feeling would be directed at you a lot more now. “I’m glad too.”

Previous part come talk about coryo here!

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.6

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, sex!pollen trope, some injury, sexual themes, masturbation, heat cycles, rut

Finally I got his chapter done lololol there's 4k extra words in this one so please enjoy haha!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

"We're under attack!" Wrecker pointed to the sky as more Separatist bombing droids came whizzing by, firing at the Venators in orbit.

"I'm getting Y/N," Hunter started, taking off running towards the growing commotion, but he was suddenly taken off balance when Tech tripped him with his own foot, causing the Sergeant to go tumbling into the grass. He looked up at Tech with a glare.

"You cannot go," Tech said, looking at the camp. "With your heightened senses, it may kill you. From what I can see, those wearing helmets are okay due to their air filters, but those who were caught off guard are starting to display signs of infection. Rescuing Y/N will only risk our own infection, and then it will be irrelevant."

Hunter looked back at the camp, distraught.

"We can't just leave her," Hunter growled, standing back up again.

"What if she's infected?" Crosshair asked, looking down his scope at the medical tent. "The Omegas on the science team died."

Wrecker growled.

"The Omegas died because they had no Alpha to cure their induced heat," Tech read through the researcher's report. "The heat symptoms progressed too far unnaturally."

Suddenly, their com channel cracked. "Hunter?"

"Wolffe?" Hunter responded, looking back at the chaos across the clearing.

"I got her, Hunter!" Wolffe radioed in. "Are you at the Marauder?"

"Yes, we're up here," Hunter said, relieved he could finally take a breath. He grabbed his scope and looked down the rolling hills, trying to see through the foggy red dust.

"We're on our way," Wolffe turned his com off, leaving the 99's in anxious silence. Hunter could pick up the stench rolling off Wrecker and Tech. While the scent was significantly less, even Crosshair was getting nervous seeing the rising tensions in the crowd of 104th regs.

"I see them," Tech said, zooming in his lenses. "1 o'clock."

"What happened to her?" Hunter tried zooming in closer to their silhouette. Y/N was thrown over Wolffe’s shoulder, dangling limply, while Echo followed behind, holding a bloody rag over his face.

"Is she hurt?" Tech asked, trying to get a clearer image.

"I can't tell," Crosshair hissed.

Wolffe and Echo ran as fast as they could, dodging regs and shoving their way through the chaos. When they finally made it up the hill, Wolffe was panting and rubbing at his eyes, trying to wipe the dust from his skin.

The others backed up, not wanting to get any closer.

Wolffe set Y/N down on the plush grass, letting Echo kneel down and press his hand to her forehead. He adjusted the little filtration mask pressed to her face, letting her head lull to the side. She was knocked out cold.

"What the hell happened?" Crosshair couldn't believe it.

"I don't know," Wolffe rasped. "But you gotta get her out of here!" He was panting, starting to feel the effects.

"Tech, power up the ship, we're leaving now," Hunter placed his helmet on, securing the filtration system. The others did the same, running to get the ship primed and ready.

"Radio the General, please!" Wolffe was tearing at his armor, starting to feel the unbearable itch of a rut forming. "Fuck!"

Hunter bent down, picking up the tiny Omega and turned towards the ship.

"What about the other Omegas?" Echo asked, looking back at the camp. The infected regs were raising their noses in the air, seemingly trying to tail a particular scent.

"We can't save them all," Hunter decided, saving Y/N was the top of his priority. "We're not risking it."

Echo just nodded and followed him onboard the ship, letting the door close behind him. 

When Tech started to pull the Marauder up into the air, they could see the Commander crawling in the grass, fighting the effects of the drug, but in the distance, they saw the beady eyes of the infected following Y/N’s trail. 

They seemed to fall into rage when they realized the Omega had gotten away; their howls could be heard from the ship.

"Maker…" Echo was in disbelief. It was hoards of feral Alphas, hundreds of them.

"What happened to Pip?" Wrecker was nudging her limp body, pathetically trying to wake her up.

"Is she infected?" Tech asked.

"No," Echo confirmed. "She got the mask in time."

"Are you infected?" Hunter looked at their co-pilot.

"No," Echo shook his head. "I'm barely human, nonetheless an Alpha. I don't think it affects me the same way it does all of you."

"We should still check," Tech put the ship into autopilot and went into Y/N's bunk to grab her med kit.

"What happened to her?" Hunter asked, setting her down gently on the floor.

"We just got to the triage tent, she was clocking in when Wolffe came to speak with her," Echo noticed the way Hunter’s eyes narrowed, possessively he might add. He was going to love rousting Y/N when she finally wakes up. "They were talking when the bombs dropped. She saw the red and knew exactly what it was. She grabbed a respirator and tried to save her friend, that little skinny Omega."

"Taran," Tech chimed in.

"Yeah, sure, anyways," Echo looked over to his longest-known friend. "She got knocked over in the chaos and hit her head. Almost got trampled but Wolffe found her and got her out." Echo wanted to smirk so badly, knowing it was going to drive his unit up the wall to know Wolffe saved the day once again. 

They had been pining for her ever since they met her, but Y/N was too oblivious to notice. But the arc trooper noticed everything. His sense of smell may have been demolished, but he could see it in all of their eyes.

Echo also may or may not have caught Crosshair rutting with an Omega that looked nearly identical to Y/N the last time they were back for quarterlies. Echo didn't say anything though, but he was always watching.

"What do we do?" Wrecker took off his helmet and sat on the floor next to Y/N.

"She'll need bacta for the head injury and probably pain management when she wakes," Tech informed.

"I'll do it," Crosshair knelt down, taking the pack. "I did it for her once on Crait."

The others just watched as he found the liquid bacta and placed it into her injector. He cleaned the site and pressed the mechanism close to her neck. He pressed the button and watched the dose administer. Her head lulled back into his hand, and he gently removed the respirator from her face.

"Ad’ika?" Hunter cooed, running a gloved hand over her cheek.

Crosshair kept his hawk eyes carefully trained on her eyelashes. She tried to flutter them open, but they were too heavy it seemed. Instead, she just clutched onto his chest plate weakly and groaned in pain.

"It's okay," Hunter whispered, watching Crosshair help her sit up. "You're safe."

She turned into Crosshair, feeling dizzy.

"Get her the painkiller," Tech fussed. Hunter loaded the new cartridge and handed it to the sniper. He pressed it to her shoulder and pushed the button, hearing her wince as the medicine entered her system.

"She's too weak, get her something to lay down on," Crosshair motioned to their bunks.

Wrecker disappeared into her bunk and came back with her cot mattress. They made room on the main cabin floor where Crosshair gently set her down on the mattress, letting her lay down comfortably.

She rolled onto her side, keeping her eyes closed, waiting for the medicine to kick in.

Hunter just looked to Echo, who was concerned, watching his friend in pain.

"What do we do now?" Wrecker asked, watching the Venators approach.

"We let them know what happened, and then I guess we go to Coruscant for quarterlies," Hunter crossed his arms, peering down at the little medic. "We're not going back to Kashyyyk. Not with Y/N."

"It’s been three months already?" Wrecker groused, he hated getting his implant replaced.

"Shockingly yes," Tech replied. "We'll be coming up on seventy-five rotations, give or take a few days." He settled back into his seat to send the transmission to General Plo’s ship.

Up ahead, the darkness of space was lit up with blue and red laser beams as the Republic forces engaged the Separatist warships. Tech stayed far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to get the message out.

"Well then let's set a course for—" Echo was cut off when their ship was suddenly rocked violently.

"Separatists!" Tech pulled back the controls and started making a beeline away from the planet to make the jump to hyperspace.

"They're on our tail!" Echo exclaimed, watching the red blast fly past them.

"I know…" Tech tried to snake the ship hopefully to throw them, but the droid ship just locked on.

"Make the jump!" Crosshair bit out.

Tech flicked the switch on the console, hearing the hyperdrive power up. Tech set the course for Coruscant, and Echo pushed the lever. Just as the Marauder made the jump, there was a blast coming from the back of the ship.

Just as they jumped, the ship made a loud rumble before falling out of hyperspace. They all lurched forwards as the Marauder was beginning to lose control.

"We've lost left rear engine and hyperdrive," Echo was scrambling to gain the controls back.

"We're heading straight for Mimban," Tech pointed out, seeing the brown planet approaching quickly.

"We're going to have to make an emergency landing," Echo grabbed his steering and tried to pull up to slow the ship.

"Brace!" Tech yelled, pulling up the nose last minute.

The crash was violent and rough. The entire ship creaked as its hull bent under the impact. The lights overhead flickered before permanently shutting off, throwing the whole crew into total darkness. Everyone on board was flung forwards as the Marauder skidded to a halt into something soft.

The emergency lights turned on with a red glow, signaling a total system failure.

~~~

Everything was fuzzy and dizzying the longer you tried to refocus your vision. The pain killers were swirling in your system, making you feel good… really good actually. This was probably the best crash landing you've ever been a part of now that you're thinking about it.

"Y/N?" Echo's face was suddenly in yours. "What is wrong with her?"

You heard yourself giggling. Echo suddenly had two heads, only making you giggle more. Reaching out, your hands felt strange, like they had grown scales or something. You just looked at them, watching your fingertips change colors with an amused gasp.

"Crosshair gave her too much painkiller," Tech brought his flashlight to your eyes, watching them dilate. You placed a hand against Tech's helmet lens, blocking his view, making him swat your grabby hands away.

"What do we do?"

"We just gotta wait it out."

"Well, I don't think that will be a problem. I don't think we're getting out of here for a while."

You could hear their voices talking. Hunter's smokey voice was like honey to your ears. You chewed your lip, looking down at your boots, feeling your cheeks heat up. You felt a tingly warmth start to fill your tummy the longer he talked, and the feeling only seemed to move lower as he continued. You looked up and stared at his criminally slutty waist and fit ass from your jump seat with a longing stare.

You barely registered when he turned to face you with a raised brow. Caught, you turned your gaze up to meet his pretty face and pretty eyes. You bit your lip and blinked owlishly as he studied your face.

"That's freaking me out," Echo grumbled, watching you go out of your right mind.

"Well, let's get to work trying to repair the ship. I don't want to find out what's out here come nightfall," Hunter ordered, "and don't let her wander.”

Soon, you found yourself alone, happily swinging your feet from the jump seat without a care in the world. Echo arrived and adjusted your seat straps so you couldn’t dawdle off like a lost pup. You just giggled and poked at his head ports, making him scowl.

He forced you to drink some water, mumbling something about flushing your system.

You felt the warm Mimban breeze blow through the ship as the boys opened the hatch and got to work digging the ship out.

Tech came to feed you some ration bars and give you more water before checking your vitals. When he determined you were able to hold yourself up without falling over, he unclipped the jump seat straps and helped you get used to your feet again.

“I would suggest you just lay down for a while until you’re functioning properly again.” You clutched his arm while he helped you walk to the mattress on the floor. You plopped down on your bum before flopping over on your side.

“Alright then.” Tech pushed his glasses up and went back to tinkering in one of the side panels.

You pawed at the sky, trying to feel the breeze with your hands, which earned you a few glances from your concerned pack. You nibbled at the food they left for you, but it started to taste funny, and you only giggled more.

“I couldn’t have given her that much,” Crosshair watched you play with your food with an amused look on his face.

“She’s small, even for humanoid omega standards,” Tech ripped out a clump of fried wires and began cutting through the damage, “The dose you gave her was most likely for a full-grown alpha, such as Wrecker.”

“Kriff,” Crosshair whispered and turned back to help Tech.

~~~

Night was coming fast, and you had now come down from being stoned beyond your wildest imagination. You stared at the wall, suddenly remembering everything and realizing the dire situation you were all in. You were beginning to miss the delirium of the painkillers. Luckily, your headache was gone, and the bacta seemed to heal the head injury.

However, you were still royally pissed at your unit.

You didn’t forget what happened, and how they had treated you. You tucked your knees into your chest and decided zoning out into the wall would be better than feeling the rage boiling in your chest.

You noticed they were starting to call it quits making their way back inside the ship. You decided you wanted to be alone and grabbed the corner of your cot to drag it haphazardly through the nearly sideways ship. With a struggle, you got the mattress back into your bunk and hauled it up onto the metal slab. With one final grunt, you shoved the mattress back into place, giving yourself a rest.

You decided to change into something a little cooler. This planet seemed to be a lot warmer than Kashyyyk. You haven’t been able to see outside, but you could taste the humidity in the air and feel the warming breeze. You yanked your long sleeve off and swapped it out for a cropped tank. The tight cargos got swapped for loose ones, and you kicked off your boots, opting just for your socks.

You heard a knock on the door and expected it to be Tech needing something from his bunk, but it turned out to be Echo.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” you replied, folding up your dirty clothes. Your nose immediately scrunched, “You reek.” It wasn’t his normal smell; it was something gross and terrestrial.

He sniffed his armpits, “I didn’t even think I still had sweat glands.”

You shook your head and pointed to his shoes, “Stinky!”

He looked down at the reddish mud caked onto his boots, “Oh… yeah, it’s nasty out there.”

You just made a face and covered your nose.

“You feeling okay?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t really know what’s going on. One second I’m on Kashyyyk and the next I’m higher than a hayroot, and then we’ve crash-landed on some stinky planet.”

“Well… you pretty much nailed it,” Echo scratched his head, “You got knocked out in the triage tent after separatists dropped the spice bombs. Then Wolffe carried you all the way back to the Marauder despite being dosed himself and handed you off to Hunter who tried to get away to keep everyone safe and get the message to the General, but we were shot down making the jump to lightspeed and then crash-landed here on Mimban.”

“Mimban?!” You screeched, “That’s in the middle of nowhere!”

He nodded solemnly.

“Did you guys send a distress call to the Republic fleet?”

“We tried… then Tech realized our comms have been squished.”

“Squished…” You narrowed your eyes.

“That was the word he used.”

“I see,” you crossed your arms, “So what I’m hearing is, we have no ship…”

“Correct.”

“No comms.”

“Correct.”

“No fleet.”

“Correct.”

“No one knows where we are.”

“Mhmm.”

“The entire 104th was chemically attacked.”

“Yes.”

“And we’re stranded on Mimban… with no way to leave.”

“Correct.”

“Are you all aware we are supposed to be on Coruscant in eleven days for quarterlies?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, feeling the anxiety creeping in. Great, this is just perfect.

“Are you… alright?” He asked, watching your eye twitch slightly.

“No.”

There was a bout of silence…

He smacked his teeth, “It’s an unfortunate situation.”

You nodded vigorously, “One might say that.”

“An extremely awful and awkward situation…”

“Yeah… it is,” you pushed your tongue into the side of your mouth.

“Well… do you want dinner?”

“I think I lost my appetite,” you gave him a plastered smile.

“Let me know if that changes… I’ll leave you to it.” Echo turned on his heel, leaving your bunk and closed the door behind him. It was only a few seconds before he heard you scream violently into your pillow, making the others jump.

“I take it she figured it out,” Hunter uncovered his ears.

Echo shook his head, “Yeah, I’d say she figured it out.”

“FUCK!” Your muffled scream made Hunter cringe again.

“I think she’s taking the news quite well,” Tech poked at his food.

“Was that you making a joke?” Crosshair raised a brow.

“I thought my sarcasm was obvious,” Tech bit into his warmed food.

“How was that obvious?” Wrecker grumbled.

“We have to get off this rock,” Echo chewed his dinner, “Stating the obvious, but your implants are going to wear out. If we don’t get an evac or somehow manage to fix the ship, we’re going to have a big problem.”

“Our first priority is to fix the com system and try to contact the nearest fleet,” Tech replied, “That would be the most promising scenario given we have no other hurdles.”

“And if we can’t?” Echo raised a brow.

“Then we’ll deal with it when the time comes,” Hunter was trying not to think about the fact that they could be dealing with an omega in heat with alphas in rut in a very confined space. The potential for a mess was likely.

“That gives me a lot of confidence,” Echo snarked.

“It’s all we can do.”

~~~

Day two on Mimban consisted of you coming out of your bunk earlier than the others to eat your breakfast. You looked outside the cockpit window to see nothing but orange fog clouding any terrain. You sighed and prayed to the Force that it would guide you back safely.

The rest of the day, you helped Echo, trailing him, trying to help in any way possible. You quickly realized that the soil on Mimban was reddish-brown clay and it was soft. That was probably the reason the ship hadn’t snapped in two on impact, but the nose of the ship was buried into a thick pile of the stuff. The boys were busy trying to dig out the hull while you, Tech, and Echo fixed the interior damage.

Day three, you were starting to get a little weary. Sleeping on an angle was a bit rough, and Tech decided rest was beneath him. He stayed up all night trying to repair the comm system but didn’t seem to be making any good progress. Echo had you carry around all of the spare parts he needed to try and fix the left engine. Hunter had elected to venture out with Crosshair to see if there were any towns that might be able to help. Wrecker was on shovel clay duty.

Day four, you realized your unit was totally alone in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. There wasn’t anything within remote traveling distance, and when Hunter and Crosshair came back in the morning with the news, you left to lock yourself in your bunk and cry.

Day five was much of the same. You leaned your forehead against the side of the ship while Echo abused your laser suture to weld some pieces of metal to the engine core. You were starting to feel the weight of the situation as the emotional exhaustion was starting to settle in. You missed Kashyyyk. You missed the food, and the fresh water, and the clean air. You missed talking to your unit. They still haven’t apologized, and you’re still giving them the cold shoulder even though they clearly cared enough to protect you from the attack on the war camp. Eating your meals in the bunks was the only time you got to yourself.

Day six was when the others started getting a little agitated. It started with Tech fussing about the mud caking on his boots and ass. He tried shaking off the thick clay but ended up getting so frustrated he screamed and kicked the Marauder with full force. It was so out of character everyone stopped what they were doing to look. No one said anything, but they watched their pack mate rip off his shoes and throw them violently into the cabin with a loud splat followed by very creative cursing.

Wrecker was starving as usual, and his food-related complaining was starting to make your stomach growl too. You had to resort to rationing your rations as you all were not prepared to be stranded for days on end.

“Someone had to have seen us get shot down, right?” You asked Echo, handing him his screwdriver.

“I don’t know, pip,” he sighed, scratching his head, “I don’t think this planet is very inhabited. And if it is, we don’t know if it’s advanced in any way.”

You sighed, taking the screwdriver back and handing him a wrench.

“I think the others are starting to lose it,” you whispered and peeked around the corner to see Tech angrily messing with the console with his mismatched socks on display.

“I’ve certainly never seen Tech yell before,” he snickered.

“I miss Kashyyyk,” you sighed.

“Do you miss Kashyyyk or a certain alpha on Kashyyyk?” he joked.

“Echo!” You whispered.

“What?” he laughed, “I’m thinking about that omega back on Coruscant I had before Skako Minor.”

You gasped, feigning scandal.

Echo smirked, “Whatever gets you through the day.”

“Guys, come out here!” Hunter’s voice echoed throughout the ship.

The three of you came out of the ship to see that they had cleared most of the clay away from the ship.

“We need help pushing her over so she’s back on her feet!” Hunter said, ushering you all to help. When you all were in position, you pushed with everything you had (Wrecker did most of the work), but you all watched in awe as the Marauder was finally on all four landing pads.

“We did it!” Wrecker hooted and picked you up spinning you around before depositing you back in the mud. You gave him a little laugh which made his eyes light up. If he was happy about the ship, that was nothing compared to hearing your voice again. 

They all got back to their tasks while Wrecker lingered a bit trying to figure out how to hear that pretty sound again. 

You just followed Echo back into the now level ship. 

“She laughed.” Wrecker mused, “I haven’t heard her laugh in so long.” 

Hunter just gave him a saddened look. He knew him and Crosshair still had to apologize for their behavior back on Kashyyyk. But so many things that happened since then he didn’t have time to think about what to say or how to even approach you. It was killing him that you didn’t want to be around them anymore. He was angered by the fact that Wolffe has offered to take you in, and you hadn’t denied him. Had they really pushed you so far? Your cries when Crosshair forced you to submit out of fear haunted him. It made his inner alpha cringe. He regrets not stepping in but he knew his jealousy had overtaken him. Hearing you giggling with Wolffe and coming back wreaking of him like a mated pair made his blood boil. He was far more territorial than he had ever given himself credit for even though he didn’t actually have a claim on you.

You on the other hand, had no desire to talk to either Hunter or Crosshair, even in this desolate situation you’ll never forget the feeling of Crosshair forcing you to do that. 

Day seven then turned into eight, which morphed into nine and ten. By the eleventh day, you knew your time was becoming limited. The past few days had everyone’s sense of smell acting up. The pungent odors from the planet’s atmosphere were becoming stronger and you knew the implants were wearing out. 

You knew you couldn’t beat around the bush any longer, by dinner time on the eleventh night, you emerged from your bunk full of anxiety. You walked through the galley and faced your pack who conversed over their food. 

“So, whats the plan?” 

They all whipped their heads around shocked to hear your voice. You stood there raising a brow and crossing your arms waiting for the shock to wear off and someone say something. 

“I’m assuming you’re referring to our implants dissipating.” Tech spoke first. 

You nodded. 

“Well that means we have an undisclosed amount of time before we all inevitably have a rut and you a heat. That puts us in a precarious situation that I think-”

“We know!” Echo snapped. 

“We can turn Wreckers bunk into your place for the week.” Hunter started, “You can stay there and we can rig the lock so only Echo can open it. The rest of us will just deal with it out here.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” You retreated back into your bunk. 

“Y/N! Wait.” Hunter stood up and followed you. He stepped inside your bunk to find you nervously chewing on your lip. You turned around to face him looking like a kicked pup. 

“I-I…” He stuttered wanting nothing more than to reach out and embrace you like you had allowed before this whole fight. 

“What Hunter?” You were getting agitated with his silence. 

“I…I’m sorry, I’m bad at communicating my feelings.” He sighed knowing he was starting to sound like Crosshair, “I don’t know how I should approach you or… I…” 

You just help up your hand stopping him, “Come back when the words find you.” 

He sighed, “No I-I just need to tell you… how sorry I am. I was wrong. I should have stopped Crosshair and I shouldn’t have punched Wolffe. I just… something came over me and I lost it. It wasn’t okay and I should have protected my pack…I should have protected you and I’m so sorry we’re in this situation again. I don’t know what to do, I-I-“

“Hunter.” You stopped him, “Thank you for saying something.” 

He shook his head, “No, you should be angry with me… with us. This isn’t how a pack is supposed to be. At least I don’t think. I’ve never actually been apart of a real one given I don’t have a family.” 

“Hunter…we are your pack.” You sighed. 

“I just… wait what?” His face suddenly lightened, “y-you’re staying?” 

You raised a brow confused. 

“It’s just I thought you were starting to court Wolffe, or rather he was courting you and then he offered you a spot in his ranks…” Hunter babbled.

“Hold up.” You shook your head, “Commander Wolffe?”

Hunter looked at you and blinked. 

“Courting me? Me courting Commander Wolffe?” You couldn’t hold in the laugh anymore, “That’s what this is about? You thought I-… oh my god!” You were howling. 

“He- you-“ Hunter crossed his arms confused now. 

“Me what?” You giggled. 

“You came back… from being with him.” He mumbled. 

“Did you not hear me when I got back to camp?” You were amused at his confusion. 

“It was kinda hard to listen when you came back covered in his scent.” He said pointedly. 

“Hunter… I almost drowned in the river.” You scoffed, “Wolffe had to pull me out before I got swept down stream.” 

He just let his mouth lull open. 

“And yes, while we may have been naked, nothing happened…”

“You were WHAT?” Echo screeched from the main cabin. 

“You were what?” Hunter repeated with a growl. 

“Chill,” You warned. 

“You didn’t tell me that!” Echo yelled. 

“I may have left that detail out.” You yelled back. 

“Look,” You smiled up at Hunter adjusting your crossed arms, “Wolffe has a good ass but he’s definitely not an alpha I’m interested in like that. Now what I cannot figure out is what the hell happened that made you all hate him so much. You didn’t have a problem with him hitting on me on Coruscant.” 

Hunter just reached back and scratched his nape, “I uh…” 

“Tell her Hunt!” Echo chided from the other room. What a little eavesdropper. 

Hunter shifted uncomfortably, “He-he asked if I had claimed you on Crait…”

Butterflies fluttered violently in your stomach. You tried your hardest to steel your emotions but he continued, “I said no. That was the truth, but then he made it pretty clear he was interested in pursuing you. I guess I-”

Suddenly the pieces clicked…

“Hunter, are you jealous?” You put your hands on your hips. 

“W-What?” He sputtered and you watched his un-tattooed side of his face turn pink. 

“And Crosshair too?” You raised a brow. That would explain his sudden aggression towards you. 

“I-I uh,” He genuinely didn’t know what to say but you knew the truth. 

Suddenly you remembered the way they all started acting weird after Wolffe talked to hunter. They were all starting to get territorial. They thought Wolffe was taking you from them and they started changing their behavior trying to get your attention. 

“I’m coming to save Hunter before he implodes.” Echo stepped into the bunk and let Hunter walk out redder than Mimban clay. Echo gave you a playful look before disappearing back into the cabin leaving you alone to think about everything. The one thing you desired was at least some kind of olive branch from Crosshair, you knew you’d never get a heartfelt apology, but until then you’d wait. He owed you that at least. 

~~~

That night, your anxiety was at an all time high. Sleeping in the newly converted bunk the boys had made was making you a bit uneasy. Wrecker’s alpha scent was calming, but you were used to having Tech near by, instead the square box was feeling a bit prison like. The knowledge that you were locked in too didn’t help. You would have preferred to have slept with the door open but Echo insisted that this be how it is. 

You curled up on your side holding Lula trying to close your eyes and let sleep take over, but your elevated heart rate disagreed. 

You picked up your com and pressed the button, “Echo!” You whispered. 

The line was quiet for a moment before he responded, “What?” His voice was raspy with sleep. 

“I’m literally fine can you please let me out? I can’t sleep.” You spoke softly into the device. 

“No.” The line went dead and you rolled over onto your back with a groan. You picked up your data pad and decided to read one of your smutty holobooks instead. 

~~~

“What did she want?” Hunter rasped waking up from the noise. 

“She wanted out.” Echo set the device down and curled back up onto his side. 

“She’s not an animal Echo…” He sighed rubbing at his eyelids, “It’s not a cage.” 

Echo just blinked up at the bottom of Hunter’s bunk, “…No.”

~~~

The mafia boss thrust his massive length into the sweet little omega’s pussy. Her soft mewls filled the gold lined dinning hall with her sweet sound. This only seemed to spur him on. 

“Yeah?” He thrust a little harder, “You like when I maim the men who hurt you? You like feeling their blood on my hands?” He nuzzled into her neck lightly teasing her mating gland with his fang. 

Elina suddenly clenched down at his words and he smirked knowing thats exactly what his little princess liked. 

“Mmm I like that too Caspian.” Y/N chewed on her finger nail finally getting past the enemies to lovers portion and right into the good stuff. Reaching down for her water mug, Y/n suddenly felt a painful knot form in her abdomen. 

With a grunt you put down your holonovel and rubbed at your stomach feeling the pain settle. With a deep breath you tried picking up your book again, but the movement caused another one to tear right through your muscles. You yelped and forced yourself into a sitting position. 

“No. No. No.” You whispered trying to massage the pain away. 

“Please no.” You begged but the dull pain was starting to become something more sinister. The heat started to emanate from the pain and spread throughout your body giving you a flush. You suddenly were uncomfortable in your little sleep set. You couldn’t get further enough away from the blankets on your cot and opted to curl up on the floor absorbing the cold steel floor desperate for relief. 

~~~

Hunter was having a relatively boring dream when his senses started to draw him back to the land of the living. 

He couldn’t help but raise his nose in the air while he blinked awake trying to follow the deliciously sweet scent. He barely had his eyes open when a gut wrenching yowl rattled the entire ship. 

Suddenly Crosshair was shot up in the darkness holding his blaster trying to figure out what startled him. 

“What was that?” Wrecker’s voice croaked from the floor. 

Crosshair rubbed his eyes looking around. Everyone was sat upright listening carefully when another more pained warble made the hair stand up on the back of their necks. 

“Y/N…” Hunter said looking at their closed door knowing she was just on the other side of the hall surely in pain. 

“It started.” Echo laid back down using his pillow to cover his ears. 

“It seems she’s… in heat.” Tech searched for his glasses. 

“What do we do?” Wrecker asked concerned. 

“Nothing.” Hunter groused and laid back down, “Go back to sleep.” 

Another whine echoed making Wrecker tense, “She sounds like in pain shouldn’t we help her?” 

“That’s the point idiot.” Crosshair snapped while he relaxed back down on his side staring at the wall. 

Wrecker just grumbled to himself and forced himself to ignore pip’s desperate cries. 

~~~

“Kriff.” You hissed and writhed on the floor feeling the unbearable heat terrorize your entire body. In this moment you cursed the GAR with everything you had. You missed Layla, she wouldn’t have ever let this happen to you. Instead the universe just had to crash land you on this hellscape of a planet with 5 devastatingly attractive Alphas whose scent was beginning to permeate the blast door’s seal. 

You moaned smelling the delicious alpha pheromones as they all danced around your little cage like the worst form of torture. The smell immediately triggered your slick response. The wetness soaked your panties and little sleep shorts ruining them totally. 

You cried out praying one of the men would snap and take pity on you. 

This was significantly less luxurious than the heat house on Naboo. What you would give to have knotting toys and a vibrator right now. You shoved your tiny hand into your pants bringing them to the source of your wetness and dragged them through your silky folds. 

You bit back a moan when you found your clit and started to circle it just how you liked. Just like the last time, you came fast, but the burn didn’t ebb. You just growled wanting nothing more than to be stretched from the inside. You wanted a thick knot to cure your pain. 

You writhed as another wave of cramps hit and you let out a scream. 

~~~

Hunter had held out longer than he thought we could have. He at least made it to sunrise before he couldn’t take listening to her suffering anymore. It was literally his biology to service an omega. Listening to her helpless sounds was making him feel ill and the rock hard boner in his pants wasn’t helping either. Her cries were so tempting. He tried to cover his ears but it was like a siren’s call. He knew that was the point, but it didn’t make it easier to hear especially because he could hear way more than the others. He could hear her panting, her silenced moans, the way her fingers squelched as she tried desperately to fill herself to dull the pain. It was a torture like no other. 

“I can’t take this.” Hunter said throwing himself over the side of his bunk and exited the ship. He noted how the others hadn’t gone back to sleep either. How could they? 

When he passed by the door, he heard the way she gasped and crawled over to the door trying to listen to his footsteps. Her desperate whines turned into sultry cooes trying to lure him closer to her. She was lost to the heat. He could tell from her cute little sounds, and the way he could smell her slick from the hatch door. She was slipping deeper and deeper by the minute. 

With a bit of willpower, he continued outside hearing her crying fade and turn back into suffering wails. 

He huffed and sat down on the hatch steps feeling on edge. He shoved his hands over his ears trying to down her out. He knew the others were starting to be affected, even their scents started to spike in response to the distressed omega. It wouldn’t be long before they were in rut too. 

~~~

It was time for Echo to feed you. He seemed to be the only one not affected by the now pungent smell. The others resorted to fleeing outside the ship like Hunter had hours ago. Echo was obviously the only one permitted to open your door to make sure you were eating and could use the fresher. 

“Hey Y/N?” Echo knocked on the blast door. 

He just heard a small sound letting him know you were in there, “I got you some dinner and thought you could stretch your legs?” 

“Alpha?” She rasped coming nearer. 

Echo used his special pass code to open the door letting it slide open to reveal you absolutely drenched in sweat and shaking on your knees on the bare floor. He knelt down holding your food tray setting it down gently in front of you. You peered up at him with your massively dilated eyes. He sighed knowing how painful all this must be for you. 

“Please Echo.” You whined reaching out for him grabbing his arm. He looked down at your flushed wrist feeling its heat on his skin. He leaned forwards to press his palm to your forehead making you preen. Your skin was hot making him a bit hesitant. He was really hoping you weren’t in any kind of health predicament because of this. He’s personally never seen an omega suffer through a heat alone. His partners had always been cared for and it had never gotten to this point. He was a little distressed looking at your current state. It felt wrong. What little part of him still carried the Alpha instincts, felt for you. He wanted to comfort you but knew it couldn’t do any good. 

“I’ll take you to the fresher when you finish eating.” He said backing up making you drop with wrist with a pout. 

“I’m not hungry.” You sulked. 

“I know hun, but you have to eat something or you’ll get sick.” He reasoned. 

“But…I-I…” You chewed your lip anxiously. 

“Y/N,” He sat back with a more stern voice said, “Eat your dinner.” 

“Can I use the fresher first.” You tried to negotiate. 

“Fine.” He sighed standing up to assist you in standing, “But then you’re going to eat right after this, you haven’t eating anything in 24 hours.” 

You just nodded and let him assist you to the fresher. Once inside, he left you to your devices to use the toilet and turn on the shower to cold. Once inside the shower, you keened feeling the freezing water soothe your burning skin. You tried your best to wash the suds over your hair and skin trying to clean yourself to the best of your ability despite the grogginess. 

Echo handed you a fresh towel from a crack in the door letting you dry off and pull on fresh clothes he had set out. 

You wobbled back to the room seeing the plate of food on the floor you had neglected and internally sighed. You didn’t want to eat. It didn’t sound good. Instead you wanted an alpha, a really really strong alpha. One that would scent you and fill you up so good. Better than that dumb food. 

“Y/N?” Echo eyed the tray, “Remember what you promised?” 

You pouted, “Echo please I’m not hungry.” 

He just rubbed his face getting frustrated and grumpy. 

“Can I have something to nest with?” You asked giving him your best begging eyes, “The floor is cold.” 

He sighed and got up leaving you to glare at the steaming rations. When he came back he had every cargo/moving blanket he could scrounge up along with a few pieces of your clothing. He set them down presenting them to you and you chirped happily taking the fabrics from him with greed. 

“Now will you eat?” He was getting annoyed. 

You ignored him and started fussing around with the blankets rubbing the slightly rough material on your face trying to place them just right. It was making you a bit feral trying to place them correctly in the corned furthest from the door. 

You heard the door slide shut behind you letting you know that Echo had abandoned his attempt to get you to eat something. You smiled finally feeling like you were getting somewhere. You wiped your sweat from your forehead and continued rubbing your scent all over the new nest. 

Unexpectedly, the door slid open again and you spun around at being disturbed. This time, Echo wasn’t alone. Next to him stood Crosshair, who looked a bit crossed. 

“Alpha.” You stood to walk over to him. His delicious smell was making you hazey and you practically tried to throw yourself at him. Crosshair came to save you…

“Stop.” His tone made you freeze on the spot. Your body started to vibrate the longer you scented him and stared into his piercing eyes. 

“Echo said you aren’t eating, ad’ika.” His voice was making more slick produce in your panties. You swore you saw his nose flare at the smell that was radiating off of you. The only thing you could process in your dumb omega mind was how good his knot would feel like inside you right about now.

“Omega.” He snarled. You whined. Alpha is upset. 

“I’m not h-hungry.” You whispered casting your eyes down to his boots. 

“You will eat and you will finish that entire glass of water do you understand?” He commanded with a stern voice you weren’t used to. But man, did it do something to your instincts. You nearly fell to your knees pulling the tray into your lap. His alpha tone was like nothing you had ever heard before, and it sounded so so good.

“Yes, Alpha.” You said picking up the spork and shoving the first bite of food into your mouth, when you swallowed you took the tooka mug of water chugged the liquid not realizing how thirsty you had actually become. You looked up at the two Alphas desperate for their approval. Crosshair just gave you a little nod wanting you to continue. 

“Thank you.” Echo whispered. 

Crosshair grunted trying to keep himself in check. Even though he was engineered to have inhuman levels of self control and patience, somehow seeing you kneeling on the floor desperately trying to finish your plate to please him was making his pants tighten. The alpha in him was desperate to take your pain away. Echo had worried them when he said you were refusing to eat, he asked Crosshair to give the command knowing he’d be able to control himself for at least a little. He still was upset about your weight when you had come back from Naboo. Those karking droids couldn’t take care of you as well as a partner could. He knew he had no other choice but to step in. 

“I’m done Alpha.” You said sweetly placing the tray down hoping he’d give you a reward. 

“Good girl.” Crosshair praised watching your eyes light up as Echo took the tray away, “Now you’re going to eat everything Echo gives you, do you understand?” 

She suddenly pouted realizing he wasn’t staying.

“Omega?” He raised a brow. 

You nodded letting him know you understood.

Then to your chagrin, they closed and locked the door once again. You gave an anxious whine hoping they’d come back, but when the door remained closed despite your hopefully thinking, you resigned to the nest on the floor. 

~~~

“She ate.” Crosshair joined the others in the makeshift tent they created outside. The others visibly relaxed. 

Crosshair noticed Hunter’s cheeks turning pink as he seemed to be locking his vision onto the floor… the little omega must be trying to get herself off again he thought. Hopefully she’d settle down soon and sleep leaving them all to toil in the increasing rut symptoms. 

“Is it getting hotter?” Wrecker tried fanning himself. 

“You’re in rut Wrecker.” Tech bit out yanking at his own collar. 

“Argh!” The giant groaned. 

Hunter shifted uncomfortably noting the near painful bulge in his pants. That damn omega was making his entire system feel like it was on the brink of short circuiting. He was starting to get a little anxious on top of his agitation. It had never felt like this before…granted he didn’t ever let it progress like this…

“I’m so…” Wrecker stood up and pushed his fist into the nearest rock, “Argh!” 

Pieces of red earth went flying everywhere. 

“Wrecker!” Hunter snapped, “Go rub one out, thats an order!”

The giant just stomped away out into the distance to relive himself. 

“I’ll admit, this is beginning to feel unbearable.” Tech slumped against the rock he was leaning on to stare up at the night sky. 

“Imagine how Pip feels.” Echo sighed hoping to get some shut eye. She was being uncharacteristically quiet. 

So much so, that after a bated breath, the others perked up their heads including Hunter trying to figure out why it was so silent. 

Then there was a loud moan breaking the silence and they continued on knowing she was fine. 

“This is cruel.” Crosshair crossed his arms looking at Hunter, “You didn’t see her.” His disapproval had been known since it had started. 

“You don’t think I know that?” Hunter snarled, “But what the fuck are we supposed to do?” 

“Go fuck her!” Crosshair leered. 

“We cannot do that.” Hunter shook his head despite how much his body agreed with Crosshair. 

“So you’re going to let her suffer like this for six more days?” Crosshair rolled his eyes at his stupidly moral brother, “This is cruel to her and you know it.” 

“Since when do you give a fuck about her?” Hunter narrowed his eyes challengingly. 

“I’ve always given a fuck about her.” He bared his teeth, “Like you said, she’s pack!” 

Hunter just stared at his little brother. While Crosshair may be harsh and unyielding, Hunter couldn’t ignore the tiny soft spot Pip had carved out into his stone cold facade. It was the smaller things, Crosshair brining her stuff, keeping an eye on her wherever they may be, the gentle way he holds her when she’s in need, the bastard still treated her like shit out of jealousy, but that didn’t change the fact that Hunter did in fact see it. 

“Alright everyone calm down.” Echo put a hand up in the air, “You’re hormones are taking over.”

Tech decided to stand up to stretch, the clay earth was dampening his trousers making him cringe. He really would prefer to be on Kashyyyk right about now, at least there they had wood for a fire and fresh meat. He decided it would be best for him to also find a secluded space to relieve himself before the frustration became too much. 

“Then there were three.” Crosshair closed his eyes again trying to focus on anything else besides the throbbing in his pants. 

Echo cleared his throat, “I agree with Crosshair.” 

“What?” Both the Sargent and the sniper said at once. 

Echo just looked at Hunter, “I already feel guilty about leaving her at that heat center, granted she had way more available to her, but this is wrong. You didn’t see her Hunter, she’s delirious.” 

“No! We’re not subjecting her to that.” Hunter growled. 

“What if she chooses?” Echo said diplomatically. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that eventually she’s going to not be in heat and have to live with us. Then she’s definitely going to transfer to the wolf pack. She’ll hate us.” 

Crosshair growled menacingly at the mention of the 104th. 

“I don’t think thats the case.” Echo tapped his chin. 

“What do you mean?” Hunter questioned. 

“I just… look she hasn’t said anything to me, but I have eyes. She’s not oblivious to the way you four have been slowly courting her. She knows none of you are going to make a move without threatening to upset the others so she ignores it.” Echo sighed, “I just don’t think she’ll be as upset at you think Hunter.” 

“I still don’t think it’s the right thing to do. She said she hasn’t had a heat in two years. Clearly she’s not interested.” 

“Well… that’s not entirely true.” Echo smirked. 

Hunter raised a curious brow. 

“She had a bit of a thing with the captain stationed on Ryloth, before she transferred to you.” Echo continued, “It was after she was stranded in that village with the droids. The captain had been the first to find her with the pup. Everyone swore he fell in love at first sight. The lovesick idiot couldn’t stay away from her.” 

“They were in a relationship?” Hunter prodded he fought back the jealousy flaring in his chest… with a reg?

“No, no.” Echo shook his head, “Just an arrangement. When she had a breakout heat, he’d be the on she went to.” 

“Which captain?” Crosshair snapped. 

“Howzer.” Echo hid a cheeky smile. 

“Was he assigned to helping Cham Syndulla?” Hunter asked. 

“Thats the one.” Echo confirmed. 

They sat there in contemplative silence. Wrecker and Tech were making their way back at this point, pink cheeked, and sweaty. 

“So, how would this work?” Hunter thumbed his chin, “How does this work without causing a massive problem?” 

“Are you worried about her or the others?” Echo asked. 

“Both.” Hunter answered, “I think it’s obvious we all like her.” 

“We let her choose.” Crosshair repeated Echo. 

“Then whoever it is, helps her, and everyone else agrees to be civil.” Echo added. 

“And what about you?” Crosshair raised a brow. 

Echo chuckled, “I don’t know if you noticed but…” He gestured down at his body, “Not an alpha anymore. Barely a human at that. I’m not affected by her smell or noise.” 

“What are you guys talking about?” Wrecker had an idea but he wanted to make sure he wan’t imagining it. 

“We’re putting Pip out of her misery.” Hunter shook his head unable to shake the feeling that this was a bad idea. 

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Tech was a bit in shock that his brother caved like this. 

Hunter just looked to Crosshair who spoke up, “Let’s get this over with.” 

They got up, and made their way inside the ship all filing into the main cabin where Echo scooted past them to start entering the access code to Wrecker’s bunk. 

The Alphas were squirming in their shoes in the presence of such strong pheromones. Her scent was everywhere and it was thick they could practically taste it on their tongues. 

The door unlocked and slid open causing Echo to turn his eyes up to the ceiling. Inside, Y/N was nearly naked writhing on the floor as more cramps coursed through her little body. 

~~~

“Alpha?” You whispered feeling how hoarse your voice had become. 

“Just me tiny.” Echo folded his arms looking away trying to give you a little dignity. 

“Are you making me eat again?” You asked sitting up to look at him. 

“No Ad’ika… can you put on some pants?” He cleared his throat. 

You got up on wobbly legs and grabbed a pair of panties and pulled them on with an agitated huff. Had he been still a normal reg, he wouldn’t have ever been able to resist such a pretty thing like you. He was starting to wonder how Howzer didn’t seal the deal and claim you when he had you like this. 

“Thank you.” He sighed and looked back down at you. You noticed him looking to his side and wondered what he was seeing. “I’m going to let you out. The others have agreed to help you on one condition.” 

“An alpha?” Your eyes suddenly lit up and excitement boiled in your tummy. 

“Mhmm.” He nodded, “They’ve agreed to play nice, but you have to choose okay?” 

“Okay.” You slowly made your way out of the confinement space raising your nose in the air smelling the delicious scent of purebred alpha. When you turned into the galley your scent spiked in excitement. Echo helped you stop swaying as you entered the main cabin. You let out a gasp seeing your pretty alphas all in one space. 

“Alright, you got your pick of the litter.” Echo nudged you forward. 

“It’s okay Ad’ika.” Hunter invited you to come closer. 

You couldn’t help but feel the thrill of seeing them having to adjust themselves at the sight of you. You stepped closer taking Hunter’s sturdy hand. 

“I have to choose?” You asked with doe eyes. He nodded. 

You leaned forwards bravely placing your hands on his firm chest. The warmth was making you shiver. You brought your nose forward and pressed into his neck. He smelled as good as he did back on Anakin’s Venator. You shamelessly crawled into his lap straddling him. He let out a surprised yelp feeling your warmth on his crotch. He nearly collapsed when you affectionately rubbed your cheek up against his feeling his stubble along his chin. You repeated on the other side scenting him, you were getting frustrated with how he kept his hands off of you respectfully. You wanted him to grab at the tiny scraps of clothing you were still wearing and tear them off already. 

“Alright sweetheart come’re.” Crosshair was getting jealous and lifted you off of his brother. You purred liking his dominance. He towered over you as he leaned against the dining table. You fisted his shirt in your hands as his hands wandered your back letting you explore him. You really liked how his presence dwarfed yours. His smell was similar to Hunter’s but just slightly different making him uniquely Crosshair. You stood on your tiptoes to reach his neck, he took pity on you and leaned down slightly to help. Your mouth instantly started to water and you opened your mouth to stick out your tongue to get a taste when his hand immediately fisted into  hair to wrench your head back. 

“Ah ah ah.” He chided, “Be good and follow Echo’s rules.” 

You pouted before relenting, ignoring the rush of slick sliding down your thighs.

Next was Tech. He shifted slightly when you approached. You stood between his parted legs and bent over giving Hunter a perfect view of your dripping core and soaked panties. The poor Alpha gripped his chair so hard the metal probably bent. 

“Hi Tech.” You smiled sweetly bending one knee to place it between his legs thinking he’d let you. Instead he took you by surprise and grabbed your neck keeping you from making your move. He raised a brow and tilted his head slightly in a domineering way you didn’t expect from the pilot it sent a rush through you.

“You heard Crosshair.” 

Crosshair snorted watching Tech control your movements, it shocked him too. 

“Yes sir.” You whispered letting him guide you to his scent gland. You shifted to get a good smell letting your hands wander his shoulders a bit hoping he’d let you run your fingers through is hair. When you tried, he leaned into your touch giving you the cue. You greedily let your nails scrape against his scalp and you felt the way he was fighting back a groan. When you were satisfied, you then turned to Wrecker who was watching every single micro movement you made. 

“Wrek.” You smiled and crawled over Tech to sit in his lap. They didn’t stop you when you climbed over Tech to straddle the giant. Wrecker placed a massive hand on the small of your back making you shiver with his warmth. His scent was similar just like his brothers, but each of them had tiny notes of something different. They were equally delicious and you could help yourself but to grind down on his lap making him smile and moan. 

“Omega…” Hunter warned. 

“She’s a greedy little thing isn’t she?” Crosshair raised a brow. 

“So?” Echo asked looking at you. 

“I can’t choose.” You pouted pushing yourself into Wrecker who happily let you. You rubbed your forehead against his neck liking his scent. You hadn’t really been able to smell any of them before, not with your implants intact. But now, ugh it was so good. Your entire body trembled with excitement being around so many perfect alphas. 

“What?” They all asked. That’s never happened before. Usually omegas can pick out one scent that they prefer. 

“I don’t wanna- ah!” You clenched weakly around Wrecker as another wave of cramps pushed through. You let out a pained whine, “Help me. Please!” You begged to the room. 

“Y/N we can’t help you until you tell us what you want.” Tech said struggling to control himself. Wrecker rubbed soothing hands up and down your back in an effort to relax you again. 

You squirmed against Wrecker and tucked your face into his neck again mumbling. 

They just looked confused before turning to Hunter. 

He looked up at Crosshair then Tech, “She said she wants… all four.” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure @rains-on-kamino @minimissmoo @z-and-the-batboys @aynavaano @9902sgirl

[tinypandacakes]

I’m 4k words into ch 12 of trapper, keeper! I’m hoping to have it up on sunday or monday if I can ~ I’ll report back later this week if that still seems possible or not 💕 trying to get an update in before we go on our mini vacation next week!

It’s a bit of a lighter/slice of life/more filler-y chapter (plus smut) because the next two after are going to be pretty intense >:3 although sometimes even these lighter chapters take a darker turn by the time I’m done with them because apparently I cannot let Häschen catch a break 😭 we will see!

Also just wanted to say thank you for all the continued support I’ve received for this story 💕🐇 I was a bit worried that I’d receive some backlash for posting a darker fic than I usually do, but everyone has been extremely kind 🥰 it’s very encouraging and I appreciate every comment, kudos, like, and reblog so much!

[stxrvel]

the outbreak pt. 2

summary: you've kinda been into therapy and turns out it worked?

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4k

warnings: nothing really, i think. this is actually kinda fluffly. i was in a good mood.

note: i didn't planned on publishing the second part so soon, but i had a lot of free time and a mind running wild. still didn't liked that much how this chapter turned out tho. hoping i could make another part to see what happened to my girl wanda! see you guys in the next fic, love yall. the feedback is always appreciated! thank u for reading.

(if a part 3 never appears, just know this is an open ending)

part 1, extra: 1.5

“So, how've you been doing these past few weeks?”

“You don't have to make small talk to me, Natasha. I enjoy the silence.”

“I ask genuinely. I barely even see you in the halls of the Complex. We only really talk on missions and we've had three since that happened.”

“Don't worry about me.”

“I just want to know how you're doing.”

You turned your head to look at the woman sitting next to you. The uncomfortable leather chair you two were in did nothing to appease the constant headache you'd been having these past few days. Natasha watched you with an arched eyebrow and her hands in her lap. You knew she was right, everyone was always right when it came to you. Apparently Bucky was right when he said everyone knew but you, and that spectrum extended to everyone always seemed to know how you were doing if only by the movement of your eyelids.

That's why you had begun to avoid people.

You spent more time in your room and in the Complex gym, doing research assignments for Fury that involved leaving the building, the three missions with Natasha (fully mandatory and against your will) and sometimes in the lab with Bruce when he needed someone to hold his canisters full of chemical liquids.

Fury and Bruce were the only people you tolerated lately. No funny looks, no awkward questions, no innuendo; just what they needed and goodbye.

But, that time, you did have to go out with Natasha. You weren't given the option to come on your own and it was understandable. A little bit. Even though you were trying to make amends for what you had done, not only on the mission a few months ago but also for what you had done to yourself for years, you didn't know that recovery meant you had to have a watcher on you at all times.

And what's worse, that watchman came with a bird.

“I'm fine, Nat,” you replied to her liking finally.

A short laugh from across the room caught your attention.

“Tell that to the tantrum you threw Fury so we wouldn't come with you.”

You gave Clint Barton a hard look, almost lying on the other longer couch as if he were admiring the earth from a cloud. He had one arm over his eyes which he had raised slightly to give you a mocking look, and one leg bent so that his foot was on the couch.

“I didn't throw a tantrum.”

“Fury, please, I know how to take care of myself. I don't need two bodyguards behind me all day. I'm fully capable of getting there and back on my own.”

Clint's poor imitation of your voice caused you an undercurrent of irritation, but you easily made the decision not to let it come out against him. It turns out that sometimes you could just shut up instead of exploding against others, crazy, right?

“First, I don't talk like that.”

“That's right. Lousy imitation, Clint,” Natasha had your back.

“Second, I only asked him once to let me come alone. I didn't beg him like a fool.”

“Sam told me otherwise,” Clint countered and you frowned. You felt the smile on his mouth.

“Sam's an idiot.”

“Sam's on Bucky's side,” Natasha mused.

And then, an awkward silence.

That was something you hated and still couldn't get used to. When people would say Bucky's name around you, the atmosphere would get strangely tense and suddenly everyone would go silent. It felt strange at first, but when Wanda did it you understood what was going on.

“Stop doing that,” you grumbled with a grimace. “I'm not fucking marble. I'm not going to crack from hearing his name.”

“We didn't say anything,” Natasha spoke again, her innocent little dove expression getting on your nerves.

Count to ten, Y/N, don't forget…

“You guys always go silent after you say his name like he's going to spontaneously explode. We're adults, you know? There are things to get over.”

“Wow,” you heard Clint mutter.

“Shut up, bird.”

Clint made a negative, game-like sound when you gave an incorrect answer.

“Three points off. Natasha and Clint are in the lead,” the man snorted as he rose from his position on the couch. You couldn't do more than give him another look, waiting for him to evaporate into thin air.

Natasha stirred next to you looking around at her surroundings, the dark colors of the room almost absorbing all the natural light coming through the few windows that were in the building.

“You haven't talked to him yet?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to?”

“I don't know. Maybe not.”

“Why?” Clint inquired, suddenly more interested in the subject.

“Because I don't feel like I give a s-”

Clint made the sound again.

“Two points off.”

“Clint,” Natasha reproached him with her tone of voice and the aforementioned only flashed her a smile. “It's been several weeks since you were last together. And you've had a lot of improvement-”

“That's debatable.”

“… don't you feel ready to talk to him?” Natasha questioned, completely ignoring Clint's intrusion into the conversation, again.

“I really don't know,” you admitted. “She told me I'm on the right track too, but just the thought of seeing him again after all those things he said… that I said…”

You sighed. Your gaze focused on the dark floor, a bluish-green hidden behind a black carpet with red, the most horrible carpet you had ever seen in your life.

“It scares me. I don't think I can do it.”

The woman let out an affirmative sound from her throat and the room became silent once again.

You almost let your mind begin to wander into memories, conjuring up the times when you felt like you were on top of the world when you were really about to hit rock bottom. But you quickly focused on where you were and what you were going to do there.

You were going to pick up Wanda. You had wanted to do it alone because it had been several weeks since you had last seen her. The last thing you told her was that you were going on another mission with Bucky and that you hoped it wouldn't end as badly as the argument you had that half the building heard. After that, she left.

She had made the decision to come and talk to Stephen Strange and had told you a few days before you left on what would be your last (official) field mission. She left the Complex the day after you left and all you had heard from her since then was that she was fine, that Strange hadn't locked her in a dungeon and that she was learning many things about her magic, especially how to control it to have power in things like her dreams. You still didn't know what those lucid dreams she had been having for a while had been due to, but judging from the letter you had received yesterday where she asked you to go to the Sanctum Sanctorum, it looked like she had gotten some kind of response.

When you told Fury what you were going to do, he didn't hesitate for a second to say that he would ask the Wonder Duo to accompany you. Clearly you balked, not as many times as Sam and Clint implied, but you didn't expose any more complaints to the Director's authoritative voice.

So, there you three were. Waiting for the wizards to appear from somewhere as you waited in one of the most horribly decorated rooms you'd ever seen.

“Sorry for the delay.”

The new male voice that echoed in the room startled you. You cringed and turned your head every which way until you came upon Strange's figure standing at the entrance to the room, not far from where you three were standing. Natasha and Clint remained unperturbed and you suppressed your desire to complain about the intrusion. You were the only one who hadn't heard him coming, apparently.

“Y/N!” you heard Wanda's voice.

You shot up from the uncomfortable couch the moment you saw her emerge from behind Strange's body. Quickly, you met halfway and melted into a big hug. You shifted from side to side trying to keep your strength and tears held back because of how much you had missed her.

“You look great!” was what she said to you the moment you parted.

“Don't lie to her, Wanda,” Clint exclaimed, and shortly you heard Natasha hiss in his direction.

“I've had better days.”

“I can't believe the day is here already! You have to tell me everything. What happened on the mission? What happened with Bucky?”

Again, the unpleasant silence.

“Why are you two making those faces?”

Wanda was watching the Wonder Duo right behind you and you couldn't help but let out a big exhale.

You turned to look at the only person who really gave a damn about your life.

“Thanks for everything, Strange.”

The man nodded in your direction. “It was my pleasure. Hopefully everything will be better from now on.”

Wanda waved goodbye to him as you turned around and pointed the other two people in the room toward the exit.

The other goodbyes were short and you were soon finding yourselves exiting through one of the portals opened by Strange, where you met the entrance to the Complex head on.

“Ah, magic. It makes life so much simpler,” Clint commented before starting to walk in the direction of the common room.

Natasha had the decency to bid you farewell and followed the bird's path at a tight pace.

“I thought they were going to join us,” Wanda mused, watching their figures walk away.

“No, they were just my nannies.”

“Nannies?” you saw her frown.

You watched the grimace on her face and almost have the urge to ask Sam to come give her a rundown of what had happened in the last few weeks since that last mission, but you mentally pulled back and offered a small smile to the confused woman in front of you.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

---

“Have you eaten today?”

The haze that clouded your mind slowly disappeared, your head barely registering the movements your body made to stay conscious. The soles of your shoes were too hard for your liking and you'd had to go sit down while you waited for Wanda to return. You didn't know how long it had been since that, but it seemed to be long enough for Steve Rogers to approach the cafeteria table where you were sitting with a tray containing the day's food.

“You look like you could use some of this.”

The blond gently pushed the tray until it was on your side of the table, and the smell of beef stew didn't take long to reach your lungs. It smelled good, to be honest. You looked down at the food and moved your hands to grab the silverware.

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm just waiting for Wanda. She went to talk to Fury.”

“I saw her coming in. She said she had a lot of things to tell.”

“She told me exactly the same thing.”

“And did you get to talk about anything before she left?”

You glanced at the fork in your left hand before looking up and meeting Steve's unconcerned face. You had learned very quickly that it wasn't too hard to get to know the captain in your position as opposed to how unreachable he looked to the rest of the population. He was a rough and tough man, but he would do things like bring lunch to a female shipmate who had a blank stare and sit down and try to chat with her.

He was good. Steve was good.

But he wasn't sneaky.

“If you want to know the verdict, talk to Strange. He's a close friend of Tony's.”

The man only sighed, his shoulders slumping in time with his breathing as if he'd been in alert mode all day.

“I didn't mean to sound so…. opportunistic.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You didn't sound opportunistic, Steve, you're just bad at trying to hide your curiosity,” you expressed with a small smile, but the man didn't look convinced by your words. “She's fine. She looks fine. She sounds fine. Whatever they had done, talked about or practiced, it surely paid off. I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

“She looked really scared before she left. You didn't see her. She asked me several times to communicate with you because she didn't know if it was a good idea to do that anymore.”

“She asked you that?”

“Yes. But the mission was very delicate, we couldn't risk it.”

You nodded in your direction, your gaze wandering back over the food.

“I just want her to be okay,” Steve mumbled and you almost missed the way his face contracted. His blue eyes found yours. “She's been through too much throughout her life and now this. It's like a joke of the universe.”

“She'll be fine. She has us. If she needs strength, she'll have plenty.”

Steve smiled, and then you took your first bite of beef stew.

You grimaced.

The blond frowned.

“Was the smell better than the taste, again?”

You nodded with your mouth full. Your hands went to the glass of water in the corner of the tray and you didn't hesitate to down the meat with all the liquid in it. You were almost never lucky enough to taste good lunches in that cafeteria.

“FRIDAY,” you heard Steve say.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Can you order a 12-inch tuna Subway on whole wheat bread with all the vegetables except the bell peppers and olives, please.”

“Right away, Captain.”

“That wasn't necessary,” you turned to the man as his gaze focused on yours.

“You can't go without eating.”

“I would have been able to place the order.”

“Mmm, really?”

“Of course! Do you think I waste the opportunity to spend Tony's money every chance I get? Even, I would have ordered more.”

“Oh, seriously?” Steve had a mischievous grin on his face and you furrowed your brow at his strange expression. “FRIDAY, make it three.”

You half-opened your lips.

“Sure thing, Captain.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“What's with the attitude? It's Tony's money, isn't it?”

You hadn't heard that kind of boldness from Steve very often, and when it happened it was a complete event to witness. The man was a stickler, everyone knew him that way. He didn't understand the word rest and most of his free moments were only used to keep reconsidering attack strategies. Steve wasn't one to let loose and go with the flow very often, but when he did it was something to be enjoyed.

“You know he doesn't mind, right?”

And the moment was over.

“No? I thought he still hated me from lying to him about the book.”

“Uhm…” Steve fumbled over his words and you were amused at the way his features scrunched up. “He doesn't hate you. He was just angry. Besides, it's been a long time, he probably doesn't even remember that.”

“I think he's going to remember that until he dies.”

“Steve.”

You froze in place.

Abort mission. Abort mission. 911. Mayday, mayday, mayday.

Steve looked over your shoulder and then back up at you, your eyes on the embroidery of his brown jacket. You tried to keep your expression composed and sent him a smile of assurance that even you couldn't believe. But you couldn't do anything else. You couldn't break down at that moment. Besides, he would most likely ask the blonde to come with him and Steve would go. You wouldn't really have to deal with anything.

“He's really coming,” you heard Steve mutter in your direction.

Your face scrunched up in confusion, and you watched his expression of poorly disguised panic. You had told Steve only once, days ago, that you weren't ready to talk to Bucky at all. And, apparently, he had made it his problem too.

“Are you busy?”

You heard Bucky so close that a shiver ran through your body. It had been weeks since you'd last heard his voice. On that mission.

“No, I was just talking to-”

“Captain.”

But what was this, the all-call-Steve-at-once festival?

You sank back in your seat when you recognized the Director's voice. If he was there, it meant Wanda must be coming with him, and judging by the contractions in Steve's face, going from confused to incredulous to dumbfounded to flushed, your friend was most likely waving him out of there.

“A word, please,” Fury spoke again, and Steve barely let a second pass before he sprung out of his chair like a spring. He gave you a look and you could almost see the apology written in his eyes.

“Buck, I'm sorry- I mean, wait here for me.”

“What?”

“I won't be late, I promise.”

“I can wait for you in the living room…”

“No,” Steve contradicted him sharply. You caught a glimpse of his stiff expression out of the corner of your eye. “Wait for me here, can you?”

You didn't hear an answer, but you guessed it was positive when you saw Steve's face a little more relaxed. He looked back at you and barely gave you a nod before he started walking toward the exit. You turned in your seat to see him, and barely caught a glimpse of Wanda's triumphant face before she hid behind the back of a naive Fury as she saw your gaze on hers.

That woman really had no idea…

The chair Steve was occupying shifted and Bucky appeared in your field of vision. He was looking anywhere in the cafeteria before he was looking at you. And well, that was good, it gave you time to analyze what you had missed in those weeks without any communication.

He clearly looked calmer. Even though you two were forcibly put in an uncomfortable situation, he didn't seem to mind too much. He looked a little tense, you could barely make out a twitch in his jaw, but other than that he was pretty relaxed.

You didn't know how to interpret that.

The last time you had thought about seeing Bucky again (which was that very morning when Natasha brought it up) you thought that one of you would run away without even a second's notice. It seemed that the only one too scared about that reunion was you. Surely Bucky hadn't thought about it for a single moment since the last time you were face to face.

And his hair. He had cut his hair much shorter than last time. Its ends were directed to the ceiling and you could no longer mess it up if you ran your hands through it. It would rearrange itself in seconds. His eyes were still the same, clear and bright as the clear sky, his expression just as stoic and unperturbed, his body leaning slightly to one side with his hands clasped in his lap. Almost everything about him remained the same except for his hair.

And except he couldn't look you in the eye.

You looked down where the tray with the stew was still intact. You didn't have anything else to distract you with so you grabbed a vegetable and popped it in your mouth.

Turning your head away, you missed Bucky's gaze on your face analyzing the grimace of disgust you were trying to hide.

You swallowed hard and grabbed the water bottle so that it almost slipped through your hands. It was empty.

You almost threw up on yourself.

“Are you okay?”

You met his gaze and froze. His wary eyes were on your face.

“Yeah.”

“Doesn't look like that food is good.”

“Because it isn't.”

You shook your head and pushed the tray away from your personal space once and for all.

“Why don't you order something else?”

“Steve already ordered me something.”

“Oh.”

And silence.

You usually enjoyed the quiet moments, when no sound flooded the surroundings other than your own breathing and the ramblings in your head. You could really enjoy your solitude and the quiet it brought with it. But this silence didn't come with solitude, it came with tension, strain, uncertainty.

You didn't know if you felt you should say something or if you felt you should run away. If you stayed you didn't know what to say to him and if you left you didn't know under what excuse.

Bucky's light eyes met yours again after wandering his gaze for a while around the room.

“Wanda's back,” was what he said.

You nodded.

“We came with her this morning.”

“Yes, Steve told me.”

“We don't have to do this, you know.”

His neutral expression turned chaotic for a moment. Then he went back to being unflappable as if nothing.

“We don't have to do what?”

“This. Talk like it's nothing. It's awkward.”

“Ah. You find it awkward?”

You furrowed your brow at his genuine curiosity. For a moment you thought he was being sarcastic, but his eyes detailed your expression intently, waiting for an answer.

“Don't you?”

“Why should I?”

“Can you stop answering with questions, please.”

Bucky averted his gaze. He repeatedly ran his hands over his jeans.

“I'm sorry. If it makes you uncomfortable I'll keep quiet.”

“Still, you don't answer my question.”

“It's not awkward for me,” he finally said, his slightly tilted head pointed in your direction. “It's just normal small talk. Between two people.”

You hummed a nod and your head moved in sync.

“It's easier for you to pretend nothing happened.”

Bucky shook his head, attentive. He narrowed his eyes and it didn't go unnoticed the way you tensed your shoulders as the words left your mouth.

“I never said that.”

“It's just what I can glimpse.”

“What you think you see is not true. I'm not trying to feign insanity.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you're an expert at knowing what I think,” the words left you before you could process them and give them the proper filter, and you were sure Bucky had noticed the way your composure wavered for barely a second. If he had, he chose to ignore it.

You saw him twist his lips and lower his gaze, as if he suddenly felt distressed even though he wasn't the one who should be worried about something like that.

“You're angry.”

“And why would I be, according to you?”

“Maybe you were expecting a different reaction from me. You don't like what I'm giving you.”

You let out a laugh. “I never thought arrogant was your type.”

Bucky took in your gesture and mimicked it. Seeing a smile on his face after so long brought back images you thought you had sent far out into the ocean of your mind. Maybe you didn't feel your heart racing as it had so many times before, but you definitely felt something different from the fear and dismay that normally accompanied his memory. Even though you didn't want to accept it, you couldn't help but stretch a little towards that new sensation.

“I was joking. I have no idea why you're mad.”

The small smile on your face disappeared, and you allowed your head to wander down the paths of self-healing and self-improvement. Perhaps it was situations like these that your therapist always referred to. Stealthy confrontations that you usually used to avoid like rain, were the perfect moments to divulge a kind of self-reflection and improvement. To, perhaps, make known the emotions and thoughts you used to suppress and keep to yourself, the reason you had ended up that way to begin with. That was supposed to be what people normally did, to talk about their feelings…

So you just let it out.

“I'm not angry. I think I feel… embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what?” Bucky cocked his head to one side, his eyes scrutinizing your face as if trying to figure out if you were being serious or not.

“For confronting you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Bucky. Here's to having you face me and confirming once again that you were right,” you rolled your eyes and took the moment to look anywhere in the cafeteria but into the blue eyes that wouldn't leave yours. “You were always right, I guess. No one else stood up to me like you did and I still lied to you looking you in the eye, wouldn't you feel the same way?”

The movement he made as he shrugged his shoulders drew your gaze, and met you with such a frightening familiarity that you felt old memories and feelings creeping up from the back of your mind to return to the surface. His calm gaze and tension-free body was what you had always been used to, and at that moment it was what you were seeing.

You didn't know how much you missed him until you saw it again.

“It's possible, yes.”

“The point is, knowing that doesn't make it any less complicated. In fact, it's a little harder to cope with. Being aware of the embarrassment… makes you more embarrassed.”

Bucky let out a short laugh. Your gaze didn't leave the way his corners turned up and then how his shoulders moved and his chest contracted in sync with that laugh. You hadn't noticed until that moment the change in the atmosphere around the two of you, much lighter and cozier, not at all hostile and toxic compared to the last few times you were together after the argument.

Mmm, maybe you were liking all that stuff about therapy. To be honest, up until that point you had discerned very few results, although some were quite important. Like, for example, you were able to keep your mind clear of self-destructive thoughts for longer, or that you could look at your past actions and reflect on them, determining clearly what things you were doing wrong and why it was wrong to do them. And there were many, many of them. Not just with the people around you, but more so with yourself.

However, in that moment, having Bucky in front of you and having been able to not only carry on a conversation for more than a minute with him, but also having been able to admit to him how you had felt and show true regret for what happened, you were able to understand that the change was much bigger than you had initially sized it up to be.

“It's serious. It complicates the process for me. That's why I didn't want to see you.”

He nodded without wiping the smile off his face. You could sense the understanding emanating through his gaze and, by the way he straightened his body, you knew he was going to give voice to the thoughts going through his head. Bucky usually kept his opinion of people to himself, he wasn't one to go around highlighting qualities in others unless he was asked or it was necessary for him to say so. Because of this, you could learn to tell when he was going to keep quiet about it and when he was willing to let it all out.

“Still, if it makes you feel any better, I can see you've come too far. Six months ago you wouldn't have said that to my face. I probably would have heard it from Sam who heard it from Clint when he eavesdropped on some conversation of yours with Wanda.”

You were really glad about what he just said, but…. what the fuck?

“Clint eavesdrops on our conversations?”

Bucky went blank. His features froze and the tension emanating from his body enveloped you both.

“Well… I only heard it once. Clint had said he'd upgraded the device for his hearing and was hearing three times as many things as he should. Among those things, he could hear you talking to Wanda in the next room.”

“I don't believe it.”

“There's nothing to tell you for sure that he did it again.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Mmm, two years, I think.”

“Did he ever say anything to you?”

Bucky didn't answer for a few seconds, his gaze seemed lost in yours, with a solidity and strength too forceful for your tolerance. You suspected the answer was positive, but received the opposite.

“He only told me what had happened. He never told me if he understood anything he heard.”

“Uhm, you're good at getting out of tight spots.”

He gave you another one of those smiles that felt like home.

“I've had years to practice.”

The silence that followed his words was much more welcoming than before. You seemed to be able to move around the masses of air so freely that all the tension in your body could disappear in a gentle breeze.

“I'm sorry this was uncomfortable for you, but it was good to see you. And hearing you.”

“It wasn't that uncomfortable.”

“You're squeezing your legs under the table.”

You looked down, surprised, though you shouldn't be. Bucky had always been good at reading your body language. It was almost like it was his way of communicating. And yes, you were.

“You rocked from side to side. Your hands never stopped clenching in your lap. You were uncomfortable.”

“Still, I don't regret what I said.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

You had a duel of glances and you longed for that comfort you had been missing for so long. During those almost seven months of barely seeing him and not speaking to him, you had learned to appreciate the little moments in life. And you were surprised to think that before you thought you were living your life as you were doing at that moment, the present, but you were not. You learned the cruel difference between existing and living, and it wasn't hard for you to deduce why you had had such complicated moments in your life some time before.

You had never lived anything. You went through your life as a tourist and many times you weren't even in the picture. You tried so hard and constantly to convince yourself otherwise every day that it ended up tiring you out emotionally, and in the process taking everything out on the one person who tried to reach out to help you.

“Buck!” Steve's exclamation echoed throughout the cafeteria, just on time.

You turned to see him in the doorway, his raised hand gesturing for the man in front of you to follow him. Bucky stood up, but didn't leave before turning a glance at you with a warm smile worthy of summer.

“I hope to keep hearing from you more often.”

“We'll see if you're worth it.”

[delicateflowerss]

Don't Worry, Darling: Nine

After marrying the love of your life, Rafe Cameron, you thought you couldn't be happier. But when a murder shakes the island, you learn you don't know your husband as well as you thought. When does Paradise become Hell?

Warnings: 18+, mentions of past NON-CON, forced pregnancy, mentions of murder, mentions of drugging, violence, blood, dark!Rafe, kook!reader, non-canon ages

we are finally at the end, i can't believe it! thank you for reading and sticking with this series. please enjoy the final chapter <3

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4k

The sound of your daughter’s cries barely registers with you.  It’s more so the tugging of your dress to get your attention. You would think it’s something a child would do, but it’s only your husband.

“I think she wants you,” is all he says as he hands her to you.

You’re surprised Rafe wanted to hold her at all, especially at an event like this. But you realize it’s his way of showing how good of a father he is.

At least, that’s how he wants to present to the world.

You try to soothe her cries but when nothing works, you end up apologizing to your friends and finding a quieter place inside.

Your daughter is only a few months old, but Rafe really wanted to go to Topper and Audrey’s end of summer barbeque.

You tried to think like him, that your daughter could handle it. That you could handle it.

But as you stare at her wailing face, the only thing that comes to mind is how you wish you could cry like that.

It’s all over the news. You can’t even look at your phone without seeing a text from someone, shocked that Rafe has been arrested, that he’s been accused of murder.

So you stopped looking at your phone.

You barely got a wink of sleep last night and you’ve been cleaning since you gave up on getting any more rest.

But even when you think you’re occupying your mind, it’s busying itself elsewhere. You can’t get rid of this sinking feeling you have in your chest, like it’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

At this point, you’re not even sure where it comes from.

You haven’t wanted to think about any of it, Rafe being locked away or the pills you found.

Anytime you start to think about that pill bottle, your mind goes to a horrible place. So, you stop, your mind deciding that you’d rather not think at all.

But you ‘ve only done so much mindless cleaning before that familiar sound of a pickup truck in your driveway stops you in your tracks.

It’s a smaller truck than your husband’s, older too. A company logo adorns the side of it.

You expect him to go to the backyard, maintaining the pool like he usually does. But instead, he walks up to your front door, forcing you to move away from the window you’re spying from, hoping he didn’t see you.

The doorbell rings and you consider not answering it.

But it’s like your body screams at you to open the door for him.

He doesn’t look any different when you finally face him, the same worn-out work clothes, and messy blond locks.

He looks almost surprised you even answered the door.

He says your name like it’s unfamiliar to him.

“What are you doing?” you ask, desperately needing to know.

“I just…I heard about…I heard about Rafe,” he finally spits out.

When he doesn’t get a word or a twitch of a muscle in your face from you, he sighs.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. But I won’t bother you-.”

You can tell by the way he moves his feet that he’s going to leave, so you stop him.

“No. You’re not bothering me,” you explain, opening the door wider. “You want to come in?”

He hesitates only slightly, and a relief floods his eyes as he accepts.

“Can I get you anything? Water, lemonade, I just made some iced tea-.”

You open the fridge, ready to grab whatever he wants.

He stops you merely by saying your name.

“You don’t need to do any of that for me. I want to know how you’re doing.”

You let the fridge door close. You can feel that heaviness that occupies your chest starting to come back.

“I’m sure it was a shock,” he continues. “When he was arrested.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, gaze finding the floor beneath you.

You don’t even realize that your fingers play with a loose thread coming from your dress.

“I can’t believe he was able to get away with it for so long. Even had his own wife fooled.”

“You’re acting like I’m an idiot or something, JJ.”

You see his eyes widen.

“No. Not at all,” he quickly says. “It’s Rafe. He’s a fucking psycho.”

That doesn’t exactly make you feel better.

Your hands unconsciously move to your stomach.

“Sometimes I think I’m just as awful as he is,” you say like you’re thinking aloud.

You look at JJ but it’s almost like you’re looking past him.

He shakes his head and scoffs as if you’ve said something stupid.

“I just feel like if I’m awful too, then what chance do they have?”

JJ freezes then, his eyes finding your tearful ones. A question lingers on his face as he drags his eyes to where your hands are – on your stomach.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re pregnant?”

All you can do is nod.

“Shit,” he sighs out, running his hand through his hair.

He takes a moment to think, eyes anywhere but you. But they finally find you again.

He gives you an almost pained look before stepping closer to you.

He lets out a ragged breath before saying, “that baby is very lucky to have you as a mom. And I’m sorry if Rafe ever made you feel differently.”

You try to blink away the tears, but instead they fall down your cheeks.

“I just don’t know how everything could go so wrong. And all at once,” you add.

“Just know that you’re not alone. I’ll do anything I can. Also, I’m sure Sarah-.”

“Thanks, JJ,” you interrupt by hugging him.

For a moment, all the noise in your head is gone. There is no sinking feeling in your chest anymore. You can feel his arms wrap around you.

But the serene silence is replaced with an even worse feeling than the one before as you hear the front door being opened.

Fear.

You step back from JJ quickly as if you were burned by being too close to him.

Neither of you are fast enough to get out before he finds you.

“What the hell is this?”

Pure poison drips from his words as he looks between you and JJ.

You’re surprised to find JJ not even a bit scared to see Rafe, now a known murderer. Instead, he looks like he’s gearing up for a fight.

That doesn’t exactly help the mix of fear and worry that paints your face.

“They let you out of jail already?” JJ asks. “Surprising considering you killed two people. But that’s what enough money gets you, huh?”

Rafe seethes from JJ’s taunts, jaw ticking and brow furrowing. He’s spent one night in jail, and he already looks just a little rougher. His hair is messy, and his shirt is wrinkled.

“What the fuck are you doin’ in my house?” Rafe yells, practically lunging toward JJ.

JJ steps out of his way, trying to get closer to the front door.

“Rafe, stop! I invited him,” you try to explain.

“And why the hell would you do that?”

“Because!” You pause for a moment. “Because he’s been cleaning our pool for months.”

“What?” Rafe squints at you, anger pointed toward you now. “So, you’ve been lying to me?”

“I wasn’t lying. You never asked.”

“Have you been cheating on me too?” an accusatory tone in his voice.

“No,” you quickly reply.

“Like I would believe a word you say now.” He turns to JJ again, who has been torn between bolting and trying to help you.

“Have you really been cleaning our pool, or have you just been fucking my wife?” he asks him.

“Rafe,” you yell, disgusted by his words.

He inches closer to JJ, a hard glare set on a face that matches his own expression.

You see how Rafe’s fingers flex, forming into a fist every now and then.

You walk up to them, saying your husband’s name again. You’ve been able to get through to him before, but you don’t think you’ve seen him this furious, ever.

Of course, he ignores you.

“Is this you getting back at me, JJ? For all those times I beat the shit out of you. Cause I can do it again.”

“Rafe, stop it,” you try again.

You grab his arm, hoping it would stop him from punching JJ.

JJ just laughs.

“Wow, man. And Y/N really thought you changed.”

Now you feel like you’ve been the one punched in the gut.

“Just leave, JJ,” you tell him, knowing it’s the only way to keep a fight from happening.

He looks at you, a mix of worry and hurt in his eyes. You think he might argue with you but after a moment, he turns to Rafe.

“I don’t know why, but she really loves you,” he says, giving one last glare to Rafe before slipping through the front door.

“Get the hell outta here, JJ,” Rafe yells at the back of JJ’s head as he walks to his parked truck.

You wish you could feel more relief now that a fight has been averted, but that was just one fight. You know there’s another on the horizon.

“You know,” he starts. “I was really hoping to be coming home to some peace and quiet. Especially, after the night I had.”

His voice getting louder with each word, an anger passing through every syllable.

You can barely look at him, so you don’t.

“Do you know the filth I had to sleep in last night? Actually, I shouldn’t say that. I barely slept at all. And the whole time, you’re here, letting another man in my house.” He jabs his finger into his chest. “No, not a man,” he corrects himself. “A Pogue.”

You can feel your bottom lip trembling.

He digs his nails into the palm of his hand as he brings it to his face. It almost looks like he’s fighting off a migraine, and if he is, you know you’re the cause of it.

“I mean, is the baby even mine?”

“Of course, it’s yours. Why would you even say that?”

He throws his arms in the air, like the answer is obvious.

“I didn’t sleep with him, Rafe! I’ve never cheated on you. JJ is just a friend,” you try to convince him.

But it’s hard to convince someone you’re not lying, even when you’re telling the truth.

“A friend? The pool boy is a friend?” he asks, appalled you would say something like that.

“He’s friends with your sister. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Doesn’t mean anything good,” he simply says before walking upstairs.

You follow him, still upset that he thinks you’re lying.

“I need to take a shower,” he tells you, throwing his stuff down on the dresser in your bedroom.

“You don’t get to be mad at me, Rafe. I should be the one who’s mad.”

“And why is that?”

“Look around!” You wave your hands around wildly. “Our house, our life, our marriage, it’s a mess, Rafe. And it’s all your fault.”

“My fault. My fault?” He moves away from the bathroom, getting closer to you. “I was helping us, Y/N. The promotion was to give us more money, and everything else I did was to protect you. To protect our family.”

“Whatever,” you scoff. “You didn’t know I was pregnant when you were protecting your family.

Rafe casts his eyes downward, finding a spot on the floor to be more interesting.

“Right? You didn’t know I was pregnant,” you repeat. “Cause there really wouldn’t be a way for you to know before I did,” you say, knowing you’re actually asking a question.

Finally, he nods. “Yeah, I didn’t know.”

He still doesn’t look at you.

And for some reason, it shatters you. You feel like a million pieces on the floor, needing to be swept up and thrown away.

“What did you do, Rafe?”

You can hear yourself breaking, losing any grip you had on your sanity, dignity, and your hopeful delusion.

You don’t exactly know how, but you know he’s lying to you, and you know it has something to do with the night of Midsummers. The night you can’t remember putting yourself to bed. It has to do with the dream you had and the pills you found. It’s just taken this long to admit it to yourself.

“Please tell me you didn’t do something,” you plead.

The silence is suffocating.

He’s killed two people. Why is it hard for you to realize that he could do something just as evil, if not more?

“Rafe!”

“What?” He finally meets your gaze. “What do you want me to say? I’ve told you that everything I did, I did it for us. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

You don’t think you can look at him for another second without being violently ill.

Once you storm downstairs, he’s right on your heels, not letting you leave his sight.

You can hear him trying to justify his actions, explaining, but it just sounds like noise to you.

You’re not exactly thinking, more so acting on impulse, on the emotions clouding your mind.

On the kitchen counter, sits the knife block. You barely think about it as you grab the sharpest knife out of the bunch.

He has to step away from you to avoid the knife grazing him. You wave it at him, pointing the shiny steel directly at him – his chest, his neck, somewhere he really wouldn’t want to get stabbed.

“You raped me!” The words erupt out of you. “You drugged me, and you raped me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His blue eyes widen with shock and traces of fear. He keeps his hands up. His palms open to show that he’s defenseless.

A sick part of you feels satisfied to see him be the one who’s scared and weak.

“Calm down, okay?”

“No! Answer me,” you yell, voice coarse.

“Not until you put the knife down.”

His unusually level tone chips away at your anger and your stubbornness. You readjust your grip on the knife as you glance away from him for a second.

That’s all he needs in order to roughly grab your wrist and to push you into the kitchen counter behind you.

You groan out in pain as your back hits the edge of the marble. Rafe is able to pry the knife out of your hand, also painfully.

You hear the knife clatter to the ground as you realize you might need to admit defeat.

He keeps your body pinned with his, his grasp still on your wrist, meaning you can’t move away from him.

“I can’t rape my own wife.” His tone is cold, and it almost sounds like it comes from a man who only looks like your husband but isn’t actually him. “When I put that ring on your finger, it meant I could crawl on top of you and do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.”

Your tears don’t stop him.

“What is in between your legs is mine. So that means if I want to get you pregnant, it is my right to do that.”

He pauses, the only sound are the sobs you try to stop from coming out.

“All of this went on for way too long,” he continues. “I didn’t mind you having a job at first, it made you happy, it gave you some semblance of control.”

You wince as his grip on your wrist gets tighter.

“But I didn’t think it would get in the way of us having a family,” he continues. “I didn’t think you would choose it over me.”

You shake your head, wanting to say something, but nothing cohesive can be formed in your head right now.

He lets go of your wrist, taking your hand in his instead.

“All I did…” he pauses, kissing the back of your hand while still holding it. “…was show you what you really wanted.”

“Get off me, Rafe,” you say quietly. But when he doesn’t move, you push him with all your strength and yell, “get off me!”

He looks at you like a wounded puppy, like he feels rejected by you, like he doesn’t know how fucked up what he just said was.

You move back, trying to put enough space between the two of you. You’re still crying, tears streaming down your face as your chest heaves.

You try to speak through ragged breaths.

“I really thought you could have become a good person, Rafe. I really thought all that violence, all that bullying, was just you being young and stupid. But it’s who you are, and you can’t change it.”

You notice his eyes filling with tears before he sniffles, glaring at you to try and prevent any crying.

You continue, “I should have known that you can’t change someone who has a soul so dark, that they suck all the light out of anyone they’re close to. And that’s what you did to me. And that’s what you’ll do to this baby.”

The sobs have stopped, rage replacing the heaving.

“So, you might have been bailed out by your father. But there’s no way you’re not going to prison. Or worse,” you add. “I’ll tell them everything. I’ll make sure that they find you guilty. And I’ll be glad. I’ll be glad that you’ll be far away from me.”

You stare at him, a scowl written on his face until it morphs into laughter.

“And how is that going to work out for you? I’ll tell them everything also.”

He steps closer to you, and you can feel that suffocation again.

“I’ll tell them how you helped me hide the body. How you’ve known for weeks, how you’ve lied to the police and lied to everyone you know. You think they’re not going to send your ass to prison too?” He flashes his teeth at you. “And believe me, you wouldn’t last a day.”

He walks around you, like a predator circling its prey.

“But if you do manage to last,” he continues. “They’ll let you give birth in prison. Then, it’s bye-bye baby. My parents will probably adopt, but even when you get out, doesn’t mean they’ll let you see the kid.”

He stops in front of you, darkness filling his eyes as he sees fear fill yours.

“You’ll never have custody. Your child probably won’t even call you mom.”

“Stop, Rafe.”

“So, if you do what you say you’re going to do, that baby isn’t going to have any parents.”

You can feel your stomach twisting and your chest getting tighter. You don’t want to go to prison, you don’t want to lose your baby, and you absolutely don’t want your in-laws raising your child to be just like Rafe.

You finally look at him, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t want that to happen.”

Your voice barely sounds like your own, it sounds tired and worn-out.

“And I’m not going to let that happen,” he says, a concern in his voice that wasn’t there before, so you wonder if he feigns it. “But you need to be on my side, alright?”

You would rather gouge your eyes out than be on his side, but what other choice do you have?

“Neither of us are going to prison,” he explains. “But that means, someone else killed those guys.”

You furrow your brow, not understanding what he means.

“JJ killed those guys.”

“What?”

“He’s had this revenge plot against me,” he says it like he’s telling the truth. “For all those stupid fights, he decided he wanted to get back at me. So, he became our pool boy, got access inside our house, and framed me. Used my gun, left evidence, just so the police would come after me.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, in denial, that this is actually Rafe’s plan.

“It’s the perfect story, Y/N. Come on.”

“Rafe, I know you think something happened between-.”

He stops you by softly putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I know nothing happened between you and JJ,” he says calmly. “But he’s the only person that has been to our house. Every week, right? And right around when the first murder happened.”

“Rafe. I’m not putting an innocent man in jail. He’s a good person.”

He just shakes his head.

“It’s either him or us. We have a life, Y/N. A baby on the way.” Rafe’s voice rises with a familiar anger. “What does JJ have? He’s never going to be anything. We’re doing him a favor.”

You close your eyes momentarily, and when you open them, your vision of Rafe is blurry.

“I don’t love you anymore. And if you do this, I know I’ll never love you again,” you tell him as a tear falls onto your lips.

He thinks for a moment before bending down and placing a kiss on your stomach.

He stands to his full height, looking down at you.

“At least, I won’t be in prison.”

You thought you would never be able to do this. To be able to go back to the way things used to be.

Except, things will never be the way they used to be.

Now all you do is pretend. And it makes you wonder if that is what you were doing all along.

Your wrist grows tired from stirring the mashed potatoes. You think you may have been stirring for too long. Your mind and your arm aren’t connected.

It’s almost like you’re a machine, programmed to do the same things every day.

You lock eyes with your daughter who sits in her highchair.

You feel a spark of joy somewhere deep inside.

The fact is you were never the same after that day.

But you did what you were taught, to push down any emotions, to pretend that everything is okay.

Your testimony helped an innocent man be sent to prison for the rest of his life. You watched Rafe lie through his teeth so JJ would be the one taking his spot.

Normally, something like that would make you sick, make you so angry you couldn’t think straight.

But not now.

You thought it would be hard to let Rafe touch you again. You thought you would be reminded of the night you barely remember anytime you could feel his skin on yours. But you just taught yourself to think about it differently, or not at all.

If he hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t have your daughter. You know he loves you. He loves you so much it makes him crazy. That’s what you think about when he’s on top of you at night, thrusting into you so hard it almost hurts.

But that’s what love is, it hurts.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’ll snap one day. Maybe five years from now, it will be Rafe’s murder that everyone will see on the news.

You might not even care when they take you away, handcuffed. You might even feel happy.

But those thoughts are fleeting.

You know Rafe is home because your daughter’s attention is finally taken from you.

She smiles when he steps into the kitchen.

And it almost makes you smile.

“It smells good in here,” he comments.

“It’s almost done.”

“Good. I’m starving. I had such a busy day at work,” he sighs, setting his things down.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

The oven beeps, and before you can open it, Rafe stops you with a hand on your waist.

“Is that a pot roast in there? How did I get so lucky?” he asks against your lips before kissing them with brutal affection.

You meet his roughness, nicking his lip with your teeth in the process.

He pulls back, a bead of crimson pours from his lip.

If there is love between you and Rafe, this is what it is – dark, bloody, and violent for everyone around.

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