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wiltedflowerpetals · 3 months ago

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Captain John Price's wife, a trained assassin, is about to go on a mission, but she has only one thing on her mind. Her husband. The man who didn't know about her secret job…

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Words: 2850

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty, death (target got killed)

Part 1: Wife Meets Friend | Part 2: (you are reading it) | Part 3: Wife In Danger | Part 4: Husband Saves Wife | Part 5: Husband And Wife

The next morning, you turned in your bed, arm moving towards John’s side, only to find out that he was not in bed. No. By the smell of coffee that lingered in the air, you knew that he was in the kitchen. You dressed quickly and headed downstairs, finding him at the table with a steaming mug in hand, flipping through a newspaper.

“Morning.” He greeted with a warm smile as you entered the kitchen. His eyes brightened as he saw you, and he set the newspaper down to focus on you.

“Morning.” You replied, returning his smile and walking over to pour yourself a cup of your favorite drink. The aroma was comforting, like a small anchor to normalcy after the day you'd had. “You’re up early.”

“Old habits.” John said with a shrug, taking another sip from his mug. “Couldn't sleep much, so I figured I'd get a head start on the day.”

You nodded, though you wondered if his restlessness had anything to do with you. Did he sense that something was off? You tried to push the thought aside. “Any plans today?”

“Nothing much. Thought I’d get some work done, maybe catch up on a bit of paperwork.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “What about you?”

You sipped your hot drink, carefully considering your words. “Just some errands around town, then I might drop by the office for a bit. We’ve got a few deadlines coming up.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Always working. You should take a day off sometime, you know? Relax a little.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his concern. “I’ll try to remember that.”

As the day wore on, you found yourself reflecting on the life you’d built with John. Your marriage was strong, built on love and trust… Trust that you were constantly betraying by keeping your true self hidden. Only because you wanted to protect him from your job. The world you operated in was dangerous, filled with secrets and lies, and the less John knew, the safer he would be.

In the afternoon, you decided to step out to run the errands you’d mentioned earlier. You kissed John’s and left, promising to be back soon. As you drove through the streets of your neighborhood, your thoughts drifted back to Kate’s visit. It had gone well, but the pressure was building. How much longer could you keep this up?

You stopped at a small park on your way back home, needing a moment to clear your head. Sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree, you watched as families played with their children, couples walked hand in hand, and joggers passed by with their headphones in. It was a picture of a peaceful and normal life… A life you never had.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You grabbed it and glanced at the screen, seeing a message from an unknown number. You read the brief text: We need to talk. Usual place. 1900.

You frowned, recognizing the message. It was from one of your CIA contacts. You took a deep breath, quickly typing out a response. You were used to it by now, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. You needed to find a way to slip out tonight without raising John’s suspicions.

When you returned home, John was still in his study. You paused at the doorway, watching him for a moment. He looked so peaceful, so content in his element.

“You’re back.” John said, looking up with a smile as he noticed you standing there.

“Yeah, just finished up.” You replied, stepping into the room. “How’s your day going?”

“Not bad.” He said, leaning back in his chair. “Got a lot done. I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner tonight, you know, to unwind a bit. What do you think?”

Your heart sank. John rarely suggested going out. But tonight, of all nights, he’d chosen to go on a small little date with you. Great… You couldn’t refuse without arousing suspicion, but you also couldn’t afford to miss the meeting.

“That sounds nice.” You said carefully, already trying to figure out a way to work around it. “But how about we raincheck for tomorrow? I’m a little tired from running around all day.”

John studied you for a moment, eyes filled with concern. “You sure you’re alright? You’ve seemed a bit off since yesterday.”

You stepped closer to him. “I’m fine, really. Just a little worn out. Tomorrow would be better, I think. We could make it a proper date night.”

He reached out, taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap. “Alright, if you’re sure. Tomorrow it is.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Of course you felt guilty, but you had no other choice. “Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his neck softly. “For understanding.”

“Always.” John murmured, holding you close. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You closed your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could tell him the truth, that you didn’t have to hide this part of yourself from the man you loved. But you couldn’t - you wouldn’t - risk his safety for your own peace of mind.

Later that evening, after you’d shared a quiet dinner at home, you waited until John had settled into the living room with a book before making your move. You casually mentioned needing to check on something at the office, using one of your excuses. John offered to come with you, but you gently declined, insisting it wouldn’t take long.

He kissed you goodbye, watching as you left with a small smile, completely unaware of the true nature of your errand.

You drove through the city. The usual place was a parking garage downtown, one of the many locations you used for these kinds of meetings. You arrived a few minutes early, parking in a shadowy corner and waiting.

A black SUV pulled up next to your car shortly after, and a man in a dark suit stepped out, his expression serious. You recognized him immediately - Agent Daniels, one of your primary contacts at the CIA.

“Evening, Mrs. Price.” He greeted you with a curt nod.

“Daniels.” You replied. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a situation.” He said, handing you a slim folder. “A high-value target is back on the grid. We need you to handle it.”

You opened the folder, scanning the information quickly. The target was a known arms dealer with ties to several terrorist organizations - a dangerous man with a long list of enemies. “This is a priority?”

“Top priority.” Daniels confirmed. “He’s planning to move a shipment in the next 48 hours. We need to shut it down before it reaches its destination.”

You nodded, already planning your approach. “What’s the location?”

“He’s holed up in a compound outside of the city. We’ve got a team on standby, but you’ll be leading the operation.”

You closed the folder, meeting his gaze. You sighed, not wanting to lead the operation as it meant that you also had to lead a team. You preferred to work alone, but apparently you had no other choice. “… Understood. I’ll take care of it.”

Daniels gave you a brief, approving nod. “Good. You’ll be briefed on the full details tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

With that, he got back into the SUV and drove off, leaving you alone in the garage. You took a deep breath. This was just another mission, another job to complete. But as you started your car and headed home, you had one thought. Balancing your secret life was becoming harder by the day, and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep the two worlds from colliding.

When you returned home, John was still in the living room, dozing lightly with the book resting on his chest. You paused in the doorway, watching him sleep, heart heavy.

You approached quietly, taking the book from his hands and setting it on the table. He stirred, opening his eyes slightly. “You’re back.” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Yeah.” You whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “Go to bed, honey.”

He nodded groggily, allowing you to help him up. As you made your way upstairs, you felt the familiar pang of guilt, stronger than ever. You loved him more than anything, and yet, every day you deceived him, kept him in the dark about who you really were.

You two crawled into bed, and John pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he could protect you from the world. But he didn’t know the truth - that it was you who was protecting him, shielding him from the bad guys during his missions.

The next morning, you were up before dawn. You moved quietly through the house, careful not to wake John as you gathered your gear. Today’s mission was critical, and you couldn’t afford any mistakes. As you pulled on your tactical suit, your mind focused on the task ahead. There was no room for doubt or hesitation.

Before leaving, you slipped back into the bedroom, where John was still fast asleep. You stood by the bed for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the dangerous things you were doing and going to do. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, whispering, “I love you” before turning to leave.

The drive to the briefing location was uneventful. The compound outside the city was heavily guarded, and the target was known for being ruthless. But you’d faced worse.

When you arrived at the location, Daniels and the rest of the team were already there. They were gathered around a large table covered in maps and surveillance photos. You walked in, nodding to them.

“Glad you could make it.” Daniels said as you approached. “We’re ready to go over the plan.”

You nodded again, stepping up to the table. “Let’s get started.”

The briefing was quick and to the point. The target was using the compound as a staging area for an arms deal that could supply a dangerous faction with enough firepower to destabilize an entire region. The mission was simple in theory: infiltrate, neutralize the target, and destroy the shipment before it could be moved.

But as with all things in your line of work, the reality would be far more complex. The compound was well-fortified, with multiple layers of security and heavily armed guards. The risk was high, but so were the stakes.

“I’ll lead the assault team.” You said as you went through the details. “We’ll go in at night, under the cover of darkness. We’ll need to move quickly and quietly.”

Daniels nodded. “Agreed. We can’t afford to tip them off before we’re in position.”

The team spent the rest of the day preparing, double-checking equipment, and going over the plan until everyone knew their roles by heart. You kept your mind focused on the mission, pushing aside any thoughts of John and the life you’d have to return to after this was over. Now was not the time to think about it. You couldn't afford distractions. The mission required your full attention.

As night fell, the team geared up and prepared to move out. You stood with your team, your expression calm and composed. This was the part of your life you had to keep separate from John, the part he could never know about.

“Alright, everyone.” You said. “We go in fast and quiet. Stick to your roles, and we’ll get this done. Let’s move.”

The team moved out in silence; their vehicles drove them towards the compound. The tension in the air was palpable. This was what you were trained for, what you were good at. Every detail of the mission played out in your head as you approached your target.

When you arrived at the outskirts of the compound, the team disembarked, moving swiftly into position. You led the way, your movements precise. You reached the perimeter, where you signaled for the team to hold. From their vantage point, you could see the guards patrolling the area, their weapons at the ready.

“Snipers, take out the perimeter guards on my mark.” You whispered into your comm. “We move in as soon as they’re down.”

There was a tense silence as you waited for the right moment. You counted the seconds in your head, timing their approach perfectly. Then, with a single command, the silence was shattered by the sound of sniper rifles. The guards dropped one by one.

“Move.” You ordered, and the team advanced, slipping through the shadows as you made your way deeper into the compound.

The mission unfolded with ruthless efficiency. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, each member playing their part flawlessly. You encountered resistance as you closed in on the target, but you were relentless.

As you breached the main building, you found the target in a makeshift command center, surrounded by his most trusted men. The firefight that ensued was intense, but you were unstoppable. In a matter of minutes, the room was cleared, and the target lay dead at your feet.

“Target neutralized.” You reported, your voice steady as you stood over the body.

“Good work.” Daniels replied over the comms. “Proceed with the secondary objective.”

You and your team quickly moved to the storage area, where you found the shipment of weapons. It was an impressive cache, enough to equip a small army. You planted the charges, setting the timer to ensure you had enough time to get clear.

“Charges set.” You confirmed. “We’re heading out.”

The team made their way back to the extraction point, the sound of distant explosions rumbling behind them as the charges detonated. The mission had been a success, but there was no time for celebration. You had to get out of the area before any reinforcements arrived.

As you reached the extraction point, sighed in relief. The mission was over, and soon you would be back home with John, back to the life you were desperately trying to protect.

The ride back was quiet, the team too exhausted to talk. You leaned your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment. You thought of John, wondering if he was still up, if he was waiting for you. You couldn’t wait to see him, to feel his arms around you, after this mission.

When you finally returned to the base, you debriefed with Daniels and the rest of the team. As soon as the formalities were over, you took a shower fast and changed your clothes, before you headed straight for your car.

The drive home was a fast. All you could think about was John and your bed. As you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that the lights were still on in the house. John was still up, waiting for you. Your heart swelled with emotion as you stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door.

When you walked inside, you found John in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up as you entered, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

“You’re back.” He said, standing up to greet you.

You smiled, feeling the weight of the day’s events start to lift as she crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him. “I’m back.”

John held you close, his embrace warm and comforting. “I was starting to worry. Everything alright at the office?”

“Yeah.” You lied smoothly, pulling back to look at him. “Just some last-minute issues, but it’s all sorted now.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “You sure you’re okay? You seem… tense.”

“I’m fine.” You tried to assure him. “Just tired, that’s all.”

John nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You need to rest.”

He kissed your forehead and smelled your hair for a second. “Did you shower?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, there was a small smoothie incident at work. It was everywhere.” You lied at him, walking with him upstairs as he chuckled.

You changed into your pajamas and crawled into bed beside him. John pulled you close, his presence reminding you of what you were fighting for.

As you lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of his breathing. The mission was over, and you were lucky that he wasn’t suspicious of any of your lies. But the fear still lingered in the back of your mind. The fear, that one day, John would find out the truth, and everything you’d worked so hard to protect would come crashing down.

But for tonight, you allowed to savor the warmth of John’s embrace and the quiet peace of your home. Tomorrow, you would face whatever challenges came your way. But tonight, you were just (Y/N) Price, the woman who loved her husband more than anything in the world.

And that was enough.

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i-wanna-write · 3 months ago

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If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fanfic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Chapter Warnings: Violence, cutting, mentions of sex but no smut, ANGST, brief mention of rape but no details/descriptions

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: We’ve finally reached a movie!!!! This chapter doesn’t have much dialogue but moves the plot along!

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It’s been years since your intimate night with James. You recall it having been 1965 or ‘66 when you two finally gave into your instincts, sharing that night together.

He left a few days later, leaving to join the Vietnam war with Victor. It made you feel weird. You felt different knowing you wouldn’t run in to him. That you wouldn’t move and see him randomly in the woods, or at a gas station, or a bar.

Rather than dwelling on that thought for long, you fell back into a your old routine. Moving every 3 months, hunting for food, and reading. Only this time, you had soemthing to look forward to - the end of the war.

And It finally did end - in 1975. So your focus shifted to waiting for James to return. To looking forward to where your life would take you next, maybe James by your side.

Months though turned into years, and years turned into five. Now it’s 1980 and you haven’t seen James. It’s been about fifteen years and at this point, your night with James and all past run ins seem like a dream.

A year or two ago you found a cabin in Canada, secluded just how you like it. You were in town to stock up on food when you visited the library with the intent to steal some books. However, you somehow ended up with a job there.

The job allows you to be around the thing you love, and not interact with most people. You simply organize the books and put them away once they’ve been returned. You may have to answer the occasional question, but for the most part, you’re alone.

Just how you like it.

The library is quiet so you have no overwhelming sound. Not many people visit so you don’t have to fight your instincts. You can just be around what you love in silence.

Your days consist of work, reading, and watching the moon at night. Your cabin is secluded enough you are able to enjoy the silence of nature, no sounds of the city to bother you.

All that led you to now, partaking in your usual nightly routine. You’re currently sitting on the porch, whiskey in hand as you watch the moon rise into the sky. If you had to guess, it’s almost a full moon and you like thinking the animals will soon be noisier.

You take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. With your mutation you’ve come to understand through the years that another reason you love solitude is the smell. Being in cities and around others was never a pleasant aroma.

You take another breath when you catch a familiar scent. You immediately tense, feeling your heartrate begin to increase. Your mind has to be playing tricks on you.

It can’t be.

You haven’t smelt the familiar whiskey and cigar in so many years.

Your gaze moves from the moon to the tree line to the first floor when you see a familiar build. There standing, flannel donned with a bag slung over his shoulder, is James.

You rise, forgetting your whiskey and immediately running off the steps and towards him. He seemed to have the same thought as you meet in the middle. His bag dropping as you jump into his arms, legs hugging around his waist.

Your own arms are around his neck while his own hold you up by your ass. Your lips immediately find his and you moan on the contact.

They’re soft, tasting of tobacco and solely James. Your mouths move hastily against each other, neither of you able to get enough of the other. He presses his tongue into your mouth and you let him take over the kiss, content to just be in his presence.

The kiss ends all too soon but James doesn’t let you go. He allows your legs to drop form his waist but keeps his hands on your ass, keeping you close. Your head is tucked into his chest, his own resting on your head.

You’re both silent a moment, just relishing in being together again. His heart pounds strongly beneath your ear and you have to stop tears from falling. He’s finally here.

“Fuck I missed you sweetheart.” He whispers against you before placing a kiss on your head.

“Fifteen years James.” You mumble against his chest.

“I go by Logan now.” You pull away at that, looking into his brown eyes, eyes you missed so much l, as you arch an eyebrow.

You’re able to take him in. Though fifteen years has passed he still looks the same. His hairs is longer than before, tufts still on either side but more prominent. He has a few wrinkles and there seems to be bags under his eyes.

You frown at that, not knowing what he’s been through. You lower your hands from his neck, grabbing his to take them off you. You grab his right hand in your left.

“Come, I’ll make dinner and you can tell me anything you want.”

…

That night, after dinner and many moments together to try to make up for the past years, the two of you lay in bed, sweaty and naked. He shared with you how Victor and he fought in the war for a few years before Victor fucked it up.

Ever the narcisstic masgonist he is, he attempted to rape a vietnamese woman and killed a Senior officer who tried to stop him. This led to himself and Jam- Logan, being brought in front of a firing squad.

He shared how he and Victor were than imprisoned because the bullets obviously didn’t work. How they were approached by a man named William Stryker to join a team of mutants.

They took him up on the offer.

James decided to go by his biological father’s surname - Logan. You finally learned how Victor and James were half brothers - that they shared the same father. It was only revealed when Logan went through puberty, as his mutation showed itself and Victor, being older, already had the mutation.

He shared how, throughout his time with weapon X - the mutants team - it turned into something he didn’twant to be a part of. The other mutants on the team and Stryker himself were brutal. Viscous. They couldn’t control themselves and had no empathy for those they were after or can across. All this was what James was against.

So he left.

He finally left Victor.

In turn, you shared with him your time apart. Your job at the library and how you’ve lived in this cabin awhile now. You live a quiet life, not worrying about being found out or running to the next cabin.

You were almost happy there.

He of course teased you about ‘becoming domesticated’. How he was off using his instincts while you were the one who ignored them. How the two of you seemed to have switched.

But you tell Logan how he was always the piece missing. How you missed not hiding your true self and instincts like you did with him. How being with him, you didn’t feel different. Didn’t feel lonely.

So Logan settled in with you, getting a job as a local lumberjack, putting his flannels to use. You lived a quiet life together for six years. You both left each morning to go to work, returning for a quiet night of dinner, whiskey, and sex.

Until everything changed again.

…

Tonight you and Logan lay in bed naked, tangled in your sheets and drenched in sweat. You’re laying with your head on his chest, right arm playing with his chest ahir. One of his arms is around your waist, the other smoothing your hair back and forth, a cigar hanging from his lips.

You tried to stop him from smoking in bed but it was a losing battle. Besides, the scent of them became soothing to you and now helps you fall asleep everynight. That, and just knowing he’s here, safe and with you.

The only lights in the room are his cigar and the moon. The embers alight Logan’s face, showing his stubble that lines his jaw and his deep brown eyes. To you, he looks the most peaceful in moments like this.

Like he hasn’t fought in numerous wars, seen terrible things, done terrible things. It’s moments like this you cherish the most. You can both be yourself and not care about all the factors of the outside world.

Logan catches your eyes and gives you a quizzical look. “What?” He asks, cigar between his teeth.

“Nothing.” You say to him, continuing to just stare.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Just admiring your beauty.” You say, smiling brightly.

Logan chickles. “Smartass.” He says before taking the cigar from his mouth to place a kiss on your forehead.

You smile at the feeling, always feeling safe with him.

“Want to hear a story I read today.” You ask him.

He places the cigar back in his mouth, taking another drag. You watch as the smoke leaves his mouth, always amazed at how cool he makes it look. It’s funny that nothing can really kill him. So he may as well relish in the things the average human cannot do so often without the risk of cancer.

“What’d you read about today, sweetheat?” He places his hand back onto your hip, pulling you closer if possible.

“It’s about why the moon is so lonely.” You start, your voice soft. “It used to have a lover named Kuekuastheu and they walked the skies together. Everyone was jealous of the relationship but a spirit, Trickster was the most envious and planned to break the relationship.

He told Kuekuastheu that the moon wanted some wild roses from the normal world. So he went to get them, not knowing that once you leave the spirit world, you can never come back.

When Kuekuastheu returned he found out he couldnt re-enter. The moon was so sad so she got help from the sun to give her light power to her love. Keukuastheu asked the Master to turn into a wolf because when he went into the forest, he saw how harsh men were.

He saw how they cut a wolf to get its fur and eat it, so he chose a wolf to help them. He made people fear them and good came out of it, for whenever a wolf barred its teeth, it was a better option to run rather then hit or kill it.

But Keukuastheus still loves the moon so much that at night he goes to the cliff top and howls her name. For she can never be with him again.” You finish, a tear leaving your eye as you can’t imagine that kind of loss.

“You know what Keukuastheus means in the Native American language?” Logan whispers, looking you in your eye.

You shake your head. The sad fable did not reveal that.

“Wolverine.” Logan says.

You frown at that, suddenly not liking the symbolism. You don’t want to be his moon. He your Keukuastheus.

“Well, now it’s creepy and sad rather then romantic and sad.” You point out, a pout forming on your lips.

Logan snorts, shaking his head. He discards his cigar with his hand on your waist, stuffing it into the ashtray on his night stand. He then re-grabs your hip, pulling you half on top of him before lowering his head into your hair, giving your head one more kiss.

“It’s just a fable sweetheart, go to sleep.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe, happy, and not alone.

…

You're standing in your kitchen, making dinner for you and Logan. Another bright side of settling down near a town is frequent grocery shopping. You’d be lying if you said you missed hunting rabbit and deer as your source of daily protein.

You’re in the middle of seasoning some steaks, prepared to peal potatoes when the front door opens. A smile graces your face, surprised but happy Logan is home early.

“You’re home early.” You say, turning to face him.

Only it’s not Logan. Instead, it’s someone you havent seen in twenty years.

Victor.

“Sorry frail, figured you and I have some catchin’ up to do.” He says, walking closer to you.

You take in the man you loathed from the moment you met him. He still looks the same. Short hair on the top of his head with stubble lining his jaw. His canines are on full display, his claws grown on his hands which are at his side.

“Wasn’t expecting company.” You say, watching his every move, ready to fight if needed.

He continues to walk closer to you, looking around the place you’ve grown to call home. He slides his nails over the top of the couch, ripping it and you watch as the stuffing falls out. He moves closer to you and you take a step from the counter, knowing not to get yourself backed into a corner.

You watch as Victor leans his head up, nose flaring as he takes in the scent around him. He flashes you a smile. “Seems you and the runt might end up with some runts of your own based on the smell of this place.”

“What do you want Victor.” You say, arms crossed over your chest.

You know he’s not here for chit-chat. But you’ve ripped his throat out twice and you wont hesitate to do it a third.

Victor shrugs. “I mean, we’re practically family. Just wanna see how my little bro is treating his misses.”

“Cut the shit.” You snap, anger rising and teeth threatening to elongate. “I know what you’ve done the past years and I know sure as shit you’re not here to ‘catch up’.”

Victor smiles again, shaking his head. “Knew he didn’t like you just for your looks.” He crosses his own arms across his chest, mirroring you. “My… Colleague, has an interest in you. He wants a little meeting.”

You let out a laugh. “Not a chance in hell. And i suggest you fuck off before I make you.”

“I’m not sure, domestication seems to have made you soft.”

You growl at that, teeth elongated and claws growing. You know he’s bating you into a fight. You know he is. But your instincts are telling you to attack. To go for the throat. To finally make his heart stop beating.

Your instincts win out.

With a growl, you go to attack. Victor is just as ready. The two of you meet in the middle, his claws slicing into your shoulders while your own enter his stomach.

You grunt, pulling away and turning back to look at the man. He moves to attack again and you take the defensive, blocking the hit. You quickly turn, claws out and manage to slice his arm. He looks down at it, rage in his eyes before coming at you again, teeth bared.

He goes for your throat but you manage to get your own hand up, him taking a chunk out of your arm. You groan at the pain and grab the nearest thing, your potatoes peeler, and shred it down his face so he lets go.

You go to attack again as he’s momentarily distracted, swiping at his throat and managing to scratch him but not missing the jugular. Blood sprays your kitchen and you grab a chair, aiming to hit him. He quickly rips it out of your hands and growls.

He lands a punch to your face, your head going to the side and body flying back as you land on your on your ass and elbows. He rushes over to you but you move your legs, swiping his out from under him. This time he’s the one to land on his back and you quickly straddle him.

“Want to be with a real man?” He grunts to you, bucking up his hips.

You grimace in disgust and lean down, teeth aiming for his neck. They never get to make contact as he bucks again, this time with his hands on your hips and flip your position. His hands immediately find your neck and they enclose around them.

You feel your breathing cease and throat start to crush. You try to move you head up towards him, teeth bared to snap at his arms. Your hands are on his face, scratch any surface you can get but to no avail. He’s older, stronger, quicker, and more feral.

“Thanks for the rematch frail.” Victor says before you feel a pinch in your neck and everything goes dark.

…

“It’s amazing she isn’t already with child.” A voice calls you out of your unconsciousness.

You slowly open your eyes, the vision blurry before coming into view. You’re met with a room that looks like a hospital operation room, the scent of saline and disinfectant meeting your nose.

You look down to see you're in only a hospital gown. Your legs are spread open, knees and ankles strapped down. You let out a low growl, teeth and claws growing as you try to free your hands.

You hear a loud, fast beeping and hear someone speak. “She’s awake, sir.”

You try to look around for the noise but cannot see who spoke it.

“Fuckign Mutants, can’t do anything right. Give her another dose, I’m not done extracting yet.”

You have no idea what that means but know it’s not good. You immediately start to pull on the restraints, trying to free yourself. Soon though, you feel another prick in your neck and the world turns dark again.

…

The next time you awake the smell is the exact opposite of the first time. It's the stench of body odor, feces, and blood. You slowly open your eyes to see you’re in a cell laying on a dirty cot.

You immediately rise to your feet only for them to collapse, not able to hold your weight. You slowly stand back up, moving to sit on the edge of the cot.

You look around to notice the room is dark, only one window outside of the cell and in the hall. The cell itself having no window of its own. It consists of only the cot and a bucket in the corner.

Next you move back to your sense of smell, already covering the stenches. You can make out two unfamiliar scents and nothing else. You allow your ears to strain, hearing two separate heartbeats and breaths.

“Hello?” You call out, noticing your voice is hoarse.

“New girl, that you?” A voice calls from your right.

“I guess.” You reply, hand reaching out to rub along your throat as if to soothe the hoarseness.

“They’ve had you sedated for a month. Never saw someone fight as hard.” The voice from your left calls.

Your mind swirls You have no idea where you are. You don’t remember anything that has been done to you. Moments like this you’re grateful but also upset that you have your regenerative ability. You have no idea what has been done to you.

That thought scares you.

“Where are we?” You question.

“A facility they experiment on mutants.” the voice says angrily.

Great. Of course fucking Victor would drop you off here. Your mind thinks to Logan, wondering where he is. If he’s looking for you. If he thinks you’re dead.

You know that when he returned home he saw a blood massacre in the cabin. He probably would have smelt Victor as well as yourself, knowing the two of you fought. The question is, what did Victor do to him once Logan found him?

You don’t have time to think more on that, as an alarm is sounded throughout the hall. You rise, your legs cooperating this time and watch as your cell opens. You rush out, seeing that the two on either side of you are just kids, no older then the age of fifteen.

“Damn!” the boy on your left shouts. “You look like shit.”

You glance down, noticing that you’re in a half ripped shirt and dirty sweatpants. You see that you cell neighbors, the other a girl, are dressed in clean white t-shirts and sweats. Looks like you didn’t get any special treatment.

You lift your head, listening for any sound or smell of someone else. You hear feet moving from outside your hall, following them and smelling they’re all the same as the children next to you. Mutants running towards freedom.

“Come on,” you tell them, turning to your right. “Outside is this way.”

“How do you know?” the girl questions, looking scared.

You tap your nose with your finger, then repeat it to one of you ears. “My mutation.”

You then start running towards the hallway exit, knowing they’ll follow you. You open the locked door easily with your strength, looking out to see more teenagers running in the direction you suspected.

You allow your neighbors to go first before following, running along with the kids. You look around and notice this hallway is just a stretch with doors on either side, you’re assuming housing cells like the one you were just in.

You continue to run, noticing how there are staff on the floor, dead. You hold no ill feelings towards that, happy to just be out of this hell hole where you don’t even remember what you went through.

Soon, sunlight reaches your eyes and you soon exit the facility, grass under your bearfeet. You watch as the children are guided on to a jet, a woman dressed in black ushering them in.

You want answers. You want to know where Logan is, what happened to him. Where Victor is. You wouldn’t mind tearing out his throat, for good this time.

Deciding to not follow the others, you turn to walk towards the tree line. You’ve survived in the woods numerous of times and you know you can do it again. Your plan of action is to find out where you are, get home, then find Logan if he’s not there.

A hand suddenly stops you, causing you to turn and ready to fight. Having grabbed you is a man also dressed in black, similar to that of the woman. He’s wearing sunglasses and is tall, probably six feet with broad shoulders.

“Where are you going, jet’s this way.” The man says, his hand now on your own.

You jerk your hand out of his grasp. “To get answers.” you say, not owing this man anything.

“Revenge wont get you anything.” The man says, trying to persuade you to come with him.

You shoot him a smile, all teeth elonged and claws grown.

“I’m the Jackal. I can get anything.”

You then turn your back to the man, continuing to walk to the treeline.

…

After escaping the facility, you found out you were still in Canada and only about two hundred miles from your home. You stayed moving in the woods for a week, hunting and gathering your strength.

Afterwards, you found a nearby cabin that was empty but lived in. You broke in, helped yourself to a shower and change of clothes before packing a bag of food and leaving. You trekked through the woods for another week, allowing your scent of smell to guide you back home.

Finally you reached it, noticing how it looked run down. You immediately ran in to see the aftermath of your fight with Victor from a month ago. Blood was all over the kitchen cabinets, piles on the floor. The couch was torn apart, the kitchen table broken.

You walked into your bedroom, seeing the room the same as when you were last there. You sat down on the bed, the scent of Logan lingering.

Tears suddenly gathered in your eyes and you let out a sob as they continued to fell. You were angry. So angry. How Victor could come in and take you. How you were able to let yourself be taken and experimented on.

You were frustrated. Confused. You had no idea what has happened to you the past month and frustrated you couldn’t remember. One of the kids said you were sedated for a month and you cannot imagine what happened during that time.

You were sad. Sad for all those kids that undergone something that you might’ve. That they were just different and that meant they could be taken and experimented on.

But most of all you were sad cause you lost Logan again. You had Logan for six years, you were finally normal, not different. But it all had to go and change. And you have no idea where he is or what happened to him.

It seemed you really were the moon, and Logan Kuekuastheu.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///

Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @somiaw @sseleniaa

A/N: I cannot find where I found a fuller version of the Moon and the Wolverine story. I hope I did it justice.

#fanfic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett imagine #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #xmen fanfiction #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #james howlett fanfiction #james howlett #wolverine

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pxnsneverland · 7 months ago

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Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: I decided to post another Austin fic I've been playing with for a little while. This is a set up chapter for the story and hopefully you guys enjoy it. The romance will begin soon :)

Chapter 1: Anchors and Aspirations

The icy wind bit through Violet's thin shawl as she maneuvered through the bustling market square, her gray eyes flitting from stall to stall. With the stealth of a seasoned thief, she slipped a hand into a basket, withdrawing a bruised apple before anyone noticed. At her heart, there was no love for thievery, but survival in the grim alleys of Victorian England left little room for scruples. As she tucked the stolen fruit into the folds of her dress, a shadow loomed over her. Her heart caught in her throat. She turned slowly, only to see Mr. Clarence Johnson, a local shopkeeper known for his scrupulous eye and unforgiving nature.

“Miss Everly,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft, his gaze not on the stolen apple but on her face. “You look more worn than usual. Are you unwell?”

Violet tensed. Clarence Johnson was an uncommon figure in their decrepit part of town; his presence alone suggested he was either lost or up to something far beyond her understanding.

“I am just fine, sir,” Violet replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “Just tending to some errands for my father.”

“Aye,” he nodded slowly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“But you needn’t resort to pilfering for your sustenance,” he continued, glancing at where the apple had disappeared into her dress. “There are other ways, Miss Everly, ways that do not risk your slender neck at the gallows.”

Violet stiffened, her hand instinctively clutching the fabric over the apple. The threat of the law was always a ghost that haunted her every step in these streets. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnson, but I assure you, I manage as best I can.”

Clarence surveyed her with those discerning eyes that missed little. “Your father,” he began, his voice dropping to a softer timbre, “he does little to provide, am I right?”

The accusation stung because it was true, yet Violet felt a surge of defiance. “He is my father still,” she said coldly, daring him with her gaze to speak ill of the man despite his failures.

Clarence sighed digging into one of his pockets and pulling out a few coins. He handed it to Violet. “Go buy the apple, girl. It would be a shame to see you hang for a fruit.” A trace of regret flitted across his features. “Miss Everly, I—” He paused, seeming to choose his next words with care. “I find myself in need of a reliable assistant at my shop. Someone keen and observant. Your... talents could be put to better use than thievery.”

Violet's heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage at the offer. Employment from Mr. Clarence Johnson was an unexpected lifeline, a beacon in her relentless sea of struggles. Yet, mistrust curled inside her like a dormant snake. Why would a man of his standing offer her, a known petty thief, an opportunity?

"I appreciate your offer, Mr. Johnson," Violet started cautiously, her voice a low murmur as she glanced around the bustling market to ensure no eavesdroppers lurked nearby. "But why would you trust someone like me in your establishment? You know very well my... activities."

Clarence's eyes softened, hinting at a depth that Violet hadn't noticed before. “Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, Miss Everly. I’ve watched you, not just today but many times. You’re quick, smart, and despite your current... enterprise,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, “you have morals. You steal only what you need and no more.”

He was right—Violet never took more than necessary to survive. Her actions were driven by desperation, not greed. The acknowledgment of that fact from Clarence Johnson stirred something akin to hope within her chest.

"Consider it," he urged gently as he started to turn away, leaving the coins in her palm.

Violet watched Clarence's retreating figure, the coins heavy in her hand like the sudden possibility they represented. In a world that had offered little but hard edges and cold shoulders, the warmth of an unexpected offer ignited a flicker of daring in her spirit. She could almost taste the promise of stability, a stark contrast to the bitter tang of pilfered fruit and the relentless ache of uncertainty. Still, Violet knew better than to leap without looking. Her life had taught her the sharp lessons of betrayal and disappointment too well. As she moved away from the market square, her mind raced with both the perils and prospects of Clarence Johnson's proposal. Could she truly step into the light of legitimate work without the shadows of her past pulling her back? And more pressingly, what did Clarence see in her that others didn't? Was it pity, a calculated gamble, or perhaps something more personal?

As she wandered through the alleys, her route took her instinctively towards home—a term used loosely for the cramped, dingy room she shared with her father. The door creaked ominously as she pushed it open, revealing Edward Everly slumped over a table littered with empty bottles. The stench of stale liquor and despair hung thick in the air. Violet's entrance went unnoticed by her father, his consciousness lost to the depths of another drunken stupor. She stood there a moment, her gaze hardening as she took in the sight of his decrepit form. This was the life she was born into, one suffocated by poverty and neglect, a stark reminder of what awaited her if nothing changed.

With a soft sigh, she stepped over the threshold, her boots echoing softly on the bare wooden floor. The coins still clenched in her hand felt like both a promise and a burden. She walked past her father, careful not to disturb his fitful slumber, and seated herself on the small, worn-out chair near the cold fireplace. Here in the dim light of their one-room abode, Violet allowed herself a moment to think. Mr. Clarence Johnson’s offer was tempting—an escape from this life of constant desperation. Yet doubt gnawed at her; trust was a luxury she could scarcely afford. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden groan from across the room. Edward Everly stirred, his eyelids fluttering open only to squint at his surroundings in befuddled drunkenness.

"Violet?" he slurred, his voice soaked with alcohol and confusion.

"Yes, Father," she replied quietly, steadying her voice to hide the tumult inside.

"What are you doing, sitting there like a lost soul? No food again?" His voice was rough, accusatory, as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on her.

Violet's hand tightened around the coins, the metal biting into her palm. She considered telling him about the job offer, about the possibility of change, but the words died on her lips. Her father's unpredictable temper and his disdain for any sign of ambition or hope outside his own distorted view discouraged any such revelations. Instead, she rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her dress with a practiced motion. "I'll get us something to eat," she said, her tone neutral. "Rest now. You need it."

Edward grunted in response, collapsing back onto the table with a weary thud. Violet turned away, feeling the weight of responsibility press down on her once more. As she stepped out into the waning light of day, the coins still in her grasp represented more than mere currency; they were a test of her courage and resolve.

The streets outside whispered with the voices of dusk—traders packing up their stalls, children playing before they were called in for supper, men heading towards the pubs for their evening respite. Violet moved through them like a shadow, unnoticed yet sharply attentive. She made her way to the tiny store at the corner of the street, its windows dimly lit and shelves sparsely stocked. Mrs. Bauble, the elderly proprietor, looked up from her knitting as Violet entered, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion and then softening as she recognized the young woman.

"Back again, Violet?" Mrs. Bauble asked, setting aside her knitting. Her voice was raspy yet carried a warmth that was often absent in their bleak surroundings.

"Yes, Mrs. Bauble," Violet replied, approaching the counter with the coins still tight in her grip. "A loaf of bread and whatever meat you can spare for this."

Mrs. Bauble eyed the coins and then Violet, a knowing look crossing her features. "Trouble or fortune, my dear? Those coins look heavy with one or the other."

Violet offered a small, weary smile. "Perhaps a bit of both," she confessed softly.

The old woman nodded as if she understood all too well the dual nature of sudden opportunities. She turned to gather the requested items, wrapping them carefully before handing them over to Violet. "Be cautious, child. Fortune's favor is a fickle friend," she advised, her wrinkled hand briefly squeezing Violet's.

Violet nodded, feeling the weight of the old woman's words sink into her heart. "I will, thank you, Mrs. Bauble," she murmured, taking the small parcel with a sense of gratitude mixed with trepidation. As she left the store, the cool evening air brushed against her face, whispering possibilities that both exhilarated and terrified her. The walk back home was a quiet one, filled with the sounds of her own footsteps echoing off the cobblestones and the distant laughter of children not yet called to their suppers. Violet's mind spun with thoughts of Mr. Clarence Johnson’s proposal. It was a chance to step away from the shadowy margins of survival into something resembling a normal life. But at what cost? Could she really leave behind the streets that had taught her everything about resilience and distrust just as easily?

The uncertainty churned inside her as she approached the door of her humble abode once more. Violet paused, hand on the latch, feeling the divide between her current life and the one that might await her with Clarence Johnson. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, soft and encouraging, urging her to take a chance for a better future. Yet, the haunting memories of past betrayals loomed large, making her hesitate. Resolutely, Violet pushed open the door, stepping back into the shadowed confines of the room she shared with her father. Edward Everly was now snoring loudly, lost in an alcoholic haze that seemed to provide him the only peace he knew. Violet set down the small parcel of food on the shaky table and took a moment to look at him. Despite everything, he was still her father, and a pang of compassion tempered her longstanding resentment.

Quietly she unpacked the bread and meat, setting aside a portion for herself before preparing a smaller plate for Edward when he would inevitably awaken. Her actions were mechanical, performed with little thought as her mind wrestled with larger concerns. She knew that accepting Clarence’s offer would mean more than just changing jobs; it would mean stepping into an unknown world, risking exposure and vulnerability in ways she hadn't before.

Later, as darkness enveloped the room and the flickering candle cast long shadows across the peeling walls, Violet sat with her thoughts, tracing the outline of the bread with her fingers. The sense of impending change weighed heavily on her. It wasn't just the prospect of leaving behind the familiar, suffocating squalor that gnawed at her; it was also stepping into a realm so vastly different from anything she had known. What if she was unprepared for the challenges? What if she failed?

As these doubts swirled in her mind, Edward stirred from his stupor, his movements sluggish as he adjusted to the dim light. He squinted at the plate set before him and then up at Violet, a rare flicker of confusion crossing his usually indifferent gaze.

"Did you fetch this, Violet?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," she replied quietly, watching him closely.

He took a piece of meat and chewed slowly. For a moment, there was silence between them—a silence filled with unspoken words and stifled dreams.

"Why do you stay?" Edward's question came unexpectedly. His eyes, clearer now, fixed on her with an intensity that made her flinch slightly.

Violet paused, her breath catching in her throat. It was not like Edward to show interest in her choices or her life. The question hung in the air, heavy and laden with implications that Violet had long avoided. She searched for an answer that could appease both her father and her own restless heart. "I stay because this is my home," she replied quietly, her eyes not meeting his. "And because you are here."

Edward snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him as he looked around the decrepit room that barely served as a shelter. "This? This is no home, Violet. It's a prison. You're young still. You shouldn't be shackled by my failures."

His words, so starkly honest, struck Violet with unexpected force. It was rare for Edward to acknowledge his own shortcomings so openly or to express concern for her well-being. This glimpse of the man he might once have been—before grief and vice had reshaped him into the figure he now presented—left her momentarily speechless.

"You could leave, find a better life. Isn't there anyone...?" His voice trailed off, his question unfinished but clear.

Violet’s heart pounded in her chest as she considered her father's words. They echoed the very thoughts that haunted her nightly dreams—the possibility of a life beyond these walls, a chance at happiness that seemed so tantalizing yet so remote. But the thought of leaving her father in this state, as wretched as it was, tugged at her conscience. "There might be," she admitted softly, allowing herself to think of Clarence Johnson once more. His offer had been genuine, filled with promises of respect and a new beginning. Yet, the weight of her current reality shackled her ambitions.

"But I fear what leaving would mean for you," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Edward scoffed, looking away from her piercing gaze. "Don't make an anchor out of me, Violet. I'm already drowning." His voice was gruff, edged with the harsh self-awareness that alcohol sometimes brought to his lips.

Violet swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears she refused to shed. Her father’s usual indifference made his moments of clarity all the more painful for their rarity and raw honesty.

"I need to think on it," she finally said, standing up and moving towards the small window that overlooked the dim alleyway below. There, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to draw strength from the night itself. The tangled streets of London sprawled out before her—so familiar and yet suddenly brimming with the promise of escape. Her heart fluttered at the thought, a wild bird caged by years of oppression and fear.

Inside, Edward shifted uneasily in his chair, watching her silhouette framed against the weak moonlight that dribbled through the grimy window. For a moment, he seemed about to speak again, perhaps to retract his harsh truths or to further encourage her departure. But no words came; instead, he sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh that spoke volumes of his resignation to life's cruel turns.

Violet remained at the window long after her father's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. Her thoughts were tumultuous waves crashing against the shore of her resolve. Clarence’s proposal was not merely an employment offer; it was an invitation to step into a world where she could perhaps wash away the stains of her past and emerge reborn. It promised safety, respectability, and above all, an identity unchained from the degradation that had colored her life. Yet, her father’s words haunted her: "Don’t make an anchor out of me." Could she really leave him here, adrift in the haze of his vices, or was it her duty to stay and prevent him from sinking deeper into despair? The weight of decision seemed insurmountable, anchoring her to this moment of indecision.

Violet pressed her cheek against the cool pane, the glass fogging slightly with each exhaled breath. Outside, the labyrinthine alleys of London whispered secrets of escape and adventure, but also murmured warnings of betrayal and hardship. Each whisper tugged at her soul, a symphony of opportunity and fear mingling in the night air. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise behind her. Turning slightly, she saw Edward shifting again in his chair, his face etched with lines of discomfort and regret. For a fleeting second, she saw not the man who had failed her but rather the father who had once held dreams and aspirations beyond the confines of their dreary existence. The weight of his words echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of their shared struggles and the unspoken bond that tied them together.

Drawing in a deep breath, Violet stepped away from the window. The cool air had not offered solace nor had it stiffened her resolve. If anything, it had only deepened her turmoil. Walking over to the flickering candle, she snuffed it out with a quick pinch, plunging the room into darkness. She navigated through the black with practiced ease, her every step whispering against the wooden floor. Reaching her modest bedding in the corner, she lay down without changing, drawing the thin blanket up to her chin. The darkness was not just a physical veil but also a metaphor for the uncertainty that clouded her future. As she lay there, her mind continued to race, replaying her earlier conversation with her father, weighing each word, each pause.

As sleep eventually claimed her in its restless embrace, Violet dreamt of vast oceans and endless horizons—a world away from the cramped confines of their decrepit home. In her dreams, the ocean was a deep blue, not the murky grey of London's foggy mornings. She stood on the deck of a ship, the wind tugging at her hair and billowing her threadbare dress like a sail. This was a freedom she had never known, unshackled from the burdens of her father's failures and the oppressive weight of their squalid existence.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

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leovenuslatina · 1 year ago

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Dear you 💖

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

a love letter from your fs 💝

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

psa - this PAC is a little different this is more a channeled message than a tarot reading enjoy!

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

* take a deep cleansing breathe

and pick a pile that calls to you *

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 1

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear pile one, I am absolutely thrilled to express my utter joy and excitement at the mere thought of being in your presence. It feels like an exhilarating adventure filled with endless possibilities. When I am with you, time seems to stand still as we embark on an enchanting journey of love and inspiration. Your warmth and comfort embrace me like a cozy blanket, providing solace to my weary soul. Every moment spent together is cherished, as we create unforgettable memories and share the deepest of conversations. Your companionship brings out the best version of myself, igniting a flame within that cannot be extinguished. In your delightful company, I find solace, encouragement, and a sense of belonging that surpasses all expectations. Pile one, you are my safe haven where happiness thrives and dreams come alive – and for that, I am eternally grateful.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 2

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Oh "Dear Pile Two, You Complete Me" - how you fill my life with joy and clutter! As I gaze upon your haphazardly stacked papers, misplaced knick-knacks, and random odds and ends, I can't help but feel an inexplicable sense of fulfillment. You are like the missing puzzle piece to my organized chaos. Who needs a meticulously tidy workspace when they can have the delightful chaos of a well-curated pile? From bills that need paying (eventually) to notes scribbled on Post-it's, you hold the irreplaceable treasures of my forgetful mind. Sure, some may scoff at your seemingly disorderly nature, but little do they know the hidden wisdom within your disarray. So here's to you, oh magnificent dear pile two - although your tidiness might be questionable, your charm is unmatched.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 3

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear pile 3, it's only you and me against the world. As I stand here, overlooking the vastness of our existence, I can't help but feel the weight of the universe pressing down upon us. It is in this moment that I realize the magnitude of our relationship, for within your embrace lies all that we hold dear. The world may attempt to tear us apart, but we shall prevail. Our bond is forged through the trials and tribulations we have faced together; a stronghold against adversity. As the tempest rages around us, threatening to consume all that we hold sacred, know that I am steadfast by your side. Our unity imbues me with an unwavering strength; no longer alone in this tumultuous journey through life's torrential storms. Together, pile 3, we defy fate and conquer uncertainty as champions of love and resilience.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 4

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear Pile 4, you are my perfect person. The mere thought of your existence fills me with an indescribable mix of joy and longing. Every fiber of my being yearns for your touch, for the sound of your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear. In this chaotic world, you are the anchor that keeps me grounded, the lighthouse that guides me through stormy waters. Your presence brings clarity to my thoughts and purpose to my existence. From the deepest depths of my soul, I believe that we were destined to be together - two halves of a whole seeking solace in each other's arms. Yet, fate continues to test our resolve, placing seemingly insurmountable obstacles in our path. But fear not, for I shall endure any hardship and surmount every challenge to be by your side. For you, dear Pile 4, are worthy of every sacrifice and every drop of blood spilled in this epic battle against destiny itself.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

#black tarot readers #pick a pile #future spouse #channeled reading #pick a card tarot #tarotcommunity #daily tarot #tarot #tarot cards #tarot daily #tarotblr #love reading #love messages #lovers #i love them

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notthefirstfallenangel · 1 year ago

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Memories IV

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, amnesia

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 3.6k

A/N: Hey there! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I know the fandom has been going through a tough time lately, and I just wanted to remind you to take care of yourself, especially your mental health. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Stay strong! ❤️

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

The blood-red sun sank slowly below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the world. The sky was a tapestry of oranges and purples, fading into blue and black as night began to creep in. You stood at the entrance of your home, feeling strange tingles in your chest as you paused on the threshold. Simon was behind you, his tall frame blocking out what little light remained outside and casting a long shadow across the front hall.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You stood there, unable to move. You felt like your limbs were made of lead and rooted to the spot. Your mind was a tempest of emotions; you were grateful to be free from the hospital walls, but deep down, terror lurked. Nervous anticipation rose inside as you feared what truth lay ahead about yourself that could shatter the delicate mirrors of your own reflection.

Simon seemed to sense your hesitation and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You alright, love?” he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded slowly, staring into his dark eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him. Simon had been by your side every step of the way, watching as you slowly pieced your life back together. He had been there for every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every setback and triumph.

He had remained a constant in your life, a source of strength and support when you needed it most.

You slowly turned to face him as Simon’s hand remained on your shoulder. You looked up at his face, illuminated by the dim light coming from the living room, and took in his sharp features. His jawline was chiselled, and his eyes were piercing, exuding a sense of confidence and ease that you found reassuring. You felt a sudden urge to lean in and kiss him, to feel his lips on yours and forget about the world outside. But instead, you stepped back and shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“I’m okay, thank you. It’s just strange... being back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon nodded in understanding, his hand still on your shoulder, and gestured for you to follow him into the living room. You walked past him, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own, and took in your surroundings.

After months in the sterile hospital room, everything felt surreal now that you finally got to come home. The world outside looked different as if it had changed in some way while you were confined to the hospital bed. You felt a sense of trepidation as you took in the sights and sounds of the city around you. It was all so overwhelming, so unfamiliar. You didn’t know how to navigate this new world without your memories. But as you stepped inside the house, a sense of comfort washed over you. The scent of lavender furniture polish wafted from within the house, helping to ease the tension in your body.

Simon placed your bags down with a thud like an anchor being dropped from his shoulders. He seemed to sense your unease and gently steered you towards the living room. The familiar surroundings filled you with warmth and peace, and for a brief moment, everything felt just right.

The living room was bathed in soft light, its walls lined with framed photos and paintings, some of which seemed vaguely familiar. You began to explore them, feeling an odd mixture of surprise and recognition as your gaze swept across each face in turn. Some were of Simon and you together, others were friends you had no recollection of. Yet still, something about them made your heart feel warm.

As you studied the photographs, Simon watched quietly as if waiting for you to come to some realisation. But the memories remained just beyond your reach. You could almost taste the bittersweet nostalgia on your lips, yet nothing solid materialised.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you let your fingers brush over the frames, tracing the outlines of the people in the photographs as if trying to remember them.

You stopped at one picture, a group photo of Simon, you, and several others at what appeared to be a night of celebrations. Everyone was smiling and laughing, their faces filled with joy. You looked at each person in the photo, trying to place them in your memory, but nothing came to mind.

“Who are they?” you asked, pointing to the group in the photograph.

Simon came over to stand beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “These are your teammates— our teammates. The ones who’ve got your back in the field and in the mess. They’re family.”

You shook your head, “I don’t remember them,” you said with a hint of frustration.

Simon placed a hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s, uh, it’s alright, love. You’ll remember soon enough. Take your time. It’ll come to you, alright? So no need to be too anxious.”

But will I really? You wondered silently to yourself.

With a sigh, you turned away from the wall and towards Simon with an uncertain smile.

You noticed that he had changed out of his usual hoodie and was wearing a black leather jacket with a white shirt, looking more put-together than usual, as if he was trying to impress you. The tattoos on his forearm peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket, adding to his edgy persona.

He frantically spent the day before scrubbing and scouring the house until it shone in perfect preparation for your long-awaited arrival. He felt like a nervous teenager on his first date, desperate to make a good impression. But he knew that this was different. This was about making you feel at home, helping you regain a sense of familiarity in a world that had become so foreign.

You turned to look at another photo, this time of Simon and you with a dog. The memories suddenly came flooding back, and your eyes lit up as you remembered the dog’s name.

“That’s Riley!” you exclaimed, feeling a slight sense of victory in finally remembering something.

“Riley! Here, boy!” you called.

But there was no barking, no sound of paws running across the floor. The house was eerily silent, save for the sound of your own breathing.

Simon’s expression turned grave as he looked at you, his hand still resting on your back.

“No, that, uh...Love,” Simon he said softly.” He... He passed, somethin’ like years ago.”

Your heart sank at Simon’s words, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You felt a sense of overwhelming loss, as if a part of you had died with the dog. You tried to remember the last time you had seen Riley. Still, the memory was elusive, like a dream that faded upon waking.

Simon saw the tears in your eyes and stepped forward to wrap you in a tight hug. You breathed him in, the smell of his cologne mixed with something else, something comforting like home.

You attempt to grasp at Riley’s memory, but your mind is foggy, and all you can recall is a faint trace of his affection. The anguish seizes you as you try to imagine the days spent together, playing fetch in the park and snuggling up on the couch, but all that remains are empty spots in your heart and mind. Burying your face in Simon’s chest, a harsh truth crashed down on you: You couldn’t even grieve properly because you didn’t remember the moments that connected you and Riley.

Simon’s stomach churned with guilt as he watched you suffer the same agony of Riley’s loss all over again. He had been so busy trying to make everything perfect for your return that he failed to factor in how hard it would be for you to come to terms with what had been taken away. Yet, despite the sorrow and regret, a glimmer of optimism flickered in his chest that perhaps you’d find the strength to remember even more. But for now, Simon knew you needed space and time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

As the two of you stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts, Simon’s grip on you tightened, and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and it calmed the storm raging inside you.

When Simon finally pulled away, he gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t wanna spring that on you.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the loss. “It’s okay,” you said. It wasn’t.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No, not now,”

Simon nodded, his gaze softening. “Alright... listen ‘ere, love. You have been eatin’ those crappy hospital meals. You wanna get something new in your body and your system, yeah?” he said gently as his fingers brushed against yours in a comforting gesture.” I’ll cook somethin’ proper. You’re gonna love it.”

You nodded in agreement, not having the energy to argue. It had been a while since you’d had a home-cooked meal, and the hospital food left a lot to be desired. You followed Simon into the kitchen, taking in the warm, cozy space. It was small but had everything you needed, including a small dining table and chairs. The countertops were cluttered with various kitchen appliances and utensils, but everything was clean and tidy.

Simon rummaged through the fridge and pantry, his eyes scanning the shelves for something to cook.

As he gathered the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, you watched him move around the kitchen with ease. There was something about the way he moved, with such grace and purpose, that made you feel drawn to him. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless in his pursuit of whatever he wanted.

You noticed how his muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he chopped vegetables, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. You almost felt guilty for feeling this way about a man you didn’t remember. You knew you two were engaged, but it felt strange to be drawn to someone you had no recollection of. Being with Simon felt familiar, like coming home even though you couldn’t remember why. It was as if your body recognised him before your mind did.

The hospital breakdown was a pivotal moment in your relationship, and it seemed you two had struck a deal.

And yet, even though your memory didn’t seem any clearer, there was still a sense that your outlook had changed.

You seemed more vulnerable, more reliant on him for comfort and guidance. The barriers and walls you used to keep him away with were crumbling, and the two of you were starting to form a real connection.

This is progress, Simon told himself, hopefully. This is an improvement.

Simon felt both terrified and excited by this newfound closeness. He was scared to get too close too soon, scared of the pain of rejection if your memory did return and you chose not to stay with him. But at the same time, he could feel himself falling even deeper in love with every passing moment.

He wanted to give you some space, but his heart ached for yours.

You wished there was some way to go back in time and remember who you used to be together—but there just wasn’t. You didn’t know how to be the person Simon remembered, and that scared you. You wanted more than anything to make him happy, but it felt like no matter what you did or said, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

After dinner, he showed you the bedroom. The room was simple but elegant, with a queen-sized bed in the centre and a large window overlooking the backyard. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the bedding was white and fluffy, inviting you to sink in and drift off to sleep.

“I...I don’t want to take your bed.”

Simon smiled warmly at you. “It’s our bed, alright?” he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I ain’t gonna fight you over who needs to sleep where. I have a couch; lemme sleep on it.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the couch?”

Simon shook his head, his hand still holding yours. “Look, love. We’re both tired here. I want to take care of ya and make sure you’re comfortable. So, you don’t gotta fight, and I ain’t gonna be arguing, or I’m gonna have to tie you down, and force a sleep mask over your eyes, yeah?”

“Okay, Okay,” you laughed. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Simon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Alright, you rest up. I’ll see ya in the morning,” he said before turning to leave the room.

You watched him go, feeling a sense of longing wash over you. You wished you could remember what it was like to be with him, to feel his touch and his love.

Laying in bed, the day’s events replayed in your mind like a movie reel. The memory of Riley’s passing still weighed heavily on your heart. Still, there was something else tugging at the edges of your consciousness. It was like watching a horror movie with the sound turned down low; you could sense fear and trepidation from the dimly lit scenes playing out before you, but you couldn’t make out any details.

Your heart raced as you tried to piece together the fragments of this unknown memory, but it slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving you even more frightened than before.

You tried to sleep, but deep in your chest, you felt the beginnings of fear build. You turned over and over again in bed, growing more agitated by the minute. The shadows on the wall from the lamp beside it stretched out like malevolent spirits that wanted nothing more than for you to be afraid. Nothing to see here, they would say as they writhed and clawed at you with their formless hands, almost touching you before receding back into the darkness. Your feet move slowly through the darkness. The floor is cold under your feet as you step lightly through this unfamiliar place that once was your house.

“Damn it,” you said, the fear in your voice palpable in the silent room. You reached for the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and flooding the room with light. The shadows scattered, leaving nothing but the familiar sight of the bedroom. You took deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart.

It was just a nightmare, you told yourself. It’s just a silly, irrational fear.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Something was lurking in your subconscious that you couldn’t quite grasp but knew was there. Something that made your skin crawl and your heart race.

You got out of bed, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your feet move slowly through the darkness, the floor creaking beneath your weight. You move towards the door, your hand reaching out to grasp the doorknob. As you turn it, the door swings open with a low groan, revealing the dark hallway beyond.

Your heart thunders as you take the first step into the hallway. The darkness seems to encroach on you, swallowing up the light from the bedroom. You take another step forward, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. You could hear the light snoring coming from Simon on the couch, but it didn’t bring you any comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking in the darkness waiting for you.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness consuming everything in its path. You felt like you were walking through a nightmare, one that you couldn’t escape from. You tried to call out for Simon, but your voice was hoarse and barely audible.

Suddenly, you heard a sound from down the hallway. It was faint, but it was there. A soft whisper, calling out your name.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t see anything, but you could feel a presence in the darkness. You could feel its breath on your neck, its fingers brushing against your skin.

You turned around and ran towards the couch where Simon was sleeping when you saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was a woman, her face twisted in a grotesque grin.

You could feel your feet sinking into the ground as if the floor was swallowing you whole.

You tried to scream, but the darkness choked your voice. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were sure it would burst out of your ribcage. And then, suddenly, the darkness lifted, like a veil being lifted from your eyes.

Just a dream, a nightmare that left you gasping for breath as you sat in bed. Your heart still raced, and your skin was slick with sweat.

You looked around the room, relieved to see that it was just a dream. But the feeling of terror lingered, its tendrils wrapping around your heart and refusing to let go.

You slid out of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and you needed to shake it off.

You moved quietly to the living room, past the vase of flowers on the table, their petals soft and pliable beneath your fingers.

Simon lay asleep on the couch near the window, bathed in moonlight that filtered through the blinds. You approached him, hovering over his still form like a guardian angel. The outline of his face was sharp yet softened by shadows; you could see the rise and fall of his chest under the comforter he had kicked off while sleeping. As you considered waking him, his eyes fluttered open.

“you good?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

You jumped, startled by his sudden awakening.

“Oh, I’m... nothing,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to come out here for a bit.”

Simon frowned, his eyes dark with concern.

“C’mere,” he said, lifting the edge of the comforter. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea, but the weight of loneliness was too much to bear. As you nestled closer, his arms wound around you, and the press of his chest at your back reassured you that everything would be alright. His breath on the nape of your neck mingled with the scent of lavender fabric softener, and his heartbeat against your spine slowed to match your own. His touch calmed your racing mind until all that remained were the gentle brushstrokes of his fingertips along your arm.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle in the darkened room.

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with your fears, but then decided to tell him. “I had a nightmare,” you said softly, feeling embarrassed.

“You want to-?”

“No,” you stopped him. You didn’t want to talk about it, not wanting to relive the terror of the nightmare.

He didn’t push it. “Okay... If you have that nightmare again, I’ll kick that thing’s arse, I will. Now, close your eyes. You need your sleep, darlin’.” his voice was low and soothing.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his protectiveness and felt a sense of security as he pulled you closer to him.

“Sweet dreams, okay? And close those eyes of yours, dear,” he murmured, kissing your head.

You smiled, and soon, with the warmth of his body next to yours, you fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of a shushed argument coming from the front door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented.

You got up from the couch and walked towards the front door, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. As you got closer, you could hear the muffled voices growing louder.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should interfere, but curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you pushed the door open, and sunlight streamed through the opening, flooding the dark living room.

“Go away. Now.” Simon said, his voice ringing with anger, “I swear to bloody god, I’ll break your fakin’ nose.”

He was a silhouette in the murky morning light, feet planted firmly as he stood before an unfamiliar figure. His shoulders were tense, and a single bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His face was concealed by the usual black balaclava that melded seamlessly into his dark clothing.

The other man seemed taken aback by Simon’s outburst. Still, he quickly regained his composure and stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim light.

“C’mon, I just want to see ‘er”.

The Scottish lilt pierced through the thick silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine.

Like an electric shock, you felt a sudden jolt of energy as images of the past suddenly emerged from the fog of amnesia. Images, sounds, and conversations flooded your mind as fragments of memories all clicked into place, and you remembered him.

“Soap?”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie @originaldeerhottub @cr4shposts @caramlizedtomatoes @ilovehyperfixating @ghostlythots @dotcie

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #task force 141 #ghost cod #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader

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innorogers · 3 months ago

Text

Awakening

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside.

Warning: Angst / Hydra Past / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / This one is very emotional /He is very sad very angry / Hurt & Comfort

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare

Hydra’s brainwashing mechanism operates like a code embedded in a computer system. Implanted deep within the nervous system of each asset, it’s triggered by a command—a specific sequence of words, like a complex password. It only takes effect once the entire sequence is spoken. However, each word acts as a layer, tightening control over the asset with every syllable. It gradually overrides the brain's natural functions, until complete control is achieved over both mind and body.

You knew this. You also knew that fighting it only made the effect stronger, accelerating the process. Resisting was like trying to stop venom already spreading through your veins—inevitable and deadly. So, your only option was to buy time.

Time against whatever you were about to become.

“Мечта.”

Four triggered the first word unexpectedly, and you saw it in his eyes—he was going to finish the sequence fast.

But you were faster.

Your fist slammed against the wall, hitting the hidden button you’d been shielding.

"NO!!" Steve’s roar echoed through the room as a thick, crystallized wall dropped from the ceiling, sealing him and Maria on the other side. He pounded against it with all his strength, his fists useless against the reinforced barrier. "Open this!" he was desperate: “Open this fucking thing!!”

But it was useless. This was The Crib, the place where you, Tony, and Bruce pushed the limits of crazy ideas. Naturally, it was equipped with a “Hulk Containment” feature, just in case one of those experiments went too far.

“Jarvis, override!” Maria commanded immediately, pressing her comms. “Stark, 116, 116, in The Crib! Now!” She stepped back and shot the wall, only to leave soft marks but unable to break it at all.

Four smiled, pleased.

“Шкаф”

A sharp pain crossed your mind, like a thunderstruck that cut you as a knife. For some seconds you think you lost control. You stumbled forward, losing completely balance. And stretched an arm for a glass somewhere over a desk nearby knocking everything off. The glass went flying and smashed to pieces on the floor. You tried to reach it blindly, you were loosing your sight, with trembles and the last thread of senses you handled to grab it, so you squeezed with all your remaining strength.

The glass pierced your skin and palm, leaving a long trail of blood down your arm. You could hear Steve's frantic pounding echoing through the walls, his voice a raw, anguished, shouting your name, but pain is dominating your senses.

But this is good, pain is good. Pain meant you were still here.

"Тетрадь." Four stepped back. He was enjoying this. All this show was worth it, even though he failed and had to face the rage of all the Avengers together later.

Nononono. You pressed harder your fists, the glass embedded left out more blood. Feel the pain, feel the senses. You're good. You're good. You are not this. You are not Hydra. You did not survive up to this day to be used again as something disposable.

On your knees, you pressed your other hand into the shattered glass, hoping the sharpness would anchor you.

"Open this!" Steve was almost unrecognizable in his panic when Tony and Bruce entered the room. “Get this thing open!” His voice was a mix of rage and fear.

“Shit…” Bruce rushed to the nearest console, typing furiously. “The code’s simple but old—it’s uncrackable. We’ve got 15 seconds before it overrides.”

“What?!” Steve was outraged: “You’ve got to open it! Open it! Tony! Get my girl the fuck out of there!”

“Oh shit, this is good.” Four’s laughter filled the room. This was a feast for him.

“Радуга.“

“No…” You whispered, holding onto the pain as if it were your lifeline.

You are not this.

You are good.

You are…

You are an oak tree, hidden deep in the forest. Sitting around the fire with your siblings, their faces bathed in a golden glow. The words that hung in the peaceful silence on that night.

Starlight on the Siberian peaks, a full moon overhead. Natasha’s hand pulling you out, the scent of her leather jacket against your frozen skin.

The first time you saw the ocean. The sensation of sand beneath your feet, waves tickling your toes.

Christmas lights twinkling on a giant tree, champagne in the compound and Dr. Lin’s drunk laugh.

The first time Tony led you into the abandoned lab, that door opened to what you thought was perfection. The bad jokes you shared with him and Bruce here in The Crib. The coffee you made for Sam and Nat at your lab.

And Steve. The first time he smiled at you. The way he laughed at your childish bedtime story. The first time he kissed you. His lashes brushing your cheek. The sound of his heartbeat at night, the strength in his embrace.

No. You were not this monster they were trying to turn you into.

You were the life your brothers and sisters never got to have.

The sunlight, the breeze, the snowflakes, the spring rain in your garden, and the summer air in you hair they never felt. You were living the memories they couldn’t.

You weren’t this. A puppet someone could easily manipulate over some ridiculous words.

“No…” You felt your tears crashing in your hand full of shattered glasses. “I’m not…that.”

You are not Hydra’s Frankestein.

You are the faith you still hold for humanity—the goodness, the kindness you’ve seen. You are the broken fairy tales One and Two told you and your siblings to soothe your sorrowful nights

You are this precious jewel Steve treasured every time he hugged you, kissed you, or looked at you.

“Конфета,” Four sneered, delivering the next word.

But you fought back.

“No.”

Your eyes locked with his, burning with defiance.

“You wanna play, huh?” Frazer chuckled.

“стена.”

Another shock hit your mind, but this time it didn’t knock you down. You stumbled but stayed standing, hearing Tony override the code. The wall would be down soon. You had to act before anyone else got hurt because of you.

Four stared in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how you were even resisting.

So he rushed into it.

“Облако.”

You felt your body betray you, limbs refusing to respond.

C’mon, focus. Stay focused. Everyone you love is on the other side of the wall, you couldn’t let them get hurt.

You lunged at the desk and ripped open the top drawer. God, what's all that noise? Stop the drums, stop that noise… please… You couldn't stay awake much longer. Damn it, where is it…Your hands desperately looking for something.

‘Зеленый.'

Four said again. And that command felt like a hammer that struck your head. You collapsed to your knees, your bloody hands finally finding it. An injection. Fuck, your vision was blurred; you couldn’t see the dosage.

'лес '.

Nononono you couldn't wait, it was almost at the last word. So you didn't measure it, and you plunged the injection into your neck. God…! That hurts. You pressed all the content in you.

Ok now…now we should be good. You were panting and sweating as you dropped the injection and came over your knees. Shit that was closed. Too closed.

Four looked stunned. He didn’t know what you’d done, but before he could react, Steve burst through the room like a storm and crashed his face with all the strength Captain America would have in a battlefield. You even heard the crack sound of their bones crashing.

“Stop!” Maria shouted before Steve in all his fury, outraged and unstoppable, would kill the guy with his bare hands. “We need to track that retina layer! Stop!” She lunged and seized his arm, preventing him from striking further.

Your mind recovered some senses as the words stopped, now all you felt was pain, but you managed to let out what you’d been holding in all day.

“Steve…”

That worked as a Hydra’s password to him, Steve felt he was woken up from a dream, and before you knew it, you were pressed into his embrace, his arms holding you tight yet gentle and with care, as if you were fragile as the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, trembling as you tried to hold onto him. “I wanted to tell you…I…” God, his skin is so warm. You missed that the entire day.

Steve froze. The ache on his chest made him paralyzed, he could barely speak. You were worried about him? Now?

“It's ok…” He was feeling a lump form in his throat, his hand weaving through your hair, pressing you against him and kissing you on the forehead.

“I’m here baby, it’s ok, you are ok…” He barely could put himself together. You were a mess—bloody, battered— and he was scared, so scared he can’t remember when was the last time he was falling apart like this.

You were panting as your consciousness was losing it, giving in finally to the injection you put into yourself to paralyze you and prevent you from doing something you can’t manage.

“Did you…get hurt?” You raised a hand and touched his face. You were fading, the injection taking its toll, dragging you into unconsciousness.

“Shit baby…” Steve pressed his forehead against yours, barely holding himself together. He couldn’t believe what you were saying: “That’s the last of my concerns.”

But you were already slipping away.

Steve’s heart froze in his chest when he looked down and saw your eyes closed, your body limp against his. A cold wave of terror surged through him, threatening to pull him under. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, it was like the world had stopped spinning. He couldn't hear anything, not Tony, not Bruce, not even his own heartbeat.

His entire focus narrowed to the sight of you—still, lifeless—like all the color had drained from you. His hand hovered over your face, trembling, afraid to touch you, afraid you wouldn’t respond.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, hoarse and broken. “Babe...?”

Panic gripped him in a way he hadn’t felt since the war, since waking up alone in a world that had moved on without him. But this was worse, infinitely worse. His fingers found the pulse at your neck, but his heart refused to calm. What if it was fading? What if you were slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it?

"What...What's happening?" He could hear his own voice, vulnerable as ever.

“What the f…?” Tony knelt next to Steve, grabbing the discarded syringe.

Relief washed over him as he read the label.

“Oh, for god’s fucking sake…!” He passed it to Bruce, sinking to the floor. “It’s just a tranquilizer. She’s asleep. Damn, that was close.” He rubbed his face, still shaken. “That was the scariest thing ever. Shit.”

"Holy shit." Bruce and Maria leaned back too, releasing the breath they had been holding.

"Okay..." Commander Hill, always the first to pull herself together, stood up and exhaled in relief as she began to make sense of the chaos.

"Let’s get her to the med bay. Now." Her voice was determined, but her movements were gentle. She patted a still-in-shock Steve softly on the shoulder. "Come on, Cap. We need to get her out of here. And there’s work to do." She tilted her head toward the unconscious Four on the floor.

Steve didn’t respond. He was panting, his body covered in cold sweat as Tony’s words sank in. It was...tranquilizer? You were ok? He was still holding you close, feeling the warmth of your skin, the quiet and steady rhythm of your breathing. And he could hear your heartbeat.

He never really believed in God, but in that moment, he wanted to thank every deity in this world or beyond that you were still in his arms. Alive. Safe.

And, God…he swore right then, he would never let this happen again. Whatever the hell had gone down tonight, he was so fucking sure that was never, EVER, happening again.

"Steve." Tony placed a hand on his shoulder as Sam and Natasha entered the room with the elite team to deal with Four.

"Come on, buddy, let’s go. Look at her hands—she’s a mess. We’ve got to get her wounds treated." And make sure that brainwash thing is gone, Tony thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. With Steve still so on edge, he didn't want to end like Four on the floor.

Steve closed his eyes for a long moment, then tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer. He lifted you carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead and inhaling your scent. You smelled like blood, and he felt a deep, crushing guilt.

"Alright, let’s go." He finally spoke, his voice steady, though full of pain. "But I’m staying close." There was no way he was letting you out of his sight.

You inhaled sharply, and your eyes flew open, heart pounding in your chest.

The room was bright, sterile, and the soft hum of Stark technology filled the air.

Disoriented, you stared at the blinking machines and glowing monitors around you. Tubes and wires were connected to your arms, and a soft beep from the heart monitor echoed in the quiet space.

Flashbacks hit you hard. Four. The keywords. You injected yourself to prevent anyone from getting hurt. And you succeeded, didn’t you? Did anyone get hurt?

You remembered Steve being the first to approach you. Four was beaten down, wasn’t he? Is Steve okay? Is everyone ok?

“What the hell is this…” You muttered, frowning as you glanced at the data on the monitors. Then quickly decided you didn’t need any of it. You reached for the tubes, yanking them out one by one. The pain was sharp, but adrenaline dulled it. You didn’t care. You hated anything related to medical clinics, anything that reminded you of being in a lab, a subject of experimentation.

You pulled off the monitors, ignoring the rapid beeping as alarms blared. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood shakily, your legs weak, your vision blurry.

“Damn…” you muttered, walking in a dizzy haze, trying to balance. You must have injected quite a dose of tranquilizer. How long had you been out? There were no windows, and the room’s enclosed space only heightened your panic.

Barefoot, you rushed out and collided with Steve, who was rushing in, pale and shaken.

“What...What are you doing?!” His voice was agitated. Pulling out the tubes must’ve triggered an alarm. He immediately scooped you off the cold floor. “Are you okay?” He set you back on the bed and inspected your bruised and bleeding arms. “You’re freezing. You ok? You’re hurt? Do you want me to call the docs?”

“I…I…” You didn’t know what to say, so you just stretched out your arms and pulled him close, holding yourself to him and hugged him as tight as your weak strength allowed.

“I missed you.”

You said in a low voice, closing your eyes, inhaling his skin, arms around his neck and feeling him. “I woke up and I wanted to see you…I was scared…”

You felt a strange wave of vulnerability, the kind that made you feel like a child seeking comfort.

Steve stood rigid, his heart and soul settling back into place now that you were awake and in his arms. But he was also…furious. You had no idea how angry he had been, how the team had barely managed to contain his rage. He wanted to stay quiet, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You were scared…now? You didn’t seem scared when you used yourself as bait and stood up against this guy alone…!”

He wanted to shout it out, his voice was thick with frustration, fear, and anger, but he stopped.

His arms remained gentle, holding you tightly.

“What were you thinking? I was…You scared the shit out of me…I thought…”

He cut himself off, tightening his grip around you, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips brushed against your hair as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He clenched his arms, flashing back to that moment when he was breathless, but now you were there.

Thank God you are here.

Your arms around his neck, body against his, his arms holding onto your waist, He could smell your hair, could feel your warmth against his lips, and he didn’t want this moment to end.

“I’m sorry… I wanted to tell you… And I knew you were looking for me, but I couldn’t look back. It would’ve given me away.” You looked up, cupping his face with a soft smile.

Steve exhaled, his heart twisting in his chest. He clenched his jaw, his voice thick with emotion, still fighting to keep composure, he pulled you impossibly closer, holding you against him, his voice a shaky whisper.

“Just promise me…promise me you won’t do such reckless…dangerous things again…ever.”

Your fingers softly moved around his face, and gently kissed him, you pressed your forehead to his, calming and soothing his pain.

You could hear his breath becoming softer and lower with your touch, you stood still, hugging and feeling him as you were comforted too.

“Were you hurt?” you asked suddenly, remembering Steve knocking out Agent Frazer, unsure of how the events had played out. Breaking the hug, you looked him over. “You’re hurt!” You exclaimed, noticing his swollen, bleeding knuckles. “Steve, let me see. Is this bad? Are you in pain?”

“This?” He opened and closed his fist, showing you it was fine. “This is nothing… it hurt less than hitting a punching bag.”

“The Hulk container IS NOT a punching bag.” You carefully caressed his injured hand, your eyes welling up with tears. “Can you get it checked later? Does it hurt?”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He tightened his other arm around your waist, swallowing the lump in his throat.

You hadn’t cried when you found out about your brother being alive, or later when you learned he was a fake. You hadn’t cried when you clenched your fist around glass to fight back the brainwashing. You hadn’t even hesitated when you injected yourself to save everyone.

But now, you were tearing up because of his bruised knuckles.

“I’m ok.” He said after a long pause. And it felt so clumsy. But he didn’t know how to describe the feeling he had right now. He couldn’t find the words. He wished there were some way to predict the future, to shield you from every upcoming danger, every pain, for the rest of your life.

“When can we go home?” You rubbed your eyes, you were exhausted, but you didn’t want to sleep here.

Steve smiled at your mention of “home”, and thought about your secluded, private, little lab, full of sunshine and plants. Your home. Our home. That’s such a wonderful word. His voice softened as he helped you lie down.

“Soon, baby. Just rest, ok? You’ve been through too much today.” He adjusted the pillows and pulled a blanket over you. “Are you okay? Are you cold?”

“Yes.” You frowned and looked up at him. “I’m cold. I want you to hold me.” You moved aside, making room in the bed. “Now.”

You had never used that childish tone before, and it made Steve chuckle. Shaking his head, he climbed into bed beside you, holding you in his arms, your head resting on his chest. “Spoiled little brat.” He teased with a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “My spoiled little brat.”

You inhaled deeply, resting your head against his chest, your favorite spot in the world where you could hear his heartbeat—the sound that made everything in the universe make sense. And when he thought you were asleep, you spoke, your voice clear.

“Do you want to hear a bedtime story?”

Your voice carried a sense of determination, and Steve sighed. He had it coming. Just not this soon.

But then, he thought back to everything, and realized you were one of the bravest people he'd ever met. It didn’t surprise him that you were ready to talk.

“Only if you're sure.”

“Yes.” You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbow to meet his eyes. “I should’ve told you from the beginning.” You exhaled deeply. “I was just scared of becoming a disappointment.”

“What?” He turned to you, incredulous. “No… don’t say that. You could never be a disappointment. Ever.” His gaze was steady and unyielding. “Don’t ever think that.”

You kissed his fingers, pausing for a long moment before beginning.

“Once upon a time…” You stopped as he chuckled. “I’m kidding. Bedtime stories are supposed to be soothing. This one would give nightmares.”

Steve held your hand as he looked at you: “I’m here. And…no nightmare could ever keep me away from you.”

You smiled but stayed quiet for a long while, gathering your thoughts. Steve remained silent, wrapping his arm around you, gently twisting a strand of your hair between his fingers, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We were twelve, as you might have guessed. I'm the last one.” Your voice was distant, soft, like whispering a dream from another lifetime.

“It started with One and Two. They were perfect, like gods—healthy, strong, fast, fierce. They had rapid healing, heightened reflexes, tolerance to extreme temperatures, and incredible immune systems. Like you. Or Apollo and Artemis. And of course, they weren’t enough. Hydra wanted more. They’ve always wanted more.”

You made a pause, those memories felt like thousands years ago.

“By the time they made Three, Four, and Five… One and Two had begun to… fail. They developed flaws.”

The fingers twirling your hair froze. Steve held his breath. He had thought about this ever since Natasha handed him your file, asking, ‘What do you think happened to the other eleven?’ He hadn’t answered, a terrible feeling gnawing at him that the others’ fates might have been far worse than yours.

“What kind of flaws?” You could hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Just…they weren’t flaws for me. But they stopped being perfect. Their immune system presented infections, something never happened before. Their recovery speed was not as fast as before, or they weren’t healing 100%. Or…speed decrease, lack of strength. And of course their minds started to … be uncontrollable or not manageable at all.” You sighed.

Steve’s hand tightened slightly, a ripple of horror passing through him.

“Three, Four and Five presented earlier symptoms. Three was fast, but he lacked strength. Four was strong, but he wasn’t able to heal as fast as the rest. And Five was super smart but she was…weak. Well, not weak, normal.”

You paused, and smiled: “It was true, you know? The story Agent Frazer told. I was a great tree climber, and we used to have fun in that oak tree. But…”

You felt Steve’s hand holding you tighter, and you hugged him back, your tone turned low.

“Four did that tricky thing of putting a rock on a pile of leaves. Seven hit against it so hard, and that’s right… he won’t stop bleeding, we headed to the base, and of course, got grounded as hell.” You inhaled: “Four died because of that. They sacrificed him, they were planning on doing so anyway, but it was used as a warning. They’ve put everything that ‘worked’ in Four, to ‘fix’ Seven.”

“What?”

Steve felt every fiber on his body tensed, his chest growing tighter and tighter as you spoke, horrified at the realization of what Hydra had done.

“And of course, Seven didn’t last long either. He died about a year later. I think… he just couldn’t live with what was left of Four.”

Your smile was thin, sad. “I saw the autopsy report. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He just…shriveled, or…died from a broken heart.”

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for the next revelation.

“And today…I didn’t stop Frazer right away because… I was curious.”

You buried your face in Steve’s chest, as you were ashamed of this little wish.

“I wanted to know…I’ve always wanted to know, how my brothers and sisters would be like…if they’d grown up. I knew Frazer was a fraud, but I couldn’t help it. He was identical to Four…and Four…he was just a kid, a bright, playful, funny kid.”

Steve clenched his arms and held you tightly as you were shivering uncontrollably. He was shaking too, his teeth chattering, it was beyond anger, he felt his heart filled with sadness and despair.

He tried to speak several times before his voice finally steadied.

“You were a kid too.”

“I was not a kid.” You responded, surprisingly quiet. “I was the kid. I was…the final version.” You looked at his horrified eyes as his expression shifted.

You lowered your eyes at his sight, and calmly continued the story: “One and Two passed away when I was young, very young, I still don’t know what happened to them. But Hydra…just continued experimenting, Seven was good, but then he … turned off when Four died, Eight died as a toddler I think. So they just kept going, taking things out of this one, adding to the other… until they got it to the right perfect model… or at least… to one that wasn’t deteriorating with time and maintained a regularity.”

You curved your lip as you looked at Steve.

“The last number of the great Hydra’s Dynasty. Frankenstein number Twelve.”

“I’m alive. Because my brothers and sisters died.”

Steve was in horror.

This pang in his chest, he didn’t know if he wanted to destroy something, vomit, or just…take the time stone, go back in time, and burn all Hydra’s bases he’d known down to the ground until they were ashes and dust. Until the very last of them were fucking burning and screaming in hell.

“They died so Hydra could have a perfect soldier?” His voice was barely more than a growl. “They were…torn apart so you could exist?”

“Well, it’s not like I have Eight’s eyes or Ten’s arms.” You looked at your hands. “It’s like…their DNA, their…existence, were transmitted to me. A prototype that succeeded, but the original versions…just didn’t make it.”

Your voice was like a faint ghost as you observed yourself.

“You know my powers, right? I can see…the components or layers of solid things when I want to. Not all the time, but it gives me a great advantage with stuff like machinery, weapons, gear, construction…I think I have Five’s intelligence too, and some of Three’s speed, or even a shadow of One and Two’s strength. And Eleven’s sense of humor—I’ve always thought we were twins…but this power…It’s only in me.”

“And it used to work on humans too, if I wanted it to.” You sighed in sadness and sorrow. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone, no one knows…not even Tony.”

You intertwined your fingers with Steve’s, confessing in a calm voice.

“There’s something…in every living being, within their layers and layers of components, something impossible to explain—something divine, and impossible to replicate. And that’s like a golden thread.”

You traced a line in the air as Steve held his breath.

“I see it as a line of golden glitter. Some shine more than others, like yours…yours is like a strong ray of sunshine, like all the stars in the sky unified within your being. That’s life. Or…the divine power of life.”

Steve held his breath in awe. There was something incredibly beautiful within the horrors you had to endure. He suddenly remembered all the plants in your lab and home, the leaves cascading from the ceiling, growing strong everywhere. He could picture it—the stunning view you’d have, all those waterfalls and cascades of golden strings, of living life.

He hesitated before speaking, his voice as gentle as he could make it: “And…you don’t use your powers on humans anymore?”

“No. I shut it down. Or it shut itself down…” You shook your head. “Hydra used my powers to make their experiments more…efficient. But my brain, or my powers, were too important. They didn’t dare experiment on me with something that might go wrong. I only had one brain procedure—the one that implanted all these keywords.”

You pressed your lips together and closed your eyes.

“They didn’t brainwash me…So I remember everything. I was forced to participate in the experiments on my siblings. I didn’t know…I thought I was helping them heal, but they lied. I was part of it…!”

Your breath quickened as the memories flooded back.

“I could see them. I could see how their life threads faded, losing their shine little by little. Strong, sparkling golden glitter slowly fading, disappearing. Like a spark extinguished…absorbed by nothingness. And after my last sister, Nine, passed away, I just…this power of seeing layers on human, it went off. I can only see threads in living beings now, nothing else.”

A terrible silence fell across the room. Only the soft beeps of the medical machines echoed through.

Steve sat up straight. He didn’t want to let go of your hand, your touch, but his body just reacted. It was too much, even for him. Your words were calm and serene, but the horrors and the cruelty behind them cut through him like a knife, piercing his soul and breaking him down.

He didn’t know what to say because…what was left to say? There was no comfort, no kindness, nothing that could soothe what you’d been through.

The fact that you remembered everything, that you saw brainwashing as a gift because you had witnessed every death, with genuine hope and devotion that you were helping, only to find out the goal was for you to be the perfect prototype. The guilt you must’ve felt, the despair of watching those threads try to hold on to life before they faded…

The image of you standing alone in this world after your last sibling was gone, facing all that darkness by yourself…he couldn’t imagine it.

“And then, everything is history.” Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“The project ended when Dr. Erskine actually succeeded in creating something…combined. I went into a cryostasis pod that eventually shut down. I don’t know for how long. Then one day, I just woke up in an empty facility, in the dark, and escaped. Natasha found me in the mountains. I think the lab sent out some kind of signal Tony detected, and she was sent to scan the place.”

You were relieved that your story had finally ended, or at least, the nightmare part.

But Steve was stiff.

He felt…waves of guilt crashing over him.

What year was that? When did all of that happen to you? Where was he? Could he have changed anything? If he had tried harder…if he had discovered Hydra's remnants in SHIELD earlier…could he have saved you?

“And I was…where?” He murmured to himself, trying to remember. “Wakanda…and then…it was the Blip…and I…I never knew…that you were here…until the night we met.”

“Steve…” You frowned, sitting up and placing a hand on his back. “I’ve told you already, what happened to me is not a weight for you to carry. I’m here now. And I’m with you. I’m safe.”

“Safe?” He could hardly bear the guilt and pain he felt. “Safe how? Look at you…you’re…” He took your hand, bandaged and scarred from all the glass and needles you’d endured. “How can you say you are safe…with me?”

He exhaled, his voice low as he suddenly tightened, his stomach twisting in pain. He didn’t know where to begin expressing the emotions, the guilt, the responsibility he felt for all of this.

“I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this. If I had tried harder, been faster, I should have protected you, saved you…if I’d just been there…”

“You did.” You put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around to face you. You could see all the emotions swirling inside him. “You did.” You spoke softly but firmly.

“You ended Hydra, twice. I wasn’t used during the War, or after. And when you ended them for good, I was free. You set me free.”

Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. There was a huge lump in his chest and throat that intensified when you said that. The word you used—“used”—how could anyone in the world apply that verb to you? His heart ached so deeply that it took all his willpower not to break something.

You could see him suffering, so you caressed his cheek.

“And…” You cupped his face, your voice gentle.

“And I had this new identity. I met Natasha, Tony…all these new friends, all this good in the world. I don’t need to hide anymore. I can live under the sunshine, see the sunrise, feel the wind, touch the grass. I even saw the sea for the first time, I had ice cream… And…”

You inhaled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I got to meet the love of my life.”

“God…!”

The word escaped Steve like a desperate prayer.

Steve pulled you in, holding you so tightly that it felt like he wanted you to melt into his body.

He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside.

You had suffered so much—more than he could bear to imagine—and yet you were here: Kind. Good. Pure. Selfless. All those beautiful words Natasha and Tony used to describe you and yet he thought they weren’t enough.

He pressed his face into your hair, his breath ragged, trying to fight back the tears that stung his eyes. Why hadn’t he been there? Why hadn’t he saved you sooner? He could have spared you so much pain, so much suffering, if only he had known, if only he had been there before the scars ever formed.

He clutched you tighter, as if holding you close enough might erase the past, might undo all the hurt. But he knew it wouldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take it away. And all he could do was hold you, trying desperately to protect you from any more harm, even as the weight of his guilt bore down on him, suffocating and relentless.

You held him back. You could feel his heart trembling and his soul aching. So you pressed a deep kiss to his cheek.

“It’s in the past,” you said softly. “I’m here now… hey, hey, look at me.”

You cupped his face, and your vision blurred as tears fell.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want to upset you, but I’m here now, and I’m just… so grateful, so happy… I’ve never felt this way until I met you, so… fearless, like… like the universe has rewarded me with this… rebirth, with meeting you, and loving you, and…”

“Stop.” It was more than Steve could take.

His voice was broken.

“Stop. I…” He inhaled deeply and gently wiped away your tears. He needed to say something before your selfless, pure words continued to break his heart.

“I love you.” He breathed.

The words came out like a sacred vow, a promise sealed with every heartbeat. He’d been holding them back for too long—since this morning, no, since the first day, since the moment he held his breath when he saw you for the first time.

He spoke it like a promise written in the stars, one he would carry until the end of all things. Until his blood thickens into frozen ice, his bones crumble to ashes, and his soul dissolves into starlight, fading into cosmic dust at the very edge of time and the farthest reaches of eternity—he will love you.

You gazed into his eyes, a smile breaking through the tears. “I love you too.”

You wiped away the tear that traced down his cheek.

“And we’ll have new memories. We’ll make a new life. And we’ll be together. And we’ll be happy.”

“Yes.” He smiled through the pain and heartbreak, swearing as a sacred vow, his voice a little choked as he clung to you just as tightly.

“Yes. We will. I promise. We’re gonna be so damn happy…”

Steve waited until you had fallen asleep.

After everything—the confessions, the heart-wrenching words—you had been exhausted. He’d made sure you rested, gently insisting until your breathing slowed into sleep.

In the silence of the night, he walked quietly to the command room. It was empty now, the weight of the day still hanging in the air. He pulled up the files—yours, and your eleven siblings’—onto the big screen.

A deep sigh slipped from his lips.

There you were. Blurred, black-and-white images of childhoods interrupted, dreams shattered, lives stolen far too soon.

“Jarvis.” His voice broke the stillness, steady yet heavy. “Do I have overwrite authorization to change the ID names?”

“Yes, Captain.” Jarvis replied, his tone as polite as ever. “Would you like to change the names of these files and subjects?”

“Yes.” Steve’s gaze lingered on your face, captured in that haunting picture. “Change them all. M and the ID number.” He said with resolve, his words carrying the weight of a decision long made.

“In an instant, Captain.” came Jarvis’s response. The screen flickers briefly as the files change, HE00X to M00X, twelve names, twelve identities, rewritten in seconds.

Steve stared at the screen, his expression grave, but something deeper stirred inside him.

This was it—the meaning he wanted to give your siblings, like an unspoken monument on their unseen graves.

Something none of you knew, because the world hadn’t been kind, or good, or fair enough to tell you. But he had known it right away, the moment you spoke about that beautiful golden thread that was within every living being.

You weren’t experiments.

You were this new name, and he couldn’t thank the universe enough for that.

The twelve of you were this name.

For Miracle.

The End

Continue to:

6: Dusk |

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Woohoo...OMG I cried so much writing this ;_; thank you for reading thus far, hope you enjoyed the...intensity and the angst? xD

So I've been struggling with the name of the series, I was going to call it something like 'the golden thread', but then this image of Steve changing their ID names with this conviction and seriousness appeared in my mind as I was wrapping up Chapter 5, and it was something that's...so him, that's definitenly something he would do. So the name just popped up itself, I think I'll call it 'Miracle Nr. 12'. What do you think?

Ok so Chapters 6 & 7 are wrapped up already, I'll see you next Friday! Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist ;)

Taglist: @steviebbboi / @jamneuromain / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

#captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x reader #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #miracle nr 12 #captain america fanfic

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zenlesszonezero · 13 days ago

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#Zenless Zone Zero #Miyabi #Harumasa #HoYoverse #zzzero #zenlesszonezero #Mobile Game #Anime Game #Gaming

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lw77 · 3 months ago

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Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 4. - Good?

A boat, a swim, a party and heat. All in that order.

🧴 It may help to read Chapter 3- Sunburn before this! 🧴

“Hmmm, more sunscreen, baby?” Max asks in an oblivious tone that only makes Logan more frustrated, especially as he's drowning in this heady arousal.

Whining his displeasure into Max’s neck, Logan tries to rock his hips back for some friction, but Max’s chuckle vibrates through him, teasing. “C’mon, Maxie, please,” Logan pleads.

In response, Max cups Logan’s thighs, gently closing them from their wide, debauched display. He shifts Logan to lie sideways across his lap, moving him down his chest. Logan rests his arms on Max’s chest, looking up with glassy, pleading eyes. Max gazes down at him, smoothing a hand through Logan’s hair. “You’ll have to behave, Angel. Everyone’s coming back now. You can be good for me, right?”

Logan gulps for air, trying to nod and clear his head, but his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth. “Y-yeah, I can be good.”

With his head a little clearer, Logan hears the jet skis in the distance. Panic tenses his body against Max’s chest. “What’s wrong, Angel?” Max asks, his lips brushing Logan’s temple.

Logan’s eyes flick up to Max’s before dropping down. “Th-they’re gonna know,” he mumbles.

Max chuckles. “It’s okay. We’ll go in the water before they board, Angel. Let’s go.” He stands, pulling Logan up with him.

Logan’s legs buckle, but Max’s steady hands hold him upright.

Max was right; Logan can see the dots of the boys growing closer, their hoots and hollers getting louder.

“Ready?” Max asks.

Logan nods. “Yeah, I’ll just slip in this time.”

Max dives into the water before swimming back closer to where Logan is dangling his legs. With a playful grin, Max grabs Logan’s legs, prompting a surprised yelp as he pulls him in. Logan sputters as the water washes over him. “That was mean, Maxie,” he protests.

But Max grins cheekily, guiding Logan to wrap his arms and legs around him, tilting his head in question. “Better?”

Logan tightens his arms, contemplating dramatically before replying, “No.” His ploy is obvious as he snuggles into Max, resting his head on his shoulder while gazing at the horizon behind them.

The boys finally come back, whistling at their close display. His own best friends give him knowing looks over their sunglasses as they board.

But he and Max just stay close, Max’s body a warm presence in the cool water. At some point, Logan lets his arms unwind from Max’s neck and relaxes back in the water, with only his legs acting as an anchor. Max’s hand centres him on his lower spine while the other leisurely treads the water.

On deck, leaning over the railing, Logan's two best friends stand. Oscar is taking a picture of the couple while Alex cups his mouth to shout, “Guys, there are otters in the water!” This makes some of the guys rush to the rail to see. Danny is the first to comment, “Those are quite big, mate! Good eye!” Finally, Carlos places a hand on Oscar’s shoulder and shouts, his Spanish accent thick as he teases, “You know otters mate for life!”

Still reclined in the water, Logan yells back, “I’m calling PETA or Greenpeace on you all.” He hears Max laugh and looks toward him, squinting against the sun, offering a smile. Using the same hand on Logan’s lower back, Max pulls him close and upright, and Logan wraps his arms around Max’s shoulders.

Logan leans back to look into Max’s eyes, curious. “Were you being serious earlier when you said that?”

Leisurely treading water to keep them both afloat, Max replies, “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Angel.”

“Back at the—uh, when we were inside? You said you wanted me for a while,” Logan says, looking away shyly.

“Can you blame me? I’ve been thinking about you since the first time I saw you at your dad’s store—all red cheeks and bright eyes.”

Logan gulps at Max’s easy admission. “Okay, good,” he says, meeting Max’s gaze again.

“Ready to go back up, Angel?”

“Yeah, thanks for hiding me, Maxie,” Logan replies softly, burying his face in Max’s neck as he remembers his earlier situation.

As they climb onto the deck, Max hands Logan a towel before pulling him into his lap as they sit with the others, ready to head back.

“So, little Logan, did you have a good nap? Feeling energised to party tonight?” Charles asks teasingly. Unknowingly, his words make Logan blush as he remembers what followed his nap, feeling Max’s chest move in quiet laughter. Logan chokes out an unconvincing, “Y-yeah.”

Max’s silent laughter and Logan’s flustered state make Charles pause, along with the others. Then Charles smiles wide, clapping his hands together as he laughs, “I think some of us lost our money, boys!”

Logan squeaks out, “No! Nothing happened,” at their insinuation, knowing full well about the bet. He buries his face in his hands before burrowing back deeper into Max, eyes big and pleading. “Maxie, tell them!”

“Angel’s right, nothing happened; he’s been good,” Max replies calmly, his eyes sparkling with something as he smiles down at Logan. Heat runs down Logan’s spine at the memory of Max’s earlier instruction to be good for him. Max’s hand soothes him as he gently smooths the back of Logan’s neck, making him relax against him once more.

He feels someone pat his knee. Looking down, Logan sees it’s Alex. “I knew Princess wouldn’t let me down. Thank you, Logie Bear.” Alex’s hand is splayed over his heart like he’s been touched.

“You guys are awful. I’m going home!” Logan says brattily.

“With Max Emmilian?” Charles excitedly clamours, making Logan groan as he buries his head further in his hands. He can’t win this one.

___________________

When they dock back at the house, Max nudges Logan gently. “You go ahead, Angel. I need to help bring some of the stuff in.” He presses a kiss to the back of Logan’s neck before standing and helping Logan to his feet as well.

“Okay,see you.” Eager to avoid any heavy lifting, Logan hurries off in search of Oscar to head inside together.

He finds Oscar easily enough, sliding up beside him with ease. “So, C-Captain ?” Logan teases, imitating Oscar’s earlier reaction. Oscar promptly shoves him hard enough to make him teeter dangerously off the dock.

“Hey!” Logan exclaims, barely managing to steady himself before falling. “Okay, okay, I won’t tease! But come on, Osc—spill! Don’t think I didn’t notice you were gone. Were you helping George ‘man the helm’?” He lowers his voice into a sultry tone.

Logan watches a flush rise on his friend’s cheeks. “Oh my god, did you!”

“No!” Oscar groans. “We just talked, Logan. I think he’s straight.”

“Maybe, but we’ll see tonight. Besides Captain My Captain, did anyone else catch your eye?” Logan prompts, nudging him.

Oscar glances at him nervously. “Uh, yeah... um, Carlos?”

“I see it.” Logan nods, picturing his best friend with the tall, dark Spaniard. “But don’t be too quick to cross anyone off just because you think they’re straight. Who knows? You might end up with both in your bed tonight. Now wouldn’t that be a treat, Mr. Born-Again Virgin?” Logan says optimistically.

“Maybe,” Oscar replies, still looking a little too sulky for a man with options.

Used to Oscar’s dramatics, Logan rolls his eyes and pushes him toward one of the bedrooms. “Come on, let’s get changed. I brought an extra pair of my ‘fuck-me’ jeans just for you because I support your pillow-princess agenda.”

“I brought my own outfit,” Oscar grumbles.

“Yeah, you dress like a Sean-Cody reject, Osc. It looks good on some, but it’s not going to help your plans tonight,” Logan says matter-of-factly.

He tosses a pair of light-wash jeans and a black tee into Oscar’s hands, then turns to put on his own dry clothes. When he’s finished, he sees that Oscar is ready too. The black tee emphasises the taper of his torso, and both their jeans sit low on their hips, tight enough to show a hint of skin with every movement.

Logan raises an eyebrow. “See? Your waist looks tiny, Osc. I bet both Carlos and George won’t be able to stop themselves.”

Oscar crosses his arms, unintentionally drawing attention to his defined pecs. “Fine, but don’t make it too obvious, please. I’ll do my... thing.”

Logan pokes Oscar’s puffed-up chest. “Sure, just stand like this. I’m pretty sure they won’t be able to resist.”

“Thanks, Log,” Oscar says with a playful smack to Logan’s hand before grabbing it and pulling them both toward the living room, where everyone is already gathered.

There’s music playing at a low volume, and a few are are sprawled on the couch, relaxing or chatting. Danny’s cheery voice rings out from the deck as he makes his way in, arms full with two cases of coolers and beers. Max, Carlos, and Charles follow behind him, each carrying their own assortment of drinks.

Logan turns to Oscar, eyebrow raised. “He said this was going to be a small party. Are there more people coming?”

Oscar’s brows furrow at the sight. “It’s like a Freshies’ wet dream.”

“What’s a Freshie’s wet dream?” Alex asks, slinging an arm around both of them.

“The drinks, Alex. That’s not all for us, right?” Oscar explains, still trying to wrap his head around the overwhelming amount and variety laid out before them.

“I know right, but I overheard George say it’s less than what they usually have, so yeah?” Alex replies, a grin creeping onto his face.

People begin to gather around the drinks, excited to kick off the night. Logan exchanges a look with Oscar, a mix of amusement and excitement in their expressions.

“Come on, Alex, celebratory shots are in order!” Logan says excitedly. Oscar, with a serious tone, adds, “Yes, time to get you drunk, Alboner.”

Together, they pull him toward the bar, laughter bubbling between them. Alex stumbles slightly, pretending to dig his heels as they lead him through the house.

“Have mercy, you twinks! Remember who’s throwing this party—who knows how many shots he’ll make me do?” Alex protests, though a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Charles is manning the bar and greets the three sweetly, pouring them all a generous shot of tequila. As soon as they finish, they spot a fruity concoction waiting for them, accompanied by a devious smile from Charles as he gestures for them to take it. “Go ahead, boys. This is special since it’s your first time with us!”

Looking from the drink to Charles’s smile, the trio isn’t sure whether to feel appreciative or terrified.

Before they can think any more about it, George joins them. “You guys should drink soon. If Danny sees you, he’s going to add ‘a shot’ to each of yours.”

Charles offers a nonchalant shrug.

It’s Alex who shoots them a worried look. “I’m guessing this shot is actually a bottle?”

George claps him on the back. “Got it in one, Albono.”

“Okay, cheers then, boys,” Oscar says, picking up his drink. The other two follow suit, clinking their glasses together as they cheer.

____________________

Logan hasn’t seen Max since the trio wandered away from the bar, and that was three drinks ago. He’s pleasantly pliant, feeling loose from the back-to-back shots.

The three are squished on a loveseat, with Logan on Alex’s side. Oscar, already tipsy, is sprawled over Alex’s lap, his back resting comfortably against him.

“Already time for homie cuddles, Osc?” Alex teases.

“Shut up, Alboner,” Oscar replies, smacking the back of his head against Alex’s chest.

“Where’s Max, Log? Did he leave?” Oscar asks, looking at Logan with confusion.

Before Logan can voice his own confusion, they hear laughter as Danny, Max, and the others from the bar filter into the living room.

“Alright, fuckers, time for some middle school fun!” Danny shouts, brandishing an empty Moët bottle.

"Oh god,” Logan says at the same time as Alex exclaims, “Oh good.”

They look at each other and laugh, prompting Oscar to shout, “Jinx! One of you owes me a soda, but I’ll accept another drink in its place!”

“Water,” both Logan and Alex say simultaneously, which makes Oscar shout another “Jinx!” as he shoots upright from his sprawled position, excitedly smacking Alex’s shoulder.

Seeing everyone make their way to the circle forming on the floor, Logan gets up while Alex manages a clingy Oscar.

“But I’m comfortable, Alex,” Oscar whines, only conceding when Alex lets him slump down onto the floor beside him. Only for him to crawl back onto his lap after flashing him a pleading look. Snuggling back against Alex, Oscar sighs contentedly, “Perfect.”

Used to Oscar’s drunk antics, Logan scans the room for Max when he notices George and Carlos exchanging raised eyebrows at the sight of Alex and Oscar. He feels a hand brush against the back of his head and looks up to see Max looking down at him, a drink in hand.

Logan sees Max’s eyes flicker to Oscar and Alex, who is wiggling around in Alex’s lap. “Stop moving, Osc, Jesus,” Alex says, finally holding him down by the hips. This only makes Oscar giggle as he throws his head back with a mischievous smile. Max then glances over at Carlos and George, and as Logan follows his gaze, he catches a flash of heat in both their eyes before it disappears.

Looking back at Logan, Max grins at their discovery. He then nods and motions to where he’ll be sitting—right across from Logan.

Danny claps his hands from his seat at the top of the circle, ready to take on the role of game master as he announces that they’ll be playing Truth or Dare.

__________________

A few rounds pass, and thankfully neither he nor Max are called upon. The bottle finally stops on Alex and, by default, Oscar, spun by Charles, who glances at Danny for guidance.

"Alright, since the bottle's pointing at either Oscar or Alex, dealer's choice, Charles," Danny says, amusement lighting up his eyes.

"Works for me," Charles says with a casual shrug. "So, Oscar, truth or dare?"

Oscar, now a bit more settled against Alex after being held down earlier, lifts his head and blinks, puffing his cheeks in thought before exclaiming, "Dare."

A devious smile spreads across Charles' face as he pretends to think for a moment. "Okay, I dare you to make out with Alex," he says, checking his watch. "For at least 60 seconds—could be more, chéri , up to you!" His excitement is barely concealed.

Leaning back against Alex’s chest, Oscar easily pulls Alex’s face toward him, a gesture that shows it’s not their first time. As Alex kisses back, Oscar begins moving against him again, making Alex’s hands on his hips tighten. One of Alex's hands slides to Oscar’s front, pressing against his stomach to still him.

Oscar whines into the kiss, his hand covering Alex’s as he arches into him even more. At being restrained, Oscar begins pleading softly, murmuring "please," "more," and "’Lex," while Alex tries to soothe him with gentle kisses. Finally, Alex deepens the kiss in the way he knows Oscar craves, and Oscar, at last, settles as he receives it. Now making small sounds of appreciation, Oscar’s hand travels from Alex’s face to his hair, gripping the strands to keep him close.

The scene between them is so erotic that even Charles’ earlier devious smile fades into one of confused arousal. When Oscar finally pulls away, gasping for breath, both he and Alex are left breathing heavily against each other, Oscar’s soft gasps suddenly loud in the room that had once been filled with noise.

As the two lean in for more, Logan glances around the room and notices the heated stares from both Carlos and George. He wonders whether their intense gazes are directed solely at Oscar or at Alex as well.

Looking beside them at Max, Logan sees him reclining on his hands, raising an amused eyebrow in response. As Oscar’s desperate noises grow louder, his pleas to Alex rise again, a muffled, “Make me feel good, please,” echoing through the room, accompanied by aborted rolls of his hips against Alex’s restraining hands.

It’s Danny who finally claps his hands, signalling the end of the dare to the two and the rest of the room. The sound startles the group back to awareness, and Alex gently pulls away from Oscar, nuzzling into his neck before loosening his hold with a final peck on the cheek.

Oscar, still curled against Alex, hiccups for breath as he slumps into Alex’s chest, wiggling to get comfortable again—only to stop when Alex playfully swats his thigh.

Oscar then looks over at Charles, his lips puffy and slick, eyes glassy with arousal, and a sweet blush dusting his cheeks. With an innocent, “Good?” he asks.

“Ye-yeah! Very good, chéri , I didn’t see that coming,” Charles responds, stuttering slightly in his admission. Oscar, smiling cutely, picks up the bottle and spins it, ready to continue the game after his little performance.

💈 Previous Parts of the Series 💈

Chapter 1 - Angel

Chapter 2 - Hunter?

Chapter 3- Sunburn

Let me know what you think 💋

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sugarcoatedstarkey · 2 years ago

Note

Drew and Chase's ex part 2. Drew feeling a 'little' pissed that he wasn't included in the flash forward (let's say he filmed something for it) and seeing everyone speculate that he won't be in season 4. And then out of spite that none of the cast have neither confirmed or denied the rumour in interviews he decides to fuck yn in one of their trailers while filming season 4 and that is how they all find out 😂

And since they wanna be chill with Chase I would say either Jonathan's or Austin's because they're good friends.

Leftovers p2

(Gif credit to owner)

Pairings- readerxdrew starkey

Summary- follow in from part 2, read above.

Warnings- unprotected angry kind of public sex, hair pulling, choking, fingering, hand job, language. (18+)

A/n- hey anon, I changed it up a little. Just found it easier to write it prior to season 4 filming. I hope you don’t mind! Let me know what you think 🥰 also this is unedited atm but needed to post as my drafts are being so weird and I can’t open word doc.

Part 1

"Okay, but if I’m in season 4. Why is no one saying yes in the interviews?” Drew argues, he’s pacing the living room floor.

The vein in his arm is protruding from the way his fist is tightly balled up. “Why am I being told not to say anything?”.

You knew if you weren’t over, half his furniture would be turned upside down and his knuckles would be bruised. He didn’t know how to calm himself down when you weren’t around, he usually bottled things up until they tip him over the edge.

“Whatever”.

You watched as he hung up the phone and brought his arm above his head to throw the phone. “Drew” you sing, his eyes meet yours.

All the anger that had been radiating from him vanishes, he drops the phone onto the couch and walks towards you. Taking a seat next to you, he grabs your face and kisses you. “Thanks for being my anchor” he smiles, your heart skips a beat.

“Do you still want to go to this party JD is throwing for end of season 3? We don’t have to, I mean I know how angry you are” you question, you didn’t really want to go.

You both had been seeing each other on the down low since the night you had sex, so exactly 5 months. You had planned on speaking to Chase but with Drew being busy with interviews and you working in the office until late most night, no one’s schedule ever matched.

That was until you got a text from Chase inviting you to the party, neither of you had hard feelings. You had seen photos online of him with other girls and assumed he had moved on, but you just weren’t sure how he would react to the two of you getting together.

“Oh, we are going” he states, he has a look of mischief on his face but he’s standing and exiting the room before you can even question what’s running through his brain.

2 nights go by and you’re stepping out of a taxi, dressed in a black and white checked dress that meets your knees. You had a good amount of cleavage on display and the waist was snatched.

You and Drew had decided to come separately, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you if paparazzi where to find out about the party. Lucky it was on the down low, and you go unnoticed.

“Hey!” JD yells, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you through the house. He guides you to a bar and grabs you a glass of wine. “So good to see you Y/N! Chase is here somewhere”.

Just as he finishes his sentence you see him walk through the door, he gives you a bright smile and walks over. “Hey!” He greets you, giving you a soft hug and kissing your cheek.

You had only seen each other once since the split, thankfully the second the hug ended, you knew you no longer had feelings for him. You just hoped he felt the same way, you didn’t want to keep you and drew a secret anymore.

“How are you?” You question, taking a sip of the white wine JD had given you. The sweet taste danced over your taste buds.

Conversations begin to flow between the 3 of you and soon the whole cast is gathered in a circle, catching up and chatting about new projects. You said a few things about your own work, but really you just listened.

You still hadn’t seen Drew, you kept checking your phone to make sure he hadn’t bailed. You knew how angry he was, you tried to keep him calm but the second you left his side it just hit him, and he’d search the interviews online.

What seemed like an eternity later; he strode on in. Dressed all in black and frames on his face. He waved at everyone, but you could tell he was anxious. He didn’t like not knowing the future.

“Drew!” Everyone cheered, you waited your turn until you could hug him and say hey. You could feel his lips linger on your cheek and his fingers dig into your hips as a way of saying ‘missed you’.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, you saw Drew occasionally, but he was off talking to everyone. You could see him talking to the show runner and the conversation must have started to get heated as Drew’s fingers kept running over his scalp and his jaw was tense.

You didn’t want to interrupt so made your way to a bathroom, you would do your business and then go back out and see if you could grab his attention without having to go over and interrupt the conversation.

A couple of minutes went by, and you opened the door to leave the bathroom, but Drew stood at the entrance. His hands grip your shoulders and push you softly back inside, closing the door behind him.

He grips your jaw and presses his lips to yours, needy hands touching all over your body. Pushing you up against the cabinets, he helps you onto the countertop. Pushing himself between your parted legs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands caressing your hips. Pulling you close to him as he lets his tongue explore the inside of your mouth.

The music outside is drowned out by your heartbeat rattling in your ears, your skin was on fire from his touch. You could feel his erection against your clothed pussy, you needed him right there and then.

“Can I touch you?” He breathes, you nod your head. Taking a moment to catch your breath, he reaches between the two of you. Pulling your panties to the side, he pushes you back slightly.

Angling you to lay back against the mirror, nodding for you to bring your feet up onto the countertop, when he’s finally happy with the way your sat. He runs his fingertips between your soaking folds.

An almost pornographic moan leaves your lips, he chuckles into your hair. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking at how easy it is for him to get you wet. He pushes two fingers inside of you, your mouth gaping open.

“Dre-w, should we be doing this?” You breathed, your walls fluttering around his fingers. You could feel your self-growing wetter, the movements of his fingers becoming fast and sloppy. You don’t doubt that you have covered his hands with your juices. “Hell, yeah we should baby”.

You don’t argue with him, you’re riding your high in JD’s bathroom. Zoned out to the world, grinding your hips into his hand as he brings you over the edge. Your orgasm washing over you with a sense of release, your moans are hidden by his mouth on yours.

You’re reaching into his pants to grab his cock, pulling it out of its confinements. You use your arousal to pump your hand up and down his shaft as he sucks and bites down your throat.

One of his hands fisting the back of your head and pulling you head to the side to give him better access. “Fuck”.

“Feels so good”

“Yeah?”

“So good, I need to be inside of you”

He’s rushing to undo his zip and doesn’t give you time to move position, he’s pushing inside of you with ease. You let out a yelp when he grips your hips and pushes you down onto him harshly. “Fuck, harder Drew”.

“How hard?”

He was still cautious with how he treated you in the bedroom, not wanting to upset you. You had told him a million times he could carve his name on your skin, and you’d still suck his dick. “Make me scream baby”.

He pulls out of you, repositioning you to lean over the countertop. He gives your ass a slap and pushes inside of you again. Bunching your dress up to your hips so he can get a good view of his cock drenched in your juices.

“Oh shit, please Drew harder” you beg, you grip onto the counter. He grips your hair and pulls you back against him, moving his hips inside of you as he reaches around to kiss you.

His hands caress your body, groping your tits. Reaching down to massage your clit, his other hand grips your throat tightly. His eyes are watching the way your own roll to the back of your head, he’s so close to coming just from the way you looked euphoric right now.

“Your so fucking perfect”

“Your mine”

“We are telling Chase”

“I need everyone to know your fucking mine”

You’re coming hard around him, screaming his name out. He places his hand over your mouth to muffle it out slightly, he holds you firmly against him as you shake around him. Your walls pulsating around his cock, milking him until he’s completely dry.

The anger that had once been raging inside of him had gone, he was satisfied and happy. The feeling of you in his arms had him humming with delight.

“Did you mean that last part?” You questioned; he nodded his head. Looking at you through the mirror. You have him a soft smile and turned your head to give him a kiss.

“No way”

You both jump at the voice behind you as Austin stood at the door, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene in front of him. He steps out without saying another word and closes the door behind him.

“I mean, at least it wasn’t chase?” Drew laughs, he slips out of you and helps you clean up. You’re both trying to work yourselves up to get out of the bathroom and to speaking to Chase, it had to happen now. If Austin knew, it was only right Chase did.

“So why did we just have sex in JD’s bathroom?”

“Just me being pissed off with what’s going on with season 4, kind of wanted to just let some steam off. I mean, I’m pissed no one has just said yeah, he’s in the next season.”

“I’m just being salty”

You nod your head in understanding, you would be pissed to if your cast mates pretended like you weren’t going to be in the next season.

“Guys, Chase is coming” Austin barged through the door and pushed you away from one another. He leans against the counter and nods when Chase came up to the door. “Sup man”.

Chase looked between the 3 of you and quirked his brow, peering over your shoulder at the bathroom counter. “Not doing drugs, right?” He laughed nervously.

You all laughed, it was awkward, and your heart felt like it was in your throat. You were nervous and it made it even worse that Austin was in the room, but as though he could read your mind, he pointed his finger to the door and exited.

“What’s going on guys?” Chase questions, he noticed the both of you being awkward. He could tell someone wanted to say something because you both were still in the bathroom waiting. “Chase, man I need to tell you something”.

Chase nods his head and looks at you, you know he wants to ask if you need to be in the room but when he looks back at Drew, he turns to look at you again.

“So those pictures online?” Chase states, no doubt talking about the pictures that those teenage girls had posted online 5 months ago. “Are you seeing each other?”.

Drew looks over at you, making sure you’re okay with him answering. “Yeah” you whisper, you know you shouldn’t be nervous. Your both adults, these feelings honestly can’t be helped, and Chase would know that.

He had to deal with his old feelings with Maddi when you started dating, he was still getting over her and you were fine with that. You gave him his time and he came around in the end.

“Oh shit” Chase breaths, he runs a hand through his hair. He chuckles to himself; Drew can tell your even more anxious now.

His eyes fall to you as you sway on the spot, picking at the skin around your nails. “I’m sorry man, I’ve been meaning to talk to you”. Drew states, he puts his hand on Chase’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry Chase, we did mean to talk to you” you start, your about to add that you didn’t want him to be upset and that you both weren’t walking around hoping to be photographed together but he stops you.

“Hey, hey. It’s totally fine” he says, there was a slight hesitation when he says fine, but his caramel eyes meet yours. “I promise, I mean sure it’s a shock, but we ended things months ago” Chase finished, he gives you a soft smile.

“I’m happy for you both”

He pulls Drew in for hug and gives him a rough pat on the back, you can feel slight tension from them both. Unsure how to react to each other, Chase was understanding. Yes, he felt a little strange that his ex was now dating Drew who had become a close friend of his since season 1.

But if Y/N could deal with Chase having had feelings for Maddi then the least he could do is deal with the two of them becoming a couple. So, he pulled you into a soft hug and before you could pull away. He brought his lips to your ears.

“He will be good for you”

“Thanks Chase”.

774 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Mer!Azriel x reader: The Dregs of Tragedy - Part 4

A/N: a full twenty minutes of italicising later…

Word Count: 3,848

-Part 3- -Part 5-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The water cools the aching sizzle to your skin, firm, powerful arms wrapped around your waist, a single palm pressed between your shoulder blades.

Eyes crack open, and you suddenly realise you can’t breathe.

Muscles seize, locking as contractions rip through your body, spasming and clenching as you thrash against his constraints. Scarified fingers firmly stroke over your ribs, gills stuttering to life again as air is hauled down into painfully tight lungs.

Moments pass, calming your heartbeat, settling back into the powerful lines of his body, tail brushing idly against your bound legs, still taking care to monitor and measure. The bones in your legs ache, but not as much—little enough you find yourself wrapping your arms around his back, cheek remaining against his shoulder as you’re swept back into the depths of unconsciousness.

————

When you return to the world, he’s taken you above water, thumbing away mischievous strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, plastering themselves to your skin.

“How do you feel?” He rasps lowly, forearm kept securely at the dip of your spine.

You blink wearily up at him, wishing to sink back into the water, finding the air too hot, too muggy. “How much longer?” You croak, head ducking into your shoulders, wanting to submerge yourself. “Likely a few more hours until the aches fade,” he responds, “you should stretch. It will help tomorrow, learning how to control your movements.”

That gets your attention, pushing up and away a little, enough so you can peer into his large, onyx gaze, able to see your reflection in his— Good Gods. You watch in the depthless black as fingers trace your skin, watching your own movements, pressing lightly to the lids of your eyes, now as round as his, equally dark. Ears stick from the sides of your head, like spines joined together by a thin layer of skin—similar to the webbed footing of sea creatures.

“What…?”

“It’s over,” he rasps, skin prickling beneath his touch as his hand soothes your back, sensitivity rippling across the area, a feeling of dizziness washing over you with such force you feel winded. His eyes widen marginally, hand snatching away, darting down to your side, vacating your spine hastily. Your pulse beats heavily in your ears, loud enough you could swear you hear the blood rushing. Breaths ease in and out, filling your chest as your heart begins to slow again.

“What’s over?” You manage, mind frazzled from the sudden torrent of sensitivity that’s racing across your skin, feeling tingly but…good. His throat rolls, and you mark it absently, eyes dropping briefly before returning to his, hardly aware of your own actions. He nods his head, and you follow his look. Instead of a pair of legs below you, lies a long, iridescent tail, sparkling with tiny, glittering scales.

You inhale sharply, startling as you automatically try to kick away from the foreign appendage but it moves with you. Azriel’s hands tighten on your hips, the rough pads of his fingers digging into the supple skin of your waist, keeping you from propelling yourself back into the barnacle-covered wall. Shakily, and with immense effort, you manage to still the writhing limb, finally settling to a halt.

“What— When did that happen?” You whisper hoarsely, hands subconsciously gripping the muscle of his upper arms, using him to anchor yourself. “While you were asleep,” he rasps in return. “You slept through it.” The edges of his mouth soften slightly, amusement gleaming in his dark eyes. “But I had hours left,” you argue quietly, “you said it would hurt, and would last until sunrise.”

“It’s past sunrise,” he answers, tail brushing against yours, making it flinch with curiosity.

You blink in surprise. “It’s…past sunrise…?” You repeat doubtfully, making the corners of his soft mouth quirk further. “Recently past,” he corrects, still with that gleam to his eyes.

“So it’s over…” you murmur hesitantly. “I’m not…it’s gone?” He nods, keeping you still in the water. “Are you ready to swim out?” He asks, and again you feel doubt flutter in the fit of your stomach at the raspy tone. “Swim out?” You question, brows fashioning themselves into a skeptical line. “Your muscles will begin aching and cramping shortly if they aren’t already, so it’s best to start using them to familiarise yourself with our movements.”

Not knowing how else to respond, you nod uncertainly—is he going to take you out from this cave?

“Remember to breathe,” he instructs quietly, before pulling you under, the cool sea water instantly soothing the warmth of your steadily drying hair. Gills flutter open, bringing in air via tiny capillaries, and he guides you down through the submerged tunnels. Though he doesn’t speak, you swear you can see amusement in his gaze while he swims leisurely through the water, watching as you gingerly pull yourself along the rock cave, tail occasionally twitching when you move to press your feet into the stone.

When you reach open water, you hesitate, peering out from the safety of the dark tunnel, staring into the open expanse of water before you—nothing but blue.

Scared?

You flinch, head snapping in his direction, shooting a scathing glare. His laugh echoes in your mind, hairs rising at the nape of your neck, something squirming in the pit of your stomach at the sound. What— How are you doing that? You think warily, fingers gripping tight to the jagged rock. He swims forward, and you instinctively want to shift further back into the cave but stand your ground.

How do you think we communicate underwater? He asks, hand beckoning you forward, out into the open. Doubtfully, you take it, palm pressing to his as you try to wiggle your tail. He blinks briefly, before his mouth softens almost imperceptibly, reaching out his other hand for you to hold.

I hadn’t thought about it, you answer honestly, focus directed on staring down at your tail, trying to connect the muscles to movement. So you can all freely communicate with one another? Anytime you want? You ask, shifting your gaze to meet his.

There are some requirements that need to be met, he replies, but for the most part, that’s right.

Your brow furrows. Why couldn’t you call for help when you were stranded? Surely you could have called for someone?

One of the requirements, he repeats, dodging the question. Curiosity licks up your spine, and you fix your gaze on him. You said we couldn’t have that conversation then, you remind him, but did you know my husband?

I thought we agreed he wasn’t your husband.

Your tail flicks sharply with irritation, sending you abruptly lancing forward. Azriel’s hands tighten on yours before swiftly moving to your shoulders, keeping you in place, moving so he’s slightly below you in the open water. A muscle in your jaw ticks, but you remember to keep your lips sealed shut. Did you know Alaric? You reiterate, fixing your gaze on him. In a sense, he replies casually, large dark eyes locked with your own, intensity simmering within the glittering onyx.

Stop avoiding the question, you seethe quietly, brow tightening. Give me a straight answer.

How about I give you an answer once you’ve figured out how to swim a little?

You glare at him begrudgingly, but relent. It’s not like you can force him to tell you. You’ll just have to go along with him for now. How do I do it? You ask, attempting to shift your tail in the motions he uses.

Azriel’s lips lift at the edges, before he’s shifting below you, hands coming to rest on your waist as if he’s lying on his back. Try just moving slowly, seeing what connects to where. Then become accustom with those movements. You send him a doubtful look, then try what he’s suggested. It sends you tipping forward, hands flying to press against his shoulders, keeping you from knocking him in the head with your own.

No sound enters your mind, but you feel his mirth whisper along your bones, warm and soft. It takes a while, but eventually you’re able to move how you want, but there are so many muscles it’s difficult to remember what goes where.

Now try rolling your tail, he instructs, and you stare at him blankly. Like I do, he reminds, a deep chuckle underlying his words. Azriel shifts again, and his hand brushes across the bare skin of your stomach. You bite back on the instinct to jerk away from the intimate touch. Most of your control will start here, he guides, palm splayed out, your pulse picking up as skin tingles. The muscles that connect to the tendon start here, and near the base of your spine. Then lower are the ones that help with angling your fins.

Before you can clock what he’s doing, his hand has slid lower, past your abdomen, moving to slip between— He pulls away, having spotted the way your muscles contracted. There’s nothing there for you to worry about, he reminds wryly, having you shoot him a heated look, lips pressed tight together. Keep your hands to yourself, you think back, having his own lips quirk.

He releases you, swimming out and away, coming to a stop the distance of about three small fishing boats away from you. Arms open tauntingly, hands beckoning with a gleam in his charcoal black gaze. Come over here, and I’ll answer your question, he challenges.

Are you serious? You snap, already feeling like you’re sinking despite not moving thanks to the air steadily flowing in and out of your lungs. Are you no longer interested? He asks.

Teeth grit together, and you instinctively open your arms to balance, feeling sensitive and overexposed in the water, no clothing concealing your skin from his intense eyes.

Slowly, you begin to shift your tail, moving haphazardly, with quick, jerking movements. This is ridiculous, you mutter, arms flailing as you try to keep in a straight line. You have to learn somehow, he counters, waiting patiently without hurrying you along. Allowing you to figure things out on your own.

After what feels like hours, the pads of your fingers brush over top his shoulders, broad and powerful palms settling around your waist, connecting you together. That was good, he says into your mind, you just need to practice, then you’ll be able to swim freely.

Don’t divert, you reply, staring at him, mind aching from frustration and concentration. His mouth shifts into a faint smile, soft and muted, and you become aware of the placement of his hands. The rough but gentle press of his fingers into the supple skin of your waist. You knew Alaric.

The smile slips away, mouth settling into a serious set. I did.

For how long? You ask, peering up into his onyx eyes.

I’ve known about his family line since humans settled there.

So a long time, you push quietly.

A long time indeed, he replies, signs of amusement long gone. Your brow dips at the seriousness of his expression. What happened? You ask, wariness lacing your tone. His features remain neutral, eyes unreadable, no matter how deep you try to peer into his mind.

Mer are difficult to kill for humans, but not impossible, he begins quietly. The scale he wears around his neck is one I know, and was familiar with. You wait for him to continue, but he seems reluctant to give anymore, and you feel hesitant to push. You have no idea how recent this is for him, only that you first noticed the scale a few years ago. Does time feel the same for him, or is a couple of years similar to mere months?

Was the person special to you? You ask quietly, wary of prodding old wounds.

As special as most of mer are to one another, he answers, as a dwindling species, we have to look after our own and take care of ourselves.

So how did you end up caught in that wire? His expression hardens, skin prickling at the look, unable to remove your gaze from his, a magnetic pull keeping you attached.

They’ve begun lacing wire with a poison that reacts to our kind. A nick alone could be fatal to a child with how badly it reacts with our magic, he explains calmly, ice underling his tone. And that wire had the poison on? You ask, already having guessed at the answer. He nods, and your eyes drop to his throat, voice still raspy from where it had sliced and constricted. It’ll heal, he says quietly into your mind, reading the question in your gaze. Or perhaps you’d already thought it aloud.

I’m sorry that happened to you, you think softly, still watching him silently, unable to look away. The pads of his fingers press a little harder into the softness of waist, but you don’t try to wriggle away. I’m sorry you ended up with a husband like him, he replies, having your features sour. But then they soften a little. I don’t think it was all bad, you murmur. Azriel’s brow narrows, peering down at you.

Don’t try and make excuses for him, he warns lowly, you didn’t deserve someone who hurt you.

I wasn’t going to make excuses for him, you reply tersely, features shifting to match his own before relaxing. But I wouldn’t have gotten out otherwise.

He watches you silently, an indiscernible expression upon his features, something flickering through his gaze at your admission.

Maybe it isn’t all bad.

————

Much to your irritation, he’d made you swim most of the way back to the cave system, saying it would help to get as much practice in as possible to help keep the aches at bay. At least until your body is fully healed from the sudden change. He’d taken you through another series of tunnels, leading deeper and deeper, going slowly to make sure you didn’t crash into any of the walls.

The cave opens up into a large cavern, and sea water nearly fills your mouth, fighting to resist the urge to part your lips in awe.

Before you is a magnificent cavern, lit by glowing little creatures that stick to the walls, multi-coloured coral scattered across the sandy bottom like a hand-knitted blanket. A beautiful arrangement of aquamarine blues, waterlily pinks, and starfish oranges. Seaweed coats the walls in thick patches, waving like tall grass with the current that passes through the tunnels. Speckled, shimmering fish dart in and out from smoothed out stones littered in mother-of-pearl shells, shimmering like silver as colourful tails flicker with energetic life. Across the floor tiny crabs scuttle, painted a pretty red like the horizon on a clear sunset.

What is this place? You manage to think, eyes darting repeatedly from one side of the cavern to the other, each time picking out new things to peer at and examine. The edges of Azriel’s mouth lift into a smile, and he swims deeper, evidently familiar with the haven. I made it, he responds, passing through a patch of seaweed, small fishes already gathering and moving with him, tiny flashes of silver as they match his speed and direction.

You made it? You echo, staring at him.

Well, some of it was already here, he replies, and you can hear the low laughter in his tone, deep and rich. I didn’t carve the cave out, that was already here. Same as the coral. But the creatures and a few other other things—I brought those in.

You stare in wonder at the cave, so beautiful and thriving with life and an undercurrent of energy. It’s amazing, you think as he swims up to your side, making to bring you further into his world—still at the lip of the tunnel. There’s another cave like this, deeper out at sea, he thinks, and you manage to rip your gaze from the cavern, sensing what he’s about to say is important. It’s called the Rainbow, he says quietly, it’s much larger than here. The coral is thicker, life is more prominent, and the whole place glows.

Eyes blink, trying to comprehend a place more beautiful. Is that what made you want to create this? You question softly, meeting his onyx gaze. The Rainbow? He nods, inky hair swaying with the motion. Come, he says, there are more creatures at the bed.

You don’t have it in you to resist as he swims to be above you, hands gently latching to your hips as he helps guide you lower, able to see more flashes of colour as life becomes apparent. More crabs scuttling, tall and spiralling sea shells that gleam with pearl, strange purple blobs that have a slightly red hue and look gooey and gelatinous. Starfishes are plastered to the rock, colourful plants that look like tubes sticking out while fishes dart about the bed, stirring up wisps of sand.

How long did this take? You ask him, managing to swim lower as he releases you, lips stretching when you peer beneath a rock, finding a red and blue speckled octopus napping in the shade. Centuries, he responds, watching as you explore, pulse thumping in his chest. It’s still developing, and will continue to do so long after I’m gone.

You swim further, selecting a shell to pick up, examining it in the pretty lights, watching how the colours shine across its surface. A red, white, and black striped fish swims past, and you follow after it, using your hands to scale the rock instead of your tail.

Try swimming, he reminds, chuckling. You won’t get any better if you crawl everywhere like that. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, the fish vanishing from sight in the brief moments you looked away. It’s been less than a day, you snap, pulling yourself along the rock stubbornly. I’m allowed to take a break from practicing. Besides, if I solely use my tail, I’ll end up looking like you.

Looking like me? He asks, mirth clear, and you feel the rush of water as he swims by, dipping behind a nearby rock. Yes, you reply, narrowing your eyes at where you last saw him, but you’re steadily realising there are so many spots to hide, with the large stones, the coral, and the thick seaweed.

And what do you mean by that? He asks lowly, and you look behind yourself, checking to see if you can spot him, the water feeling eerily still without his visible presence. You turn to survey the expanse before you, and he glides up from a dip between the rock you’re perched on, coming to a stop before you, but you refuse to yield your ground. I’m a woman, you say, as if it’s self-explanatory. You certainly are, he replies, eyes gleaming with something that has your skin prickling. Tightening. It takes quite a lot of effort not to pull back, to keep your ground when he’s so close before you. But I don’t understand what that has to do with not being able to move efficiently.

You roll your eyes, stomach fluttering as tiny fishes dart around your hair, brushing against the bare skin of your arms. I don’t need all those muscles, you say as nonchalantly as possible, giving him a dismissive look. Maybe not all of them, he concedes, a faint smile on his lips, pushing forward a little. But some of them, if you want to swim.

Of course I want to swim, you counter, wondering if you imagined him coming forward. Just not now. My stomach hurts from all the movement.

That’s good, he responds, that faint smile still playing on soft lips.

It’s painful, you reply, frowning. I don’t like it.

It means you’ve used them, he says, and you swear he moves forward again.

I suppose I don’t have the best relationship with pain, you think, then blink, eyes widening. The smile slides from his face, and you tense. You weren’t— I just mean pain is pain. Obviously I don’t like it.

You make to turn away, but rough, scarified palms slide overtop your hands, keeping them gently but firmly pressed to the smooth stone, preventing you from breaking off from him.

You don’t have to lie to me, he says, watching you silently, eyes locked with your own, and you once again find yourself unable to pull away. You don’t have to hide it from me.

Because you saw him try to kill me? You manage wryly, fingers pressing against a small group of barnacles.

Because you’re out, he replies, hands sliding to fully encompass your own, thumbs swiping at the skin.

Head dips down, peering at the way his hands have latched over yours. The flecks of colour in the rock, speckled about.

Will you tell me how you got those? You ask, trying to change the subject. His hands tense over yours, and his attention slides downward also, the two of you observing how your palms are intertwined. This isn’t a conversation for now, he says, and you feel more than see his walls building up. Hands pull away from yours, and before you can help yourself you’ve moved forward. Palms shakily pressing overtop his own, reversing your previous position so the pads of his fingers are the ones against the small group of barnacles.

Was it from humans? You ask silently, peering into those deep, dark eyes. Is that why you don’t like us?

I got them from other mer, he replies shortly, but quietly, tension clear in the powerful frame of his figure. Shock sparks in your chest, blinking as you stare at him. A—mer? A mer did that to you? But aren’t those—

Burn marks.

Your throat rolls, and your hands pull away, enough to reveal the scarred flesh beneath. His gaze weighs into you, emotion heavy but you’re unable to pinpoint exactly what it is.

My—… Alaric once set my hair on fire, you admit quietly, peering down at his hands so you don’t have to see what’s in his expression. He tipped the table over, and a candle got mixed up. I had to have it cut short because such a large portion was burned off. Thumbs swipe across the rough skin, how he’d done for you, and you manage to meet his eyes. Depthless and dark.

Peer quietly at the warped flesh, twisted and swollen from the burning lick of flames, sizzled and popped to mould it into what it is now.

You manage to meet his gaze, deep and swirling, like a whirlpool, suctioning you deeper into his mind. I’m sorry that happened to you, Azriel, you think, holding his attention, fingers still settled over his. Something beginning to shift and soften between you. Something quiet and ineffable.

He swallows, but nods briefly. I’m sorry your husband did that to you.

No smile raises your lips, but amusement curls with your tone. Ex-husband.

Right, he returns, something dancing in those onyx eyes of his. Ex-husband.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

tdot taglist: @mika-no-sekai-blog @blueeclipsepaperstudent @lalaluch @v3lv3tf0x @acourtofbatboydreams @coureurs-de-bois9

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #mer!azriel #mermaid au #tdot #🧜‍♂️⚓️🪸

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havemybackanyday · 2 years ago

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I started thinking about Buck texting Bobby every time he woke up, and my hand slipped.

---

Bobby is just beginning to prep breakfast at the station when his phone pings.

7:26am hey everything ok

It doesn't click right away—Bobby’s first assumption being that Buck is missing the job, maybe feeling a little left out.

7:27am Yeah, everything’s fine here. Shift just started, you’re not missing much. Are you ok?

He watches as the three dots pop up and then disappear a couple times, and then puts his phone down to stir the eggs. He’s almost forgotten about it by the time the response comes in.

7:34am just checking

It’s then that the penny drops, and the realization breaks Bobby’s heart a little. He opens his camera and flips it around, taking a surreptitious selfie with A shift seated at the table in the background. Chim is gesturing animatedly, and Eddie is chuckling into a coffee mug while Hen rolls her eyes. In the foreground is half of Bobby’s own face, forgetting to smile as he concentrates on framing the shot.

He sends the picture off to Buck.

7:36am We’re all here, all safe. We miss you. thanks bobby. miss you guys too

The next one comes in the following morning, just as Bobby is pulling into his driveway.

7:31am hey Hey, kid. All good here. ok, great sorry thanks No need, Buck.

Bobby knows there’s something Buck isn’t telling him about the coma dream and his place in it. When Bobby had asked him about it at the hospital, he’d been cagey, and since Buck got home, Bobby feels like he’s being tracked—like if Buck doesn’t know where Bobby is at any given moment, Bobby might vanish into thin air… or Buck might.

Bobby can be an anchor. He’s had practice.

2:12pm all good? All good.

They fall into a routine, where Buck will text “hey” whenever he wakes up and Bobby will reply with a checkmark emoji. It’s soothing for Bobby, too—this way, he knows Buck is sleeping, and gets a rough idea of when and how much. There’s always a text in the morning, and more often than not, a message also comes through in the afternoon.

A couple days in, the afternoon text arrives while the 118 is on a call. Nothing serious, but several cars are involved, and Bobby is flitting around the scene, directing his people back and forth to where they’re needed. By the time he wraps up, Eddie is sitting half inside the truck and holding his phone, a concerned look on his face.

“Cap?”

Bobby pulls his own phone out of his turnouts.

3:42pm hey

3:48pm hey, bobby?

3:52pm i know it’s fine and i know you’re probably on a call but lmk if you’re ok when you can

3:54pm please sorry

Bobby takes a quick selfie with Eddie. Neither of them is smiling, but it’s not annoyance—it’s the same way they’d be looking at Buck if he were here, handling the call with them. No performing, just an ordinary moment in time.

He sends it over.

4:09pm Sorry to make you wait. We’re good.

He looks up from his phone, and Eddie is watching him with pinched eyebrows. Wordlessly, he flips his phone around to show Bobby his own string of texts from Buck. Bobby sees his own name in the thread several times.

“How’s he doing?” Bobby asks.

Eddie blows out a breath and settles his elbows on his knees. “He’s… working through some stuff,” Eddie says, looking back at the text thread. He’s silent for a long moment, and then huffs a rueful laugh. “He seems rattled, which is pretty understandable. But beyond that, I don’t think he knows what he needs yet.”

“Well, until he tells us differently, the best thing we can do for him is to be here, and be us.”

Eddie nods, and they both swing into the engine.

That night, the ping of Bobby’s phone wakes him from a deep sleep in the station house bunks.

2:20am hey you awake

Bobby rubs a hand across his face. I am now. You ok? sorry i woke you No, don’t be. I’d rather you reach out.

Buck doesn’t respond; the three dots don’t even appear.

2:22am Did something happen? You alright?

2:24am just a nightmare You want to tell me about it? nah maybe later glad you’re ok, get some sleep

Bobby locks his phone and stares at the ceiling in the dark. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but at some point he resigns himself to the fact that his swirling worries won’t resolve themselves into anything legible right now. He swings his legs out of bed and heads upstairs to the kitchen.

Five hours later, he pulls into a parking spot outside of Buck’s apartment complex, a pan of cinnamon rolls in the passenger seat.

“Hey, Bobby.” Buck looks tired when he swings open the door, circles under his eyes, smile a little faded.

“Hey, kid. Brought you something.” Bobby peels back a corner of the foil covering the cinnamon rolls, and watches as Buck’s eyes brighten.

He laughs and gestures to the piles of food on the kitchen island. “I don’t know if I’ve even got space for those, but I’ll move some of this out to the balcony if I have to.”

Bobby hands the pan over, and Buck lifts out a roll immediately, taking a huge bite that leaves icing on his lip. “Mmmmh. God. Thank you.”

He can’t help a smile at Buck’s enthusiasm. “Anytime.”

There’s a moment of quiet while Buck wedges the pan onto the overloaded island and finishes his roll. He’s licking his fingers and avoiding Bobby’s eyes when he says, “Sorry again for waking you up.”

“Buck.” Bobby waits for him to look up. “Don’t be. We’re all here for you—and not just because you got hurt. We’re here whenever you need us.”

Buck pauses, index finger still in his mouth. He pulls it out and says in a rush, as if racing his own hesitation: “You were dead. In my coma dream, you were dead. Because Hen and I never came to your apartment that day.”

“Okay,” Bobby says, nodding neutrally as the memories wash over him. The shame of waking in the shower. The helplessness of placing his pain in his coworkers’ hands. The rock-steady warmth of Buck and Hen on either side of him.

A vise tightens around his heart.

“Is that why you’ve been checking on me?”

Buck has the gall to sound ashamed of himself when he says, “Yeah.”

“Buck, you know—hey. Look at me, this is important.” Buck, who has shifted his gaze to someplace over Bobby’s right shoulder, drags his eyes back. “You know that my sobriety isn’t your responsibility, right?”

Buck nods. “I know, and I’m not trying to… fix things, or control things I can’t. I just…” He trails off, and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to wake up again in a world that doesn’t have you in it. This version of you, I mean.”

“Oh, kid, c’mere.” Bobby steps forward and wraps Buck in a hug.

God damn anyone who ever told this kid that his heart was a problem.

When they finally let go of each other, Bobby holds on to Buck’s shoulders. Buck sniffs, and swats a tear off his cheek with the palm of his hand.

“You’ve been through a lot, and I know you’re still sorting it out. But I also know how stubborn you are when you’re chewing on a problem,” Bobby says, drawing a wet laugh out of Buck. “I know you’ll find your way through it. And we will all be here for you. Every step, however long it takes.”

Buck nods, and breaks into a hesitant smile.

“And in the meantime, let us spoil you a little.” Bobby gives Buck’s shoulder a light jab with his fist. “We don’t want to wake up in a world without you, either.”

#911 fox #911 spoilers #911 fic #my fic #we love captain dad in this house

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zenlesszonezero · 13 days ago

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#Zenless Zone Zero #Miyabi #Harumasa #HoYoverse #zzzero #zenlesszonezero #Mobile Game #Anime Game #Gaming

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of-cauldrons-and-inkpens · 1 year ago

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You Missed My Heart: PART 3

PART 1 LINK | PART 2 LINK | PART 3 LINK

Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different.

Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not.

Chapter Word Count: 15,059

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for disappearing for a bit! Chapter 4 and 5 (the last chapter) are both pretty much done!

Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, dub-con (if you squint), piv, oral, unprotected sex; Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)

Minors DNI! Story is below the cut

Cool liquid drenched my skin, ripping me from my dream. What the hell? I gasped as I shot upward. The air of the bedroom was freezing, but that didn’t have any effect on Miguel. He was wincing in his sleep with sweat pouring off of his body. He looked upset; he was sad and scared. I could hear it in the hitches in his breathing and the way his hands had dropped from my body down to the mattress. I could hear the fabric tearing under his fingers, but I couldn’t make out the exact level of damage to the mattress in the dark.

Miguel was muttering in his sleep.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Miguel, wake up.”

Was this a common occurrence for him? If it was, I hadn’t noticed him talking in his sleep before. Then again, he usually didn’t sleep when I did. He was almost always awake when I would stir in the middle of the night. He would always coo to me and tell me to go back to sleep.

Did he do this a lot? I wracked my brain for some kind of answer. I knew he had bad dreams, but did he always talk in them? Did he always start to tear into the bed?

“Miguel, I think you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.” He frowned in his sleep. Something was upsetting him to his very core. His face was twitching and his words were incoherent.

I pushed my hands against his chest. I tried to shake him, but he was planted in place. More fabric ripped in his hands as his fingers searched for something to cling on to. It was as if everything was slipping away and he was trying to anchor himself. He whispered my name, his breathing growing more frantic. He was panicking. I could hear the terror in his rushed words. He begged for me, but in the dream I knew there was no response.

I tried to shake him again, but once again he didn't budge.

"Miguel!" I yelled.

He jerked awake. His arms flailed outward as he shot upward. I ducked out of the way and collided with the mattress. I figured it was the best idea; I didn't want to get my ribs broken or a hole in my head. His skin glistened in the moonlight from the sweat that covered his skin. His eyes were wide and his heart was so loud that I could hear it across the bed.

He was terrified.

He blinked hard as he came back down to reality. He softly whispered my name before he realized exactly what had happened. "Fuck." He quickly crawled forward, moving toward me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I said. I pushed myself off of the mattress and sat upright. I quickly reached upward to brush my hair out of my face. In the dim light of the bedroom, I could see his eyes focused on me. They swirled with a mixture of concern and fear. Fear of what he had done, fear of what he could do. He reached forward, though before he touched me, he stopped. He closed his hand and then lowered it to the bed.

"I'm sorry." He said. I leaned forward and reached for him instead. I wanted to offer him some kind of comfort. My fingers traced the coarse stubble that covered his jaw. Slowly, I started to caress his cheek. He sighed, giving in to my hand.

"It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." I paused, looking for some sign as to what he was thinking. But he was always so hard to read. "Does this happen a lot?" I asked. He was silent for a moment.

"I don't know.” His voice was cold. Just like that, I could feel him drifting away from me. Any chance of him opening up was fading away just like it always did. “I’m going to go sleep downstairs." He leaned away from my hand but I quickly reached down and grabbed onto his upper arm. I knew that when he stopped, it wasn't because I actually had the strength to hold him there. He was practically a god among men, yet he was willing to humor me.

"Miguel, that's not what I meant." He let out a low sigh as glanced at me. His eyes were so dark that they were nearly black. “I knew you had bad dreams. I did, I just didn’t know that they were like this. You were talking in your sleep. You seemed upset." Scared was a better word; terrified was even better to describe how he had looked. But, I would never say that to him. That was a great way to get him to immediately clam up.

"No. No, I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were. You were muttering in your sleep. I heard you say my name and you were sweating and tearing holes in the mattress." He looked back at the bed. Even in the darkness, I was sure that he could see them, even if I couldn't. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about." His voice was low. Whatever he had dreamed about, he didn’t want to talk about it.

I frowned. I was sure that he could see that, too.

"Miguel, please." My fingers slid down the length of his arm, moving to his fingers. I tried to hold his hand, but he began to pull away.

"Why won't you let me help you?"

"Because there's nothing to help." This was exactly what had happened with the door. He was blocking himself off from me, while also demanding that I open myself to him entirely. It wasn't fair and it didn't make sense. But hey, I guess 'rules for thee but not for me' had to apply somewhere.

He pulled his hand away from me. I groaned and crawled forward. I pulled the blanket after me, hoping to maintain some sense of modesty as I went. I knew it was stupid, but I already felt too exposed.

"Damn it." I muttered. I crawled to the spot in front of him, stopping only when I could feel his naked thighs against mine. "You're making this very hard on me, Miguel. I feel like I'm being yanked around so much that I don't even know what you want from me. You want affection but you don't want me to be too close. You want attention, but only certain kinds. I don't know how I'm supposed to help you." I pushed myself up onto my knees so that I was face to face with him. I could feel his warm breath against my face.

“I don’t want or need your help.”

“But you want me to fuck you and call myself your wife? I don’t understand any of these weird mind-games you’re playing. You want me to play house with you, but how dare I actually try to get to know you. I don’t understand why you can’t just let me be kind to you.” He scoffed. There was something off in his tone.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” His voice was little more than a whisper.

“Miguel…” Why won’t you just talk to me? Why does it have to be like pulling teeth? I brushed my messy curls backward as I tried to find something to say to him.

There was something that seemed to swim in his eyes. He looked scared, either from the dream or from something that he couldn’t push out of his mind. But, there was also something else in his gaze.

He looked lost. Like he truly didn’t know where to go from this point.

Slowly, I reached outward. I gently pressed my hand against the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into my touch. It seemed to give him comfort.

Slowly, I pushed the blankets that had been covering me down, moving them so that they pooled around us.

“Miguel, angel, take off your blankets.” I said. He quirked an eyebrow in confusion, but still did as I had asked. The blankets were the only thing that was preserving some sense of modesty between us. Our pajamas were somewhere on the dark floor, deserted during our nightly ritual.

I inched forward, moving so that I was sitting directly in front of him. Then, I carefully moved so that one leg was straddling each side of his thighs. I curled my arms around his neck, pulling him in close to my body.

“Is this turning you on?” His voice dripped with a mixture of sarcasm and a bit of concern. Maybe he was worried that I had finally snapped.

“Hush. Let me be nice to you.”

I curled myself around him until my bare chest was pressed against his.

I knew it was wrong; I shouldn't comfort him. Hell, he had kidnapped me. I should be happy that he was so distraught. But he was desperate and I couldn’t bring myself to be cruel to him.

His skin seemed to burn against mine. But every muscle seemed to give into my touch, relaxing against my small frame.

He slid his hand down the side of my body, tracing the curve of my waist with his fingertips. But, before he reached my hip, he stopped. His fingers lingered there for a moment, taking something in. Then, they traveled upward once more, moving up my side.

He was trying to memorize me; maybe, if he could, it would chase away the nightmares.

"Miguel, what's wrong? Please tell me. Seeing you like this is scaring the hell out of me.” He shook his head. He was pulling away. I could feel him slipping away and there was nothing I could do about it. We lingered in a weird silence for a small eternity.

Then, he gently released the hold that he had had on my body. He slipped his hands under my thighs and carefully lifted me off of him. He sat me down on the mattress beside him.

"I'm going to go shower." He said. There was something weird in his tone.

"Are you going to come back to bed afterward?" I asked. He looked at me for a moment.

"I don't… I don't think so."

"I can get up with you, if you want." I offered.

"No, but thank you." I nodded to myself as he crawled out of the bed. I watched as he made his way toward the bathroom. He flipped on the light and then closed the door.

I sat alone in the darkness for a moment. Tonight had already been too eventful for me. My brain was too awake for me to go back to sleep now.

I sighed as I climbed out of the large bed. As I moved, I was careful to avoid the hole that Miguel had made in the bed. Something was eating him alive to the point that it was causing this vivid of nightmares.

But, whatever it was, I knew there was pretty much no chance that he would tell me.

I stepped onto the cold floor and quickly searched in the dark for something to wear. The best that I could find was one of his t-shirts that was oversized on me.

Guess this will have to do.

I quickly tugged it over my head, pulling it on. I grabbed a pair of underwear from the dresser and snagged them on, as well. Then, I began to make my way toward the door.

I knew that there was no point in going back to sleep right now. I wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I tried.

I was worried about him, even if I shouldn’t have been.

He was my kidnapper, my captor, and yet I couldn’t help but worry about him, even if it was only a small amount.

Downstairs, it was completely silent. I started a pot of coffee and then sat down at the table as I waited for it to finish brewing. As I sat there, I heard footsteps upstairs.

By the time that the coffee pot had beeped, Miguel was already coming down the stairs. As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he spoke.

“You need to go back to bed.”

“I don't want to.”

“You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Oh no, however will I manage with my packed schedule?” I muttered. “I don’t leave the house. I sit around all day and wait for you to come back or we sit around and piss each other off. If I need to sleep, I’ll just sleep later.” He wasn’t going to argue with that. He sighed as he reached upward and brushed his wet hair off of his forehead. He was wearing only pajama pants, leaving his chest and shoulders completely bare. As he moved, the muscles in his body flexed.

I couldn’t tell if he was showing off or if he was just naturally like that.

“I made coffee.” I said. He nodded to himself.

“Thank you.”

I pushed myself out of the chair and made my way toward the counter. As I walked, Miguel was close behind. He followed me across the kitchen, meeting me at the coffee pot.

He pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and then placed them on the cold counter. Then, he walked to the fridge and pulled out the creamer.

I filled the two mugs with coffee and then put the pot back on the machine. I thanked him for the creamer and watched as he took his mug and began to walk back to the table. I guess he drinks his black.

I quickly made up my drink and then followed him back to the table, returning the creamer to the fridge as I went.

I sat down again. I lifted my coffee mug to my lips and took a slow sip. Then, I sat the mug on the table, trying to get comfortable.

I pulled my legs close to my body, accidentally knocking my bracelet against my shin as I did. I hated this damn thing. It was always getting caught on my clothes or on blankets.

“You look exhausted.” I commented. He furrowed his eyebrows together.

“Should I be insulted by that?”

“No, you just look tired. I really do think that talking about it will make things better. And, if not better, it may make it a bit easier to sleep.” He took a long sip of his coffee. When he lowered the mug, he made a face.

“I don’t think you really want to hear about it.”

“Miguel, I’ve cleaned blood off of you before. If I didn’t at least… care about you, then I wouldn’t have done that.” There was something weird about saying the word ‘care’ in reference to him. It felt wrong, like poison on the tongue. It didn’t fit the situation, but I also didn’t know what I was supposed to call it.

He seemed to be considering that notion. I mean, surely it meant something to him. Surely he could at least appreciate that I was worried about him. Or, maybe he would just use this as something to manipulate me with. Maybe he saw my gentleness as an adorable weakness that made me more malleable to his will.

“You’re sweet.” He almost sounded like he pitied me for that fact.

Maybe he did see himself the way others did; maybe he pitied me for being gentle to a monster.

I let out a low sigh in response. Steam rolled off of the top of the old coffee mug. I gently pushed on the curve of the handle, sliding it around so that I could see the front of the mug.

He had stolen the cup from my old house. It was the exact same one that I had gotten when I was in college, complete with the chip on the side from where my Miguel had accidentally nicked it on the side of his desk.

When I looked back up at him, his eyes were focused on my face.

He was my monster, and I was his little ghost.

“Miguel, I really don’t know what you want from-” I was suddenly cut off mid-sentence.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve lost you? How many times I’ve seen you die? Because that’s what I relive every single night.”

“Miguel, you can talk to me about it.”

“You’re here and then I lose you every single night. When I wake up, I can’t even tell myself that it was just a dream, because it fucking wasn’t. I have lost you in thousands of timelines. I have lost you and our child over and over again. There isn’t a single thing that you can do to help me. I don’t know why you can’t seem to understand that.”

“Because I don’t want you to feel like this anymore.” I whispered. He shook his head.

“Then you’re going to end up being very disappointed.”

“Miguel, this isn’t normal. I want you to be able to actually sleep at night.”

“You’re right. That’s the part of this that isn’t normal.” He scoffed.

“Jesus, Miguel, why can’t you just let me help you?”

“Because you can’t help me.” His words were harsh, but deep down, I knew they were probably true.

I winced, turning my attention down to my chipped cup. He must have seen my expression, because he quickly changed his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry.” Miguel said.

I nodded, accepting the apology.

A weird silence hung in the air. I swallowed hard, searching for something to say.

“When you were getting my things from my house, did you see a green and gray scrapbook? It had a purple ribbon sticking out of the top.” I asked.

“Not that I know of. Why? What was in it?”

“Just family pictures and some other things.” I said.

Outside, rain hammered against the roof.

“I can look for it for you.”

“Thank you.” I said. He offered a soft smile. His fangs almost seemed to glisten in the dim light of the kitchen. He was beautiful.

“Um, if its not too much of a hassle, can you also see if there’s a dark red book? It should have a little gold clasp on it and there’s probably card stock sticking out of the top of it.”

He nodded quickly. Weirdly enough, being given an act of service seemed to perk him up. He seemed to like feeling useful; he liked feeling like he was doing something that would genuinely make me happy.

“Of course. What’s in that one?”

“Just brochures and some pictures that he collected.”

“Brochures for what?” He asked.

“Different things. We had talked about vacations and trips and things like that. He had also looked into this renovated building that used to be a church. It had massive stained glass windows and in the morning, the sun would come in and turn everything pink from the glass.” He nodded slowly, understanding.

“So you two did talk about getting married?”

“A couple of times, but nothing was ever set in stone. He was always working on one project or another. Alchemax started needing him more and more, so we just kept pushing it back. Then, just like that he was gone.” I winced, turning my attention to the cooling coffee that sat at the bottom of the chipped mug. “He never really even proposed, he just seemed to know it would happen eventually.”

“Did you have a specific date in mind?”

“We talked about getting married around Christmas, we just never picked a year.” I said as I reached to adjust the neck of my t-shirt. His clothes were too big on me, but that’s precisely why I kept taking them.

“Why Christmas?” He asked.

“Because I love Christmas.”

Thunder rolled, making the table shake ever so slightly. I winced, grabbing onto the coffee cup to keep it from vibrating toward the edge of the table. It seemed to rain constantly here. Most nights were dark and dreary, peppered with bright streaks of lightning and thunder that was so loud it could shake the house.

“Do you have to go to work in the morning?” I asked. He nodded, sending a wet curl tumbling across his forehead.

“You should at least try and lay down. Some sleep is better than none.”

“Maybe…” He trailed off. “But, I can deal with being tired. It won’t effect me.”

Lightning painted the room a blinding shade of white. I winced then blinked hard to readjust my eyes.

I thought for a moment about his ‘work.’ I thought about how he would come home beaten and bloody and would strip down and shower before crawling into bed. I would bury my face in his freshly scrubbed neck and shoulders, acutely aware of the bruises that were blossoming on his skin. He would use the darkness of the bedroom to hide them, but I always knew they were there.

Miguel frowned. I guess I was making a face at the thought of him being hurt. I sighed, quickly trying to find something to say.

“So there’s just thousands of different versions of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the only Spiderman like me. Remember? You bullied me about my teeth.”

“I absolutely did not bully you over them. I simply asked a question. A question, mind you, that you said I could ask.” He rolled his eyes, smirking as he took a long sip of his coffee.

“Alright, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he opened his mouth to speak but I held up my hand, motioning for him to be quiet. He frowned at my hand and quickly sat the cup he was holding down on the table. “Are there really thousands of people who have spider powers?”

“Are you trying to shush me?” He asked.

“I am, actually.” He rolled his eyes as he reached a hand outward. Four fingers curled around my wrist, moving so that his thumb was pressed against the inside of my hand.

“Well, other than the pig. And the popsicle…” he paused, thinking for a moment. “Oh, and Earth-11580.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the palm of my hand before he let me go.

“What is Earth-11580?” I asked. I was already intrigued.

“He’s a man made of spiders.”

“Oh God, no.” I muttered. He chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought, too.” He said.

“So, all of your Spidermen do little jobs for you?” I asked. He nodded. “Now, are these real jobs or are they fool’s errands?”

“Such as?” He asked. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or was genuinely wanting me to continue.

“I don’t know. Maybe you have an annoying Spiderman, so you make him go on a snipe hunt for a couple of days to get him out of your hair.”

“First of all, is Annoying Spiderman his actual title or are you just being your version of funny?”

“Actually, it's my name for you.” I taunted.

“Ah, so you are being funny.” He smirked as he spoke. “So, why would I have them look for a bird?”

“A snipe hunt? It’s an expression because snipe aren’t real. So it means that you’re sending them to look for something that doesn’t exist.” He stared at my face hard for a moment.

“Yes, sweetheart, they are. Snipes are absolutely real.”

“No, they’re…” I paused. “Are they real?” He quickly nodded. I could see a smile beginning to pull at the corners of his mouth. Blood shot to my face, turning my cheeks bright red.

“I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not, Miguel.”

“Okay, sweetheart, hand on my heart, I swear that they’re completely real.”

“Okay, now I just feel stupid.” He smirked as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. He quickly downed the last of the drink, frowning when he realized it had gone cold during our little conversation.

“So, how do you know specific things about each timeline? Like, how do you know if certain birds or animals or things like that exist in that timeline? Is there a multi-versal Google?” I asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. The closest thing would be Lyla, but unless you would like your answer with some gentle bullying, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Ah.” I said.

A weird silence hung in the air. His eyes met mine. His head swam with little things that he wanted to ask but was too scared of the answer.

If things remained unsaid, then he would never have to deal with the chance of being rejected.

Something stirred in his dark eyes. He knew that it was now or never. “Are you happy here?” He asked.

Part of me wanted to say yes; that seemed to be the answer that he wanted. But, the other part of me demanded that I tell him the truth.

“Miguel, people weren’t meant to live like this. I feel like I’m in a cage.”

“You aren’t in a cage.” It seemed like a ridiculous accusation to him.

“What do you think this house is? I can’t leave and I’m always alone.”

“I’m here.” He said it as if it was obvious.

“Barely. You’re usually working. You leave before I get up and you come home after I’ve gone to bed most of the time.”

He ground his teeth. The worst part of what I was saying was that it was completely true and he knew it.

After a moment, he let out a long sigh. He was wracking his brain for something to say. He wanted to change the subject, but he seemed unsure about what to talk about.

It was too late at night to be doing this.

I pushed myself up from the table, carrying my coffee cup as I went. I began to make my way across the room. After a moment, Miguel pushed himself up and followed me toward the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry that you’re lonely.” There was something to his words that I didn’t recognize.

I nodded and then sat my coffee cup on the counter.

“I mean it. My intention was not…” he paused. “I don't want you to feel alone.”

“But I do, Miguel.” He made a face at my words. He knew it was true.

I leaned back against the counter, listening to the roar of thunder outside.

His dark eyes peered into me with such an intensity that I couldn’t help but squirm against the cabinets. His stare seemed to be flitting between fascination and want.

A want to touch me; a want to be touched in return as I begged for more.

Blood flooded my face, turning my cheeks dark maroon.

“I’ll be a better husband. I’ll make sure to give you as much attention as possible.” The first part sounded sincere. The second part was lined with faux pity. He stepped closer to me, moving so that his chest was only inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off of his skin. He smelled like soap, coffee, and a third thing that I could never place.

“Miguel, I-” My words died in my throat when I saw how he was looking at several fading love bites on my neck. He seemed fascinated by the yellow tinge they had taken on. It was the last color before they would disappear completely, wiping away any proof of his handiwork.

He would always be careful when he made them. He was always cautious not to let his teeth sink into my skin. Instead, he would suck hard on the flesh, stopping only when he knew there would be a small mark left behind. They were his little works of art that he adored creating.

I closed my legs. There were two fresh marks on my inner thighs that I wanted to hide. He had given them to me when he had gotten home later than usual one night. I had been sitting up, waiting for him. As a reward, he had buried his face between my legs as he asked me to tell him about my day. After twenty minutes of stuttering and gasping through what I had eaten for breakfast, I had given up on trying to talk.

Slowly, he leaned downward. One of his hands moved up to graze the side of my cheek. “Miguel.”

“Just let me kiss you.” He whispered. His voice was like honey.

How could I tell him no?

He pressed his lips against mine. His fingers pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. I leaned in, giving into the kiss. He groaned.

Our lips slid against one another, moving in such perfect harmony that I couldn’t help but sigh.

As our lips danced against one another, my hand slid from the counter to his shoulder. I moved forward and pressed my chest against his. I could feel his heart through his skin. Without a word, his mouth began to roam across my cheek, peppering small kisses as he went. He didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to where he was going.

He just wanted to touch me.

His other hand planted itself in the middle of my back, holding me in place while he worked. I felt his warm lips pressed a kiss against my temple.

“You need to go to bed. You have work in the morning. We can do this tomorrow.” I whispered. His lips drifted downward, heading for my jaw. His thumb caressed my cheek.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just keeping you company.”

“You know what you’re doing.” I whispered.

“And what is that?” The hand that held my back dipped downward. He slipped his hand under my shirt and immediately began to tug at the waist of my underwear. He gently pulled my panties down, guiding them over my thighs before letting them fall to the floor.

“Trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” He teased.

I rolled my eyes, too ashamed to admit that it actually was.

I dipped down, catching his lips in another kiss. Our lips glided over one another for a moment. Then, I did exactly as he had done and moved downward, sliding my lips along his rough jaw and neck. Stubble littered his skin. It scratched my mouth as I placed an open mouth kiss against the base of his throat.

He groaned.

I continued downward, moving from his muscular shoulders to his broad chest. Patches of dark hair adorned his skin. It formed a dark path that crept downward before disappearing below the waist of his pajama pants.

I kissed the skin over his heart, then dipped down further. My lips pressed over the taut skin of his stomach, peppering kisses anywhere that I could reach.

I could feel him staring at me when I pressed my knees against the tile floor. He was watching with an almost perverse fascination.

The front of his pants was pulled tight. I could see the distinct outline of his cock through his flannel pants. He was so hard that he was straining uncomfortably against the material.

At least I knew that I could get him as wound up as he got me.

“What’re you doing?” Miguel asked.

I placed one hand on his upper thigh. I slowly slid my fingers upward, feeling the hard muscles of his leg as he went.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked. He quickly shook his head.

“No! No, you’re okay.”

Heat radiated off of his body.

My fingers traced up the side of his hip, stopping once I reached the waist of his pants. I gently pulled on the band, sliding it downward and freeing his straining erection. I pulled the material down further, moving it so that I could see the muscles in his thighs. His dick landed heavily against his thigh.

Clear fluid was beginning to bead on the tip. I reached upward and curled my hand gently around the appendage, making sure that my thumb caught some of the fluid as I went. I slid my closed palm back, dragging it across the velvety skin. He let out a desperate moan as I pumped my hand up and down a couple of times, making sure that he was hard.

Then, I leaned forward until my face was only an inch away from his cock.

I flicked my tongue over another clear bead that was leaking from his dark pink tip. He gasped, moving his hips closer so that I had better access. I smirked, moving myself forward.

I curled my lips around the head of his dick. I slid my tongue along the underside, feeling a long vein that pulsed against my tongue.

His breath hitched. His fingers brushed the back of my head, encouraging me to keep going.

Slowly, I leaned in, sliding him deeper into my mouth.

I worked him deeper and deeper until I couldn’t fit any more of him. Then, I slid backward. As I did, I worked my hand toward my lips, feeling his tight skin move under my fingers.

After a couple of practice movements, I started to build a good rhythm. When my mouth slid backward, so did my hand. They followed suit as I moved forward toward his pubic bone. All the while, I slid my tongue along the velvety skin of his dick, making him moan with every movement.

I glanced up at him through my dark eyelashes. As our eyes met, I worked my tongue across the head of his cock.

His groans were getting louder by the second. Every so often, his breath would catch in his throat as he groaned out my name.

“Touch yourself.” He instructed. His voice was thick with lust and need.

“Hm?” I hummed. His request had caught me off guard.

He groaned at the vibration in my mouth.

“Touch yourself. I know you can. I’ve watched you do it before, sweetheart.” My face turned dark red. But regardless, I parted my thighs. I slid one hand between my legs, moving my fingers to graze my clit.

I could feel Miguel’s burning gaze as I gently began to rub myself. My fingers traced small circles over the bundle of nerves. I rocked my hips against my hand. All the while, I never slowed the bobbing of my head.

He curled his fingers in my hair, careful not to pull too hard. I moaned around him. My tongue traced over his thick vein as I tried to rub my clit faster. I wanted more friction.

This felt good, but it wasn’t what I needed.

I needed him.

I wanted him so much that my body was beginning to ache.

When I bobbed my head back, I let him slip out of my mouth. I wanted to say something poetic or sexy; something that would drive him crazy. But, instead, all that came out was a desperate “Miguel, I need you.”

Despite how on the nose it was, it seemed to break something in him.

Miguel dipped down. He gently grabbed onto me and hauled me upward. I stood upright, still dazed from being pulled off of him so suddenly. Miguel inspected me carefully.

He searched for something in my gaze. I was sure that I looked wide eyed and pathetic.

He leaned down and pressed another kiss against my lips. This time, it was wetter. I pushed myself up onto my tippy-toes and curled my arms around his neck.

I wanted him desperately.

It was a want that soaked into my bones, infecting every piece of my soul.

“Miguel, please.” I whimpered.

Oh God, I did sound pathetic.

I felt him smirk against my lips.

That was all the encouragement that he needed.

He slipped his fingers under the hem of my shirt and quickly pulled it over my head. He tossed it onto the floor, then placed a guiding hand on the small of my back.

“Turn for me, sweetheart.” I obeyed without question.

I turned so that my back was to Miguel. All the while, his hand remained fixed on my skin.

He stepped forward. As he did, he nudged me, making me walk with him. He moved me toward the table that rested in the middle of the room.

My hips bumped against the edge of the table. I already knew what he wanted me to do.

My suspicions were confirmed when his hand slid upward, moving to grasp my shoulder. “Down, sweetheart.” He instructed.

I bent at the waist, laying my upper half flat against the cold wood of the table. One of my hands grasped onto the edge of the table that rested beside my hip. The other hand slid outward. My fingers splayed open on the table top in an attempt to balance myself.

He smirked when I obeyed.

“Good girl.”

He pushed a muscular thigh between my knees, holding them open.

I heard Miguel mutter something under his breath. Before I could ask what he was talking about, he pressed a firm kiss against my left shoulder. Then, he pulled his hand from my shoulder. He moved it upward and covered my splayed hand.

I was dwarfed beneath him; it was entirely too easy for him to dominate me and he seemed weirdly proud of that fact.

He slid his tip between my folds, sliding his cock back and forth in an attempt to collect some of my wetness. He groaned, tightening his grip on my hand.

"God, you're going to be the death of me." His words were lined with a thick lust. He was desperate and I couldn't help but smile against the table.

Then, without warning, he buried himself inside of me. I gasped, overwhelmed by his size. My spasm spasmed as it tried to stretch to accommodate him.

Miguel gently squeezed my hand. It was intended to be a reassuring gesture.

My husband, the romantic.

I felt his other hand roam across my skin, taking in every small dip and curve. I felt his fingertips drift over my waist before roaming down to my ass. He grasped the plush flesh and smirked. Then, he rocked hips, thrusting into me hard enough for me to see stars. “Miguel!” I screamed. A bright smirk painted his features.

He pulled his hips backward and nearly slipped out of me before he came crashing back inside of me, hitting unfathomably deep. The tightening in my stomach was getting impossible to ignore.

I leaned backward, moving into his touch. I wasn’t going to last long.

We were both driving one another to oblivion and we were getting there fast.

Suddenly, I felt the tightening in my stomach unfurl, sending a shock wave of ecstasy through me. He finished quickly after I did, following me down the path of gasping moans and swears. Toes curled and hips desperately ground against one another, begging for more contact. My fingers dug into the table as I struggled to keep myself upright. The hand that he had placed on my ass quickly grabbed onto my waist to keep me from falling during one of the small tremors.

I came down from the high, feeling warm tingles spread over my body. I sighed softly, feeling happiness radiate through me. It was as if I was glowing from the inside.

Miguel leaned down. He brushed my hair off of the back of my neck and began to pepper soft kisses against my skin.

His body covered mine, shielding me from the cold night air.

Our bodies were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He gently squeezed my hand as his lips traced my bare skin. All the while, we were still connected at the hip. When he would move slightly, I could feel the newfound wetness between my thighs.

My insides felt impossibly warm.

The difference between the frigid air and his burning skin was overwhelming. Especially with my chest still pressed between him and the cold wood. Everything felt beautiful in that moment.

He inched his hips forward one last time. He wanted to savor the moment. It was then that I felt him close his open lips against the skin on the back of my left shoulder blade. He inhaled deeply, breathing me in. Then, I felt him suck on the skin, hard. It only lasted for a second, but that was all he needed.

He gave a low sigh. Then slowly, he slid out of me.

As his hips moved backward, I felt my legs go weak.

Miguel didn’t miss a beat. He dipped downward, catching me before I had the chance to fall.

He curled his arms around my body and gently pulled me upward. He pulled me off of the table, then up into his arms. He held me to his chest, making sure to cradle me so that I didn’t tumble out of his arms.

He knew I was too weak to walk.

I always was afterward.

He always made it look so effortless. Hell, to him it probably was.

The kitchen was dim. Rain beat against the roof. The sound filled every room of the house. Despite everything that had happened between us, I felt at peace like this.

He stared down at me with a look of adoration and awe. Something stirred in his dark eyes.

As his eyes drank me in, the kitchen shook with another roll of thunder.

Several days had passed since our night in the kitchen. We fell into our own routine where I would do something, then Miguel would decide that he simply had to be involved. When I had decided to reorganize the shelves, Miguel had eagerly carried heavy dishes and grabbed things from higher shelves. When I had decided to mess with an old paint kit that he had found at my house, he sat behind me, kissing my neck as I tried to focus.

When I had decided to lay on the couch and watch a movie, Miguel had curled up beside me. However, he had also decided that staring at me was more interesting than watching the movie, so every couple minutes he would ask what was going on.

I rolled my eyes as I leaned back against the pillows that Miguel had stolen from our bed. His eyes were trained on me, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

“What?” I asked. He shook his head, but did not drop his gaze.

My eyes danced up the ceiling. My eyes traced the small patterns in the paint, trying to act as if it didn’t bother me that he was staring. After a good five minutes, I broke “Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m sorry, am I not allowed to look at you?”

“You’re not looking. You’re staring and it’s making me self conscious.” He rolled his eyes.

“Oh my God.” He muttered. “This is my house.”

“I thought you said this was our house.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Alright. That’s it.” He muttered, his tone the closest to playful that he could achieve. He closed his hand around my calf and gently pulled me down the length of the couch. He moved me as if I was completely weightless. And I’m sure that to him, I was.

“Miguel…” I groaned. He slipped his arms around me and lifted me off of the cushions. Then, he crawled into the spot where I had just been laying. He wedged himself against the back of the cushions and then laid me down so that I was in front of him. He offset our height, making sure that my head landed against the pillows I had dragged down from the bed. He wiggled his body so that his face lined up with my ribs, then curled one arm around me to make sure that I didn’t slip off of the couch. Miguel laid his head against my ribs. He wasn’t putting his full weight down. Just enough so that his head and arms held me in place.

“Better?” He asked. He closed his eyes against the material of my t-shirt, breathing me in.

“It is, actually. I don’t like it when you stare at me.” He turned his face into my skin.

“Why?” When he spoke, I could feel his warm breath soak through my shirt. His strong nose brushed against one of my right ribs.

“I can never tell what you’re thinking. You always get this distant look in your eyes and I can’t tell if you’re thinking something good or bad about me.”

“I would never think anything bad about you.” His voice sounded sincere, but I wasn’t sure if he was just an excellent liar or not. I knew how often I pissed him off. I knew that I argued with him and didn’t cooperate when he asked me to do things. Maybe he secretly liked those things about me; or maybe he was just willing to take the good with the bad.

I lifted one of my hands up to rest on the back of his head. He let out a low sound. It was the same sound that he always made when I gave him some kind of gentle affection.

I slid my fingers through his dark hair. He pushed himself deeper into my body, sighing as I worked. His fingers slid against my skin absentmindedly.

“Your hair is always so soft.” I said.

“Hm?” He looked up at me with tired eyes. He was beautiful like this. His eyes had taken on their warm chocolate brown color. He reminded me of a puppy when he was like this; rather than a man who was capable of murder at the drop of a hat.

“I love your hair.” I said. I felt him smile into my skin.

“I need a haircut. It’s hard to get the mask on with it like this.”

“No, it’s perfect how it is.” I mumbled.

“You can be the one to cut it, if you want.”

“I would probably just butcher it.” I said. I lifted my hair upward, letting his curls slide gently through my fingers.

He was so warm against my body. He was better than any blanket, mainly because when he wanted to be, he was capable of being loving and affectionate.

I heard something fall in the bedroom upstairs. I stopped my gentle strokes and instead pushed my elbows into the couch. I attempted to sit upright, but Miguel locked me in place. “It’s nothing important. If something broke, I’ll replace it in the morning.” He gently hooked his fingers around my wrist and pulled my hand back to his head, commanding me to continue playing with his hair.

He was worse than a needy house cat.

I rolled my eyes as I relaxed back against the pillow. I gently sifted my hand through his curls. I felt him smile against my ribs.

That was Miguel; ever pleased with his little victories over me, no matter how easy they had been to win.

“I have a surprise for you.” He said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you. That’s what makes it a surprise. But it’s something that I think you’ll like.” I was intrigued.

“Really?”

“Oh course, sweetheart. We’ll do it tomorrow night. I should be back early tomorrow, so we can do it before sunset. If you want to, you can dress up.”

I had taken the time to put on one of the dresses he had taken from my old house. It was a medium length pink dress that my Miguel had adored. Based on the fact that it had been laid out on the bed for me when I had woken up, I had guessed that this version shared the same affinity for it.

When he had returned, I was sitting in the living room. Instead of wearing his usual suit, he wore a white button-up and dark pants.

“Aw, no spider suit?”

“Would you prefer the spider suit?” He asked.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I was just starting to get used to it. It’s weird, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than the suit or pajamas.” I said.

If he was wearing glasses and was a little bit shorter and less muscular, he could easily pass for my Miguel. Maybe that was why he was dressed like this. Or, maybe he just wanted to wear something that hadn’t been previously covered in blood.

“Ready for your surprise?” He asked. I nodded, watching as he stepped across the room, moving toward the front door with every step.

What was he doing?

He opened the front door of the house and then tilted his head to the side, motioning for me to follow.

“We’re going outside?” I asked. He nodded. Was this some kind of weird test? “Really?”

This had to be some kind of mind game. Would I fail if I left the house?

I stood frozen for a moment.

“Sweetheart?” His voice pulled me from my thoughts. He had already stepped out onto the front stoop. He was staring at me, waiting for me to move.

“What?”

“Do I need to carry you?” He asked. He was being completely serious. I quickly shook my head.

“No, I can walk.”

“Good girl. Now come on.” He lifted his hand and motioned for me to follow. Internally, I groaned. But despite feeling slightly demeaned by the motion, I followed after him, closing the door as I went. I followed him down the steps, careful not to fall as I went.

We made our way out into the street. With every step I took, I heard my heels make a low clicking sound against the pavement.

“So I can leave when I want?” I asked. Maybe that was the surprise: a little bit more freedom.

“Not when I’m not here. I want you to be safe. But, I didn’t think there would be any harm in having you out here when I’m around.” He said. My disappointment was clear. He offered a dry smile as he searched for something to fill the weird silence.

After a moment, he reached down and grabbed my hand. “Alright, come here.” He said. He pulled me toward one of the buildings that rested on the left side of the street.

My heels clicked as I stepped up onto the sidewalk.

Miguel stopped walking. He quickly adjusted his stance, leaning down slightly so that he was closer to my height. But, despite his best efforts, he still towered over me.

“Okay, sweetheart. Hold still.”

He dropped my hand and then quickly curled his arms around me, lifting me up bridal style. Without hesitation I curled my arms around his neck. He curled one arm around my body, cradling me close but leaving his other arm free.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” I asked. I could see the almost childlike glee on his face. There was something almost unhinged about how happy he looked.

“I thought you might enjoy this.” He glanced up at the concrete that hung over the edge of the building.

In that moment, I remembered how he had used a web to pull me closer to him in bed.

He can’t be serious.

Based on the way that he was eyeing the surrounding buildings, I knew that he absolutely was.

He was going to try and swing with me in his arms.

“What if you drop me?” I asked. He rolled his eyes as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“I’m not going to drop you.”

“Isn’t it a little weird that I can’t leave the house, but swinging through the air is perfectly safe?”

“The difference here is that I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, readying himself. I tightened my hold around him.

“Ready?” He asked. I felt my stomach twist.

“No.”

I buried my face in his neck and closed my eyes tight. I didn’t want to see any of this; I knew that if I did, I was going to end up throwing up.

Without hesitation, I felt him tighten his hold against my body. Then, with his other hand, he fired a web that hit the concrete overhang of one of the distant buildings.

Every muscle in his body tensed. Then, he bolted forward.

My body bounced slightly as he ran. Then, suddenly, I felt his feet leave the ground as he pulled on the webbing.

Oh God, oh God, oh God!

I dug my nails into his shoulders.

My hair beat around my face as I clung to him. Cold air encircled us, making me very aware of the fact that there was nothing but open air beneath our bodies.

Oh, God, this is how I’m going to die. I managed to survive almost getting crushed by a car, only to fall to my death.

Thankfully, it was all over as quickly as it had begun.

I winced as he landed on the rooftop. I could feel my stomach flip as a second wave of nausea hit me.

“See? That was fun.” He seemed proud of himself. He sat me down on the ground. Miguel slipped his fingers under my chin, lifting my face upward to meet his gaze.

I tried to give him a soft smile, but it looked more pained than intended. I felt like I was about to throw up.

I officially never wanted to do that again.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” I quickly nodded.

“Perfectly fine.” He didn’t seem to believe me. Then again, I didn’t believe me, either. I glanced over, seeing a set of stairs that poked over the side of the building. There was no way in hell that I was going to let him swing me down from the roof. The stairs were more than enough for me.

As I glanced across the rooftop, I spotted something else.

On the corner of the roof, he had set up a small table and chairs. The tabletop was adorned with the glassware and plates from our house, as well as food that he had made ahead of time.

I smiled.

“I thought you might like to get to be in the sunshine for a little while.”

“Thank you.” Even with the chill in the air, I appreciated getting to be outside. The air smelled clean and wet, lined with rain that had fallen the previous night.

Miguel smiled to himself as he motioned for me to follow him across the rooftop. Without question, I did.

As we sat down at the table, I glanced out at the vast emptiness of the city. It was eerie to see the world like this. It was so quiet here that it made me acutely aware of the sound of my own footsteps when I walked through our house, or even how loud I sounded when I spoke. I wasn’t used to the lack of sound and I knew that I never would be.

“Is there anything out there? Past city limits?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Instead, we fell into a strange silence.

A while had passed before one of us spoke again.

“So, tell me about what you do.” I said.

“I’ve already told you that you wouldn’t like me anymore if I did.”

“You don’t have to give me specifics. Just explain the basic gist of it.” He furrowed his brows together, unsure of what to say. “Please.”

He grinned in response.

“Well, I look for an event or person that breaks the canon, and I do my best to ensure that it is corrected.”

Corrected. I already knew what he meant by that.

“But, how do you know if something doesn’t belong in a timeline?”

“Because it disrupts the flow. It’s usually pretty easy to spot the one thing that doesn’t belong.” I didn’t belong in my timeline anymore; but, I was easy enough for him to find based on his ongoing fixation with any version of his wife.

“So, I know that certain things have to happen-”

“Canon events.” Miguel interjected.

“But how do you know what you’re looking for exactly? Even if it doesn’t fit in, don’t timelines change? Can’t they be made to fit eventually?”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Well, people have the freedom of choice. What if someone is supposed to do something, then they decide not to?”

“That’s not how it works. Everything is already set in stone.” He said.

“But, isn’t the timeline vague?”

“No, not really. Because things have to happen in a certain order. There has to be a specific series of events, one after another. If those events don’t happen, then a timeline can collapse in on itself.” He said.

“Yeah, but does it have to be those specific things? Like if a person is going to get hurt that day, does it matter if they break their leg versus breaking their arm? Wouldn’t either one fulfill that slot in the timeline?”

“If one is destined to happen, then it has to be that specific one. The timeline doesn’t deal well with substitutions. If I see that one thing in particular has to happen, I have to ensure that it does.” He said.

…What?

“I’m sorry… I think I must be misunderstanding something.” I said. My voice was so faint that it almost died in my throat.

“I thought that the timelines were much more abstract than that. Like, John Doe wakes up, drinks coffee, goes to work, goes home. I thought it didn’t matter what time he wakes up or what kind of coffee he drinks. So, you can see those minute details? You know exactly what will happen and when? And those things are all set in stone? They all show up in the timeline, unchanging?”

Miguel went quiet.

“You know every single detail of someone’s life, down to the second.” It was now an accusation. And he knew exactly what he was being accused of.

Surely I was wrong; surely there was something that was getting lost in translation between the two of us.

All I wanted was for him to interject; to tell me that I was wrong.

He looked down at the ground as he tried to find something to say.

“That’s not… sweetheart, there isn’t… I don’t…” He stumbled over his words before falling completely silent. He looked like a guilty child. It was as if he had been caught and was desperate to cover it all up and to make it go away.

It all hit me at once.

“You said that you used to watch him and I. You used to look into our timeline. That’s how you knew I didn’t belong there after I was supposed to die. That’s also how you saw him and I in our more… intimate moments. That means that you saw all of the timeline.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Thousands of thoughts shot through my head, each one worse than the last.

He knew.

He fucking knew and he did nothing.

“You knew he would die. You knew when and where and how. You knew every last detail, down to the second. You could have stopped it.”

“It was a canon event for your timeline. It was destiny; it had to happen. You know this.”

“No, I didn’t know this. Having a vague idea that something will happen is completely different than this. You knowing he’ll die someday is completely different than knowing every last fucking detail. You could have stopped this. You could have prevented it. But you didn’t.”

“You’re misunderstanding the situation.”

“No, Miguel, I don’t think I am.” He turned his gaze from the ground back to my face. He bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at me.

“What are you wanting me to say?” He asked. “I did my job. I did everything that I could to protect you and to ensure that your loved ones would have a timeline to continue to live in.”

“If you had let him live, then you couldn’t have taken me.” I said. He had already admitted that he was jealous that my version of him got to have me.

“If I wanted to take you, then there wouldn’t have been anything that could have stopped me.”

“No, I don’t think you would have taken me if it would have meant leaving a version of you completely alone. I think you’re too narcissistic for that. You had to let him die to excuse taking me.”

“I saved you.” His voice was low now; it was almost a growl.

“You say you love me and yet you put me through that. You could have saved me from being devastated, yet you did nothing. Why could you let me live but not him?”

“Because he was supposed to die!” He yelled.

“So was I!”

“And I couldn’t watch you die again!”

“Then you didn’t have to watch! You could have just let me die!”

His mouth formed a hard line. I could see a deep line forming between his knitted eyebrows. He let out a low sound as he lifted his hand to his face. Slowly, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself down.

“No… no.” Was all he said. Somehow, his lack of anger scared me more than if he had started screaming at me. There was something eerie about how little he said.

I winced, feeling another wave of nausea come over me. I pushed myself up from the table and began to make my way across the rooftop. I could see the top of a metal staircase on the edge of the building. I just wanted to get away from him.

“Where are you going?” Miguel asked.

“Home. Or however far I can get on foot, given that I’m trapped here.”

“I can take you home.” He said. He pushed himself up from the table

“Miguel, leave me alone.” I said. I made my way toward the stairs that wrapped around the side of the building. He began to follow after me, following me down the stairs and onto the empty street below.

“None of those things should matter now because you love me. I can see it in how you look at me. I can tell by how you tried to comfort me when I had a nightmare and how scared you were when I came home covered in blood. You were scared because you love me.”

“You really don’t see how you did anything wrong? Are you serious?”

“I saved you.” He repeated.

“You kidnapped me. Besides, how do I even know I was supposed to die? How do I not know that you kidnapped me just because you wanted to?”

“Because I love you. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You love who I remind you of and that’s exactly why you would do that.”

The sidewalk was a perfect imitation of the ones in my home universe. The concrete was littered with opening in the sidewalk that contained small sets of concrete stairs. The stairs led down to small apartments that were partially hidden from view because of how low they sat.

Miguel said something under his breath, but I didn’t hear what it was. Instead, I looked up at the sky. It was beginning to churn with heavy clouds. It was going to rain soon. I could already smell it in the air.

There was a dip in the sidewalk in front of me. The tip led to a small set of concrete steps.

It all happened so fast. I stepped forward, moving one heel in front of the other as I stepped down the concrete stairs. Then, all at once, the heel to my left shoe snapped, sending me down the four steps. I landed hard against the concrete at the bottom, landing directly on my wrist.

I winced when I made contact with the ground. It hurt bad, but there was something else that was wrong. I pushed myself upward. I was sure that I had broken my wrist from the pain. But, as I lifted it upward, I saw that it wasn’t broken. The pain was coming from the broken metal that was stabbing at my skin.

The bracelet was broken.

I didn’t know much, but I knew that this was bad. This was very bad.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Miguel dashing after me.

“Miguel, I think it-” my words were suddenly cut off

Pain shot through me, infecting every nerve. It felt like I was being set on fire.

My body jerked hard, but it wasn’t like anything I had ever experienced. When my muscles and limbs jolted, parts of them blurred or smudged and then disappeared in brightly colored fits.

What the fuck?

“Miguel!” I screamed. He quickly reached for my arm. His hand caught my skin before I could disappear again.

“You’re glitching. Just hold on.” His fingers slipped under the metal band of the bracelet. I whimpered, trying to hold still for him. But, as soon as I was able to keep my body from shaking, another wave of pain shot through me, followed by another hard glitch.

I was glitching out of this reality, but I wasn’t being pulled into another one.

I screamed. It felt like I was dying.

And maybe I was. Based on how panicked Miguel looked, I knew that that was a very strong possibility.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I’m going to fix this.” I closed my eyes, trying to focus on something other than the pain.

“No, no, no, no.” He whispered. I could hear the fear in his voice as he tried to fix the bracelet. His perfect hands worked impossibly fast, tearing at the metal and the small gears and pieces that rested below it. He was desperate. As he worked, his face was painted with a look of agonizing panic.

For the first time in a long time, he was truly terrified.

My body spasmed again. This time, the pain was worse. I couldn’t keep myself from screaming.

I felt him jerk hard on something in the bracelet. Then, after a moment, he pushed something back inside of the metal casing.

I sat still, waiting for another wave of pain to overtake me. But instead, I was left sitting on the cold sidewalk. I opened my eyes, suddenly very aware that Miguel was watching me with a wild stare.

Whatever he did, it seemed to have worked.

Miguel leaned forward. I wanted to say a soft ‘thank you’, but before the words could leave my mouth, he leaned forward and pulled me into his lap.

He pressed my body against his chest, caging my body in his arms.

“You’re okay… you’re okay, sweetheart.” The words weren’t for me. He was desperately trying to prove it to himself that I was alright.

“Miguel, I’m okay. I think you fixed it.” I squirmed slightly, but he didn’t let me go.

Hell, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Miguel.” I protested softly. However, he seemed to take my complaints in a very different way.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. This won’t happen again.” He whispered.

Won’t happen again.

What the hell did he mean by that?

The inside of the house was dark, save for the faint glow from the kitchen. Miguel sat me down on the ground, allowing me to stand upright.

“How do you feel?”

“Nauseous. Plus my wrist hurts, but I don’t think there’s anything that can be done about that.” He lifted a hand upward. He ever so lovingly brushed my hair out of my face.

“You’re going to feel sick for a while from glitching. I’m not sure for how long, though. It’s different for everybody.” He whispered. His voice was soft and gentle.

I wanted to tell him that I had felt nauseous before I glitched. I felt sick when he was swinging around with me, as well as when I was allowed to leave the house for the first time in what had seemed like forever. But instead, I nodded along to what he said.

I sighed to myself as I began to step toward the stairs. My head was pounding and I felt like I was going to be sick.

“I’m going to go upstairs and sleep for a while.” I said.

“I can carry you up there.” He moved toward me, but I quickly shook my head.

“Miguel, I’m fine. I don’t need you to carry me.” He immediately backed off. Any chance of me loving him was hanging by a thread right now. He knew that hovering was only going to start a fight.

As I began to make my way up the stairs, I felt Miguel staring at me. It was the same sad gaze that he would give me when I washed the dishes after dinner, or when I was stretched out on the couch reading with my legs thrown over his lap. It was also the same look he had given me the first night we had made love and the night that I had cleaned the blood off of him and given him a bath.

“Please stop looking at me like that.”

It made me feel weird when he looked at me like that. It almost made me feel bad for being angry with him.

When he was moony eyed like this, he almost looked innocent. Maybe he was aware of that.

“I love you.” Miguel said.

A part of me wanted to tell him I loved him, too. I mean, I did. But right now, I just wanted him to leave me alone. I needed to calm down before I ended up screaming at him.

While there was a part of me that loved him, there was also a part of me that hated him. I hated what he had done, between the fact that he had kidnapped me and that he had hid so much from me. He had hid these things because he knew what would happen. He knew how I would react.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I half expected him to follow after me. But, when I glanced over my shoulder, there was no Miguel to be found. I sighed, shaking my head.

I made my way down the hall, trying to keep from falling as I walked. I made my way into the bedroom and quickly crawled into the bed. I just wanted today to be over. I didn’t know how much else I could handle.

I pressed my back against the mattress, feeling the room spin. Was glitching supposed to make me feel like this? Maybe this was all just a mixture of glitching and nerves. I had been nervous before the bracelet had broken, so surely that was to blame for my sickness.

As I laid there, I tried to remember when the last time I had gone outside before today. Then, another question hit me.

How long had I even been here? Five weeks? Maybe six? Seven?

I tried to count backward to when I had been taken. But, no matter how many times I did it, I came up with different numbers.

And no matter how long I had been here, I hadn’t gotten my period yet.

Fuck.

I pushed myself off of the mattress and scrambled to the bathroom.

I jerked open the bathroom cabinet and immediately began to throw random things on the floor as I searched for the pink box at the back.

He knew this would happen. He had bought a box of pregnancy tests for this exact purpose.

He had wanted this to happen. I remembered his smug comments the first night we were together. Whatever happens, happens.

If I was pregnant, I could already imagine how gleeful Miguel would be. I could imagine him beaming with pride as I got bigger and my stomach became more obviously round. I could also imagine him becoming infinitely more protective than he already was, if that was even possible.

I spotted the box laying against the back of the cabinet. I quickly pulled it forward and ripped the top of the box off. The bathroom was going to look like a tornado had hit it, but that could all be dealt with later.

I flipped over the box and quickly read off the instructions. It was all standard fair.

Sounds simple enough.

I sighed as I tried counting backward again. I just wanted to know how long I had been here. Maybe Miguel would tell me if I asked.

Or, maybe he would ignore the question altogether.

I pulled down my underwear and then sat on the toilet. Downstairs, I heard something move across the floor.

What the hell was he doing down there? Something fell against the floor and I heard him swear to himself.

I peed on the stick as I read off of the back of the box.

Replace the pink cap and then wait three minutes.

Great.

I did as it had said and pushed the pink cap back onto the now-wet end of the stick.

A part of me didn’t trust the first one. Maybe it would be wrong. Maybe it was going to be some kind of false result. Who knew how long the tests had been under the counter? Maybe they were expired. Could these things expire?

Without hesitation, I grabbed a second test out of the box and quickly repeated the process.

I needed to know for sure.

I sat the second one on the counter beside the first. Then, I began to pace around the bedroom, careful not to step too loudly. I didn’t want to draw his attention to my pacing. I needed time away from him to calm down.

It was then that I realized I was still wearing the pink dress. I sighed and quickly began to pull at the zipper. It came undone and I discarded it on the floor. Then, I pulled on another one of his shirts that he had folded and placed on the dresser.

Given the fact that I never saw him wearing any of his shirts, I wondered if he had placed it there for me.

Miguel was more than capable of being sweet to me when he wanted to be. He would often bring me small gifts and always offered to help with whatever I was doing. He would follow me around like a shadow, ensuring that I was taken care of.

God, he really did see me as his little pet.

Several minutes passed before I ventured back into the bathroom. I was scared to look.

Slowly, I peered over the side of the counter, looking for the little windows in the middle of the tests.

There they were. Each window was lit up with identical pink plus signs.

I was pregnant.

I had curled up under the blankets, burying my face in one of the pillows. The room was dark and quiet. But still, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was running at a thousand miles per hour, flooded with too many thoughts to keep up with. I was overwhelmed by it all, and the nausea didn’t seem to help. Nor did the two pink sticks that I had placed on the bedside table.

I could deal with them later. I could throw them away and forget about them. But, even though I knew that they were just plastic and they couldn’t hurt me, I couldn’t help but glance up every so often just to stare at them.

I hadn’t had the stomach to leave the room in almost an hour. Maybe Miguel would just forget about me and I could just stay up here forever. Maybe he would get bored of me and send me home.

But, when I heard a series of footsteps at the end of the hall, I knew that all of my hopes were in vain.

Miguel tapped his hand against the door twice before stepping inside. Since when did he knock?

“Sweetheart?” He let out a low sigh. “I know that today was… rough. But, I…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Maybe there was nothing that could make this better. Maybe this was how things were simply supposed to be.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment; or maybe, this was simply him having to live with the consequences of his actions.

“I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you. All I have ever wanted was to keep you safe.” He stepped deeper in the room, moving toward the bed. As he walked, the light from the open bathroom door shone around him, casting a long shadow against the far wall. “And you’re alive and you’re okay, so I don’t consider any of my actions to be failures.”

“You kidnapped me.” I mumbled.

“But you’re alive and you’re safe, so I would try to be a little more grateful.” As he made his way across the room, something caught his eye. He turned toward the bathroom. He saw the contents of the bathroom cabinet strewn across the floor.

“Is there something you were looking for? Do you need me to get you something?” He asked. I rolled my eyes as I pushed my face deeper into the pillow. He sat down on the edge of the bed, sitting close enough that he could reach out and touch my legs but not so close that he would spook me.

“Go away, Miguel.”

“I know you’re upset with me, but I want you to know that I love you and that I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to talk.”

“I feel like shit. Just go away.” I said. I grabbed onto the edge of my blanket and went to move it upward to shield my head. I didn’t want him to see me and I didn’t want to see him.

However, as I went to haul it upward, Miguel grabbed the blanket, keeping it in place. Slowly, he reached forward and laid a hand on my leg.

“I can make you something to eat before you go to sleep.”

“I don’t want anything to eat.” I pulled on the blanket again. Still, he held it in place.

“Just let me look at you. I need to make sure you’re okay.” He leaned upward, moving so that he could see the back of my head. “Sweetheart, roll over and let me look at you.”

I knew that if he wanted to, he could easily force me to roll over. The idea of that was too demeaning to bear. I groaned and slowly turned over. His eyes met mine and he offered a faint smile.

“There’s my beautiful girl.”

“Miguel, stop patronizing me and just go away.”

He ignored my comment as his eyes danced over my face. He gently placed the back of his hand on my forehead. “You feel clammy.”

“And you’re burning up. Stop touching my forehead before I throw up on you.” I said. I winced as I squirmed out of his touch. His skin was too warm, even in contrast to the cold house.

“You still feel that sick?” He asked. I nodded, pulling on the blanket again. Though, this time, I was able to pull it upward, hauling the blanket up until it was just under my chin.

The only reason he had let me pull on it was because now his attention was turned to the night stand. On it, he saw the two pregnancy tests.

Without saying a word, he pushed himself up from the bed. He walked around the side of the mattress, moving so that he was standing in front of the bedside table. Miguel leaned downward and grabbed onto one of the pregnancy tests. In the dim light, he inspected it carefully.

“Oh.”

What the hell did he mean by ‘oh’? I glanced over and watched as he looked down at the second test for confirmation about the results of the first one. He eyed it carefully, checking and then double checking multiple times before he said anything.

Sure enough, each time he looked, he saw the same pink plus sign.

“Well, at least we know that you aren’t dying.” Really? That’s all you have to say?

He had gotten exactly what he wanted. Why wasn’t he saying something… nicer? Something sweeter?

He sat back down on the bed, sitting down on the empty space that rested between me and the table. He held the pregnancy test in one hand and reached out for me with the other. A warm hand landed against my clothed shoulder. He gently slid his fingers downward, moving over the area where the shirt ended and my bare skin began.

“I’m sorry.”

“For letting him die or for knocking me up?” The second part made him smirk for a fleeting moment. However, the look quickly disappeared and was replaced with his standard, serious glare.

“I’m sorry for our misunderstanding.” He said.

“That’s not an apology.” He glanced down at the floor. When his eyes looked back at me, they seemed softer somehow.

“I’m sorry…” he tried to find a decent middle ground. He wanted his words to make me happy, while somehow absolving him of blame. “For how things turned out. And I’m sorry that we see things differently.”

I rolled my eyes. I could feel another wave of nausea beginning to wash over me. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the pillow behind my head.

“Miguel, I really don’t feel good. I don’t want to argue about this right now.” He let out a low sigh.

“Okay.” He sighed. “I just want you to be happy here.”

“Miguel, I can’t stay here. I can’t be alone all the time. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I know.” His voice was so soft that I almost didn’t hear him. There was a layer of pain in his voice. He knew, somewhere in his soul, that this was wrong. But, his own selfishness usually fought off that aching feeling.

Slowly, he leaned forward, moving toward my face.

He pressed a gentle kiss against my temple. Then, he quickly dipped down and pressed a second kiss against my clothed shoulder. Without missing a beat, he slid his hand under the blankets and gently pulled them down to expose my body.

I watched as he leaned downward, moving so that his face was level with my abdomen. Then, he pressed a gentle kiss against my stomach. He lingered there for a moment, his fingers tracing soft lines over the top of the t-shirt. As he touched me, I felt my heart skip a beat. He was so gentle with me; so careful not to do anything that could hurt me.

His fingers were warm against my skin. But somehow, unlike before, the heat wasn’t making me feel worse. It actually felt nice to be touched. But I couldn’t tell him that.

I was fighting a weird mixture of anger and a want to move into his touch.

Miguel then moved upward, moving so that his eyes met mine once more.

“I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done to you.” He actually seemed to mean it this time. “I love you. I just hope that someday you’ll understand that everything I have done has been an act of love.”

I reached up and brushed my hair out of my face. As I did, his hand moved to caress the side of my cheek, sliding back to push several stray curls behind my left ear.

He flashed a gentle grin. As he did, he showed his white fangs. He was gorgeous… and terribly lovestruck.

“I’ll get you some ginger ale and saltines.” He whispered. With that, he pushed himself up, moving so that he was standing again. He gave me a soft smile and then began to make his way toward the door.

My chest hurt just looking at him. I knew that if he left, I would just end up begging for him to come back later.

“Miguel…” Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Please don’t make me spend the night alone, craving your touch and your skin against mine.

But, none of that came out. I could only say his name. But, that seemed to be enough. He stopped in the doorway, his fingers brushing the frame. He turned to face me. In the dim light of the bedroom, I could see a flicker of hope in his eyes.

I had him wrapped around my finger, for better or worse.

“Come back.” I said. Without hesitation, he did as I asked. He slowly made his way back to the bed, careful not to startle me.

I lifted my hand upward, curling two fingers toward me. It was a motion he had made to me about a dozen times at this point.

“Get in.” I said. He quickly nodded as he climbed over the side of the bed. His devotion was charming, if nothing else.

He crawled across the bed, moving until he was sitting close to me. Then, he carefully maneuvered himself closer, stopping only once his body laid behind mine. His chest pressed against my back. He curled his arms around my body, moving them so that he was cradling me against him. Each touch was featherlight.

He didn’t want to hurt me.

Once he had settled into his spot behind me, he pressed a gentle kiss against my shoulder.

“I can be a good husband.” His voice was low and pained. It sounded like he had thought about this a lot.

This was what kept him up at night; what made him tremble in the early hours, forcing me to wake him from his nightmares.

He could be good to me. He could make up for every little failure.

He knew could fix this; he could make this all better. He just needed time.

But, time had never been overly kind to him.

I glanced over my shoulder, moving so that my eyes met his. His eyes were the color of warm coffee in the dim light.

Miguel offered a soft smile. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he leaned forward, moving his face closer to me.

He pressed his lips against mine. The kiss was soft at first. He was hesitant, but as I leaned in closer, that gave him all the encouragement he needed.

I squirmed in his arms. I wanted to move; I wanted to be closer to him in a way that wasn’t going to make my back hurt in the morning.

He groaned, releasing his hold on me long enough for me to roll over. I twisted in the blankets, moving so that my chest pressed against his. All the while, we never broke our kiss.

Our lips slid against one another, eagerly giving into another’s embrace.

“Thank you for saving me earlier.” I murmured. He nodded, sliding one hand down the curve of my hips. He gently grasped onto the back of my thigh, lifting my leg so that it wrapped around his hips.

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you.” He ground himself against me. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“No chance in hell.”

“Then what does this mean?”

“I thought I was your wife. I can be pissed at you while doing other things.”

“You don’t seem upset.” He dipped down, pressing an open mouth kiss against the curve of my neck.

“I’m still extremely pissed at you, Miguel.” I said. My voice was more serious now than it had been before.

“I can tell.” He taunted. He sucked hard on a small piece of skin, careful not to let his fangs cut into the flesh. Once he was sure there would be a small bruise, he let go of the skin with a soft ‘pop’.

“Shut up.”

“I could always make you forgive me.” He remarked. I rolled my eyes as I felt his hands roam under my shirt.

“How so?” His lips curled into a dark smirk against my skin. I knew that he wouldn’t elaborate on his vague threat.

I pushed my arms against his shoulders, motioning for him to lean backward.

He did exactly as asked, moving so that his back was pressed against the mattress.

“I thought you could make me do things.” I commented. He smirked, flashing his white teeth and glistening fangs. I pushed myself upright, then moved to straddle him. But, as I did, Miguel quickly leaned forward. Any smugness that he had melted away, suddenly replaced with a deep concern as he reached for my body.

He was making sure that I didn’t fall.

“Careful, sweetheart.” He whispered. He slipped a hand under my back, pulling me gently on top of him. I moved one knee to either side of his waist, making it so that I was straddling him.

A lovesick smile slid across his face.

I hated him. Or, at least, some part of me did. But when I looked at him, it was hard to maintain that same level of rage.

He seemed okay with knowing I was pissed at him. He figured it would pass. I could practically hear him now with his ominous ‘it always does.’

That was another thing that I hated.

I hated how he assumed that he always knew best; how he assumed that he knew every single thing about me. Maybe he did, or maybe he was just an ass. But either way, he always seemed so smug about all of it.

I looked down at him, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, he was completely happy.

The night drifted on, filled with sweet nothings and gentle touches.

When our lovemaking drew to a close, Miguel clung to me, whispering soft professions of love. They were words that didn’t seem to fit someone who was so easily capable of bad things.

As the night faded to morning, I felt him fall asleep against me. But instead of his usual nightmares, this time he didn’t stir. He slept with his face buried in my neck and his hand on my stomach.

For the first time in a long time, he was at peace.

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