#i'm not even usually one to say how i'm feeling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

downbadf0rficppl · 9 months ago

Text

love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being Natasha's in the dark, where no one can see you, but what if all the hiding causes insecurities to rear their head and make you question if you are even good enough for this job?

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

AN: Maybe - definitely - OOC Natasha, but I wanted to get my annoyance out somewhere. It's been a long week *crying face*. Anyway, I can't write anything angsty (dk if I would classify this as angst angst but ya know) without a lil bit of fluff at the end so yh. Also sorry that the plot is a bit shit - I haven't reread this and it was a lil bit word-vomity?? Will reread and edit eventually haha. HEA, hurt/comfort vibes? :P

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

The dim light of morning filters through the curtains as you quietly gather your things, your heart a tangled mess of emotions you’d rather not confront. Natasha’s apartment is always neat—pristine, even in its chaos—but today it feels colder than usual. The aftermath of the night lingers in the air: the weight of intimacy, of bodies pressed together, of shared moments that somehow don't leave a mark, yet always seem to hang over you.

You move with practiced ease, pulling on your clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the stillness. Natasha’s absence from the bed doesn’t surprise you; she’s already up, probably training or doing some task to keep herself distracted, to keep from thinking about the mission, about what happened, about anything. You don’t blame her. You’ve seen the way she handles it—how she compartmentalizes her emotions, how sex is the one thing she doesn’t keep in a box.

The door to her bathroom creaks open as you finish zipping your jacket. She doesn’t look at you, her hair damp from a quick shower, her expression unreadable, almost distant. She grabs her black leather jacket from the chair, pulls it on, and heads to the kitchen, the clink of mugs the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak, but the words always seem to hang on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind something you don’t know how to say. You're younger—years younger—and Natasha... well, Natasha never gives anything away. Not in the way you want her to. Her walls are solid, built from years of training, of being a weapon. And you? You’re just a moment, a fleeting thing in her life.

You find her standing by the window now, her back to you, her figure outlined against the early light. She’s always like this after missions, like she’s trying to rid herself of the weight, trying to get back to being Natasha again, instead of... whatever else she’s forced to be.

“Thanks for last night,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t even acknowledge your words immediately. Then, as if the silence is too much to bear, she speaks. “You should go. Goodnight, baby.” Her voice is low, steady, but there's an edge to it—something you can’t quite place.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

You turn to leave, but something inside you twists, a knot in your stomach that isn’t just from the awkwardness. It’s the realization that, for all the time you’ve spent together, nothing will ever change. This is just routine—an unspoken agreement between the two of you. She'll keep using you to forget, and you’ll keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.

But Natasha doesn’t ask you to stay, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way toward the door. When you reach the threshold, you steal one last glance at her. Her eyes are on the window again, her face set in that familiar, unreadable expression.

You leave without a word, the door clicking softly behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening.

This is never ending, we have been here before

But I can't stay this time, 'cause I don't love you anymore

The quiet hum of the helicarrier was almost calming, the steady vibrations of the engines beneath your feet grounding you after a chaotic mission. You’d never felt more alive than when you were out there—fighting, taking down the bad guys, doing what SHIELD trained you to do. But tonight, that adrenaline wasn’t enough to silence the nagging feeling inside of you. You kept replaying the moments from the mission—the moments with Natasha.

The mission had gone smoothly. You had worked well together, flowing seamlessly as a team, and Natasha had even given you a rare, approving glance when it was all over. It had been a high-stakes op, but everything had fallen into place. When the mission was debriefed, there had been laughter, light-hearted jokes exchanged between agents, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her touch had lingered, just a moment longer than necessary, when she passed you your gear. Her eyes had met yours once, a flicker of something in them. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make you wonder. Maybe she feels it too, you thought. The way she looked at you, the way she spoke—there was an intimacy in it, a spark you couldn’t quite ignore.

The night had unfolded with a casual invitation to meet in her room. No big deal, she’d said. Just to grab a drink, just to relax. But when you entered her room, it felt different. You both shed the weight of the mission in the space between words, the tension between you growing as the night went on. Her touch had been slow, almost gentle, when it first brushed against your skin. You’d been hesitant, unsure of what was happening, but she seemed so confident, so sure.

It wasn’t until later—after you were tangled up in each other, breathless, skin flushed—that you felt that spark you had hoped for. Maybe she was just as interested, just as real about this as you were. It wasn’t just a mission anymore, not just two agents getting the job done. There was a connection. There was something between you.

But when you stepped out of her room the next morning, something shifted in the air. The way she had casually kissed you on the cheek before you left, the way she didn’t ask you to stay, didn’t look at you the way you hoped—none of it was what you imagined.

Later, you passed a group of agents gathered in a corner of the mess hall, talking in low voices. You’d barely paid them any mind, too focused on your own thoughts, but then you heard it.

“I wonder who Nat picked this time,” one of them had said, laughing.

“Probably one of the newbies who doesn’t know any better. Gets what she wants, and moves on. No strings attached.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your heart sinking lower with every syllable. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. The woman you had admired from a distance, the one you had trusted and looked up to, had just used you. And maybe—maybe you had been just another mission for her.

You couldn’t help but feel the sting of that realization. You had wanted more. You had convinced yourself that there was something more to it—that the way she held you, the way she whispered your name had meant something. But no. This was who she was. A lone wolf. Cold. Detached.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just nodded, forcing yourself to accept what you had heard, forcing yourself to forget what had happened the night before. The optimism you had clung to began to die right then and there. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t something that could grow or change.

You walked back to your quarters, the weight of the mission—and your heartache—settling in your chest. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to be just one of the many in a string of forgettable faces. The night with Natasha had been a blip. No more, no less.

The next time you saw her, you kept your distance, smiled a little tighter, and allowed the walls to go up. There was no point in hoping for something more when you knew exactly how this worked. She was always a few steps ahead of you, always thinking of the next mission, the next fight, never lingering too long in one place.

And you? You learned to accept that. No strings attached. No expectations. Just the way things were.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the training room as you and Natasha sparred. The fight was almost second nature now—quick jabs, swift dodges, and the occasional, playful taunt thrown into the mix. You'd gotten better at handling the pressure, but still, when it came to Natasha, it was hard not to feel like you were always playing catch-up. She was faster, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes, it seemed like she was born to fight.

You threw a punch, aiming for her midsection, but she dodged it with effortless grace, countering with a sharp jab to your ribs. You grunted, stumbling back a step, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You pressed forward, more determined now.

“Not bad,” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice light. “But you’re still weak. You need me to save you again, huh?” She laughed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

It was a joke, you knew that, or at least, you thought you did. But something about her words hit you differently today. You weren’t in the mood to laugh. You had been pushing yourself hard in training, trying to prove that you could handle it on your own, that you weren’t just some rookie who was always under Natasha’s shadow.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing frustration that bubbled in your chest. You swung again, but this time, you missed her entirely. She dodged it effortlessly and caught your wrist in a hold that felt too tight.

“Still not enough,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you some more training lessons. You know, to make sure I don’t have to keep saving you.”

The joke, the lightness in her voice, it only made you more upset. “Maybe I don’t need saving,” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free from her grip, your temper flaring. “Maybe I can handle things on my own for once.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, but she kept her hold firm. “Maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Deep down you knew it was a joke, but it wasn’t funny to you—not today. Not when you already felt the weight of everyone’s whispers hanging over you like a shadow. She’s only here because she’s sleeping with Natasha. She’s nothing without her. Every agent seemed to think the same thing. Even some of your own teammates seemed to treat you like you were just an afterthought, a placeholder who only got the mission because of who you knew, not because of your skill.

You had always tried to prove them wrong. But when Natasha said things like that, it felt like all your efforts were for nothing. Like all of it was just... a joke.

You yanked your arm out of her grip and stepped back, glaring at her. “I don’t need you to save me, Natasha. I don’t need anyone.”

Her expression shifted, the playful edge in her eyes dimming. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t hear the things you heard, didn’t feel the weight of the judgment you carried every day. To her, this was just another training session, another moment of playful teasing. But to you? It was like being backed into a corner, your confidence slowly slipping away with every word.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha said, her voice sharp now. “You know I’m just messing with you. Stop getting so moody.”

It stung more than it should’ve. You clenched your fists at your sides, holding back the urge to walk out of the room, to leave her there without another word.

But you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the walls close in around you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m just here for the fun of it. That I can’t do anything without you. You don’t even see it.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, and she let out a frustrated sigh, dropping her stance. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

You felt the words cut deep, the sting of her dismissal more painful than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you as some emotional mess. But it was too late. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the ache of being ignored, dismissed, and reduced to nothing more than a pawn in her world.

“Fine,” you snapped, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe I should just go. You don’t need to deal with my mood anymore.”

Natasha didn’t even flinch at your outburst. Instead, she looked at you with a cold indifference. “Then fuck off,” she said bluntly, as if you were just another irritation, another moment she couldn’t be bothered with.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why you were so angry, why you felt so small in that moment. And you realized, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that maybe she never would.

You turned and walked away without another word, your chest tight, your emotions a storm inside of you. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay there, not with her. Not now.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

You hadn’t meant to overhear it. You had only walked into the SHIELD briefing room to check on some mission updates when Agent Ryder’s voice cut through the air, low but unmistakable.

You could feel the sting of his dismissive tone reverberating in your bones. Nepotism. The word had echoed in your head long after he’d left, taunting you. You knew the truth—your guardian wasn’t some high-ranking official, wasn’t some big shot with connections—but still, how could they say that? How could they reduce your hard work to just that? To nothing but the connections you didn’t even ask for?

You had always tried to prove yourself. Every mission, every task, every step forward was to show you deserved to be here, that you weren’t just some token agent or a pawn in a bigger game. You had trained harder than anyone. You had put in the hours, learned everything you could, sacrificed the same as everyone else. But still, every time you turned around, someone else was whispering behind your back, casting doubt on your worth.

And then there was Natasha. Her teasing had been the last straw. You had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but you knew deep down that the way she dismissed you—it was just another reminder that you were expendable. You weren’t one of them. You were just... a mistake in the system.

So when you walked into the training room the next morning and saw Natasha leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as relaxed and confident as ever, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t go to her like you usually did. You didn’t smile, didn’t offer the usual greeting. Instead, you simply nodded once, cold and distant.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped forward.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned away from her, grabbing your gear and adjusting it with deliberate care. The silence stretched between you both. You could feel her eyes on you, studying you, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t owe her one. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“You’re still upset about yesterday, huh?” Natasha’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. A warning, maybe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You ignored her, shoving your focus back into the task at hand, determined not to let her see the way your chest tightened. You didn’t want to feel weak. You didn’t want her to know how much her words hurt. You were done with this—done with pretending, done with leaning on her. You were going to prove yourself. You had to.

A few moments passed before Natasha stepped closer, frustration creeping into her tone. “If you don’t stop this, we’re going to have a problem.”

You turned to face her then, finally looking her in the eyes, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. We’re not going to have a problem. I’m done with this.” You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m done with you. I’m tired of being treated like I’m some kind of charity case. Like I don’t belong here unless I’m under your shadow.”

Natasha’s face shifted, confusion flashing in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You took a step back, your voice rising in frustration. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? All of it. The way you make fun of me. Like it’s just a joke. Well, it’s not. I’ve been busting my ass here, and all you do is remind me that everyone thinks I’m just some charity case. Nepotism. You think that’s a joke? You think I need you to save me?”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the side, and then back to you. She crossed her arms, clearly trying to hold her composure. But there was something in her eyes—something tight, something hurt.

“Is this about yesterday?” she asked, her tone sharper now, but there was a hint of concern buried underneath. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” You shot back, unable to hold it in anymore. “You don’t get to dismiss me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not some... some... tool for you to use whenever you want. I’m not some kid you get to play with and forget about when it’s convenient.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with tension. Natasha’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think this is about me using you? You think I’m using you? Is that what you really think?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with anger, her usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. She shook her head, disbelief and frustration written all over her face. “You’ve got it all wrong. But fine, if that’s how you feel, then go ahead. Go prove yourself, like you keep saying you will. But don’t come crawling back to me when you realize you can’t do it alone.”

The words stung, but it was the way she turned and walked away—cold, final—that hit you the hardest. You felt the knot in your chest tighten, but you didn’t call after her. You couldn’t.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding her, your mind racing with doubt and anger. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about feeling like you were fighting a battle on your own, with no one in your corner. The more you tried to distance yourself, the more you realized how much you needed her, even if it hurt to admit it.

But you were stubborn. You had to prove to yourself that you weren’t just here because of someone else. You weren’t going to be Natasha’s shadow anymore.

You couldn’t.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

The morning briefing had gone smoothly, the usual debriefing about mission parameters, objectives, and exit strategies. But there was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t shake. It was just a solo mission—nothing too difficult, Natasha had said, and you knew the protocol well. But the moment she had pulled out, just hours before takeoff, something in your gut twisted.

"It doesn't need to be a two-person mission," Natasha had said with her usual casual smile, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. "It’s easy. You’ve got this." Her voice had sounded almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t been training with you for months, as if she didn’t know how much you relied on her presence during missions. You knew Natasha wasn’t one for emotional goodbyes, but the absence of that small gesture—her usual good luck kiss before every mission—felt like a sign. You had never gone on a mission without one, and now, as you stood alone in the SHIELD hangar, you realized just how much you had come to rely on it.

She hadn’t even given you a heads-up, hadn’t said goodbye with her usual teasing smirk or reassuring look. It’s an easy mission, you told yourself. You don’t need her this time. But the unease in your chest told you otherwise.

You tugged the straps of your gear tighter, glancing once more at the aircraft. The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a small criminal syndicate operating out of a hidden base in the mountains, retrieve intel, and get out. You’d handled worse. But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. Your instincts were screaming at you, and for once, you weren’t willing to ignore them.

You checked your wristwatch again. The flight would take a few hours, leaving you with time to prepare mentally, but all you could think about was Natasha. The way she had waved you off with barely a second glance, as if you didn’t matter enough for a goodbye. You tried not to dwell on it. After all, Natasha didn’t do sentiment. But the emptiness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she’s just focused on something else. But none of that helped. You were used to her being there with you, a reassuring presence by your side. You needed her, especially when the missions were dangerous—especially when you felt the weight of the world bearing down on you. But now, you were alone, and that felt heavier than you expected.

As the helicopter’s engines roared to life, you settled back into your seat, trying to center yourself. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult. You could do this alone, you kept telling yourself. But something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Natasha pulling out at the last minute. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't given you her usual kiss for luck, the one that always helped you steady your nerves before a mission. But whatever it was, it gnawed at you. Your instincts were telling you to watch your back. Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time you arrived at the drop zone, the helicopter had been quiet for too long. The mountainside stretched ahead, vast and intimidating, and the cold wind carried the promise of danger. You could see the hidden compound from the air—well-guarded, heavily fortified, and far from any backup. A simple mission, Natasha had called it.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

The drop was smooth, and you quickly moved into position, your boots crunching against the frozen ground. The area around the compound was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet. No guards on patrol. No sign of life. It didn’t make sense, but you pushed the unease aside. You had a job to do.

You made your way toward the compound, slipping into the shadows, the cold air biting at your skin. Every step felt calculated, but the tension in your shoulders refused to loosen. You kept glancing over your shoulder, as if expecting Natasha to appear and tell you everything was fine, that this was just another mission to add to the books.

But she wasn’t there.

You reached the compound’s perimeter and found the first guard’s post abandoned, his gear left behind but no sign of a struggle. There was no time to waste. You slipped inside, working quickly to disable the security systems and hack into the mainframe. The room you’d accessed was silent, save for the whir of the computers. As you pulled the intel from the servers, the cold feeling in your gut only grew.

Something wasn’t right. Your instincts had been spot-on—this mission had been a setup.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You froze, turning off the monitor and moving swiftly toward the exit. You didn’t have time to think. You just had to get out. The sudden realization hit you like a punch in the stomach—Natasha wasn’t here for a reason. She’d known this mission wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And now you were paying the price for going in blind, without her by your side.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted for cover, your mind racing. Every corner you turned felt like a trap. The compound was alive with activity now. You could hear voices, shouts, the sounds of boots hitting the concrete floor.

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted this mission without her.

You ducked into an alcove, pressing your back to the cold wall, your breath shallow. The door to the room you’d just vacated opened with a quiet click, and a group of armed men poured in, searching for you. The walls seemed to close in on you as the adrenaline kicked in. You had to move, had to get out, or you would be trapped.

Suddenly, your body started to droop, collapsing against the wall behind. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was long red hair tied into a bun.

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

You woke to the sting of cold water splashing across your face, the shock of it making your body jerk awake, muscles aching with the memory of the fight. The pain was sharp, gnawing at your ribs and shoulders, each breath a struggle. The world around you was blurred, and all you could focus on was the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your eyes opened, blurry at first, and then the details started to sharpen: concrete walls, dim lighting, and the cold, oppressive silence that clung to the room. There were metal chairs around you, all empty but one. The leader of the enemy force, a tall man with a face carved from stone, stood before you, a smug look on his face as he held the bucket that had been your rude awakening.

He tossed the remaining ice water in your direction, a small slosh hitting your face as he watched you with cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a tough one,” he said in a low, mocking voice. “I didn’t think you’d last this long. But everyone cracks eventually, don’t they?”

Your throat was dry, and your tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper. You could feel the blood caked on your face, the bruises that were already starting to swell. But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming urge to break, you held your ground. You glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” the man sneered. “You SHIELD agents are all the same. So loyal. So stupid. You’re all just waiting for your little friends to come save you, aren’t you?”

Your lips pressed together tightly, and you refused to let a single word slip from them. You couldn’t afford to give him anything. Not a single piece of intel, not even a whimper. You knew that if you did, it would all be over.

He stepped closer, placing a booted foot against your thigh, forcing you back against the cold concrete. The pressure was almost unbearable, but you didn’t flinch. The silence between you both stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally gave a humorless laugh and straightened up. “I can wait. All of you are the same. Eventually, you’ll break.”

But you didn’t.

The next few days bled together in a haze of cold, pain, and isolation. The room was a blur of steel, concrete, and fluorescent lights. There were no windows, no sense of time. Your body was sore, covered in cuts and bruises, and the hunger gnawed at you. But you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when you knew someone would come for you.

They’ll come. They have to.

Every time they came in, it was the same—questions, threats, taunts. And every time, you remained silent. You couldn’t let them know how desperate you were. You couldn’t let them see you break. Even if every part of you screamed for help, you stayed resolute, hoping that somehow, someone would find you, someone would come and end this.

But no one did.

It was only when the fourth day passed, when the darkness of the room had become your world, that you started to feel the weight of your own mind closing in. The silence, the isolation, the constant threat of pain—it started to take a toll on you. The hunger gnawed at your insides, and your thoughts drifted in and out. You could still hear his voice echoing in your head: They’ll come for you. They’ll come...

It was on the sixth day that it happened. A crack in the door. The low hum of voices. The sound of boots. You didn’t move at first, couldn’t. But then, just like that, the door swung open, and a small team of SHIELD agents burst in, guns drawn. They moved quickly, efficiently, sweeping the room and securing the area. You didn’t even have the energy to react as they cut through the restraints on your wrists and helped you to your feet.

"Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” one of them murmured, gently pulling you into their arms.

But the words didn’t register. You could hear them, but it was like they were coming from another world. You felt light-headed, your body numb, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The next few days were a blur of recovery, of medical checks and debriefings that you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to. Every word felt like it was coming from a place far outside of you, and you couldn’t find the strength to answer.

In the quiet, isolated room they had put you in at the base, you sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Every noise around you felt too loud. Every touch too much. They gave you time to recover, but you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. Your mind had shut down, your body running on autopilot.

There were no words. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The trauma, the isolation, everything that had happened—it left you feeling hollow. Broken.

You didn’t speak at all for days, your body recovering, but your mind still trapped in the darkness of that cold room. The cold man’s words echoed in your head. You’re all waiting for someone to come save you.

But even as the team tried to coax you into talking, even as they brought you your favorite food and gave you the space to recover, the silence remained.

Natasha didn’t come. She wasn’t there when you needed her, and the weight of that felt heavier than any physical wound. It wasn’t her fault. You knew that. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still alone.

Your recovery was slow. You weren’t the same person when you were finally cleared to leave the facility. There was a coldness in your eyes, a distance in your posture. The silence you had once embraced had become a shield, and now, it was all you had.

Natasha had visited you once during your recovery. She hadn’t said much, just sat in silence beside you. But even when she reached out to touch your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The trauma had built walls too high, too thick to break. And no one, not even Natasha, could find their way through.

You were alive, yes. But the silence that followed felt like it would never end.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

The sterile scent of the hospital room, the constant hum of machines, and the bright, white lights overhead did little to make you feel at ease. You stared at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused, your mind a swirling mess of everything that had happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You didn’t feel like you were living—just existing, going through the motions. Every movement felt like an effort, and the space around you felt too small, too suffocating.

You hadn’t spoken since the rescue. Not to anyone. The silence, once a comfort, had become a prison you couldn’t escape. Your throat was raw from the lack of words, and when you closed your eyes, you could still see the cold walls of that room, the mocking face of the enemy leader, and the weight of the isolation pressing down on you.

The door opened, and you didn’t look up. You knew who it was before the first words even registered.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

The voice was sharp, familiar, cutting through the fog that had settled around your brain. Natasha.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was screaming for you to stay quiet, to not let her in, because the moment you spoke, you knew it would shatter the wall you’d built to protect yourself. But Natasha didn’t wait for a response. She stormed into the room, her boots heavy on the floor, her expression tight with frustration.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Natasha continued, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s been weeks. You’re acting like a damn child, and I’m done with it. I don’t have time for this immature bullshit, especially from you.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of anger and confusion building inside you, but you refused to show it. You couldn’t. You knew better than to let her see the storm inside you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your schedule,” you said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to add any more, any more than the words that barely scraped out. Sorry for being alive, sorry for failing.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, standing at the side of your bed. Her face was hard, her anger not hiding the concern that still flickered beneath. “You think this is easy for me, too? That I just get to pretend nothing happened? That I’m supposed to just let you wallow in here like—like this?” Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “This is fucking ridiculous, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you ruin everything you’ve worked for. Do you understand me? You’re going to lose everything.”

The sting of her words cut deep, but it was the accusation in her tone that truly hit you. The one that had been festering in your chest ever since you’d been dragged out of that hellhole. You weren’t who you thought you were. You weren’t the person who deserved this life. The dream job, the recognition, the chance to be someone worth a damn—none of it was meant for you. Not after everything that had happened. You weren’t strong enough to keep it all, to be who they thought you were. And Natasha—Natasha, who had always been a silent pillar of strength for you, was now reminding you how easily it could all be taken away.

Her words stung. Immature... Ruin everything... You could feel the weight of her disappointment settle into your chest like a stone, heavier than anything you had ever felt.

And then, it clicked.

The final straw broke. Natasha didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the extent of what had happened to you—the isolation, the pain, the days spent waiting for someone to find you, and the crushing feeling that no one would. You were broken, and she was treating it like it was just a phase. That you just needed to snap out of it.

But you couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the pain from your injuries flaring in protest, but you pushed through. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you couldn’t stay here any longer. You had to leave. You had to escape the judgment, the expectations. You couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Natasha snapped, but you were already moving. You couldn’t be near her right now. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much.

Ignoring her calls, you grabbed the nearest coat, not caring that it didn’t quite fit right, and you made your way out of the room. You could hear her following you, her footsteps echoing behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t owe her anything anymore.

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

It didn’t take long to get to the secure office where you had to sign a few papers before they cleared your discharge. You barely registered the words the agent at the desk was saying. You barely noticed the fact that your fingers were trembling. You only had one thing on your mind—the resignation letter you had been drafting in your head for days.

You placed it on the desk in front of the agent, your hands shaking slightly as you slid the paper over to them. The words were short and to the point, and they made everything feel so final. So irreversible.

“I’m resigning,” you said, voice hoarse. “Effective immediately.”

The agent didn’t ask questions. They just nodded, their face unreadable, and then went about processing the paperwork. You watched, numb, as the reality of it all settled over you like a weight that you could never lift. You had dreamed of this job for so long, had worked so hard to get here, only to throw it all away because you didn’t deserve it anymore.

And in that moment, you felt everything you’d been holding in for weeks. The grief. The betrayal. The isolation. It all came rushing back, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t cry. The numbness, the emptiness, it was all you had now.

You stood up, turning away from the desk, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of finality wash over you. No turning back.

It wasn’t until you were almost out the door that you heard Natasha’s voice again, this time softer, more desperate. “Wait.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and the world outside felt both too big and too small at the same time. You were alone now. Completely, irrevocably alone.

And somehow, that felt like the only truth you could rely on anymore.

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

Clint’s sharp eyes caught you before you could make it out of the door, his footsteps quick as he crossed the hallway. He was dressed in his usual casual gear, a quiver slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“Hey, wait,” Clint said, his voice softer than it usually was when he called someone out. You didn’t stop. Your feet kept moving, your heart hammering as you tried to escape. But Clint was relentless. He grabbed your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with something like disappointment. “You can’t just walk out on everything. Nat’s worried sick.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, exhausted. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you muttered, your voice strained. “Not hers, not anyone's. Just... just leave me alone.”

Clint studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing with understanding. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a quieter corner, away from the main corridors, where he knew you wouldn’t be overheard.

"Look," Clint said, his voice lower now, softer but still firm, "I don’t know what kind of crap Nat's been feeding you, but I can tell you're hurting. You think you can just walk away from everything, like it’ll make things better? You think that's gonna fix anything?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to. But Clint didn’t need an answer.

“I hear things,” Clint went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hide something. And I’ve been in the rafters during most of those 'training' sessions with Nat. You think you’re the only one who feels small, huh?” His voice turned bitter, a subtle edge to it. “You think you’re the only one she’s pushed away?”

You stared at him, shocked, unable to respond. Clint saw right through you. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“She’s been messing with your head, hasn’t she?” Clint said. “Somehow, you think you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong here. You think everything you’ve done has been handed to you on a silver platter because of her. Well, let me tell you something—that’s not true.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you still didn’t speak. It was like you couldn’t find the words. The guilt, the shame, the feeling of never measuring up to the expectations—they all churned in your stomach.

Clint let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes softening. “You’re good enough,” he said, his tone firm, but there was an understanding there that made your throat tighten. “You’ve earned every bit of your place here. And if she can't see that, then she's the one who’s in the wrong. It’s not about who you know or who you're sleeping with. You’re here because of you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You felt the tears welling up, but you forced them back, swallowing the lump in your throat. Clint’s words had landed hard, and it was like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding was finally being released. But before you could say anything, Clint stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“Natasha��” Clint trailed off, his jaw tightening. “She’s been a mess lately. She’s scared—scared of losing you, scared of messing things up. But she doesn’t know how to apologize for anything. She’s been pushing you away because she’s too afraid to admit what she’s done. So yeah, she's been selfish. But you can’t just run away from everything. You deserve better than that."

Your heart twisted at his words, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of wanting to believe everything he said. But the hurt was still there, the feeling of being abandoned in your most vulnerable moment. You didn’t trust yourself enough to believe that you were the one who mattered.

Clint left you with a small pat on your shoulder - he couldn’t blame you for wanting to leave, he just wanted you to know the truth that Nat definitely wasn’t going to tell you. Now to chew her out. It didn’t take long for Clint to find her. Natasha was pacing the hall just outside, her face etched with frustration. The second Clint approached her, she shot him a glare.

“Where the hell is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice tight with anxiety. “You didn’t—”

Clint held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” he ordered. “And listen. I’m done with you thinking you can just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, but she stood still. Clint’s eyes were hard, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t holding back.

“You’ve been treating her like shit, Natasha,” Clint continued, his voice rising just enough to get her attention. “You think she’s the problem? That she’s just acting ‘immature’ or ‘childish’? Look around you for two seconds. You’ve been pushing her away, making her feel like she’s not good enough, like she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. You’ve been feeding her insecurities—her real ones—with your own mess. And, she’s traumatised. Those guys out there, the ones that tortured her for six days because she went in without an extraction plan”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Clint cut her off with a sharp motion.

“I hear things,” Clint said. “I’m up in the rafters sometimes. I hear the crap that other people say about her when they think no one’s listening. They question her place on the team because her dad was an officer in Fury’s good graces, or because they think you play favourites with her. They don’t realise that you’ve got something else going on, but all that shit compounded. You’ve made one of our best agents question everything about herself.”

Natasha’s face went pale, her expression shifting from anger to guilt in an instant. “Clint, I—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t quit sooner, Natasha. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you didn’t see how bad she was hurting.” Clint’s words hit like a slap. “Now go find her. And you better make this right, because if you don’t Fury is gonna be pissed.” The ‘and I’ went unspoken.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Natasha stopped at the entrance of Tony’s stupid ‘serenity garden’. It was the last place she had left to look, and it looked like luck was on her side. You were sitting on one of the benches in the corner, your back to her as you stared into the depths of the Koi pond. It was like you were a part of the landscape now, blending into the tranquility of the place. Natasha felt her throat tighten at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, so distant. She had never seen you like this—not once. It was always her who had the walls up, not you.

She took a cautious step forward, the grass underfoot crunching softly as she neared you.

Natasha called your name softly, her voice hesitant, like she was testing the waters. You didn’t respond immediately, and for a brief second, Natasha was unsure if you had even heard her. The silence between you felt thick, almost unbearable. She sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough that she hoped you could feel her presence.

It wasn’t the same as before—when she had always known what to say to you, when her words had always been sure, always laced with a confidence that kept her safe. But now? Now she had no idea how to begin. Her usual sharp tongue had failed her. There were no easy words to break the ice this time, no snarky jokes to hide behind. Only you—and the wreckage she had left in her wake.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see her. The surprise in your eyes caught her off guard. You’re surprised to see me here, Natasha realized. You didn’t expect her to come. You didn’t expect her to care enough to seek you out.

And for the first time ever, Natasha didn’t know what to say.

Her mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced at you, her expression filled with uncertainty. She could feel the weight of everything she had said, everything she had done, everything she had failed to do. The words that had always come so easily to her were nowhere to be found now. It was as if the depth of your hurt had trapped her, left her speechless, helpless.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to face her entirely, but your gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. You could sense her struggle—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, speechless for the first time in your memory.

“Nat?” you finally said, the question carrying more weight than it should. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and small, like the person you had been before all of this had come crashing down.

She looked at you, the smallest glimmer of relief flickering in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the same guilt she had been carrying for days now.

“I…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

You blinked at her, surprised. This was the first time you’d ever seen Natasha lost for words. You’d always been the one fumbling for the right thing to say, the one who couldn’t figure out how to get past the pain. But she—Natasha Romanoff, the one who always had control, always knew how to navigate even the most dangerous situations—she was the one who was struggling now.

It was like the world had shifted, and the unshakable woman you had always known had suddenly become... human.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Her voice was soft, as if the weight of everything she had been holding was finally catching up with her. “I messed up,” she said quietly. “I messed up, baby. And I... I don’t know how to make it right.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, and it took everything in you to keep the tears from falling.

“I’ve been a mess,” Natasha continued, her eyes looking straight ahead, not daring to meet yours. “I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you... And I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just—I pushed you away. I thought you’d be fine. I thought you’d understand. But I see now that I made everything worse.”

You swallowed, the words feeling like they weighed a ton in your chest. You couldn’t speak, not yet. But you turned your head slightly to face her, your gaze still unreadable.

“I never wanted to make you feel like you don’t belong here,” Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted you to think that you were here because of me, or that you weren’t good enough.” Her lips tightened, frustration and regret flooding her features. “I just—I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And I made you think I didn’t care. But I do. I care. I care about you more than you could ever know.”

The silence stretched out between you both, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha felt small. Her pride, her strength—all the things that had always defined her—were gone, stripped away by the vulnerability of this moment.

You glanced at her, studying her face. It was like you were seeing her for the first time—broken, fragile, and unsure.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the smallest sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if you can fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I need you to know something, Natasha. I needed you. And you—you—were the one who turned away.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of your words, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded slowly, accepting the truth, knowing it wasn’t something that could be undone in a moment. The air between you and Natasha felt heavy with words you couldn’t articulate. You had remained silent for so long, allowing her apology to linger in the air like a fragile thing—something too delicate to touch, to hold onto. But now, with the weight of her words pressing down on you, you couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I’m leaving,” you said, the words steady, though they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were telling her this now, but you had to. You had to make it real, to take control of something in your life again.

“I’m transferring,” you added, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m going to Quantico. I’ll be working with the FBI as a consultant. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but... I don’t deserve to be here anymore. I got the hint.”

The words felt like a confession, a goodbye you hadn’t yet found the courage to say. There had been so many dreams—so many things you’d imagined for yourself at SHIELD. You had fought for them, worked tirelessly, sacrificed for them. But now, they felt like they were slipping away.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, like she was trying to find the words. You knew what she’d say. She’d tell you that you were making a mistake, that you had so much potential. But it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would fix what had been broken.

You could feel the emotions swirling inside of you, but you had already made your decision. It was easier to walk away, easier than confronting everything that had gone wrong.

But then, she spoke. And it was different from anything you’d expected.

“You’re the best SHIELD has to offer,” Natasha said, her voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency in it. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, baby. I... I don’t think you see it. You’ve done things that people can’t even dream of. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You’ve earned your place here. And I know I haven’t made it easy for you, but you belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. Her voice was fierce now, insistent, and you could hear the raw sincerity in it. But none of it felt real. None of it felt true, not in the way you needed it to.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost in the distance between you. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly belonged here. Not in the way you think. I’m not you, Nat. I’m not cut from the same cloth. I’m just—me. And I’ve been holding on to a dream that doesn’t fit. Not anymore.”

Natasha’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue. She could feel your resolve, could see how broken you were, how done you seemed. It was like you had already left—mentally, emotionally, even before physically walking away.

Her chest tightened. “Baby, listen—"

But you shook your head, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, Nat, I’ve heard it all.” You inhaled sharply, the words rushing out. “And I’ve finally started hearing what’s been said. And now I’m seeing what’s been true all along. I’m not enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I give. And you... you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be anything but a second choice. I was just a comfort to you, a distraction. You made me feel like I needed to prove myself—like I needed to earn my place, but I did. I did, and it never mattered.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s lips trembled, the harshness of your words sinking in. She knew she had been wrong, knew she had made everything worse. But hearing you speak this way—so broken, so defeated—it shattered something deep inside her.

"Please..." Natasha's voice faltered, her tough exterior cracking. She reached out toward you, but the gesture was hesitant, unsure. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel—”

You pulled away, standing up slowly, the decision final in your mind. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my choice. I’m leaving. And I don’t think you’ll miss me that much anyway. It’s easier to pretend like you don’t need anyone than to admit you might be wrong about something.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

Before you could take another step, you felt a hand grip yours. Warm, strong, and unyielding. Natasha had caught up with you, her fingers laced around yours, holding you in place. You didn’t turn around. You weren’t sure you wanted to face her again, not after everything that had been said, not after the rawness that she had exposed.

Natasha’s voice was softer now as she called your name, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “Please, just—don’t walk away yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse, but it was hard when every part of you wanted to run. You didn’t stop, but neither did she.

Her grip tightened, pulling you back just a little, her touch sending a mix of warmth and tension straight through you. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t the confident agent you were used to, the one who had always kept her emotions under lock and key. There was something different now, something uncertain, almost as if she wasn’t sure of her place in your world anymore.

“I’ve messed up,” Natasha continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I know I pushed you too hard. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough, like you didn’t belong here, and... I did that because I wanted you to be the best. I wanted you to be safe. I was afraid that if anything happened to you—if I lost you on a mission, I—I don’t think I could survive it.”

You could feel her breath, the rise and fall of her chest close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her words hit you like a wave crashing into the shore, raw and jagged, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to process them.

“I pushed you because I was scared. And in trying to protect you... I ended up pushing you away,” she whispered, the confession hanging in the air, the depth of it too much to ignore. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I was so so wrong.”

The air between you both was thick with everything she had just said, and you stood there for a long moment, processing it all. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her—not yet.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Natasha,” you said, your voice a mixture of anger and hurt. It wasn’t snark this time, no biting sarcasm, just raw emotion. "The only time something terrible happened to me, something that almost killed me, was when you abandoned me. You made the call. You didn’t show up. I was out there, all alone, and you weren’t there when I needed you most.”

Your chest tightened as you spoke, the hurt pouring out like it always had, but now it was different. Now, it wasn’t just anger. It was a deep, aching sadness that threatened to drown you. And despite yourself, you couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. Like I wasn’t worth anything.”

You could feel Natasha’s breath hitch behind you, the weight of your words striking her deep. She didn’t say anything at first, and when you finally turned around, you saw the truth in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, and a pain you hadn’t expected. The sight of it, the way her face crumpled in on itself, broke something inside you.

Her hand fell away from yours, but it wasn’t because she wanted to let go. It was because she was shaking, trembling with emotion that she could no longer hold in. And then you saw it—tears. Two, maybe three, glistening on her cheeks. Natasha Romanoff, the unshakable Black Widow, was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel abandoned. I... I couldn’t bear the thought of you in danger. But... I hurt you worse by pushing you away.”

For the first time in all the years you’d known her, you saw Natasha unraveling in front of you, breaking apart piece by piece. It felt almost cruel, to see her like this after everything you’d been through. But as much as your heart ached for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Nat,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You hurt me. You made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t enough. And when it mattered the most... when I was out there fighting to survive, you turned your back on me.”

Natasha flinched at the force of your words. They were like a punch to the gut, and you saw how much it hurt her to hear them. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep pretending that everything would just magically be okay.

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. And I can’t take that back. I can’t make up for it. But... I just need you to know, I care. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you care,” you said softly, but your voice still carried that edge of distance. “But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t know how to keep going back to the way things were. I can’t keep coming back to you only to be left in the dark again.”

There was a long silence, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever, and Natasha stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was broken, but that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done had hurt you in ways you weren’t sure could ever heal.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice cracked. “You deserve more than this. You deserve better. Someone who won’t make you feel like you have to earn their care, someone who won’t turn their back when things get hard.”

You stood there, feeling the weight of the finality in her words, and for a long time, you didn’t know what to say. You looked at her—the broken woman in front of you—and you realized that, despite everything, despite all the hurt, you didn’t want to stay. You needed to walk away. For yourself.

“I need to walk away, Natasha,” you said quietly, your voice steady but firm. “I don’t know what we were, what we are anymore. But I can’t do this anymore.”

You turned towards the exit, your steps unfaltering as you walked away. Natasha half expected - hoped - you’d turn around and run to her. But you didn’t. You walked away, slowly, your footsteps fading into the distance, away from SHIELD and away from her.

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

It was a quiet evening when you walked into the bar after a long day, your mind still buzzing with the details of your latest case. Quantico was different to SHIELD in almost every way. The people were different, the procedures were different, but you found that - after getting into the swing of things - it wasn’t worse. Just different.

The dim lighting of the bar, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses—it was a familiar comfort now, one that made you feel grounded after the chaos of your job. You ordered a drink and leaned against the bar, letting your shoulders drop, the weight of the day lifting slowly.

That was when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff, standing across the room, her back slightly to you as she talked to a stranger at the bar. But even from behind, something about her caught your attention. She looked different. Older, somehow. More... mature. The woman you had known was always poised, confident, and untouchable—but there was something in the way she held herself now that made her feel more human. Vulnerable, even.

Her hair was different too—shorter, sleek, straight, a stark contrast to the wavy red that had once framed her face. She had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to radiate something else—something quieter, more grounded.

You stared for a moment, unsure if you were seeing things right, but as she turned to glance around the bar, her eyes met yours. Recognition hit her almost immediately, and she froze for a second, her expression flickering with surprise. Then, just as quickly, it softened.

Her voice was a little hoarse as she whispered your name, almost like she hadn’t expected to see you here, or maybe she hadn’t heard your name in so long that saying it felt foreign.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched her—really looked at her—before taking a slow step forward. “Natasha.” Your voice was calm, composed. Different from the way you used to say her name with that sense of longing, of wanting something that wasn’t ever going to be.

She gave a small, tentative smile, the kind that spoke volumes about how much time had passed, about how many things had been left unsaid between you. "You look... good," she said, her eyes flickering over you.

It was an understatement. You felt good. You felt like you were finally living a life that wasn’t defined by the weight of the past, by the mistakes you’d made and the ones others had made for you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, with a small smile of your own. “You look different. I like it.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her new, shorter hair, a nervous habit, before looking back at you. “A lot’s changed.”

“Clearly,” you said, glancing around. You couldn’t help but take in the way she stood—so different from the woman who had always been so self-assured, so used to being in control of every situation. But in a way, it made her more real, more approachable.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you awkward but not uncomfortable, as if neither of you knew where to start. It was Natasha who broke the silence first.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice softer than you remembered it. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, unsure if she even knew what really meant anymore, after everything. But it was a simple enough question. And you’d spent the last year being honest with yourself, so why not? “I’m doing alright. Different. Moving on. Got a new job at Quantico. Therapy’s been helping. I’m in a better place now.”

Natasha nodded, though you saw the flicker of something behind her eyes—a mix of regret, of longing, maybe. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve... I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s been a long year. Things haven’t been easy, but I think I’m getting there.”

You studied her for a moment, your expression unreadable. The quiet honesty in her voice made you want to believe that she was trying. You could see it now. She had changed too.

“You’re still working for SHIELD?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual, as if the past didn’t hang over both of you like a thick, invisible cloud.

She nodded, but there was a hesitation in her movements. “Sort of. I’ve been taking a step back, working in a different capacity now. More... behind the scenes. I guess I’m trying to figure out who I am, outside of all the missions, the work.”

It hit you—she was no longer the same person either. The intensity in her eyes had softened, and there was a certain sadness to her that you hadn’t seen before. She seemed tired in a way that wasn’t physical—tired of running, of hiding behind the façade she had built. You hadn’t seen this version of her before, and in some ways, you almost didn’t know how to react.

“So... what now?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it should. “Now that we’re both here, like this.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, and there was a long pause, the weight of everything that had passed between you hanging heavily in the air. And then, almost as if on instinct, you spoke.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” You offered the invitation like it was just a reflex—like things could go back to the way they were, the comfort of those old habits, the way things had felt when it was just the two of you, before everything had gone sideways.

She looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the conflict in her eyes. She was torn, and you could see in her eyes, that something was playing on her mind.

“No.”

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

The words hit you like a jolt, a shock of electricity shooting through your chest. Natasha’s eyes were steady on yours now, no longer hesitant, no longer uncertain. There was a firmness in her voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time—a quiet confidence that seemed to say she’d finally found something worth fighting for. And for the first time in a long time, you saw Natasha Romanoff not as the untouchable spy, not as the woman who had left you behind, but as someone real, someone who had learned from her mistakes.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” she said, her voice low but with an undeniable certainty. “If you want me, I’m going to do it properly this time. No more running, no more half-heartedness. I’ve hurt you, and I won’t do it again. But this time, it’s going to be on our terms. If that’s okay with you.”

You stared at her for a long moment, taking in the gravity of what she was saying, the weight of the promise she was offering. For so long, you’d wondered if this day would ever come. The idea of this—of her asking—had seemed impossible, a distant dream you never thought you’d reach.

And yet, here she was, standing before you, offering a chance to try again. A real chance.

“Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “If you're free?”

You didn’t have to think long. The question felt so simple, so natural, in a way that almost made you want to laugh at how easy it seemed compared to everything that had come before.

"Yeah," you said, the answer escaping your lips before your mind had fully processed it. "I’m free."

Natasha’s smile deepened, the corners of her eyes softening as she took in your response. It was a quiet victory for her—one that meant more than words could convey. She wasn’t expecting you to forgive her immediately, or to trust her completely. But she was willing to try, and that was more than she had ever given before.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said softly, her voice almost shy now. “I’ll make sure it’s a good night.”

You nodded, still processing the fact that she was here, still standing in front of you, willing to do what she hadn’t done before. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving between the two of you.

“Sounds good,” you replied, a quiet confidence settling in your own chest. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, Natasha gave you one last look, a small, genuine smile gracing her face, before she turned and walked out of the bar. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two, and then, for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel something else—hope.

Tomorrow. You were willing to see where it could go. And maybe, just maybe, Natasha Romanoff was going to do it right this time.

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

Dinner was at a beautiful, upscale restaurant with soft candlelight flickering across polished wood tables, glasses of wine that felt far too expensive, and Natasha—sitting across from you, more present than she had ever been. She wasn’t the untouchable agent, the mysterious woman who kept her emotions locked away. She was Natasha, just Natasha, in the soft glow of the candlelight, her laughter filling the space between the two of you, the lightness in her eyes almost enough to make you forget the weight of the years spent apart.

The night had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort, as though the years of silence hadn’t really existed. But it had. They had.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from her in a place that made your own paycheck look laughable, eating food that was far too rich for your taste, and all you could think about was how right this felt. You hadn’t expected it to be this natural, this easy to fall back into old rhythms, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And by the time you were back at your apartment, after a night of shared glances and a warmth between you that neither of you had ever truly experienced before, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You wanted her. You needed her. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to give her another chance, to let her love you, to let yourself love her again.

The moment your door clicked shut behind you both, Natasha pulled you into her, her lips capturing yours with an urgency that felt foreign, yet so familiar. There was no hesitation this time, no walls between you. Her hands roamed to your sides, pulling you closer, as though she couldn’t get enough. You met her halfway, losing yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t just the kiss though. It was what she said in between—her voice breaking the quiet with a rawness you hadn’t expected.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered against your lips, her hands tender as they traced over the curve of your jaw, as though she was afraid to let go. “I love you. And I never want to keep you hidden again. I’m done pretending I don’t need you. You’re everything.”

Her words hit you like a wave. They didn’t come with the weight of shame or regret this time. They were just the truth—simple, honest, and real. She loved you. After everything, after all the mistakes, she still loved you.

You breathed out a soft laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She reached up, brushing it away with her thumb, as if she could erase the past for you, make everything better with that one gentle gesture.

“I’ve missed you,” you said quietly, your voice catching in your throat. “I’ve missed this.”

Natasha smiled, a single finger running down your cheek. "I don't want to hide you anymore. Let me love you in the light."

fin.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female reader

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dailyadventureprompts · 19 hours ago

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Have to say, one of the biggest hurdles in introducing one of my usual gaming groups to a system like Blades in the Dark is the idea that items don't have defined stats and are instead props to twist the fiction in interesting ways. It often feels like I'm using therapy speak on a very literally minded engineer.

Player: Alright, I've spent some downtime crafting, what can I make? Me: What would you like to make : ) ? Player: Like, is there a list? Me: Nope : ) , you're limited by your imagination and what we agree would be best for the story. Player: Well are there suggested guidelines for what an appropriate item would be? What Bonuses It can give me? Me: Items don't really give bonuses : ) , now how about you tell me what emotions finishing this project stirs in your character? Player: What was even the point of this? Also stop saying ": )" I don't know how you're doing that with your mouth.

Honestly it's a fascinating study in what assumptions ttrpgs make about the people playing them: Namely that a prospective BitD player has some personal skill or desire to act as a storyteller, and doesn't put much emphasis on the nitty-gritty of the rules.

#bitd

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rafayelxsylusho · 3 days ago

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These are just making my stomach flip!😍😍

Now I wanna know is...how would our beautiful boys react if y/n/MC was trying to get them jealous instead?

💅🏻

Sorry it took such a long time!! I was planning on posting them all together but I'm still working on the other three.

Enjoy!!

How do the LADS men act when they are jealous Part 1

Zayne/Xavier

Zayne's lips crashed against yours the moment the front door clicked shut behind you, his strong hands gripping your waist and pulling your curves flush against his muscular frame. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of it.

"Mmm, I've been waiting for that all day," Zayne murmured against your lips. His hands began to wander, sliding up your sides and cupping the swell of your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. You gasped into his mouth, your own hands fisting in his dark hair as you pressed closer to him.

Zayne took the opportunity to walk you backwards, his lips never leaving yours, until your back hit the wall. He pinned you there with his hips, one hand sliding under your skirt to grip the back of your thigh while the other fisted in your hair, forcing your head back to expose the column of your throat to his hungry mouth.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point before biting down, marking you. You cried out, head falling back against the wall with a thud, your hips bucking against his as you felt his hard length pressing insistently against your core.

"Zayne," voice high and breathy with need. "We can't... not here..." You protested weakly even as your body screamed for his touch.

"Then let's take this to the bedroom," he said, his voice a low growl. In a flash, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the hall to your room. He kicked the door shut before tossing you onto the bed, crawling over you with a predatory gleam in his hazel eyes.

"I want you," he said, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt up around your waist. "I want to feel your skin against mine, your body under me as I make you scream my name." His other hand slid under your shirt, pushing the cups of your bra down to free your aching breasts. "I want to taste every inch of you."

He was acting differently than usual, his slow and sensual pace replaced by a desperate need to claim your body. He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours as his hands stilled on your bare skin. "What's wrong?" you asked softly, tracing your fingers along his jawline.

Zayne's expression tightened briefly before he shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing's wrong," he assured you, his voice low and smooth. "I just... I want you. More than anything." His hands began to move again, sliding down your sides and hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties. He tugged at them, pulling them down your legs until he could toss them carelessly to the floor. He settled between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your core as he leaned down to capture your mouth in a kiss.

"I need to be inside you," he said, his voice a low growl against your lips. "I need to feel you around me, hear you moan my name as I make you come undone." You arched up against him, your nails raking down his back as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "Then take me"

His grip tightened on your thighs as he flipped you over onto your stomach, your skirt still bunched up around your waist. He pressed his palms against the small of your back, urging you to arch it and lift your hips, exposing your bare ass to his hungry eyes.

"Like this," you heard him say "I want to see you like this, all laid out and ready for me to take you." His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, squeezing and kneading the globes as he positioned himself behind you. His large hand pressed firmly against your upper back, just below your shoulder blades, pinning your face down against the mattress. Your heart raced at this new position, this level of dominance you weren't used to from him.

He leaned over you, his muscular chest pressing against your back, his hips nestling between your thighs. "Keep your ass up for me."

His hand slid down your spine again, his fingers splaying across the curve of your ass. He gripped the flesh hard, squeezing and kneading, before delivering a sharp smack to one cheek. The sound of the slap echoed through the room, followed by your startled gasp.

Zayne growled in approval, his hips rolling forward to grind his hard, clothed cock against your bare folds. "Fuck, you have such a perfect ass," you could hear the sound of the zipper of his jeans lowering with a soft hiss "I can't wait to sink my cock deep inside your tight little cunt." He punctuated his words with another smack to your ass, this time on the other cheek. Then, without warning, he gripped your hips tight and thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cried out into the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as he began to move, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. This was a side of him you'd never seen before, a raw, primal hunger that both thrilled and frightened you. But most of all, it ignited a fire within you, a burning need to submit to his every demand.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight," Zayne snarled, his hips never faltering as he took you with a ferocity you'd never expected. You tried to move your hands, craving the feel of Zayne's skin against your palms, but he was having none of it. In a show of raw strength, he grabbed your wrists and pulled your arms back, using them as leverage to yank your hips harder against his, impaling you even deeper on his throbbing cock. "Ahh!" you cried out, back arching as he hit a spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your walls clenched around him, trying to draw him even further in, as if your body was desperate to keep him buried inside. "Keep still, let me fuck you like I need to fuck you." His grip on your wrists tightened, holding your arms behind your back as he continued his relentless assault on your pussy, each thrust punching the air from your lungs.

The new angle allowed him to go even deeper, striking that sweet spot inside you with every drive of his hips. Wet sounds filled the room as he rutted into you, the force of his thrusts making your ass jiggle and your tits bounce beneath you. You could only hold on for dear life as he used your body for his pleasure, claiming you in a way that made you feel owned, possessed, utterly and completely his.

You felt Zayne release your wrists, your arms dropping limply to your sides as you gasped for air. Before you could catch your breath, he leaned over your back, his muscular chest pressing against you, pinning you down. One large hand splayed across your stomach, holding you in place as his other hand dipped between your thighs. You could feel his fingers brushing against your swollen, sensitive clit, gathering the slick evidence of your arousal.

"Suck," Zayne commanded, his voice a low, dominant growl in your ear. He pressed his fingers against your lips, coated in your juices, demanding your obedience. Your lips parted instinctively, and he pushed two long digits into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. The taste of your own slick exploded across your taste buds, heady and intoxicating.

"Taste how wet you are for me," Zayne rasp, his hips never stilling their relentless rhythm as he fucked into you. "Taste how much your little cunt is dripping for my cock."

He curled his fingers inside your mouth, stroking along your tongue, as his other hand slid up to wrap around your throat. He didn't squeeze, just rested his hand there, a reminder of his dominance, his control over your pleasure.

"Such a good girl, taking my cock so well," he praised, his hot breath fanning across the back of your neck.

He tightened his grip around your throat as he yanked you back against his muscular chest, your back arching to accommodate his demand. At the same time, he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth, brushing against the back of your throat as he fucked your mouth with the same relentless pace as his hips thrusted into your cunt.

His hand on your throat slid down your trembling body to find your aching clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rough circles. Drool leaked from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving tits.

"I'm not going to last much longer," Zayne panted, his hot breath washing over your neck and ear. "Tell me," he growled "Tell me you're mine, that this sweet little cunt belongs to me. Say it, Y/n."

He pinched your clit hard, rolling the tender flesh between his fingers as he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt. "Come on, let me hear you say it," Zayne demanded, his hazel eyes blazing with possessive desire. "Tell me you're mine, that your pleasure, your body, your soul... it all belongs to me. Only to me." His fingers pressed against the roof of your mouth, holding you in place as he felt his heavy balls draw up tight.

"Do it," he snarled "Give me what I want, and I'll give you what you need. Say the words"

The realization hit you like a train, the understanding that Zayne's intense, almost feral claiming of your body stemmed from a place of jealousy. Seeing you with Caleb this afternoon had ignited a primal need in him, a desire to assert his ownership of you, to mark you as his and his alone. As the truth sank in, your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision going white as ecstasy consumed you. "I'M YOURS!" you screamed, your voice raw and hoarse from the force of your release. "ALL YOURS, ZAYNE! EVERY PART OF ME BELONGS TO YOU!"

Your pussy clamped down around his cock, rippling and fluttering as you came undone. Your body convulsed in his arms, shaking and trembling as pleasure wracked through every nerve ending. Drool leaked from your open mouth, tears streamed down your face as you surrendered yourself completely to the overwhelming sensation. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hip, holding you in place as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible. His cock jerked and throbbed inside your walls as he found his release, painting your insides with thick ropes of his cum.

In that moment, you knew you would do anything, give anything, to feel this way again. To be possessed so completely, so utterly and irrevocably, by the man you loved. You'd never felt so thoroughly used, so owned, and it was everything you never knew you needed.

Zayne collapsed against you, his muscular chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as the aftershocks of your shared orgasms rolled through you.

"Mine," he said tenderly as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "All mine.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you smile at someone else?" he asks quietly. "To see their eyes linger on you just a moment too long, and wonder..."

He trails off, jaw clenching. His hand on your waist tightens slightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip.

"No one gets to have you like I do," he tells you fervently. "No one gets to see you come apart, to hear you say my name like it's the only word you know." His other hand slides up your thigh, under the hem of your skirt. His fingers find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tracing maddening patterns that make you shiver.

"I've seen the way he looks at you. Like he's trying to memorize every curve, every inch of your face." Xavier's hand slides higher up your thigh, fingertips grazing the edge of your panties. "A man doesn't do that unless he's imagining all the ways he wants to touch you." He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip as he tilts your chin up to force you to meet his gaze. The pad of his thumb pushes into your mouth, tracing the smooth, slick flesh.

"You can't tell me he was just being friendly. I know better." Xavier's voice drops to a low murmur, his breath mingling with yours. "A man always wants more when he looks at you the way he does. And I won't let him have it."

Xavier hooks a finger under the fabric of your panties and tugs them roughly to the side, exposing your most intimate area to the cool air of the room. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your glistening folds, he traces a single finger along your slit, teasing, not quite touching where you need him most. His touch is maddeningly light, barely a whisper of skin on skin. It makes your hips cant forward, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"And no one else gets to feel this pretty little pussy clench around their cock," he murmurs, pressing a finger just inside your entrance . He pumps it slowly, shallowly, barely breaching you before pulling back out. "Fuck, you're so tight. Always so fucking tight for me."

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub with light touch. Your head falls back against the couch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. His finger pumps a little faster, a little deeper, but still not enough. Never enough. Suddenly he buries his face between your thighs, not allowing you to see his expression, his eyes. He knows how much you love watching him, reading the raw desire and hunger in his gaze as he pleasures you. But now, lost in the shadow of your skirt, he denies you that thrill, leaving you in the dark about his intentions.

His tongue parts your folds, a long lick from your entrance up to your clit, he focus his attention there, suckling and flicking the sensitive bud with a fervor that borders on punishing. It's intense, almost too much. He feels your hands moving to lift your skirt, to give you a clearer view of what he's doing to you. But before you can, he warns you off with a sharp nip to your clit that makes you gasp and jerk against him. "Ah-ah-ah," voice muffled against your flesh. "Keep your hands off." he tightens his grip on your ankles, holding your legs spread wider, locking you in place. The stretch is delicious almost painful, leaving you open and exposed to his hungry mouth.

He dives back in, tongue delving deep into you. He's relentless, his assault on your senses unyielding. Lick, suck, nibble, he works you over with a single minded intensity that steals your breath and sets your nerve endings ablaze. You can feel the vibration of his low groans against your core as he loses himself in tasting you.

He's punishing you, in a way. Punishing you for the way you tease him, for the way you make him crazy with jealousy. Punishing you for the effect you have on him, the power you hold over him. "Xavier," you gasp out, voice ragged with need. "Touch me...please..."but he just hums against your clit and suckles harder, flicks his tongue faster, pushing you closer to the edge. But still, his hands remain locked around your ankles, holding you down, keeping you at his mercy. He's proving that he can bring you to the heights of pleasure without even touching your breasts, without even grazing your nipples with his fingers.

When he feels your body tense, your walls fluttering around his invading tongue as your orgasm crashes over you, he moans against your core, the vibrations prolonging your peak, drawing it out until you're writhing beneath him. But even as the aftershocks fade, he doesn't stop, his tongue continues its merciless dance, licking and suckling your over sensitive flesh. He ignores your gasped pleas for him to stop, for him to give you a moment to catch your breath. Instead, he doubles down, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from you.

Your hands fist in the fabric of your skirt, gripping tightly as you try to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations. But the pleasure is too intense, too much. Tears spring to your eyes as he overstimulates your nerve endings, pushing you to the limit of what you can take.

"Xav, please..." you gasp out, voice ragged and broken. But he pays no attention to your plea, continuing his punishing rhythm.

He's never done this before, never pushed you so far past the point of no return. It's overwhelming, the intensity of it, the sheer, unrelenting focus of his desire. Your second climax builds quickly, your body responding to his skilled mouth with a speed that leaves you breathless. You're drowning in sensation, lost in a sea of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. And still, he doesn't stop, doesn't let up, driving you ruthlessly towards another shattering peak.

He pauses when he feels your legs straining against his grip as you try to free yourself from his hold. He looks up, silvery hair falling back from his face as he meets your eyes. His eyes are dark, nearly black with desire, the blue irises barely visible in the dim light.

"Watch me," he commands, voice low and rough with need. "I want to see when you cum this time."

As he speaks, he releases your ankles, allowing your legs to fall open, fully exposing you. In one swift motion, he removes your skirt and panties, tossing them carelessly to the side. Leaving you bare, vulnerable and at his mercy again.

His hands slide up your thighs and pushes your legs further apart, until you're spread wide, open, and ready. His eyes never leave yours as he leans in, hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "Keep your eyes on me," he orders, before his mouth is on you again, tongue delving deep, fucking you with a fervor that steals your breath. His eyes bore into yours, watching, waiting, savoring every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. The pleasure is intense, the intimacy overwhelming, as he demands your complete surrender, your total focus. There is no escape, no distraction. Only the two of you, locked in this moment of raw, primal connection. He drives two fingers deep into your aching core as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. The sudden intrusion, the stretch, the fullness, it's too much. Your orgasm crashes over you, back arching off the couch, a silent scream tearing from your throat. He feels your walls clench, gripping his fingers like a vice as your release floods through you. He pumps his fingers in time with the strokes of his tongue, drawing out your climax until it consumes you entirely. Your eyes, hazy and unfocused, meet his intense gaze. The black of his pupils has swallowed all but a thin ring of blue, his stare almost feral in its hunger. He's watching you, watching the ecstasy play out across your face, committing every second of your pleasure to memory.

"Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful when you cum. So perfect."

Only then does he pull away, fingers slipping from your dripping core, tongue licking your essence from his lips with a low, satisfied groan.

"That's it, baby, you did so well. Took everything I gave you like a good girl."

He stands, the sound of his zipper echoing loudly in the charged air of the room as he frees himself. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight of him, hard and heavy and straining towards his abdomen, the thick length of him making your mouth water, but before you can react further, he is picking you up, strong arms encircling your waist as he sits down on the couch, settling you on his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place. "Hold onto the couch," voice low and rough with need. "Keep yourself up, baby. I'm going to fuck you now."

"Keep your hands right there. Don't move them from the backrest." At the same time, he's already tugging your shirt up and over your breasts, exposing you to the cool air, your nipples harden instantly. He leans down, hot mouth latching onto one aching peak, tongue swirling and suckling greedily, his teeth graze the sensitive bud. His other hand is on your neglected breast, pinching and plucking, heightening your arousal.

You squirm in his lap, hips rolling instinctively, seeking friction, seeking him. But his grip on your hips tightens, holding you still, keeping you in place. "Please," you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. "Please, Xavier..."

"Shh, I've got you, baby," he murmurs against your breast, soothing you even as his touch inflames your desire. He takes his time, laving your breasts with long, slow licks of his flat tongue. He knows how sensitive you are, how easily he can reduce you to a writhing, begging mess with just this simple act. He's mapping every inch of the soft swells, tracing the curves and valleys with a thoroughness that speaks to his intimate knowledge of your body's responses. His tongue swirls around one straining peak before he suckles hard, pulling the tender bud deep into his mouth. At the same time, he's circling your clit with the leaking tip of his cock, the thick head sliding through your slick folds, catching on the sensitive bundle of nerves with each pass.

You're panting now, hips rolling desperately, trying to take him inside, to feel that first delicious stretch as he fills you. But he's teasing you, tormenting you with the promise of his thick length, denying you that final push.

"Please," you whimper, voice breaking on a moan as he laves your other nipple with the same attention. "Please, Xavier, I need...I need..."

But he's lost in his own world, consumed by the taste and feel of you, the way you tremble and mewl so sweetly for him. He's drunk on the power he holds over you, the way your body responds to his slightest touch as if starved for his caress. He pulls back slightly, his intense gaze locking with yours. His eyes are ablaze with a hunger that steals your breath, a primal desire that makes your heart race. "Look at me, can you see the way I'm looking at you right now? That's how he was looking at you. Like he wanted to devour you whole, like you're the only thing that matters in this world. But only I get to see you like this, only I get to make you fall apart."

To punctuate his words, he bites down on your nipple, a sharp sting that blends deliciously with the pleasure coursing through your veins. At the same time, he rubs your clit with the broad head of his cock, circling and pressing, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you hurtling over the edge. When your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clench, gripping nothing, making you feel empty.

"Fuck, yes, cum on my cock," he growls, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he thrusts up, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt in one powerful stroke, you cry out when you feel the delicious stretch. He's so big, stretching you to your limit, claiming every inch of you. And then he's moving, hips rolling in a steady rhythm as he starts to fuck you. Slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to his size, to the delicious drag of his length against your sensitive walls.

Xavier feels your body going limp, the aftershocks of your intense orgasm leaving you boneless and spent. You're collapsed against his chest, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to catch your breath. He tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, gripping tight, and tugs your head back. The sharp sting of pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure still sparking through your nerves as he forces you to meet his gaze.

"Come on, baby," he coaxes, voice low and rough with desire. "Give me one more. I know you have at least one more in you. Just one more, for me." His other hand slides down to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh, pulling you harder against him. He's still thrusting into you, still fucking you with deep, powerful strokes that hit that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Look at me," he demands, fingers tightening in your hair. "Look at me while I make you cum again, y/n. I want to watch your face as I fuck you through another one." He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth as thoroughly as he's claiming your body. He swallows your whimpers and moans, drinking down every sound of your ecstasy as he drives into you. "I...I can't," you whimper, voice ragged and weak, your body trembling with exhaustion. "It's too much, I'm too sensitive..." But he cuts off your protest, gripping your hair even tighter, forcing your chin up with his thumb pressing hard against it.

"Yes, you can," he insists, dark eyes blazing into yours with intensity. "And you will. I know you have more in you. I can feel it. Your body was made to take everything I give you, to crave it." He proves his point with a sharp thrust, grinding against that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. A strangled cry escapes your lips, back arching as much as his grip on your hair allows.

"Found it ," he groans, picking up the pace, fucking into you harder, faster. "Take it, baby. Take everything I have to give you. Your cunt is mine, your orgasms are mine. I decide when you're done."

His other hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub. The dual sensations, the relentless stimulation, it's almost too much. Tears spring to your eyes from the intensity of it, from the way he's pushing you beyond anything you've ever experienced before.

"Come on," he urges "One more. Give me one more. Let me feel this greedy little pussy grip my cock. Fuck, you're so close, I can feel you squeezing me. Do it, baby. Cum for me, scream for me, let me hear that pretty voice crying my name." His words wash over you, commanding, urging, pushing you to the brink of another shattering climax. Your body is on fire, nerves singing with pleasure, every inch of your skin hypersensitive and alive. When your orgasm crashes over you, it's intense and overwhelming, stealing your breath and your sanity. Your mouth falls open as your release floods your system, your walls clamping down around him. "XAVIER!" you cry out, voice echoing through the room, surely carrying through the thin walls of your apartment. "FUCK, XAVIER!"

He snarls, a feral sound of pure satisfaction, and then he slams into you one last time. His cock pulses, throbbing as he hilts inside you, painting your insides with thick ropes of his cum. He grinds against you, making sure every last drop is seated deep inside you.

He holds you tight as you both come down from the heights of your shared climax. Your bodies are slick with sweat, chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. His softening cock stays nestled inside you, a claiming presence that makes you feel owned, possessed.

"Good girl," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Such a good girl, giving me that last one." He rocks you gently, arms wrapped around you like a protective shield, as the last tremors fade away. You're exhausted, drained, utterly spent, but you've never felt more content, more complete. You're exactly where you're meant to be, right here in the arms of the man you love.

Before the overwhelming exhaustion can pull you under, before you collapse completely against his strong chest, you whisper the four words that Xavier has been desperate to hear fall from your lips. "I love you, Xavier." you breathe out, the confession soft but clear in the quiet of the room. Your voice is hoarse from screaming his name, raw from the intensity of it all, but the feeling behind it is undeniable. For a moment, the only sound is the ragged rhythm of your breathing, the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your lovemaking. Then, you feel it, a sudden, sharp increase in the pace of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. It's a rare occurrence, this display of emotion from Xavier. He's always so controlled, so calm and collected, even in the heat of passion. But your whispered declaration has shaken something deep inside him. His arms tighten around you reflexively, crushing you against his chest as if he's afraid you might disappear if he lets you go. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, hear the hitch in his breathing as he processes your words. He's silent for a long moment, and for a terrified second, you wonder if you've said something wrong.

The last thing you hear before you succumb to slumber is the rhythm of Xavier's heartbeat, and the whispered words that seal your fate. "I love you too," he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Forever."

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads #lads smut #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lads x you #lnds x you #love and deepspace reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne smut #lnds xavier #love and deepspace xavier #xavier smut #lads xavier #zayne love and deepspace

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kurokawaia · 2 days ago

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Hi, I read your story, where the kids are rude to mom (the kids of Bakugou, Dabi and Hawks) how do the kids react if their mom decides to ignore them as punishment?

AFTERMATH OF YELLING AT YOUR MAMA!

⋆·˚ ༘ * FEATURING :: Bakugou Katsuki, Hawks, Dabi - (separately)

⋆·˚ ༘ * WARNINGS :: none really, bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, second pov, reader is a mother, kids have a little bit of attitude, kids are around 5-8 years of age, slight spoilers for dabi! I don't condone ignoring your children, please don't, + more? MINI DRABBLES.

DABI

Well, you and Dabi's son is a carbon copy of his father, so he acts the same when being given the silent treatment only less touchy (obviously da faq) The first stage is acting like he doesn't care, he will cross his arms letting out a grumpy huff while rolling his eyes, "Whatever, I don't need to talk to you anyways," is what your son will say, but, after a few hours he starts to feel a little weird. His mum isn't nagging, isn't scolding, isn't even looking at him and it feels so wrong because you always give him attention whether he wants it or not.

The second stage will be when he starts to get annoyed at not receiving any attention, he will trail behind you, definitely gets extra moody (shocker where he got that from) he will go around kicking random toys, furniture and overexaggerated sighs. This happens all until he hugs the back of your legs and mumbles, "I'm sorry I was mean, Mum. Can you talk to me again?" looking as far as you can behind you all you could do was regret ignoring him because of how dilated his cyan eyes were, having his lips in a sad pout and a sheen of tears glazed over his eyes.

HAWKS

Hawks’ kid can’t handle the silent treatment, because she is as needy as her father when it comes to attention. The moment she realizes you’re ignoring them, their brain starts spiraling because you usually just forgive her but Hawks suggested a different strategy. There is no phase one with her, she immediately tries to fix it with begs of your name and tugging at your shirt and a big pout on her face (something she learnt from Keigo). Due to you being used to Keigo's antics, you don't fold, then she goes running to her daddy, her head meeting at his lap as she sulks.

"Mummy is going to hate me forever," she mumbles in an overdramatic tone. The only thinks Keigo could do was laugh because he finds his daughter truly fascinating sometimes. "Sure she will, sweetheart."

BAKUGOU

At first, Bakugou’s kid scoffs, you gonna ignore him? Yeah, he's ignoring you too. He will let out the most dramatic huff and cross his arms and poke his tongue out at you and in the most unconvincing voice he will say, "Like I care!" Ti which, you have to force down a laugh that was about to slip out before Katsuki nudged your arm, making sure you don't break character. Although, just like his father, he will make every attempt to make you jealous and it's honestly the pettiest and funniest thing you will ever experience. Your son will say how much he needs his daddy's help right in front of you and Katsuki has to force down his laugh as well because you both know what he's doing.

Then a few hours pass and then he starts to finally let it sink in and then he becomes frustrated and here comes when he stomps up to you while your doing your skincare with Katsuki. "Yell at me, Mum!" he would pout and you were confused at what he was getting at before you let out a soft laugh, bending down to wrap your arms around your sweet boy and he does the same without any embarrassment.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note: hope you enjoyed, this hasn't been proof read so there might be a few grammar and spelling mistakes ^^

let me know if you (inbox or comments) want to be apart of the mha taglist! specify the character and ill tag you in any works they are present in!

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha x you #mha fluff #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi fluff #touya x you #touya x reader

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chiakeys · 3 days ago

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rafayel snuggle smut. but it's less sleepy vibes and more like he's holding you hostage while spooning

just rafayel getting you off, groping, rafayel's scent kink, sweet talking still 🫶

˚꩜˖°⋆🐚‧₊˚ ⋅🌊｡𖦹°‧

"Don't move," Rafayel's gentle voice reverbs from right behind your ear. You can feel the words through his chest, pressing up against your back.

He sighs, and it's like he melts into you a little— his nose presses against your hair, breathing in deeply, his lips leaving a soft and quick kiss right behind your ear.

Rafayel's laptop is on the coffee table in front of you, some sort of long video playing. YouTube autoplay, nothing either of you were paying attention to anymore.

His arm squeezes you closer. You lightly scratch against the flexing of his muscles, just to see his skin rise. He smells your hair again, followed by another happy sigh.

"I like this shampoo," he finally speaks again.

You can't help but smile as you reply, "It's your shampoo, of course you like it."

"Mm-hmm," his arm slides down slightly. He lifts the edge of your shirt, just enough to press his palm against your stomach. His hand is warm, and it feels as nice as it usually does. "That makes it even better. And it smells different on you."

He rubs his palm against your skin before continuing, voice in a gentle lull. "Your hair, and your skin... Just don't move. I wanna smell you forever."

"That's creepy," you mumble back.

"Nuh-uh, you're creepy." He immediately responds, not even missing a beat. He pinches the fat on your stomach now, not enough to hurt, but just as a small retaliation.

You want to try and turn to look at him now, but he doesn't let you. He holds you down enough until you're forced to stare straight ahead again. "I'm not the one sniffing your hair," you say.

Rafayel chuckles from his chest, and his hand creeps up almost without you noticing. Further under your shirt, up and up— "You wouldn't be hugging me after the gym if you didn't like smelling me. And you like it 'cause you loooove me."

"You—" He squeezes your breast, and your words cut off. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing. We're cuddling. Do you like my shampoo?"

You blink. "What?"

"My shampoo. That you use here. Do you like it?" He patiently clarifies, as if the conversation is supposed to be expected. But it's a bit hard to focus on the words and not the fuzzy feeling in your stomach, when his fingers grope the fat of your breast, stretching out and massaging the plushy flesh.

Not gently, but not rough—

You swallow. "It's nice, yeah."

"Yeah?" He hums against your neck, and his thumb brushes over your nipple, back and forth. And you can't help but push back against him, him and his all-encompassing warmth.

He doesn't grind up against you like you expect him to. He huffs, instead, hand groping hard again, until you squeak.

"It's only nice? I spend a lot of money on that. Can't believe it's only nice." Rafayel pouts.

"Fi–Fine, it's very nice. I'm sure it's made from glowing jellyfish mucus or something—"

He cups the bottom of your breast, bounces the fat slightly, and he lets out a pleased sound. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," he adds after.

You grab at his forearm, gripping at it until you can firmly pull at it, not sure if you want to pull it away from you or down, or make sure he can't move his hand away from you at all. He doesn't react, doesn't even acknowledge it.

He keeps fondling you while he presses his neck further into your hair, breathing deeply again. It feels a little more obscene this time.

It does something for him. You hear his voice in your ear, a low moan.

You sigh yourself, before speaking out again. "Are you gonna..."

"What?" Rafayel grins. "Am I gonna...?"

"Are you gonna do anything? Like, yourself?" There's a slight whine in your voice. You can feel him hard against you, and no matter how much you squirm, he doesn't push back up against you. It has to be purposeful.

"I'm doing plenty," he leaves a wet kiss on your skin. "We're just cuddling."

You groan. "This is... cruel and unusual cuddling..."

But if he's going to be stubborn about this, then you may as well settle into it. Your eyes close as you relax further against him, and relax against the feeling of his hand, heart fluttering.

"There you go," he drawls lightly. "Cuddling is a two-way street, you know. It doesn't work if you're all stiff."

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

Rafayel snorts. "My stiffness isn't relevant right now."

You whine. "But why not?" You open your eyes again, turning your head just enough to pout up at him, and his eyes crinkle softly.

"'Cause you don't need to do anything about it. You're just pretty enough like this." He gives you one last squeeze, before his hand drops back down.

He shoves his hand into your waistband, patience forgotten. You gasp quickly when his fingers draw a straight line over your panties, rubbing back and forth.

"But I'm not even doing anything..." You reply, sighing.

"Exaaactly," Rafayel shuffles up against you. His nose presses against your neck, right as his fingers press into your covered slit, curiously feeling just how much wetness has soaked through.

He continues, "You don't need to do a single thing to get me off. You're pretty." He presses a wet kiss near your pulse, speaking into your skin. "And you smell good." He peppers another kiss. "And I love you."

"What more do I need?" He asks, and your thighs squeeze around his hand, hips jolting forward. He stubbornly presses against you for a few more moments before he gives in and slips his hand underneath the fabric entirely.

"Raf—" You gasp at the rush of sensation, arching back against him. You blindly reach out behind you, grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt. You don't think you'd be able to loosen your grip even if you wanted to.

"And you can drop the fake protests, yeah? We both know you're more than happy to just stay put and take it."

It breaks the tension, a little bit. Enough for you to struggle through a surprised laugh— voice falling off into a pitched moan.

"Rude," you gasp. "So, so... so rude..."

Rafayel spreads you open, stroking at your outer folds before dipping in, wet and dripping.

"Oh." You suddenly keen as his fingers push in deeply, scissoring at your walls, in and out, until the squelching can be heard through your clothes and the rustling. In and out, already setting a fixed pace.

You're still struggling with your thighs, squeezing them against Rafayel's hand. But he doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't bother forcing them open. He just presses his whole palm more firmly against you, pressing down on your clit—

And you jolt from the sensation, pushing up against him, close close close, as your hips instinctively try to get away.

"Good?" He asks, voice quiet and low.

"Yeah, yeah— Really good, super good— So, so, so good."

He groans, jutting his own hips against you for a second, almost accidentally.

You don't get a chance to grind back against him, not when he starts fingering you in earnest, the weight of his hand heavy against your wet cunt, the slick sounds embarrassingly loud.

Rafayel scrapes his teeth on your skin at the next whine you let out, and you know he means business when he makes sure to keep a consistent pace. And something about it has you keening closer to the edge that you should be, fingers slipped off his arm before grabbing again, moans breaking out again.

"Raf— You have to slow down," you cry out, voice breaking.

"Why?" He asks simply, casually.

"I'm gonna— I don't wanna, yet, it's too fast—"

He laughs slightly, fondly. "You can cum, pretty girl, that's the point. I want you to cum. All over my fingers, yeah?"

Rafayel grinds his palm against you even more, his fingers pressing against that spongy spot inside of you, the spot that makes you keen without fail, eyes tearing up because it's too good and there's nowhere to go except to stay.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty..." His mumbles against your skin are almost unheard.

You think you say something back to him, stutter through another reply, but the content of it all escapes you now. You babble through some sort of response as Rafayel brings you up and up and higher still.

You gasp suddenly, freezing for a brief second. All you can do is reach back to grab onto his shirt again, warning him without words. He knows what you're trying to tell him, of course. He probably knows it better than you do.

"There you go, there you go..." Rafayel keeps stretching you out, your wetness audibly smacking against his knuckles. "Just relax with me, let it come, I'm not going anywhere."

He continues even as you gasp on your own moans. "I've got you, I've got you..."

And of course, of course it finally hits— he builds you up higher and higher until you finally slip past that edge, stomach dropping, back arching as you cry out.

You writhe against him through your climax, thighs squeezing his hand so tightly that you're not even entirely sure how he manages to keep going, not slowing down even a moment.

He lets you ride out the full extent of your peak, until everything within you finally starts to still. You gasp for breath. Waiting more for the shaking to stop, as Rafayel slips his fingers out, and lazily pats at your puffy lips. Good job, the gesture seems to say.

You can finally turn your head all the way now, to look at his face, Rafayel's warm eyes gazing at you already. He leans in to kiss you indulgently. Soft and gentle and a little wet, his favorite kinds of kisses to give you.

"Do you need anything?" He asks you, still close enough for you to feel his breath against your lips. It takes you a moment to find your words again.

"No," you say quietly. "Do you?" You ask right back, double meaning intended. You know he's still hard.

"Nope. Nada." He smiles and kisses you again. No arguing allowed.

You blink slowly, still trying to catch up to the world, but the sleepiness creeps in. Rafayel catches on and pulls you over until you're fully facing him, and then some. Until your cheek is against him and your body rests on top of his.

Warm.

You don't drift off to sleep that fast, but you let your mind doze off as Rafayel wraps his arms around you. He puts his hand underneath the back of your shirt to soothingly stroke your skin.

You melt further onto him, as close as the two of you can be.

#rafayel #smut #rafayel smut #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace smut #lads rafayel #lads smut #& mine

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dismalflo · 2 days ago

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A knock on the head

rugby player!james potter x reader where james gets injured at training ✩ 1.1k words

cw; very mild nondescript head injury, fluff, comfort

James Potter can only be described in one way: a busybody. He's always on the go. Saturday is reserved for rugby matches, Tuesday and Thursday are for training sessions, and every other day, he's at the gym. In between, he makes time to see his friends and family, he makes time for you.

All of this means you spend many of your evenings at home, curled up on the sofa, waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the door. You don’t know how he manages it all—you're exhausted just watching him.

Tonight, however, he’s later than usual. You’d be worried if training didn’t run over so often. He’s always trying to squeeze in one more drill. Sat in the warm glow of the living room, the remnants of dinner abandoned on the coffee table, you’re on the verge of drifting off to sleep.

Until your phone lights up and starts to ring, it's James.

"Hello?" you answer groggily, barely able to keep your eyes open. In the background, you hear the low hum of indistinct chatter.

“Hi angel, how are you?”

You blink, confused. "I'm alright. Are you okay?" It’s rare for him to call during training..

"Listen, I don’t want you to worry…" His pause makes your heart skip a beat. Immediately, your mind races through all the worst-case scenarios. Oh god, he's broken something.

"What’s happened?" you ask, your voice tight with concern

"Do you think you could come and pick me up? I had a knock on the head, and the physio says I shouldn’t drive." His voice is sheepish, almost apologetic.

It takes you a second to catch up, “yeah–yes of course I can, are you sure you're alright?”, you're darting over to the shoe rack, desperate to get to the poor boy as quickly as possible.

“"I’ll be fine, don't rush, sweetheart," he murmurs, but you hear the fatigue in his tone.

“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Love you.” You don’t try to hide the worry in your voice now. James is only this subdued when he's hurt and feeling sorry for himself.

"I love you too." His words are soft, and with that, you’re out the door and into your car.

The drive to the rugby field feels like it takes ages. The streets blur past in a haze as your thoughts race. You can barely focus on anything other than James—his voice, soft and apologetic, still ringing in your ears. The thought of him hurting makes your chest tighten.

When you finally arrive, you spot him almost immediately, standing near the locker room, looking a little unsteady on his feet. Your heart sinks seeing him like this, his usual energy dimmed by whatever had happened.

His tousled hair is messy, and there’s a slight pallor to his face that you don’t like. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, giving you a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

"Hey, angel," he greets softly, his usual charm absent.

You stop in front of him, taking a deep breath. "James," you murmur, gently cupping his face with both hands, looking him over. "Are you sure you're okay?" You reach up, brushing his hair back from his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Physio says it's just a little knock, nothing serious," he reassures you, and if it weren’t for that paleness you’d probably believe nothing was wrong with him at all.

You wrap an arm around his waist, offering him your support. "Come on, let's get you home."

The drive back to your flat is quieter than usual, James staring out the window with a faraway look, lost in his own thoughts. That's all the proof that you need to tell he’s hurting, and you'll strong arm him, if you have to, into letting you look after him.

Once you're back at the flat, you help James inside. His steps are slow, almost reluctant, and it tugs at your heart to see him so unlike his usual energetic self.

The moment the door closes behind you, you begin to guide him to the bathroom. You’re already thinking of the things you can do to make him feel better—some comfort food, maybe a cozy blanket, and a cup of tea, but that will have to wait.

“Okay,” you say, your voice soft but firm, “You’re going to get into the bath, and I’m going to get you anything you want or need.”

James raises his brow at that, a suggestive smirk taking over his features, and you catch what he’s thinking straight away.

“Not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “you perv.” shaking your head, you turn to start running the bath. James barks a laugh at your indignance, that you're sure he regrets as a wince covers his features in quick succession afterwards.

“Alright, alright,” he says, his tone still a little weak but the playful glint never quite leaving his eyes. “But a bath’s a good idea, I guess. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“I’d say you should be used to that by now, Jamie” You smile impishly back at him.

His eyes soften, still teasing, when he meets your gaze. “You know, I think I might be in love with you.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays your amusement. “Of course you are. Now get in the bath, before I really start bossing you around.”

He chuckles, but there’s a weariness in his laugh as he finally undresses and carefully eases himself into the warm water. You kneel by the edge of the tub, brushing his hair back from his forehead, inspecting him once more. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m serious—if you feel worse…”

“Angel,” he interrupts, his voice soft but firm, “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit. That’s all.”

You search his eyes, trying to find any sign that he's just putting on a brave face, but there's nothing but sincerity there. You nod slowly, letting out a small sigh, trying to ease the tightness in your chest..

“I’ll make you something to eat,” you say quietly, starting to rise.

James grabs your arm to stop you, “Can you just sit with me for a bit?” and how could you ever say no to your darling boyfriend.

You sit back down beside the tub, your fingers gently brushing the water’s surface as you watch him. His eyes close for a moment, and his shoulders seem to relax just a little more with each passing second. You’re glad you’re here, even if this moment is a quiet one.

After a while, you glance at him, studying his face. “You’re gonna need something to eat when you get out. What do you fancy? Soup?”

James opens one eye, giving you a skeptical look. “Can I have a cheese toastie with it?”

“Yeah, you big baby,” you tease.

He chuckles, closing his eyes again. "Deal. You just... don’t go anywhere, alright?"

You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I’m not going anywhere.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! I appreciate all feedback <3

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

#flo'sfics #marauders era #marauders fics #marauders au #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter #james potter drabble #marauders #self insert

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postmoe · 1 day ago

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I find it attractive of a beta or alpha get turned into an omega if they get fucked to much. So what about yandere alpha geshu lin x beta/alpha male reader x yandere alpha jiyan. Or yandere Mydei x beta/alpha male Reader x yandere alpha Phainon. Reader getting turned into an omega so they can keep him all to themselves and maybe baby trap him 🤭.

dude i have so many beta fantasies it's not even funny. thank you for this opportunity.

non-con, abo, male reader, beta -> omega reader,

It was always the three of you; Phainon, Mydei, (Y/n). You went through training together, fought the hardest battles together, everyone revered you like you were unstoppable.

Well, everyone respected you in a passive/aggressive way because you were covered in the musk of two supreme alphas. Unfortunately for you, in the womb, you never grew to the next stage from being a beta.

Betas were pretty rare now, they started off as the dominant second gender, but as time grew so did the power of evolution. Everyone starts off in the womb as a beta, then months down the line you unlock your social status. Sometimes, you just get stuck as the runt. There have been few cases of people opening their second gender later in life, though only within a very specific fate of events.

It's not all bad. Apparently, Mydei's and Phainon's scent was so extreme that a lot of people couldn't stand near them for a certain amount of time. Alpha's get antsy, compliment or aggressive. Omegas have gone into heat on the spot, rolling over motionless as their hormones take over. Now, they're pretty good at controlling their smell, or so everyone says.

It never bothered you to begin with, your nose not suited to judge others. You couldn't read emotions if it wasn't present on their face, which in this day and age is more of a talent than anything; at least, that's what Phainon says to make you feel better.

For a beta to get this far in life is pretty astonishing. You realise you had a lot of help from your two friends. They've been able to sniff you out when you're in danger, or their scent that lingers on your clothes is enough to stop any intelligent bandit or monster. However, even when you're feeling down about it, even when the world criticizes you for 'using' two alphas to your advantage, they both have been there to keep you reeled in.

"Why do you even bother trying to lie to us," Mydei huffs, crossing his arms over his puffed out chest, "You have a smell, too. It's not like we don't know what you're feeling."

"That's unfair," you sigh, shoulders slumping, "Maybe I just don't want to talk about it, ever think of that?"

Phainon nods, his arms coming to drape over your shoulders from behind, rubbing his cheek against yours, "Everyone is allowed to have their secrets."

You roll your eyes, going back to polishing your sword with the rag while he lounges against you, "It's not even a secret, just the usual shit." You go silent for a moment, feeling their eyes burn holes into for more information. It should have been common knowledge by now that you won't get out of anything from them, so you gently place your sword down groan, "Fine! I walked past one of your fan groups today. An omega was saying how I was only holding back your true potential, that with me on the battlefield then you can't go all out."

Both of them opened their mouths to speak, you held up your hand to zip them shut.

"And before you say anything; yes, I know that I'm strong too. Yes, I know I can fight. Yes, I know they're just 'jealous' that I get to hang around you." You can't make eye contact with either of them, knowing that you might just crack if you do, "... It doesn't always help. I'm okay with that, though. This is the life I chose and I can deal with all the shit thrown my way."

Phainon buried his face in your neck, sniffling into one of your more sensitive parts, the scent glands. You shivered from the contact, he didn't seem to mind as he practically cried, "You're so strong, (Y/n)! But you know, you still have to take care of your mental health, too. I think you should stay away from those people for a while."

Mydei stood from his spot on the grass and walked over, ruffling your hair with his hand before dragging it down your face and to trace your neck, "We haven't been around because of the recent attacks, so our scent is waning from you. Here, we'll ward them off."

You shook your head out of their grip and rolled to the side, away from them, "I don't need you to scare anyone away by smothering me. I think your scent only makes them more mad."

"It's natural biology for an alpha to cover what's theirs in their smell, you can't just tell us to stop," Phainon argues, shrugging like it's the most obvious thing.

With a laugh, you stand and pick up your sword, "Since when am I yours?"

They both silently looked to each other, communicating in a language you would never understand. Mydei tells you, "You've been our beta longer than you've been alone."

"Yep~" Phainon teases, "Should have thought about that before you became our friend."

Yeah, right. One day these two will find their omegas, they'll create a beautiful family and you can be the cool, beta uncle that showers the kids in annoying gifts to rile up their parents. "Sure, whatever," you dismiss, now taking on an offensive stance, "So, we sparring or what?"

...

Storm season is fast approaching in this part of the land. You three had been sent out patrol the far, outer lands on a 'boys' camping trip'. The trek made you sweaty, the days humid and the nights cold, yet you didn't stop until you reached an open cave near the top of the mountain.

Forests surround you, rushing rivers and falls heard in the distance, and the sounds of insects chirping were drowning your ears. You had abandoned your shirt long ago, rolling yourself in insect repellent that did well to make your two companions scrunch up their noses in distaste.

As you set down the heavy bags in the cave, the sun setting in the distance, you noticed some faded, rock drawings on the walls. Walking up to them, you see crude images of stick figure deaths, a chimera with little hearts around it and a spurting dick. Phainon placed his hand on your shoulder, "Mydei drew the penis."

You both look over to see him skulling his sack of water, giving you both the middle finger. You purse your lips, "Even though I've known you for so long, it's always weird to see such a childish side of you."

After setting up camp, you realise how much you may have missed when you weren't able to accompany them on missions. This place is gorgeous, and they only tell tales of greater environments, it left you feeling a sense of awe and a pang of sadness. When they laugh together, bicker, playfully shove at each other, you can see it the way everyone else sees it.

Two, great alphas Mydei and Phainon - plus you. Little, ol' beta you.

It's nothing to get worked up over. Not a big deal, not an issue at all. You notice they've stopped talking and are looking at you with concern. Fuck. Why are you having this crisis now of all times? They can definitely smell you, they know what you're feeling and they're expecting an answer.

You smile at them widely, "Sorry, I just got lost in a daydream." Can they smell when you lie, too? If so, they speak nothing of it.

...

Being able to swim in such beautiful, clean water was a luxury you didn't know you needed. The baths and streams around Okhema were amazing, there's no doubt about it. Hot springs sent from natural sources, lotions and soaps created from the best ingredients, but this... This was something altogether new.

The water was a cold that made your muscles relax, the flavour refreshing and dare you say, curative. The sound was a delightful white noise of rushing water and splashing ripples from either of you or the fish that swim by.

On the shore, Phainon was the last to disrobe, the three of you deciding to skinny dip as a fun, good morning. You greet him with a smile as he resurfaces from bombing into the water, shaking your face of stray droplets, "Are you sure it's alright for us all to be here? I really think one of us should keep watch at the cave."

He lays on his back, closing his eyes while he floats around you, "Don't stress, there are others at points around the outer city. Someone is always watching from one direction or another."

"I see... I guess I'm just wor-" your voice is cut off as your ankle is suddenly grabbed and you're yanked down under the surface. You see the blurry image of Mydei, the red tattooed lines on his skin the main stand out for the fuzzy, underwater alpha.

The two of you duke it out - poorly - until you both resurface and you're gasping for air. He huffs out a breath of his own, hiding any semblance of exhaustion, "You're going to need to fight better than that if you want to get on our level."

As if coming to your rescue, Phainon swims over to him, "Oh, please, as if it's normal for someone to be capable of fighting under water." He then winks to you before shoving the blonde's head down, effectively drowning him out.

The three of you relax around the falls, floating idly in the water side-by-side. You think you could fall asleep, except your nose twitches at an interesting smell. You've smelt it before, very faintly and only when they really push it. What can be excruciatingly stunning to others, you only get a whiff of as a beta; the smell of these alphas.

Mydei and Phainon are a rare sort, extremely strong and capable of power beyond mosts comprehension. A few people are rare like that, some omegas even being too intoxicating for the outside world. It's a pleasant smell, to you, something you not-so-secretly indulge in whenever you get the chance. It also makes you feel slightly more normal.

You wade over and gently rest your head on the upper part of Mydei's stomach, closing your eyes and sighing happily, "I don't get why people can't be around you guys if you're too strong. I like your smell."

Phainon playfully pouts at you choosing Mydei, coming over to join you and rest his head on his chest. He inhales the Kremnoan's scent, smiling serenely, "Omega's and Alpha's never really stop developing their senses until their mid 30's. The older you get, even smells like perfumes can become too much, let alone the emotions of someone with tremendous power."

"Does that mean you guys aren't holding back anymore if I can smell you?"

Mydei moves a wet hand to pet your head, "We don't need to hold back up here."

"Besides," Phainon gazes at you with a fondness in his eyes, "It's nice to share something so personal with someone close, don't you think?"

They can't just relax like this around anyone, and since you all spend most of your time in the city, you hardly get a chance to get a whiff of them. A giddy smile decorates your face, your eyes closing as you relax once more, "Yeah, I agree."

...

On the third day you notice something odd. Your friend's seem to be more agitated, little offsets leading to snarling and biting, every twig snap or rustle has them staring in that direction in case of a particular threat.

You've never seen them like this.

They must be stressed by all the work that's been unloaded onto them. An argument broke out five minutes ago about something you didn't understand, the two deciding to take a walk to cool off and collect more firewood. You decide that this is the perfect time to help them out, picking up a sword and attaching it to your waist before heading out on a patrol. When you get back, they can relax at the duties already being fulfilled.

You don't know the area very well, however, you did accompany them the past couple of nights so you have an idea of where to go. You're not too stressed about getting lost, the trail somewhat visible to someone like you, who has been taught overcome these kinds of obstacles. What you didn't expect was that it gets darker quicker under the canopy of trees.

It appeared you had an hour of daylight left, yet only fifteen minutes later and you noticed a dramatic change. The mountains are certainly an interesting place to be, you're usually stationed closer to the city and nearer the fallen towns.

With the darkness comes fauna that arouse at night, a particular croak gaining your attention. You crouch down with interest, seeing a teal coloured frog with a lighter stomach hop into a puddle. It was smaller than the palm of your hand, yet the sound it made was so loud you would never expect it to come from such a tiny creature.

Your admiration was halted as you hear heavy thumping from deeper in the brush. It's fast, leaves and sticks being moved and thrown out of the way to make room for whatever is coming at you. You quickly draw your sword and take a defensive stance, readying for whatever may be in store.

If it's a boar or something similar, you could climb one of the thicker trees and make your way around by jumping branches. If it's something more like a giant bush cat, then you would have no choice but to fight it.

Turns out, it was neither. Before you had the opportunity to lay eyes on it, there is ablur of movement and your weapon is thrusted from your hand, flying off and landing into the dark distance. You're immediately incapacitated, wrist close to snapping and arm yanked back as you're brought to your knees.

Mydei is snarling aggressively in your ear, holding you down like some convict trying to escape. He spits his words like venom, "What the fuck did you think you were doing? Are you stupid?! Leaving the nest like that wandering off on your own!"

You cry out in pain as he tightens his grip, the sound and pheromones you let off making him back off slightly but not letting go.

Before you can ask what the hell is going on, Phainon appears behind you and walks around so he can kneel at your front. He tenderly cradles your face and looks over you for any other injuries, "Don't hurt him, Mydei. He made a stupid decision but it wasn't his fault."

A breath of relief leaves you when he finally lets go. You slump and cradle your aching arm, flinching when Mydei falls to his knees behind you and resting his face in the crook of your neck. He mumbles into your flesh, "Why did you leave like that? You could have gotten hurt."

With a new found annoyance, you flick Phainon's hands away from you and shrug the other off your back, "What the fuck??? Why are you both acting like I just up and left?"

"Because you did up and leave," Mydei growls, only halting when he and Phainon meet with a hard glare. He tuts and stands, making sure you have nowhere to run if you decided to flee, "We should have just been outright with him from the beginning."

You didn't like the sound of that. Without a word, you look to Phainon for an answer, Mydei is acting too impulsive for your liking right now. Phainon stands before you, both of them now crowding any escape with how close they are, "In truth, we brought you up here because we knew our ruts were coming and we wanted you with us."

"P-Pardon?" It was so incredulous you were sure you heard wrong. But, what else could he have said? "You do know what I am, right? We've only known each other for a couple of decades so be honest if you need a reminder."

Mydei scoffs and grabs you by the back of your shirt, hefting you to your tippy toes to growl, "Our Beta's got jokes. If you can jest then you can mate."

"WHAT?!" You kick your feet comically in the air, trying to find some sort of purchase, "I can't mate - I physically cannot mate! Not with an Alpha!!"

Phainon chimes in giddily, "Two Alphas! Don't worry, we'll ensure you're thoroughly pregnant by the end of this rut."

Body limits aside, being a beta means your reproductive organs aren't open to be used. They're sitting inside you, dormant. For some reason, you don't think they see that as a drawback, instead viewing your biology as more of a challenge to be tackled.

...

Day six and you're sore. Your legs, which have been in every position possible. Your arms, which are restrained when they're doing anything that's not fucking you. Your poor, poor hole, which hasn't been dry in days. Your oversensitive cock, now you can't tell what liquid comes out, your last orgasm streaming like piss on the rock below.

Phainon drags his hot, wet tongue up your neck, moaning as he slips his erected cock into you again. Your mouth hangs open, arse clenching when he's stopped by his knot hitting your rim. He's got you in a full nelson, your thighs over his own, a sound of discomfort coming from you at the stretch of his knot trying to enter you.

He shudders, lightly humping upwards, "Do you smell that, Mydei? He's changing."

Mydei flops his own dick in your face, tracing his leaking tip along the bone of your cheek before he slips his length between your lips, "How interesting. All our darling beta needed was a little push."

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as they fuck you again, your pretty, little hole gaping ever larger to accommodate them.

...

The cold, wet soil near the falls was blissful on your overheating skin. You've never felt this hot before, you assume it's a fever coming on from being under these two for however many days now. Mydei has you on your back, tongue swirling and mouth slurping at your puckered arse.

It was nice to just relax and be tended to, as fucked up as that seems. Phainon was behind him, washing his own body and admiring the scene before him.

Mydei licks a stripe from your hole, up the length of your taint and to your flaccid cock. He coos patronisingly, kissing the sensitive tip and making you jolt, "Poor sweetheart, have we been too rough with you?"

It's too little too late to ask you that now. You stick with your mission of giving them the silent treatment unless necessary, turning your head away and closing your eyes, thinking back on the coolness of the soil.

Until, "A-Ahh! S-Stop!" You moan, hands going to his hair and yanking as hard as you can, trying to stop him from swallowing your cock and drinking it over and over again. The way his tongue and cheeks move against your flesh has you throbbing and twitching in his mouth. "I can't, I can't," you breathe, swaying your head side to side as if to deny the oncoming torture.

But you can't, even half-hard he has you spurting your cum down his throat. You hold his head down with each half-hearted thrust, only to pull again before another tingling jolt of your hips.

When you can open your eyes again, you pleadingly gaze to Phainon, who had paused his washing to stare solely at you both. His eyes dart to meet yours, mind working overtime to bring him out of his daze and pull lightly on his companion, "Hey, save some for me, okay? Let him recuperate a bit."

Mydei flies his elbow back, not getting off you. At this, Phainon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and locks the blonde's head with his elbow, flipping him back into the water.

You take a deep breath as they start to wrestle. Now you can rest again, you rarely get time to yourself now. When they sleep, sometimes, you're still plugged with one of them inside you, cockwarming throughout the night. Otherwise, when they go hunting, you might be tied tightly inside the cave, though there is usually at least one of them with you.

A gentle rain starts, the drops hitting your heated face. You need this, the rain a lot cooler than the falls as it collects in the sky. Lately, you've been feeling weird, unwell, hot. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before.

Not to mention their scent. The boys' sweat, bodies, just everything about them is becoming less off putting and more desirable than ever. If you're honest, you're scared with what's happening.

...

They had both left you in the cave, the rain a perfect mask for hunting good meat right now.

"Need to keep our darling's energy up!"

You're not sure when, but some time after they left you were reeling in some sort of pain. Not like being slashed by a sword, or thrown by an enemy, but more like a strange punch to the gut. It blossomed within you and bloomed around your body, effecting your head and pelvis the most.

Breathing became difficult, your chest rising and falling quickly, you couldn't focus on how to fix it. No, not with the gnawing pain and discomfort in your gut.

You had wormed your way towards the entrance but the rope only let you go so far. They didn't give you enough leeway to get more than halfway through the cave, which meant you couldn't get any rain to cool you down.

What you did find, however, was their sashes they didn't wear today. Your nose twitched, and you reached your tied wrists over so your fingers could grab the red fabric and scrunched it to your face, moaning in absolute delight. Quickly, you secured the blue and gold one and weaved it between your legs, covering as much of your body as you could.

You're not sure when they came back, only realising they were standing ominously at the entrance of the cave when their musk started to seep heavier than the sashes you were breathing. The rain hadn't let up, both of them drenched and Mydei holding the antlers of a dead deer beside him.

Your jaw trembles, tears running down your cheeks as you whimper, "What's happening to me?"

It's only when you talk do they enter, dropping the carcass to the side before carefully kneeling down to cradle you. Your ropes are torn off and you sit between the two men, both leaning so they can run their teeth over the scent glands in your neck.

You whine as Mydei gently nibbles you, a low groan causing your cock to leak rivulets down your shaft, "Perfect for biting now."

Phainon reaches to gasp your cock, smoothly jerking up the length before circling his fingers along the glands, "I knew your unawaken second gender was this. You just had to be an omega, what with the way you were taunting us; begging to be bred."

Unawaken... Omega? No, that's-

"Hah~ Please..." You lift your hips when you feel fingers enter inside you, easily stretching you open now.

Mydei chuckles deeply, grinning at all the new possibilities going through his head, "Perfect for knotting now, too."

#yandere x reader #yandere mydei x reader #yandere phainon x reader #alpha beta omega #yandere alpha #yandere hsr #male reader #yandere honkai star rail #x reader #yandere alpha mydei x reader x yandere alpha phainon

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v4mpire45 · 2 days ago

Text

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part 8 of the series, so other parts will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, I needed time to think about ideas. And I'm working on other works at the moment. This is also a bit short, but only because the next part will be juciy.

Things have been good, or as good as they can be.

You and Bakugo have kept your promise to each other. The two of you have been spending more time together, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship.

And honestly? It feels like you've gotten your best friend back.

You've missed this. A lot more than you'd like to admit.

Maybe it was stupid, holding onto something like this so tightly. But Bakugo had been there for you through everything. Before the war, before all the chaos. When you met, you butted heads just as much as you got along, but somehow, through all the fights and challenges, he became your person.

The one who understood you without needing to say much at all.

And after everything, after the war, after all the distance that formed between you, getting him back felt like getting a part of yourself back.

Not that you'd ever tell him that.

But there's a shift you can’t quite put into words. Maybe it’s just in your head, maybe it’s nothing at all, maybe it's been here all along and you’ve been ignoring it, but when you’re with him, there’s this... awareness.

This weight in your chest tightens when he’s close loosens when he laughs, and straight-up betrays you when he does something as simple as calling you by your first name.

But lately, Kimiko's been watching. Not just Bakugo, you. And you don’t like what’s behind those eyes.

Today, training drills had been assigned. Nothing new, just the usual combat sparring to sharpen reflexes and adapt to different fighting styles.

You were heading toward Mina, already expecting to pair up with her, when a familiar voice grunted behind you.

"You. Me. Partners."

You turned, blinking as Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, already walking off like your answer was obvious.

"Oh. Okay...!" You tried to sound casual, but your voice had a little too much enthusiasm to pass as apathetic.

Before the war, you and Bakugo were almost always partners for these kinds of things. Sure, sometimes he’d go with Kirishima, and you’d switch it up with Mina or Jirou, but you were a duo.

Then the war happened.

And after that, Kimiko came along, sliding into the space beside him like it was hers to claim. You stopped partnering with Bakugo. Maybe you didn’t even realize how much you missed it until now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Kimiko’s gaze, her expression unreadable. She had been heading toward Bakugo, too, but he hadn’t even looked her way. Instead, he had gone straight to you.

Not your fault. He made his choice.

Still, you felt her eyes on you like a weight.

The spar was intense.

Bakugo never held back. Not with you. Not with anyone. But today, it felt different. More focused. Like he was pushing you, not just physically, but daring you to keep up. And you did.

Sweat beaded on your forehead as you dodged another one of his attacks, skidding back just in time to avoid the explosive blast.

You shot forward, aiming a kick toward his side, but he blocked, catching your ankle with a firm grip before shoving you back.

"Too slow," he taunted, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"You’re just fast," you shot back, adjusting your stance.

"Damn right I am," he said, rolling his shoulders before lunging again.

The tension was there, thick, buzzing. Maybe it was just your own head making it worse, but every time he moved closer, every time his eyes locked onto yours with that sharp intensity, your breath caught for half a second too long.

And every time you caught a glimpse of Kimiko watching. You waved at her when Bakugo wasn’t looking. She only narrowed her eyes and turned back to her own partner.

The match ended when Bakugo finally got the upper hand, knocking you onto your back with a hard sweep of his leg. He loomed over you, hands on his hips, panting slightly.

"You finally tired yet, dumbass?" he muttered.

"Not even close," you lied through your teeth, even as you struggled to catch your breath.

His smirk widened, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he just held out a hand, which you grabbed without hesitation. His grip was firm, warm, steady.

And maybe you held on half a second longer than necessary.

After training, everyone had packed up, heading back to the locker rooms. You took your time, changing into your uniform, running a towel over your damp hair before slinging your bag over your shoulder. As you stepped out of the girls’ locker room, a voice called out behind you.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

You turned to see Kimiko, standing a few feet away, hands on her hips, her expression unreadable.

"Oh, um... sure?"

She smiled, but there was something off about it. Before you could react, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside, leading you into a quieter corner of the hallway.

Then, she let go. Crossed her arms. Tilted her head. And that fake little smile faded.

"So," she said, voice deceptively light. "What’s going on with you and Bakugo, hmm? Do you like him or something?"

Your throat went dry. "What? No, I—" You let out an awkward laugh. "That’s— what are you even talking about?"

Kimiko huffed, unimpressed. "Hmph. Yeah, sure."

For a second, she just stared at you, then sighed. "Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask since that party. The one where you told me to ‘hop off Bakugo’s balls.’" She raised an eyebrow. "Kinda funny, isn’t it? Considering you’re the one acting all territorial now."

Your stomach dropped. "I—I didn’t mean—"

"Save it," she cut you off with a wave of her hand. "You already apologized once, remember? I don’t need you groveling again."

You hesitated. "Then why bring it up?"

Her expression shifted, something unreadable behind her eyes. She glanced away for a moment before exhaling sharply.

"Because," she said slowly, "I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, leaving you standing there.

You didn't know what was worse, the fact that she called you out so easily.

Or the fact she might be right.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes @snoozebunz @wowbon @holobean @littlestinkybastardman @closehereyes

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aspenmissing · 11 hours ago

Note

I don't know if you've done this already, but would you be able to write what the arcane characters would be like as parents? With Sevika and the usual characters?

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 7131 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴏɴᴇꜱ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ! ɪᴅᴋ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ <3

JAYCE

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your shared bedroom, casting a golden glow over the peaceful form of Jayce. His arm was draped over your waist, his breathing steady and deep. For all the chaos that Hextech and politics brought into his life, these moments—the quiet ones at home—were what grounded him.

A soft rustling from the adjoining room had you both stirring. You smiled as Jayce groaned, burying his face into your neck with a muffled, "Five more minutes."

"Tell that to your daughter," you teased, pressing a kiss to his temple before slipping out of bed. Jayce grumbled, but the sound of tiny feet pattering against the wooden floor had him moving.

Your daughter, whom you named Aline, was a bundle of energy with bright eyes and wild hair that matched her father’s. She peeked around the corner with an eager grin. "Mama! Daddy! Wake up!"

Jayce chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair before lifting her effortlessly into his arms. "Alright, little one, what’s the emergency?"

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Breakfast! I'm hungry!"

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as you watched the two loves of your life. Jayce’s expression softened, his love for his daughter evident in the way he held her close. "Alright, sweetheart, pancakes sound good?"

The enthusiastic nod she gave him was answer enough. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before setting her down. "Go set the table with Mama, and I’ll whip up the best pancakes Piltover has ever seen."

Breakfast became a ritual in your home. Jayce took pride in making the fluffiest pancakes, ensuring that mornings started with laughter and warmth. Your daughter often insisted on helping. She would sit on the counter, stirring batter while giggling at Jayce’s exaggerated expressions. "You see, Alina, the secret to the best pancakes isn’t just the ingredients, but the love you put into them," he would say, making her eyes widen with wonder.

Raising Alina with Jayce had been an adventure in itself. He was fiercely protective, always ensuring she was safe and cared for. He shielded her from the darker parts of his work, never wanting her to feel the weight of the expectations he bore. But he was also her biggest supporter—whether she wanted to build something in his workshop, learn about the constellations, or even practice fencing, Jayce encouraged her every step of the way.

"Daddy, look! I made something!" Alina exclaimed one afternoon, proudly showing him a small wooden figure she had carved.

Jayce knelt beside her, examining the details with exaggerated seriousness. "This is incredible, sweetheart! Your craftsmanship is already better than mine when I was your age."

Alina beamed with pride, and you watched the moment unfold with a full heart. There was no doubt in your mind that she had inherited her father’s brilliance.

One evening, as the three of you sat on the balcony, watching the city lights, Alina curled up between you both, sleepily murmuring about how she wanted to invent things like her father. Jayce’s grip on her tightened just a little as he whispered, "You can do anything you set your mind to, my little spark. And I’ll always be here to help."

You smiled, reaching for his hand. Parenthood wasn’t easy, but with Jayce by your side, it was the greatest adventure of all.

As the days passed, the bond between father and daughter only grew stronger. Jayce would take Alina to his workshop, where she would watch him tinker, fascinated by the glowing blue crystals of Hextech. "What makes them shine, Daddy?" she had asked one day.

Jayce chuckled, lifting her onto his worktable. "Well, sweetheart, Hextech is a combination of science and magic. It’s about understanding the laws of the world while daring to push beyond them. Kind of like how you build towers with your blocks—sometimes you have to try different ways to make them stand taller."

Alina nodded seriously, absorbing his words. You couldn’t help but laugh, seeing the determination in her expression. She had so much of her father in her.

Jayce’s protectiveness showed in different ways. When Alina scraped her knee, he was there in an instant, lifting her into his lap and gently tending to her wound. "It’s okay to fall, sweetheart. What matters is that you get back up."

And when the time came for her to attend her first school event, he was the proudest father in the crowd, cheering her on as she recited a poem on stage. The love he had for her—and for you—shone in every glance, every reassuring touch, every bedtime story whispered under the glow of her nightlight.

One night, after Alina had fallen asleep, Jayce pulled you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Thank you," he murmured. "For giving me this. For giving me her."

You cupped his face, smiling against his lips. "We built this together, Jayce. And there’s no one else I’d want by my side."

As the city of Piltover bustled beyond your home, the three of you remained in your own little world—one built on love, laughter, and the endless possibilities of tomorrow.

VIKTOR

The soft hum of Piltover’s ever-present machinery filled the warmly lit apartment, blending with the rhythmic creaks of Viktor’s cane against the polished wooden floor. The scent of oil and parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of tea that Y/N had left unfinished on the bedside table. He moved carefully, balancing his weight as he stepped closer to the cradle—no, cradles. Two identical wooden frames side by side, each occupied by two tiny, peaceful bundles—Mira and Alric. His golden eyes filled with an emotion so raw and deep it nearly overwhelmed him.

“Shhh, Moje malé hvězdičky,” he murmured, his accent thick with exhaustion and love. “Let your mother rest a while.” (My Little Stars)

Viktor had never imagined himself as a father. His life had always been an uphill battle, dictated by the sharp mind he was gifted with and the frailty of his body. But now, as he cradled one of his children in his arms, while the other stirred gently in their bed, he knew he had never loved anything more fiercely.

A small, furry creature stirred at the foot of the bed—Bramble, their ever-curious poro, blinked sleepily before rolling onto his side, his tiny paws twitching in his dreams. The poro had been a gift from Heimerdinger, a small companion Viktor had grown impossibly fond of, and now, he was just another part of their little family.

Y/N stirred from the bed, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with warmth as she watched him. “You should rest too,” she whispered, her voice soft yet knowing. “Your leg—”

Viktor waved off her concern with a tired chuckle. “I have spent many nights awake for far lesser reasons than our children.” He settled onto the nearby chair with careful precision, adjusting his cane against the armrest before shifting Mira in his arms. Alric stirred slightly, and Bramble let out a soft, content snuffle before curling closer to the cradles. “Besides, I enjoy this.”

He did. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain that often gnawed at his joints, there was a peace in these quiet moments. The way Mira’s tiny fingers curled around his own, the warmth of Alric’s small body tucked into the quilt—it was grounding, in a way nothing else had ever been.

He had spent years seeking progress, chasing knowledge and innovation with a single-minded desperation. Piltover was a city of advancements, a beacon of brilliance and invention. He had once believed that was all he needed. But here, in the soft glow of lamplight, with his children nestled safely in their cradles, he found something he had never sought but now realized he needed: a future not built on science alone, but on love.

Y/N smiled at the sight of him, knowing all too well that Viktor would deny any talk of his exhaustion, but that he would never deny their children a moment of his attention.

“You are so patient with them,” she mused, shifting to sit beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. “I think they adore you more than me.”

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh. “That is impossible.” He kissed the top of her head before gazing back down at Mira and Alric. “But if true… then I can hardly blame them. I am quite fond of them myself.”

Alric let out a small noise, shifting slightly before settling back into sleep. Mira followed suit, her tiny hand grasping at Viktor’s sleeve as if she knew exactly where she wanted to be. Viktor ran a gentle hand over the soft wisps of their hair, his expression softening even further.

“I do wonder what they will grow to be,” he murmured, his mind always lost in the possibilities. “What they will dream of. What they will create.”

Y/N sighed, content. “Whatever they choose, they’ll have us to guide them.”

Viktor nodded, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his daughter. A silent vow, unspoken but deeply felt. No matter what came their way, no matter how difficult the road ahead, he would be there. For Y/N, for Mira, for Alric.

Because love—this love—was the greatest thing he had ever created.

As the night deepened, the city of Piltover carried on outside, the hum of its mechanized heart never ceasing. But here, in the quiet of their home, time felt still. Viktor sat there for hours, his mind drifting between the future and the present, between science and family. Every so often, one of the twins would stir, a tiny yawn escaping them, and Viktor would press a kiss to their forehead, murmuring soft reassurances in his native tongue.

Bramble let out a soft purring sound as he stretched and curled up closer to the base of the cradles, his warm, fluffy presence adding another layer of comfort to their little family.

Viktor thought of the future, of the knowledge he could pass on, of the things he and Y/N would teach their children. Of the wonders Mira and Alric would one day discover, the brilliance they might inherit. Would they take after their father’s ceaseless curiosity, their mother’s boundless warmth? Would they build, explore, create?

As the years passed, Viktor imagined them toddling after him in his workshop, their small hands eager to tinker with the devices and tools scattered across his desk. He pictured Mira’s determined frown as she studied a schematic with the same intensity he did, Alric’s laughter echoing through their home as he chased after Bramble in the morning light.

He imagined them growing older, standing by his side, listening to his stories of his past—his triumphs, his failures, the lessons he had learned along the way. He thought of their hands, once so small in his, growing stronger, capable of shaping the future as they saw fit.

No matter what, Viktor vowed, he would be there to witness it all. To celebrate their victories, to comfort them in their struggles, to remind them that no matter how much the world changed, they would always have a place in it—together.

JAYVIK

The workshop smelled of warm metal and ink, the scent a permanent part of their lives. The hum of Hextech crystals and the soft scratching of Viktor’s pen against blueprints blended with the laughter of their children—chaotic, beautiful, and ever-present.

Lucian, their eight-year-old, sat cross-legged on Viktor’s worktable, a small contraption in his hands. His dark brown curls bounced as he turned the device over, careful, yet brimming with excitement.

“Tatínek, do you think if I adjust the pressure valve here, it’ll make it faster?” Lucian asked, tilting his head toward Viktor. (Papa)

Viktor, cane resting against the table, gave a small, proud smile. “That depends on what you want it to do. More pressure might increase speed, but stability is just as important, můj malý vynálezce.” He tapped the blueprints beside him, adjusting his glasses. (My Little Inventor)

Across the room, Jayce sat on the floor, holding a giggling Liana upside down while Felix clambered onto his back. “Alright, alright, I surrender!” he laughed, his broad frame barely wobbling under their combined weight.

Liana shrieked in delight, her tiny fists grasping at Jayce’s arms. “No surrender, Daddy!”

Felix, the quieter of the two, pressed his cheek against Jayce’s shoulder and sighed happily. “We win,” he murmured, victorious.

Jayce grinned and reached up to ruffle Felix’s golden hair. “You’re getting heavy, kiddo.”

Y/N watched from the doorway, arms crossed, amused at the contrast between their two partners. Lucian, the child she and Jayce shared, was quiet, thoughtful, and deliberate in all things—so much like Viktor that it was almost eerie. Meanwhile, Nova and Felix, their wild, boundless children with Viktor, were a force of nature, as if chaos had been bottled up and released into two tiny bodies.

Viktor’s parenting was meticulous, full of gentle instruction and quiet pride. He wasn’t one for running around, but he made up for it with bedtime stories, soft reassurances, and a keen awareness of their children’s needs. He saw them, truly saw them, whether it was Lucian’s fascination with mechanics, Felix’s curiosity or Liana’s boundless energy. He had a way of making each of them feel special,

Jayce, on the other hand, was all action. He built pillow forts that took up entire rooms, carried the twins on his shoulders like a living jungle gym, and never turned down a game of tag—even when it meant knocking over a carefully placed stack of Viktor’s notes. He encouraged their energy, their boldness, and met their every demand for attention with laughter and open arms. And though Lucian wasn’t as prone to chaotic bursts of energy like his younger siblings, Jayce made sure to include him too—whether it was by playfully challenging him to engineering contests or scooping him up into a bear hug when he was too deep in thought. Jayce never let Lucian retreat too far into his own head, keeping their son grounded with warmth and enthusiasm, knowing how important it was to balance intellect with play.

“I hope you know you’re teaching them to be absolute terrors,” Viktor mused, watching Jayce let Liana climb onto his head.

Jayce chuckled, catching her before she could tumble. “Terrors? No way. They’re gonna be strong, brave, and maybe a little reckless.” He gave Y/N a wink. “Just like their parents.”

Lucian adjusted the tiny gears in his hands, looking up. “Tatínek's not reckless.”

Jayce smirked. “Not now, but back in the day? Let’s just say he—”

“Jayce,” Viktor warned, a light flush dusting his cheeks.

Y/N laughed, stepping forward to press a kiss to Viktor’s temple. “I think we all know you’re the mastermind behind half of Jayce’s past chaos.”

Viktor huffed, but the way his hand brushed against Y/N’s waist betrayed his fondness.

Liana and Felix, meanwhile, had abandoned Jayce and were now engaged in their favourite activity: climbing whatever structure was closest. At the moment, it was Viktor’s bookshelf.

“Felix, Liana—off,” Viktor said firmly, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Aw, but tatínek, we were gonna touch the top!” Liana whined, pouting. Felix nodded, as if that argument was fool proof.

Y/N sighed and shook her head. “If you two want to climb something, go outside with Jayce. The bookshelf isn’t a jungle gym.”

The twins groaned but obeyed, darting out of the workshop, pulling Jayce along with them. “Come on, Daddy, let’s race!” Liana shouted, and Jayce barely had time to react before she and Felix took off.

Viktor exhaled, rubbing his temple. “How do they have so much energy?”

Lucian smirked. “They don’t sit still long enough to lose any.”

Y/N chuckled and leaned against Viktor. “At least they make life interesting.”

Viktor huffed but didn’t disagree.

Their home was loud. It was messy. It was filled with Hextech parts, scattered toys, and the occasional faint scent of something burning (thanks to one of Lucian’s early experiments). But it was theirs. And as Viktor leaned into Y/N’s touch, and Jayce was pulled into another game outside, one thing was certain—

Their little family was perfect.

VANDER

The bustling sounds of The Last Drop hummed softly in the background, a familiar lullaby of clinking glasses and murmured conversations. Vander leaned against the counter, his broad arms crossed as he watched Y/N cradling their daughter, Reina, in her arms. The toddler had just begun speaking in full sentences, and tonight, she was babbling excitedly about the stories Vi had told her before bed.

"Papa, Vi says she punched a guy bigger than you!" Reina's big eyes shone with wonder as she looked up at her father.

Vander let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "That so?" He glanced over at Vi, who stood near Powder and Mylo, grinning with pride.

"You should've seen it, Vander! He was talking trash, and I—" Vi mimicked a punch, making Mylo wince and Claggor smirk.

Y/N sighed, shifting Reina higher on her hip. "And you taught her this?" she asked, her voice laced with mock disapproval as she raised a brow at Vander.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, maybe she picked up a thing or two from watchin'." He crouched down to Reina's level, ruffling her thick curls. "But don’t you go punchin’ people, alright? That’s Vi’s job."

Reina giggled, resting her tiny hands on his scruffy beard. "I wanna be strong like Vi and Papa!"

Vander let out a hearty laugh, pulling her into his arms. "You're already strong, sweetheart. Strongest little one I know."

Powder, who had been quiet up until now, tugged at Y/N’s sleeve. "Mama, can I braid Reina’s hair before bed? I learned a new one!"

Y/N smiled warmly, brushing a strand of Powder’s blue hair back. "Of course, darling. She’d love that."

"Yay!" Powder gently took Reina's tiny hand, leading her toward the worn-out couch where she often played with her dolls.

Vi stretched, cracking her knuckles with a grin before flopping down next to them. "You should let me teach Reina some moves when she’s older, Pops. She’s got potential."

"Oh no, no, no," Y/N interjected, shaking her head. "One brawler in the family is enough."

Vander smirked, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. "Gotta agree with your ma, Vi. Though, I’ll admit, Reina’s got the spirit."

Vi huffed but smiled. "Fine, but at least let me teach her how to dodge. That way, she won’t get hit."

Claggor chuckled. "I dunno, Vi. She might end up better than you."

Vi gasped dramatically. "Betrayal!" She flopped back on the couch as the others laughed.

Meanwhile, Powder was diligently braiding Reina’s dark curls, her tongue poking out in concentration. "Almost done! You’re gonna look so pretty, Reina!"

The little girl beamed. "Like a princess?"

"Like a warrior princess!" Powder corrected, tying off the braid with a small ribbon she’d scavenged earlier that week.

Vander watched them, his expression softening. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he tried. He tried for the family he had built from scraps of a broken world. Y/N, the love of his life, had given him another reason to keep fighting. Their daughter was the very proof that good could still be found in the Undercity.

He felt Y/N’s hand slip into his, and he squeezed it gently. "Y’know," he murmured, watching their kids chatter amongst themselves, "I never thought I'd get somethin’ like this. Not in a place like Zaun."

Y/N leaned against his arm, her warmth grounding him. "You built this, Vander. Our family. You kept them safe."

He exhaled deeply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll keep ‘em safe always. No matter what."

As the dim lanterns flickered in the quiet of their home, Vander knew—he'd fight for them till his last breath.

Later that night, after the kids had been tucked into their makeshift beds, Vander and Y/N sat on the small worn-out couch in the back of The Last Drop. Reina was curled up on Vander’s lap, breathing softly in her sleep, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Y/N traced absent patterns on Vander’s forearm, their quiet moment of peace feeling almost sacred.

"Think she’ll be a troublemaker when she’s older?" Y/N teased, glancing up at him.

Vander huffed a tired laugh. "With this lot? No doubt about it."

Y/N chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder. "She’s lucky to have you. All of them are."

He sighed, watching the glow of the lanterns flicker against the old wooden walls. "I’m the lucky one, love. They gave me a reason to be better. To do better."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their shared love and the steady rhythm of Reina’s breathing.

For a moment, Vander allowed himself to believe that they’d always have this—that their family would always be whole, safe in the little world they’d built together.

SILCO

Zaun belonged to the restless, to the desperate, to the ones who carved their names into the undercity with blood and ambition. It had no room for weakness, no tolerance for sentiment. The strong survived, and the cunning thrived.

And among them stood Silco—The Eye of Zaun, the man whose voice could break kings and whose hand could build empires. Ruthless, calculating, unshaken.

But behind the steel doors of his sanctuary, he was something else entirely.

He was a father.

Their son, Lior, was still small, still soft in the way all children were, but Silco could already see the sharpness forming behind his storm-gray eyes. There was a quiet weight in them, a knowing look that reminded him of himself. Too perceptive for a child. Too thoughtful.

Perhaps that was why Silco found himself reaching for him more than he should.

In public, Silco played his part well. He walked with Lior at his side, his long fingers resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder or curling around his smaller hand with just enough pressure to anchor him. He did not dote, nor did he allow himself the indulgence of affection.

He never called his name too sweetly. Never offered a soft word in the presence of others. Never let the boy out of arm’s reach, but never held on too tight. To the world, Lior was merely a shadow trailing behind him, his existence acknowledged but never openly protected.

Silco knew what weakness in the open could invite. The vultures of Zaun, and worse—Piltover’s wolves.

Lior never complained about the distance, never questioned the way his father’s grip remained firm but never too warm. But sometimes, when the crowd pressed too close, when unfamiliar eyes lingered too long, he would squeeze Silco’s fingers just slightly.

A silent question. A reassurance.

Silco would barely glance down, his expression never shifting, but his thumb would brush over the boy’s knuckles in a rare, fleeting motion.

"I’m here."

It was all Lior ever needed. But behind closed doors? Behind closed doors, he could not put the boy down.

The moment the weight of the world was locked outside, Silco would find his son and lift him without hesitation, pressing him against his chest as if he needed to reassure himself that he was real. That he was safe.

Lior never protested. He simply curled into his father’s embrace, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of Silco’s coat. He knew better than to expect affection outside these walls, but here—here, his father was different.

There was no cold detachment, no distant authority. Only quiet whispers and steady hands, the soft rustling of Silco’s coat as he shifted, adjusting his grip to keep Lior close. The boy’s head would rest against his father’s chest, his breathing slowing to match the rhythmic rise and fall beneath his ear.

Y/N would often walk in to find them like that. Silco seated in his chair, legs crossed, one arm bracing Lior against his chest while his free hand absentmindedly stroked the boy’s dark hair. It was an unconscious motion, a habit formed from a love too dangerous to be shown to the outside world.

"You'll spoil him," Y/N would tease, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Lior all but melted into his father’s hold—a sight so rare, so fragile, that she never truly tired of it.

Silco never looked up. The only sign that he’d heard her was the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"Then let him be spoiled," he would murmur, his fingers still threading through Lior’s hair, slow and deliberate. "Let him know his father’s arms will always be strong enough to hold him."

And hold him, he did.

On nights when the city was restless, and Y/N woke to the rustle of fabric, she would find Silco sitting at the edge of their bed, Lior cradled in his arms. The boy would be fast asleep, his face buried against Silco’s chest, completely unaware of the world beyond the warmth that surrounded him.

Silco would sit there for hours, unmoving, as though the slightest shift might cause the moment to shatter.

Y/N knew better than to say anything in those moments. She could see it in Silco’s gaze—the unspoken fear that clawed at the back of his mind. The same fear he never voiced but that always lingered.

He had built an empire, made himself untouchable, but power was fragile. A child was fragile.

And he would not lose his son. Not to the city. Not to fate. Not to anyone.

Morning always brought a shift in the air.

By daylight, Silco was back to his usual self—composed, detached but never unkind. Lior was expected to be observant, to listen more than he spoke, to learn the undercity not just with his eyes but with his instincts.

The world would not wait for him to grow.

Silco never coddled him in the streets. He did not scoop him up when he fell, did not shield him from the grime of Zaun, did not soften the lessons that needed to be learned. When Lior tripped, he was expected to stand. When he made a mistake, he was made to understand it. Silco never raised his voice, never scolded without purpose. He simply watched—waiting, assessing. And when Lior found his footing, dusted himself off and raised his chin without complaint, his father would nod in quiet approval.

But he was never alone.

Silco’s hand was always there—a firm, steady weight on his shoulder. Not forceful, not indulgent, but present. A silent promise.

Lior didn’t understand at first. As a child, he had only known that the streets were different from home. That in public, his father’s voice was sharp and cutting, his movements purposeful and unyielding. He was not a man who lifted him without hesitation, not the same father whose fingers carded through his hair when the city was locked away behind steel doors.

But as he grew, he began to see.

He began to notice the way people looked at him when they realized whose child he was—the weight of their gazes, the calculation in their eyes. He began to hear the way voices shifted when his father entered a room, the way some grew sharp with resentment, others lowered in quiet fear.

He began to understand why.

One day, when he was older, he would remember the times he had reached for his father’s hand in the crowded streets of Zaun. How Silco had let him, but only briefly—only until the moment passed, until the air grew still again. Until it was safe.

“There are people who would see you as a weakness,” he finally said, his voice even. “I cannot allow that.”

One day, he would understand that love, when tied to power, had to be protected.

The world of men like Silco was cruel, unyielding. It did not permit softness, but that did not mean Lior would grow unloved.

No—he would know love in the way only his father could give it. In the security of his grip. In the strength of his arms behind closed doors. In the quiet, whispered reassurances at night.

And one day, Lior would understand why his father had to be both things at once.

SEVIKA

The dim glow of the Last Drop’s neon sign flickered against the rain-slicked streets of Zaun, painting the pavement in a dull red haze as you finally stepped inside your apartment. The weight of the day pressed down on your shoulders, exhaustion creeping into your bones, but the familiar scent of oil, metal, and smoke reminded you that you were home.

Sevika’s presence was unmistakable.

She was seated at the small, battered table in the corner, her usual spot, methodically disassembling and cleaning her mechanical arm with the precision of a well-practiced soldier. The candlelight flickered against her sharp features, casting shadows across the deep scars that marred her skin. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, focused on her task.

A small, warm weight squirmed in your arms.

Your son, Cassian, let out a quiet giggle, his tiny hands clutching at the worn fabric of your coat.

“Mama home,” he murmured sleepily, voice thick with drowsiness as he tucked himself further into your embrace.

Your heart swelled as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “I’m home.”

Sevika’s eyes flickered toward you both.

For a brief moment, something in her expression shifted—so subtle that if you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it. A flicker of something softer, something uncertain, before her face hardened once more. Without a word, she turned back to her arm, running the rag over the metal plating, the only sign of her tension being the slight clench of her jaw.

She never quite knew how to react when Cassian called you that.

You had been together for months now—long enough for her to get used to your presence, your touch, the warmth you offered despite the cold, unrelenting reality of Zaun. But when it came to your son?

Sevika kept her distance.

Not out of hatred. Not out of disinterest. But something else. Something quieter. Something like fear.

That night, when you were half-asleep, you felt the bed shift.

The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and a heavy sigh filled the room—one of those deep, wearied exhales she let out only when she thought no one was paying attention.

Through the dim candlelight, you cracked open an eye and found Sevika sitting on the edge of the bed, her broad shoulders hunched forward, her gaze locked onto the small, sleeping form across the room. Her usual hardened mask was gone.

For once, she wasn’t scowling, wasn’t exuding her usual air of indifference. Instead, she just stared at him—watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his little chest, the way his tiny fingers curled around the edge of his blanket.

Something unreadable flickered across her face. Something vulnerable.

Reaching out, you brushed your fingers lightly against her back. “You can hold him, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

She tensed under your touch, her shoulders locking up for a brief second before she shook her head.

“I don’t wanna break ‘im.”

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips. “You’re not going to break him, Sev.”

She scoffed, but it wasn’t her usual rough dismissal—it was hollow, uneasy. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, voice low. “I don’t do… kids. I don’t know how to be—”

She cut herself off with another sigh, running a tired hand down her face. How to be what?

Gentle? Safe? A mother?

You didn’t push her. Not yet. Instead, you curled up closer to her, resting your head against the warm, solid strength of her back.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Sev. He already has me. But he could have you, too.”

She didn’t respond. Just sat there, eyes still locked onto Cassian’s small, sleeping form.

The change wasn’t immediate.

Sevika was still Sevika—sharp, rough-edged, and unapproachable in the way only someone who had spent years hardening herself to the world could be. She didn’t know how to be soft, didn’t know how to offer warmth the way you did.

But little by little, the cracks started to show. She stopped avoiding Cassian so much.

At first, it was subtle. When he toddled around the apartment, chattering excitedly to himself about whatever wild, nonsensical things a child’s mind could conjure, she didn’t immediately leave the room anymore.

She lingered.

She would stay seated at the table, pretending to be focused on cleaning her blade, or adjusting the mechanics of her arm, but her eyes would flick toward him every so often, sharp and observant. It wasn’t disinterest—it was caution.

She was watching. Learning.

Trying to understand this tiny, chaotic creature that had somehow become a permanent part of her life.

Then came the moments where her presence became more than just a passive one.

When you sat on the floor with Cassian, rolling a little wooden ball back and forth, Sevika would pretend not to pay attention—arms crossed, expression unreadable. But every time the ball tumbled just out of Cassian’s reach, and he scrambled to grab it, she would watch closely.

And then, if he caught it—if his tiny fingers finally wrapped around it without fumbling—you’d hear it.

A low, almost imperceptible, gruff: "Good job, kid."

It was barely anything, really. Just two words, muttered as if she wasn’t sure why she was saying them.

But to Cassian, it was everything.

The first time she said it, he lit up, beaming so brightly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. He turned to her immediately, as if hoping to catch her gaze, to confirm that yes, she was talking to him.

Sevika, realizing her mistake, grunted and looked away, pretending to be more interested in the scratches on her gauntlet. But you caught the way her lips twitched—just a little.

She was cracking. And Cassian noticed it too. Because after that day, he started looking for her.

"Sevika, look! Sevika, watch me!"

Every time he figured out how to stack his blocks higher, every time he coloured some messy, indecipherable drawing, he would turn to her. His little hands clutching whatever prize he had just created, his wide, bright eyes searching for her approval.

And for the first few weeks, she didn’t know how to handle it.

At first, she would only grunt, offering vague hums of acknowledgment, trying not to encourage the idea that she was interested. But then came the day when you caught her off-guard.

You had stepped into the other room for barely a second, just long enough to grab a rag to wipe down the counter, and when you returned, you found them.

Cassian was standing by her chair, holding up a crude little drawing in his tiny hands. Sevika, who had spent weeks acting like she wanted nothing to do with him—was holding it. Holding it with her flesh hand, turning it slightly as if actually studying it.

It was a mess of smudged crayon and clumsy shapes, mostly scribbles that barely resembled anything at all, but Cassian was waiting. Waiting for her reaction.

Sevika exhaled heavily through her nose. Paused. Then—softer than you had ever heard her speak before—she muttered:

“Not bad, kid.”

And that was the moment it all changed.

Because Cassian grinned—this wide, toothy, purely delighted grin—and without hesitation, he wrapped his little arms around her leg, hugging her.

Sevika tensed immediately, her entire body going rigid, as if the sudden contact had physically struck her.

For a split second, you thought she would push him away. Not out of cruelty, but out of pure panic, the same way a soldier reacts on instinct when something unexpected happens.

But then— She didn’t. She didn’t push him away. She let him stay.

And for a second—just one second—her flesh hand twitched, hovering awkwardly before finally, carefully, settling against his small back.

It wasn’t much. Just a single, brief pat. But it was enough. More than enough.

And as Cassian pulled away, his tiny voice filled with pride, he beamed up at her and said something that made Sevika’s entire world tilt.

“I like you, Sevika.”

You swore you heard her stop breathing. The words hung in the air for a long, aching moment. And then, after what felt like forever, she swallowed hard and muttered—rough, hesitant, but genuine:

“…Yeah, kid. I know.”

She wouldn’t say it back. Not yet. But the walls were cracking. And she didn’t try to rebuild them.

It happened one quiet evening, Cassian had been toddling across the room, his small hands clutching a worn wooden toy, the paint chipped and faded from years of use. He had claimed it as his favorite weeks ago, always keeping it close, dragging it across the floor as he moved with that unsteady, fearless energy that only children possessed. His tiny feet pattered against the old floorboards, his laughter filling the apartment, an innocent sound in a city that had very little innocence left to give.

And then—he tripped.

It happened so fast—too fast.

One small misstep. A tiny foot catching on a loose floorboard. The sharp, startled gasp that left his lips just before his little body pitched forward, too quickly, too suddenly.

Your chest tightened. Instinct kicked in, panic seizing every muscle in your body as you moved, heart lurching toward your throat—

But you didn’t get the chance. Because before you could even react— Sevika was already there.

She moved like a shadow cutting through smoke, reacting before thought, before hesitation could creep in, before the fear of touching him could take hold.

Her flesh hand caught him mid-fall, strong, steady, effortless, while her mechanical arm hovered awkwardly at her side, twitching slightly as if wanting to help but too afraid to touch.

And then—she froze.

Her entire body locked up, muscles tense, shoulders rigid as if she had just caught a live grenade instead of a child. Her breathing grew uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as she held him—not pulling him closer, not letting him go, just holding him.

She was stiff, uncertain, like she had just realized what she had done. Like she didn’t know what came next.

Cassian sniffled, his big, teary eyes blinking up at her, tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of her vest in a quiet plea for comfort. For a brief moment, you expected him to cry—to reach for you, call for you, the way he always did when he needed reassurance.

But instead— He giggled.

Soft. Light. Completely unbothered.

As if being caught by Sevika, of all people, was the most normal thing in the world. Then, before she could even begin to process it— His little arms wrapped around her neck.

His body curled into her chest like he had done it a thousand times before, the kind of trust that was so pure, so absolute, that it felt impossibly heavy in a way Sevika had never known.

And then— One small, earth-shattering sentence.

"You're really warm, Mom."

Sevika went completely still.

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as if the words had physically struck her. Her grip on him faltered for just a second—not enough to drop him, but enough for you to see it. That moment of absolute disbelief.

The way her jaw clenched, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, the way her entire world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t do anything except stand there, frozen, as the weight of those words settled over her like a tidal wave, drowning her in something too big to contain. You could see it breaking her down.

The way her usual sharp, hardened exterior crumbled at the edges, unravelling into something raw and aching.

You had seen Sevika take hits that would have shattered another person. You had seen her face death without flinching, without hesitation, without fear.

But now?

Now she looked like a woman who had just been laid bare—a woman who had spent years building walls around herself, only for a single sleepy, innocent voice to tear them all down in seconds.

Her flesh hand, the one still clutching Cassian, slowly relaxed. Her metal fingers, which had always hesitated, always hovered just out of reach, finally—carefully, cautiously—brushed against his small back.

A light, almost hesitant touch. Like she was testing whether she was allowed to hold him. And then—so softly, so quietly, you almost missed it—

She exhaled.

The tension in her body eased—not completely, but enough. Her flesh hand shifted slightly, adjusting, settling, cradling him with more certainty than before.

Her grip, once stiff and unsure, became something else. Something solid. Something secure. She still looked overwhelmed, still looked like she wasn’t sure what to do with the small child pressed against her, but—

She didn’t let go. She didn’t pull away. And her eyes—her sharp, battle-worn, haunted eyes—shimmered.

She wouldn’t cry.

Not in front of you. Not in front of him. But you knew. You took a quiet step forward, closing the space between you, placing a gentle hand over hers. Sevika startled slightly, like she had forgotten you were even there. Her gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for the first time in a long, long while—

She looked afraid. Not of Cassian. Not of breaking him. But of losing him. Of losing the one person in this world who had just called her ‘Mom.’ Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper, raw and unsteady.

“…Guess I’m a mom now.” You smiled, your fingers squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You are.”

And Sevika— who had spent her life closing herself off, keeping people at a distance, choosing steel and strength over softness— Held Cassian a little closer.Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you noticed. And for the first time in a long, long while—

Sevika didn’t look so afraid.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you

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surielstea · 2 days ago

Text

Dancing With Fate - III

Read part one and two first!

Pairing: Nyx x TamlinsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Nyx and Reader are advancing in their relationship, now in the Day court where they can spend time together without fear of getting caught.

Warnings: A little heated kissing but this is just a fluff chapter!

A.Note: Guysss this little series is about to get so good and juicy I promise, also please vote on this poll for what you’d like to see in the next chapter!

Wordcount: 7.5k

The morning I was set to leave, Spring Court's estate felt suffocating. The weight of my father's expectations, the ever-watchful eyes of the sentries, the knowledge that I was slipping away not just for a visit—but for him—pressed down on me. I told myself it wasn't a lie. I was going to see Lucien. I was supposed to be there. But deep in my chest, the bond hummed, whispering truths I couldn't ignore.

I could still feel his lips on mine, the press of his hands at my waist, the quiet promise he had left me with before I winnowed away. Three days. It had felt like an eternity. Now that the time had come, I found myself glancing over my shoulder as I crossed the courtyard, my pulse quickening with every step toward the open lands of Spring.

My father had been surprisingly agreeable when I asked to visit Lucien—perhaps because I rarely asked for anything at all. Perhaps because it was easier for him to believe I sought an escape rather than suspect the truth. Either way, the approval had been granted after minor convincing.

I let out a slow breath, focusing on my destination as I prepared to winnow.

The air shimmered around me, and with a final glance at my home—if it could even be called that—I vanished.

The Day Court was a world of golden light and sprawling dunes, a kingdom carved from the sun itself. I landed on one of its marble pathways, the heat instantly settling over my skin like a second layer. White and gold towers stretched toward the sky, the brilliance of them nearly blinding.

Lucien was already waiting.

He leaned against one of the courtyard pillars, arms crossed, his red hair catching the sunlight in hues of copper and fire. He arched a brow the moment I appeared, pushing off the pillar with a lazy sort of grace.

"You're on time," he mused. "Did the skies part for a miracle, or are you actually excited to see me?"

I rolled my eyes, falling into step beside him as he led me toward the palace. "Don't flatter yourself, Lucien. I'm just desperate for decent company."

His chuckle was warm, genuine, but his sharp gaze flickered over me, assessing. Lucien always noticed more than he let on. "And here I thought Spring Court was finally growing on you."

I scoffed. "Like poison."

Lucien didn't argue. He simply guided me through the sunlit halls, the scent of citrus and sea breeze drifting through the open archways. But I could feel the words he wanted to say pressing against his tongue.

"Go on," I said finally. "Say whatever it is you're thinking before you combust."

He cast me a knowing glance. "You have a look about you."

I blinked. "A look?"

"A very particular look." He stopped in front of a set of golden doors, his expression unreadable. "The kind that usually means trouble."

I fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "You're imagining things."

"I've known you since you were six," Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, pushing the doors open. "But if you say so."

The throne room was empty when we stepped inside. Not that I expected anything different—Lucien had told me Helion would be absent for the week, handling an issue near the borders. It made my request easier, less complicated.

"How long will I be staying?" I asked, trailing a hand along the intricate carvings of the marble table.

"As long as you need," Lucien answered, his voice easy, but his gaze watchful. "But your father expects a week. Don't get any ideas."

I turned to him, weighing my words carefully. "You did say I could visit whenever I wanted."

"That, I did," he acknowledged. "But I also know you don't make casual trips anywhere. So either you've grown fond of me—" He smirked. "—or there's something else going on."

I hesitated, the bond thrumming softly in my chest. Nyx would be here soon. I could feel it, that gentle pull like a tide calling me home.

"I just need time," I said finally. "Time away from Spring. Time to breathe."

Lucien studied me, his expression softening just slightly. Then he nodded. "Then you'll have it."

Relief flooded through me, but before I could thank him, the air behind me stirred.

The scent of summer rain and star-kissed skies filled the room.

My breath caught.

Lucien's lips twitched, amusement flashing in his russet eye as he glanced past me. "Right. Now this all makes sense."

I turned, and there he was.

Nyx stood in the archway, clad in deep blue, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His sapphire eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering within them.

A slow, lazy smirk curved his lips. "Miss me, princess?"

Lucien let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Cauldron boil me. You do have a look about you."

Nyx didn't hesitate as he crossed the room, moving with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to look away. Like the world had never given him a reason to doubt himself. Like he belonged here, with me.

The bond hummed softly in my chest as he stopped a few feet away, his gaze settling on Lucien with a quiet, knowing amusement.

Lucien, for his part, didn't seem surprised. He just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before leveling a sharp look at me. "So. This is why you came."

I winced. "Lucien—"

He held up a hand. "Tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?"

I hesitated, stealing a glance at Nyx, who only smirked. Smug bastard. "It's...new."

Lucien arched a brow. "New?"

"Three days," Nyx supplied unhelpfully, rocking back on his heels. "Well, three days since she kissed me."

Lucien's eye twitched. I swatted Nyx's arm.

"Since we kissed," I corrected.

Lucien's gaze flicked between us, unimpressed. Then he exhaled heavily. "And your parents?"

My stomach twisted. I dropped my gaze, my fingers curling into the sleeves of Nyx's jacket. "None of them know."

Lucien let out a short, humorless laugh. "Gods, just like your parents. Just like them." He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. "Why do both of your families insist on making my life difficult?"

"Lucien—" I started, guilt pressing into my ribs.

"I know, Fawn," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You're good. You're okay."

I exhaled, my shoulders loosening slightly. I hated using Lucien's kindness like this, but I needed this. I needed to be here, needed him.

Lucien gave me a long, considering look before sighing dramatically. "My wife will be thrilled that Nyx is visiting, so I suppose you can stay." He gave a look of acknowledgment to the heir of Night.

Nyx dipped his head in gratitude, but before he could respond, Lucien turned to him fully with a sharp, easy threat. "Though, if you hurt her, and I'll be sending armies to your doorstep."

I groaned. "Uncle—"

"Completely understood," Nyx said, ignoring my protests.

Lucien only huffed, then turned toward the open archway. "Come on, Your Highness, let's get you settled before I regret my entire existence."

Nyx winked at me before following, falling into step beside him as they led me through the sunlit halls.

—

Lucien's home within the Day Court was smaller than the palace itself but no less grand. The rooms were warm, decorated in golds and creams, with sweeping balconies that overlooked the distant dunes.

Lucien pushed open a set of doors, revealing a guest suite. "This is for her," he said pointedly, flicking his gaze to Nyx. "You, however, can take the room down the hall."

Nyx smirked. "Separate rooms? What do you take me for, Vanserra?"

Lucien gave him a deadpan stare. "Someone with a death wish."

I stepped inside before they could continue, rolling my eyes. "You two are worse than children."

Nyx only chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as I took in the space. It was lovely—soft linens, airy curtains, a private balcony that bathed the room in golden light, and a ginormous bathtub sunken into the floor like the room's very own indoor pool. All this for a guest?

I was going to tease Lucien about it but when I turned back, Nyx was watching me carefully.

"We don't have long," he murmured, the humor fading just slightly from his voice.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress. "I know."

Lucien cleared his throat. "Right. That's my cue to leave." He shot me a look, something softer beneath his usual exasperation. "Get some rest, Fawn. Meet me for breakfast in the morning."

I nodded, and with one last warning glance at Nyx, he slipped out.

Silence settled.

Nyx didn't move from the door. He just looked at me, something unreadable in his expression.

Three days. Three days without him, and yet the pull between us was stronger than ever.

I let out a slow breath. "I missed you."

Nyx's smile was slow, knowing. He stepped closer, hands bracing on either side of the doorframe. "Yeah?"

My pulse fluttered. But I refused to look away. "Yeah."

Nyx hummed, gaze sweeping over me like he was committing me to memory.

"C'mere then." He gives me one of those signature smirks.

I let go of the grip I had on my dress as I approached him, suppressed smile on my face.

His eyes follow me, watching my every movement as I come closer but not making a move to cross the threshold of my bedroom.

I peer up at him through my lashes, blinking once, twice. Then, "I missed you too," He murmured, leaning down and sealing a gentle kiss to my aching lips.

I pulled away first, and immediately regretted it the moment his lips left mine.

But he moved away, and with a quiet, secretive grin, he murmured, "Come find me when you can't sleep."

And just like that, he was gone.

—

Sleep evaded me.

I had tried—tried curling into the soft sheets, tried counting my breaths, tried pretending the bond wasn't a tangible thing pulling me toward the other side of the hall. But it was no use. The awareness of him, of Nyx, was a whisper against my skin, a constant hum in my chest.

With a soft exhale, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of my room.

The halls were quiet, bathed in moonlight. The Day Court at night had a different kind of beauty—soft, glowing, endless. I made my way toward his room, heart hammering for reasons I wasn't ready to name.

Nyx must have sensed me before I even reached the door, because the moment I lifted my fist to knock, it swung open.

He stood there, leaning lazily against the frame, shirtless, like he had been waiting. His smirk was immediate. "Couldn't stay away, Princess?"

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him into the room and inviting myself in. "Don't flatter yourself."

His room was similar to mine, only slightly smaller, with the same open balcony letting in the cool night air. The scent of him—night-blooming jasmine, crisp wind, something uniquely Nyx—wrapped around me instantly.

I turned just as he shut the door, crossing his arms. "So, what's keeping you up? Me?" His grin was all arrogance.

I huffed. "The bond."

Nyx's eyes darkened slightly, but he still managed a chuckle. "I am the bond, sweetheart."

Heat bloomed in my chest, but I ignored it, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed with a casual grace. "We should talk about it."

Nyx arched a brow. "About how wildly in love with me you already are?"

I tossed a glare at him. He returned it with a laugh, his sapphire eyes somehow beckoning me closer. "Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Let's talk."

I swallowed, unsure where to begin. "Are we...accepting it while we're here?"

Nyx's expression turned thoughtful, something softer creeping into his gaze. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't want to rush you," he said, voice low, steady. "But I also don't want to pretend it's not there."

I nodded slowly. That was the problem. The bond was there, a silent, unyielding thing, urging us closer. Ignoring it felt unnatural. But accepting it—fully—was irreversible. And rejecting it, for some reason, was out of the question.

Nyx must have sensed my hesitation because his lips twitched. "You know," he mused, a grin on his lips that could only mean trouble, "Lucien and Elain's rooms are at the opposite end of the hall."

I blinked, confused. "And?"

He smirked. "So if there are any... aftereffects of us accepting the bond, they won't hear a thing."

Heat flooded my face. "Nyx."

He grinned. "Just saying, if you're worried about keeping them up—"

"Nyx." I smacked his arm, and he just laughed, catching my wrist with ease.

With a soft tug, he pulled me forward until I was standing between his legs. My breath hitched as he peered up at me, his grip warm, steady.

"You're overthinking it," he murmured.

I bit my lip tentatively. "It's a lot to think about."

His hands slid up my arms, slow and careful, like he was mapping out the places he could touch, where I would let him. "Then don't think," he whispered. "Just...stay."

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I let out a breath and climbed onto the bed beside him.

Nyx shifted easily, stretching out against the pillows, one arm behind his head as he watched me settle in. "See? Not so bad."

I rolled onto my side, facing him. "Don't get used to this."

"Too late," he said, grinning.

A comfortable silence stretched between us, the weight of the bond settling into something warm, something oddly familiar.

Then—

"What if we did accept it?" I asked softly, tracing patterns into the sheets with a fingertip.

Nyx was quiet for a moment. When I glanced up, his gaze had softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"I think," he murmured, reaching over to brush his knuckles against my cheek, "it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

His thumb skimmed the corner of my mouth, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.

"Like something I don't ever want to stop."

A shiver ran through me, but I forced myself to scoff. "You're so dramatic."

He chuckled, his hand drifting away, but not before his fingers brushed against my wrist, lingering. "You love it."

I did. I really, really did.

Nyx was still watching me, his expression unreadable but utterly devastating. His fingers, still barely brushing against mine, curled slightly, testing.

I should have pulled away. Should have ignored the way the space between us felt unbearable, like a string stretched too tight, ready to snap.

Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers fully intertwine.

Nyx inhaled sharply.

His other hand lifted, tracing the shape of my jaw before tilting my chin up ever so slightly. His touch was featherlight, like he was waiting for me to pull back, to stop this before it started.

I didn't. I couldn't.

His eyes darkened, and I barely had time to take a breath before his lips brushed against mine.

Soft, at first. A question. I answered by pressing closer, hand against his hard chest.

Nyx groaned, low in his throat, and then he was kissing me in earnest, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, pulling me flush against him.

Heat curled through me, my body igniting at the sheer rightness of it—of him. His lips moved against mine with slow, devastating precision, coaxing, deepening.

I gasped as his teeth grazed my lower lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a way that had my fingers running up his nape and tangling in his hair, pulling, needing.

Nyx growled softly, his grip tightening, his body shifting so that I was beneath him now, the weight of him pressing into me in the most delicious way.

I should have stopped him. Should have reminded him that Lucien and Elain were likely eavesdropping, that this wasn't what we came here for.

But all I could do was gasp against his lips, drowning in him as he kissed me like he'd been waiting a lifetime to do so.

And maybe he had.

The tether between us hummed, alive, crackling like a storm ready to break. My entire body felt like it was on fire, burning for something I wasn't sure I was ready for—but gods, did I want it.

Nyx pulled away just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breaths ragged, uneven. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his lips barely brushing against mine. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I didn't say anything.

Because I didn't want him to stop.

Instead, I tightened my grip in his hair and kissed him again.

Nyx practically purred, deepening the kiss instantly, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my waist like he was trying to anchor himself. I whimpered as he tilted my head back, his lips tracing a path along my jaw, down my throat—

I shuddered. "Nyx—"

He froze, his breathing heavy. "Too much?"

I hesitated, my mind hazy, body thrumming, aching. I didn't want to stop, didn't want this night to end—but I knew if we kept going, if I let him keep kissing me like this, there would be no turning back.

Slowly, I nodded.

Nyx let out a shaky breath, then pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back, dragging me with him. His arm curled around my waist, keeping me tucked against his side.

I pressed my face into his chest, inhaling deeply. His heart was racing.

"Sleep, Princess," he murmured against my hair, pressing a final kiss to my forehead.

I exhaled softly, my body still humming, my lips still tingling, my heart still pounding.

But as Nyx's warmth surrounded me, as his arms tightened slightly around me, I found that—for the first time all night—I was finally at peace.

And sleep came easily.

The warmth of the Day Court sun streamed in through the open balcony doors, golden light spilling over the plush bedding and dancing across the smooth marble floors. A gentle breeze carried the scent of citrus and wildflowers, and the distant sound of birdsong filled the air—soft, melodic, impossibly peaceful.

I stretched beneath the silk sheets, the remnants of sleep clinging to my limbs. Nyx's steady breathing was warm against my neck, his arm a heavy weight draped over my waist. The bond hummed between us, quiet, content.

Carefully, I slipped from his grasp, his fingers twitching slightly in protest but aside from that he didn't stir.

I smiled to myself, watching as he burrowed further into the pillows that likely smelled of me, the golden light turning his midnight-dark hair almost copper in the morning glow.

For a male who spent so much time under the stars, he certainly slept through the hours of night like a log.

Shaking my head fondly, I padded across the room, stepping out into the hallway and making my way back to my own quarters across the hall.

The Day Court truly was beautiful in the morning—the soft glow of the sun filtering through sheer golden curtains, the air crisp and warm all at once. By the time I reached my room, I was fully awake, the peaceful hum of the court settling over me like a second skin.

I dressed in a white silk gown, the fabric flowing like liquid over my frame, cinched at the waist with a delicate golden belt. My jewelry was plentiful—thin, glimmering chains draped over my collarbones, golden cuffs sliding up my arms, rings adorning my fingers.

I had just finished fastening the final piece of jewelry when the door behind me creaked open.

I caught his reflection in the mirror before he could even enter.

Nyx stood in the doorway, his hair an absolute mess, his eyes heavy with sleep. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, his bare chest golden in the sunlight, the tattooed whorls of the night sky on his skin dark against the warm glow. He was beautiful—in that utterly devastating, ruinous kind of way.

He said nothing as he crossed the room, his steps slow, languid, his body still half-asleep.

Then his arms were sliding around my shoulders, his bare chest pressing against my back, his face tucking into the crook of my neck. His lips brushed against my skin—soft, lingering.

"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror as he sighed against my skin. "You are such a night owl."

One of his hands trailed up my arm, fingers ghosting over the golden cuffs there. "That's because I am Night," he grumbled. "It's unnatural for me to be awake this early."

I huffed a quiet laugh, reaching up to lace my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. "And yet, you're awake."

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't abandoned me." His lips brushed over my throat again, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I have breakfast with Lucien," I reminded him, though the words were already losing their strength.

Nyx hummed, as if considering coercing me out of that particular plan. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers curling around my waist as he exhaled against my skin. "Or," he suggested, his voice a low murmur, "you could stay."

I turned in his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, "I'll be back soon."

Nyx sighed, dramatically, his hands tracing slow circles along my back. "You're cruel," he muttered.

I grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You'll live."

"Debatable."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could move, he kissed me again—slow, lazy, lingering. By the time he pulled away, I had half a mind to actually abandon breakfast.

But I forced myself to step back, smoothing my gown as I gave him a knowing look. "Go back to sleep, Night Prince."

Nyx smirked, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that was far too awake for someone who had been dead to the world only minutes ago. "You'll come find me after?"

I nodded. "I'll come find you after."

Seemingly satisfied, he took a slow step backward, his lips twitching. "Enjoy breakfast, princess," he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't miss me too much."

I barely resisted the urge to throw a pillow at him as I slipped out the door.

The Day Court's dining terrace overlooked a sprawling garden, the morning sunlight painting the marble floors in warm golds and soft whites. A faint citrus breeze carried through the open-air space, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, honeyed fruit, and roasted coffee.

Lucien was already seated at the table, a cup of tea in one hand, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"Good morning, Fawn," he greeted, setting his cup down as I slid into the chair across from him.

I sighed, reaching for a slice of peach from the array of food laid before us. "I knew I should have stayed in bed."

Lucien chuckled, reaching for his own plate. "You wound me. I would have thought you'd missed me."

"I did," I admitted, which earned me a pleased look. "But I also knew that my first morning here would be spent with you poking at me like a bored hound with a bone."

Lucien hummed, popping a grape into his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. "You make it sound so terrible."

I gave him a dry look. "You live for gossip."

"And you have been supplying me with an endless amount of it," he countered, flashing a sharp grin. "You and the heir to the Night Court, sneaking around behind your father's back?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Do you know how much restraint it takes for me not to send a letter to Tamlin about this?"

I nearly choked on my tea. "You wouldn't."

Lucien's russet eye twinkled with mischief. "Wouldn't I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, but there was no real threat in my stare. He was teasing—mostly. "You wouldn't because I'm your favorite."

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. "You think that's enough to keep me quiet?"

I plucked a croissant from the basket, tearing off a piece with deliberate slowness. "I also brought Nyx with me, which means Elain is getting a visit from her favorite nephew," I said sweetly. "And I doubt she'd be pleased if his visit was cut short by some ill-timed news reaching Spring."

Lucien raised a brow, amused. "Using my wife against me? Low blow."

"You leave me no choice."

He chuckled, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. "Fine, your secret is safe with me. For now."

I exhaled in relief, but he wasn't done.

"So," he continued, smirking, "do you always sneak into his bed, or was last night a special occasion?"

I set my croissant down with exaggerated care. "You are insufferable."

Lucien grinned, positively delighted. "Oh, come now. I'm merely curious."

I sighed, shaking my head. "And here I thought you wanted to talk about Spring."

Lucien's expression didn't shift, but I saw the flicker of something—wariness, perhaps, or exhaustion—pass through his russet eye before he settled back into that smooth, unbothered demeanor.

"You want to talk about Spring?" he mused, sipping at his tea. "Now that's a first."

I hesitated, fingers toying with the edge of my napkin. "It's been... stable?"

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh. "Stable is one word for it."

I lifted a brow, silently urging him to continue.

He sighed, swirling his tea in his cup. "Your father is as he always is. Withdrawn. Distrustful. Trying to mend what little he has left, though his attempts have been... half-hearted, at best." A pause, then a softer, "He does love you, you know. Don't take that for granted."

I looked down at my plate, a strange weight pressing against my ribs. "I know, I try not to. I love him too."

Lucien sighed, setting his cup down. "Well, that was depressing."

I let out a weak laugh, grateful for the shift in subject. "You brought it up."

"Yes, but now I regret it," he muttered before shooting me a sidelong glance, that familiar smirk returning. "Luckily, we have a much juicier topic to discuss."

I groaned. "Lucien—"

He ignored my warning tone, lips twitching. "How was sleeping with the Night Court's heir?"

"I hate you."

"Did you snuggle?" He grinned. "You did, didn't you?"

I picked up my spoon, debating throwing it at his head.

Lucien laughed, positively beaming. "Oh, this is delightful."

"You are the worst."

"I am," he agreed, unbothered. "But I'm also right."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

Lucien simply smiled, far too pleased with himself.

And somehow, despite his relentless teasing, breakfast was... nice. Easy, even.

Lucien had always been that way—quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but warm beneath it all. And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to enjoy that warmth, even as he smirked knowingly over the rim of his tea cup.

The soft pad of footsteps against marble had me glancing up just as Elain entered the terrace, sunlight catching in the golden waves of her hair. She was radiant in the morning glow, dressed in a pale yellow gown that complemented the warmth of her brown eyes.

Lucien's teasing stopped instantly.

His gaze softened, his entire being seeming to realign as he turned toward his mate. The smug amusement he had wielded so effortlessly moments ago melted into something quieter, something devotional, as if Elain were the only thing in existence.

"Good morning, my love," Lucien greeted, rising smoothly to pull out a chair for her.

Elain smiled at him, a soft, knowing thing, before placing a kiss on his cheek and settling into her seat. "Good morning," she replied before glancing at me, her expression warm. "I'm so happy you're here."

I smiled back, genuinely. "I'm happy to be here."

She took a sip of tea before asking, "What do you have planned for today?"

I glanced at Lucien, who was too busy staring at his mate to contribute to the conversation, then looked back at Elain with an amused huff. "That depends on what there is to do in the Day Court."

Elain brightened. "Oh, there's so much. The markets are always lovely in the mornings, and later today there will be a performance in the amphitheater—music, dance, sometimes storytelling, depending on the day. We could also visit the gardens."

At that, Lucien seemed to shake himself from his daze just long enough to say, "She loves the gardens."

Elain laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I do."

The moment their hands touched, Lucien's thumb traced small circles over her knuckles, his russet eye drinking her in as if he hadn't seen her in ages, as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world.

I looked away, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.

Instead, I focused on my tea, swirling it in my cup before Elain's next words had me stiffening.

"And what about you?" she asked gently. "What do you have planned with Nyx?"

Lucien tensed beside her at the mention of his nephew but, surprisingly, didn't interrupt.

I hesitated before answering. "I... don't know yet."

Elain tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You two seem happy."

A small, shy smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "It's... new."

Her expression softened. "New can be wonderful."

I glanced at Lucien then, at the way his entire world seemed to orbit Elain, at the ease with which they simply existed together.

They had a love that was constant, unshaken. One that didn't need to be loud or demanding, because it was felt—in the way Lucien always reached for Elain without thinking, in the way she always seemed to understand him without words.

I wanted that.

I wanted something sure. Something safe. Something like them.

Elain must have seen something in my expression, because she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You'll find your way," she assured me, voice as soft as the morning light.

I swallowed, nodding. "I hope so."

Breakfast ended not long after, Lucien and Elain caught in their own little world as I excused myself.

I walked back to my room slowly, heart and mind tangled in thoughts of what I wanted—of him.

And of whether or not we would ever have something like the love I had just witnessed.

I pushed open the door to my room, the silk of my gown whispering against the marble floor as I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the mess of dark hair sprawled across my pillows, the sheets tangled around long limbs and bare skin.

Nyx had crawled into bed. My bed.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "You do know you have your own room, right?"

A low, sleepy groan rumbled from the depths of my blankets, his face still buried in my pillow. "Too far," he mumbled.

I snorted. "It's across the hall."

"Exactly," he sighed dramatically, cracking one sleepy eye open. His voice was heavy with drowsiness, warm and lazy in a way that made something in my chest tighten. "Besides, your bed smells better."

I raised a brow. "That's not a compliment if you're just stealing."

He grinned, stretching like a cat before reaching a hand out for me. "Come here."

"Absolutely not."

His lips tilted into something smug. "Oh?"

"Nyx, it's nearly noon."

"So?" He patted the space beside him. "Come lay down."

I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped closer to the bed. "You are so lazy."

"Excuse me," he feigned offense, propping himself up on an elbow, hair a tousled mess. "I am strategic in my rest."

I huffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the moment I did, he was moving—strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me down beside him.

"Nyx!" I yelped, but he only laughed, tucking his face into the crook of my neck.

"There we go," he murmured, his lips pressing against my skin in a way that was entirely unfair. "Much better."

I sighed, pretending to be put out even as I melted into the warmth of him. "You are impossible."

"You love it."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my jaw. The argument died in my throat.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against my skin, his voice still thick with sleep. "Does every court suit you? Or are you just naturally perfect?"

A rush of heat curled in my chest. "Flattery will not get you out of trouble."

He hummed, brushing his nose along my cheek before stealing a kiss from my lips. "Five minutes," he mused, brushing another kiss over the corner of my mouth. "Just five and then we can get up."

"Fine. Five minutes." I lean into him, melting into the warmth that was his skin.

He kissed me again, slower this time as if savoring the remnants of whatever sweetness still lingered. "Lucien didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

I huffed a laugh, playing with the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Lucien is always a menace."

Nyx chuckled, his breath warm against my lips. "I bet he was insufferable."

"He was fine," I admitted, tracing a lazy pattern against his bare shoulder. "Elain joined us."

He tilted his head, brows lifting slightly. "Oh?"

I nodded. "She asked about you."

His lips curled. "And what did you say?"

"That you are insufferable, whiny, and prone to excessive dramatics."

Nyx gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Whiny?"

I grinned. "You are."

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "So harsh, princess."

I laughed, but the sound faded as he brushed his fingers over my cheek, his expression softening. "Did you sleep well?"

I hesitated before nodding. "I did."

"Good." He kissed me again, slow and sweet, his thumb brushing against my jaw. "I like waking up with you—even though you left me before I could."

Something inside me melted at the confession, at the sincerity in his voice.

I bit my lip, trying to fight back a smile. "You're so soft when you're sleepy."

He groaned, flopping onto his back. "And the moment is ruined."

I laughed, rolling onto my side to look down at him. "Come on, Nyx. Admit it."

His arm flung over his eyes. "Never."

I grinned, leaning down to press a teasing kiss against his jaw. "I like it."

His breath hitched slightly, but his arms wound around me again, pulling me closer.

And as I settled into the warmth of him, into the safety of his embrace, I realized—this, whatever we were becoming, whatever this bond between us was shaping into—felt new and foreign.

But gods, it was lovely.

After fifteen minutes Nyx still had me caged against him, his arms wrapped securely around my waist as if he had no intention of letting me leave. Every time I so much as shifted, his grip tightened, and a pleased hum rumbled in his throat.

"Nyx," I warned, pressing my hands against his bare chest, though my voice lacked any real heat.

"Mmm," he murmured lazily, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his lips ghosting over my skin. "Five more minutes."

I huffed, though the way my body betrayed me—melting into his warmth, my fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders—was not helping my case. "You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't recall."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "You're impossible."

He lifted his head slightly, his messy dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes. "And yet, you're still here."

I scowled at him, but it was utterly ineffective given the way my face was burning.

His grin widened. "You like this."

"No, I don't."

Nyx hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you don't." Then, as if to prove his point, he kissed me—slow and indulgent, his lips warm and sure against mine. My breath caught, my fingers tightening against his skin.

His hands roamed lazily, tracing along my waist, my back, settling just beneath the curve of my ribs. "You're so soft," he mused between kisses, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. "So warm."

I glared at him, my face burning. "You're so full of yourself."

His chuckle was dark and teasing. "Only because you make it so easy, Princess."

I groaned, flopping onto my back as he propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over me with a stupidly satisfied expression. "You are so lucky left my daggers in Spring."

Nyx only grinned, dipping down to nip at my jaw, his voice warm with amusement. "I'd like to see you try."

I shoved at his shoulder, but he barely budged. His weight was solid and steady against me, and I knew—knew—that I could have pushed him away if I wanted to. But I didn't.

Nyx's fingers skimmed along my arm, down to my wrist, to where he laced our fingers together. "Are you going to stay here with me?"

"I have things to do, you know."

"Like what?" He raised a brow, his nose brushing against mine. "Surely nothing more interesting than me."

I snorted. "You'd be surprised."

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Now that is just cruel."

I rolled my eyes, lifting a hand to comb through his messy hair, smoothing it back. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, and my heart did something ridiculous in my chest.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "You're so clingy."

His eyes opened, a lazy smirk curling his lips. "And you love it."

I huffed, but my lips twitched despite myself. "Maybe a little."

Nyx's expression softened, his fingers brushing my cheek as he leaned in. "Good."

His mouth pressed against mine again, stealing whatever breath I had left. My heart raced, my fingers fisting in the fabric of the sheets as his hand traced down, over the silk of my gown, teasing along my thigh. His touch burned—not in a way that made me want to pull away, but in a way that made me want more.

And that should have terrified me. It didn't.

It only made me want to hold onto him tighter, to let myself fall.

I exhaled shakily when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. He was still watching me, waiting.

And gods, I knew. I knew.

The mating bond shimmered between us, pulsing, undeniable. I could feel it, pulling me closer to him with every breath, every heartbeat.

I wanted it.

Screw that our parents didn't know. Screw that this would be irreversible. That once we accepted it, there was no undoing it, no way for them to separate us even if they tried.

I wanted this. I wanted him.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what that meant.

"Nyx?"

"Princess?" he drawled, his voice thick with warmth, teasing as he brushed his fingers over my wrist.

I hesitated for a moment before saying, "Can you teach me how to block you out of my head?"

Nyx's lips twitched. "You mean my Daemati powers?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He hummed in thought, tilting his head. "Of course. Though, why the sudden interest?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral, knowing full well he'd see right through me if I wasn't careful. "Just seems like a good skill to have."

Nyx studied me for a long moment before his lips curved in amusement. "You're a terrible liar."

I scowled. "Am not."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Alright, alright. Come here."

I let him shift us so I was sitting cross-legged in front of him, his hands resting lightly on my knees. His gaze softened, the usual teasing glint dimming just slightly as he said, "I want you to imagine a wall in your mind. Something strong. Something unbreakable."

"A wall," I repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Picture it. And then focus on reinforcing it. Make it thick, make it impenetrable." His thumb traced circles against my knee as he watched me carefully.

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I tried to summon that wall.

"Good," he murmured. "Now, I'm going to push just a little—try not to let me in."

I gritted my teeth as I felt the gentle probing at the edges of my mind. It was strange—like a featherlight touch, testing the defenses I'd barely managed to put up.

"Your wall is shaky," Nyx noted, the laughter in his voice evident. "I could break through it in an instant."

I cracked an eye open to glare at him. "You're so encouraging."

He grinned. "I'm just being honest."

I huffed, closing my eyes again and focusing, really focusing, on that barrier. I imagined thick, towering walls, impenetrable and unwavering. I strengthened them, bracing them against his presence.

Nyx hummed in approval. "Better."

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

"Huh," he muttered.

I opened my eyes to find him blinking at me, mildly impressed. "What?"

"You actually did it." He tapped his temple. "Can't hear a thing."

I grinned, triumphant. "Told you I could do it."

Nyx chuckled, his hands sliding up to my waist as he pulled me toward him. "I could still break it." He makes clear. "But now I can't hear em' unless I want to."

I smiled softly, "Good enough for me."

Then he kissed me.

Slow and deep, as if savoring the taste of victory along with me. His hands traced up my spine, his touch warm and steady as he pressed me closer. I melted into him, tilting my head to give him better access as his lips moved against mine with aching patience.

It was a reward, and I greedily took it.

When we finally parted, his lips trailed down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my neck. "I should teach you things more often," he murmured against my skin, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

I swatted at his shoulder, but it was weak at best. "Behave."

He laughed, the sound muffled against my throat as he kissed a slow path back up to my mouth. "Not a chance."

I sighed, allowing myself to collapse onto the mattress, tugging him down with me. Nyx followed willingly, draping himself over me as if he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"So," he mused, his lips brushing my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw. "What do you want to do today?"

We eventually collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together. His hands roamed lazily, his lips finding every inch of bare skin he could reach. Between kisses, we murmured about what we could do today—halfheartedly listing off places we knew we wouldn't go, tasks we knew we wouldn't complete.

"We could go for a ride?" I suggested idly.

Nyx hummed, lips brushing my collarbone. "Mmm, sounds nice." His fingers traced circles on my hip. "Or we could stay right here."

"Lazy," I teased, though I had no intention of moving either.

He nipped at my shoulder in retaliation, making me squeak. "Not lazy," he corrected. "Just—" He kissed the corner of my mouth. "Comfortable." Another kiss on my cheek. "Perfectly, completely comfortable."

My heart thudded, my fingers tightening around his bicep. I could still feel the bond shimmering between us, waiting.

Waiting for me. Because he seemed to have already decided that accepting it was his only choice, the only one he'd acknowledge at least.

Nyx pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression soft, but unreadable. "What?" he murmured.

I swallowed hard, smoothing my hand over his chest. "Nothing," I whispered.

Not yet.

He searched my face, but I knew he wouldn't find anything—not now. Because I had learned how to block him out. Because the next time I opened my mind to him, it would be on my terms. A choice. A gift.

Nyx pressed one last kiss to my lips before sighing, letting his head drop against the pillow. I curled into his warmth, letting my eyes drift shut, a secret burning in my chest.

The next time I let him in would be when I was ready to accept the bond. And I wanted it to be somewhat of a surprise.

Which meant he had to stay out of my mind—just for a few days. Just long enough for me to do what I had already decided.

What I knew I wanted.

I glanced at him then, at the male who had stolen my heart in the span of a few weeks, at the way he watched me with that easy, knowing smirk—completely unaware of what was coming.

A slow smile curled on my lips.

What I wanted.

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look.

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit.

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself.

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned.

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her.

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith.

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out.

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t.

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward.

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut.

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed.

Dean didn’t know what was happening.

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror.

“What did Ruby say this was for?”

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him.

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light.

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat.

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror.

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out.

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal.

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway.

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown.

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted.

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him.

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife.

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster.

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him.

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep.

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat.

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed.

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months.

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months.

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.”

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could.

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him.

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong.

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room.

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years.

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head.

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest.

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her.

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable.

She could be scary.

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?”

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back.

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed.

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you.

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some.

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean.

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean.

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway.

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity.

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more.

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be.

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down.

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave.

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression.

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in.

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second.

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more.

Because this thing was powerful.

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains.

He’s branded into you.

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this.

And he still won’t really look at you.

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom.

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing.

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink.

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning.

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to.

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him.

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought.

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him.

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store.

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation.

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt.

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly.

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules.

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target.

But now you’re putting Dean in danger.

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap.

You’re going to break.

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air.

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready.

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that-

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang.

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down.

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived.

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank.

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest.

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade.

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his.

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave.

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find.

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have.

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep.

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep.

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed.

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.”

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers.

You hadn’t even felt it.

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo.

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched.

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him.

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him.

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together.

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone.

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now.

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face.

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats.

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours.

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful.

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight.

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up.

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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joeliz99 · 1 day ago

Text

The Warmth of You- Danny Ramirez

Description: (Y/N) is overwhelmed, caught between exhaustion and self-doubt, but Danny reminds her that she doesn’t have to carry it all alone in a quiet night filled with warmth, music, and understanding.

Warnings: RPF, Fluff.

GIF Credit: @lesbiradshaw

The house felt unusually quiet on that Friday afternoon, the kind of stillness that seemed out of place when both Danny and (Y/N) were home. She had been going through a tough time lately, and her usual cheerful self seemed to be fading. Danny knew she needed space, and he was more than willing to respect that. But, deep down, he couldn’t just stand by and let her face it by herself.

The sun was already setting when she finally stepped out of their room, Danny calling for her a second time. She followed the sound of his voice, instinctively heading toward the kitchen as the smell of food floated toward her. As she rounded the corner, Danny turned his head from the stove, just as he finished the pasta. He turned the music down a notch to be able to talk to her.

"I'm almost done here. How’s it look?" he asked, a small grin tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) took a step closer, her eyes scanning the dish as he plated the second one.

"Look at you," She offered him a half-smile, "You decided to step it up this time. Looks great."

Danny flashed a smug smile in return, happy to see her smile, even if it was just a little. He handed her the plate, his voice playful. "Don't sleep on me, baby. What you learn right, you never forget." He tossed the towel over his shoulder, then grabbed his plate with one hand and a couple of drinks with the other.

"Come on," he said, nudging her toward the balcony.

(Y/N) followed him, a little confused as to why he was leading her outside instead of to their usual dining area. But as they reached the balcony, her confusion faded into surprise. He had transformed the space into a cozy little setup — a coffee table, the small sofa, and a couple of blankets arranged perfectly, creating a warm, intimate corner.

"Wow," she spoke softly, stopping for a moment to take in the scene. The last light of the setting sun bathed the space in a soft orange glow, casting gentle shadows over everything. It was quiet and peaceful.

Danny smiled, placing her plate down on the table and taking a seat on the couch. "I figured we could hang out here. It’s been a while since we did something like this."

He knew how much she loved watching the sunsets, and while they didn’t always have the luxury of enjoying them at the beach, they had found a place where they could at least catch that golden hour every now and then.

(Y/N) smiled, truly touched by the effort he’d put into making this moment feel special.

"This is really nice... Thank you," She settled beside him and crossed her legs while he handed her the food.

As they both settled into the cozy setup, the faint hum of the city below them was the only sound besides the occasional clink of their plates. Slowly, the golden light faded as the sky darkened, being replaced by the twinkling city lights. The soft sound of music played in the background, creating a comforting rhythm as they ate, the melody weaving its way through the air, adding a layer of calm to the moment.

Danny occasionally cracked a joke about how the whole dinner thing was turning out better than he expected, and (Y/N) playfully rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips. It was nice to have moments like this, the simple act of sharing a meal providing a sense of normalcy.

When they finished, he took their empty plates and set them aside, still humming to the music as he moved around the kitchen. (Y/N) didn’t say much, content to sit for a moment and let the evening sink in before Danny returned to her side and sat back down next to her.

The girl kept her eyes trained on the view, her thoughts drifting to places she hadn’t visited in a while. She felt the weight of everything she had been holding onto — the stress, the quiet sadness she hadn’t shared with anyone. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep it to herself; it was just hard to explain.

Danny, sensing the stillness in her, leaned back against the couch. Without a word, he shifted, making room as he laid down on the other side, and gently encouraged her to stretch her legs out. She hesitated for a second, but then did as he suggested, resting her legs across his lap. He mindlessly began to soothe one of them, his hand moving in soft circles as he waited for her to speak, giving her space but showing he was right there, present.

After a long moment, (Y/N) sighed softly, breaking the silence. She shifted slightly, her voice quiet, but steady. "You know," she began, "I think I’m burned out… I’ve been doing so much lately, always trying to get things done and it never seems like I’m doing enough." Her fingers absently traced the rim of her glass, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"It’s been hard to shake off. And honestly… I don’t even know if it’s worth it anymore. I mean… I’m trying to build something for myself, but it feels like everything’s slipping away. Work’s been a mess, and I’m barely holding it together. I don’t even know if I’m doing right by my family anymore." She paused, looking away, her throat tightening slightly. "I’ve spent so much time away from them, trying to prove I can do it… but at what cost? It feels like I’m losing control over everything I’ve worked so hard for."

Danny’s expression softened as he heard the vulnerability in her words. He could see it — the exhaustion, the frustration that had built up. His hand never stopped moving in slow, reassuring circles, and he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her more closely. "I get it. I really do. But you’re trying to carry so much on your own. No one can do that forever."

She let out a shaky breath, her voice thick with emotion. "I don’t even know how to let go of it all, though. I’m scared that if I do, everything I’ve been working for will just... disappear."

Danny shook his head slowly, his voice steady, but firm. He was a man who didn’t mince words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. "Look, (Y/N), I know how much you care and how you’re determined to build something great for yourself and for us. But let me tell you something — you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You’re not a machine, and you’re not meant to do this alone." He paused, giving her a moment to take in his words before continuing. "What’s the point of all the success, if it means you’re losing yourself in the process? And what’s the point if you don’t have the people who love you around to share it with? You don’t have to do everything perfectly, and you sure as hell don’t have to do it to prove to something to yourself or anyone else. I’m here, every step of the way, just like I’ve always been, and I’ve seen the wonders you’ve done with so little in your hands. You’re a doer, always been… But I need you to trust that it’s okay to rest and lean on me, and on the people who care about you whenever you feel like it.”

He shifted to face her, his gaze softening as he spoke, but there was strength in his words. "I can’t tell you what the right decision is. Only you can figure that out. But I’ll be here to support you, even when you don’t have it all figured out. That’s what we’re supposed to do for each other. And you know what? It’s okay to let go sometimes. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up or that everything’s falling apart. It just means you’re human."

(Y/N) blinked, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that, or how much she had been holding back. For the first time in a while, she felt the tight grip she had on her thoughts loosen a little.

Danny closed the distance between them, wrapping her in a tight embrace that she immediately reciprocated, her head resting against his chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles down her back, offering comfort without saying a word. There was nothing more to do in that moment—just be there, present for each other, and that alone was enough.

A familiar melody drifted through the speakers, low and steady in the background.

Danny recognized it instantly. It was one of his favorite songs—one she had introduced to him years ago in the middle of a record store.

He could still picture it vividly: her eyes lighting up as she flipped through vinyls, excitement spilling from her lips as she pressed a pair of headphones over his ears. That was the moment he really saw her. Not just as his best friend, not just as someone he cared about, but as something more—someone who felt like home.

And now, years later, that same song played between them. Danny glanced down at her, a quiet thought forming before he acted on impulse. Without hesitation, he rose from the sofa, his hands slipping to the curve of her back as he gently pulled her with him. She gave him a confused look, but he only smiled, guiding her into movement, slow and effortless, swaying to the deep rhythm of the music.

"I'm not about to waste this opportunity," he murmured, his grin widening when he saw the corner of her lips twitch up. His hands found hers, lifting them to rest on his shoulders, while his own slid down to her waist, keeping her close.

“Remember this song?” he asked, his voice laced with nostalgia.

Her expression softened as she nodded. “Of course I remember… Why wouldn’t I?”

They moved in sync, their bodies close and their steps unhurried. It was intimate in a way that words couldn’t quite capture—something between them that had always been there, something unspoken yet deeply understood.

There was a time when this moment had been nothing more than a distant dream, a quiet wish. Now, it was their reality, theirs to hold onto whenever they wanted.

As the song neared its end, Danny’s movements slowed, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his gaze flickered over her face. He dipped his head, his lips brushing softly against her cheek, trailing a path along her jaw, lingering at the birthmark just above her lips—one of his favorite details about her.

His hands moved with an ease that came from knowing her so well, gliding gently over her body as if committing every curve to memory.

When his hands found their way to the sides of her neck, his thumbs resting just below her jaw, she instinctively tilted her head up, her breath catching in anticipation.

Danny studied her for a brief moment, his expression unreadable—until his thumb ghosted over her bottom lip, and he finally closed the space between them.

The kiss was slow, deliberate. A deep, lingering exploration that held no urgency—only purpose. His lips moved against hers in a rhythm that felt like second nature, savoring the way she softened beneath his touch. His hold on her grew firmer, pulling her just that little bit closer, grounding them both in the moment.

There was something about the way he kissed her—like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be, nothing else he’d rather be doing than this—than her. The lazy drag of his lips, the way his tongue barely brushed against hers before retreating, teasing, deepening the kiss just enough to leave her wanting more.

And maybe that was the point.

When they finally parted, her lips were swollen, her breath uneven, her fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to steady herself. Danny took in the sight of her, his own breathing slightly heavier, his hands still cradling her face like she was something fragile, something precious.

She sighed, a soft, content sound that filled the space between them.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with something raw, something deeply felt. "For everything."

Danny smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His voice was quiet but certain as he murmured, "That’s why I’m here, baby… You’re never alone in this, not with me around."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary before pulling her back into his arms. And as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, she finally let herself believe it. That no matter what happened—no matter how heavy life got—he would always be right there, holding her through it all.

————————————

Just a quick little idea of something I couldn’t get out of my head. Soon there will be a new part for “You, Always.”

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny's shots to read. You're welcome!!!!

#danny ramirez #danny ramirez fic #danny ramirez x (y/n)#danny ramirez x you #danny ramirez x reader #fanboy #joaquin torres #fanboy x reader #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #danny ramirez fluff #danny ramirez gif #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #mickey garcia

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rafayelxsylusho · 3 days ago

Note

Not sure if you do requests! (I tried looking but I couldn't find anything so sorry in advance if you don't.)

I was wondering if you'd ever be willing to do a sylusxyouxrafayel piece! I think Rafayel and Sylus both have that delicious possessiveness to them that it would almost be like a competition but I'd imagine it make someone go a little crazy from how opposite of each other they appear.

Thanks!

Hi I do accept requests, it might take a bit of time for me to get to them but I try 😊.

This is how I picture it, I hope you like it!!

TW: Filthy smut

You opened your eyes, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains of an unfamiliar bedroom. A throbbing headache pulsed behind your temples as fragmented memories of the night before flashed through your mind, loud music, clinking glasses, the taste of alcohol on your tongue. And then, nothing.

You sat up abruptly, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the raised voices. The room spun slightly but you ignored the disorientation, focusing instead on the heated exchange between Sylus and Rafayel.

"...in danger if YOU were supposed to be taking care of her, not running around the city like some reckless fool!" Sylus shouted, his usually calm demeanor shattered.

Rafayel scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm and annoyance. "Oh, coming from the man who's been stalking her every move for years? At least I have the decency to be present when I say I'll protect her.

You blinked rapidly, rubbing your eyes and shaking your head as if to dispel the illusion. But no, Sylus and Rafayel remained, glaring at each other intensely, seemingly oblivious to your sudden awakening.

"Am I...am I dreaming?" you muttered under your breath, struggling to reconcile the fact that these two, who had never met each other to your knowledge, were now standing in the same room together and arguing about you.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool hardwood floor beneath your feet as you stumbled up on slightly unsteady legs. Your head throbbed and your mouth felt like cotton, remnants of the night before still lingering.

You felt strong arms grasp you before your knees could give out, pulling your limp body against a firm chest. The scent of cologne and something uniquely Sylus filled your nostrils as he held you close, his grip possessive and protective.

"Get your hands off of her," Sylus growled, his voice a low rumble in his chest that you could feel as much as hear. There was a warning in his tone, a clear message that he considered you his territory to defend. Rafayel, not one to back down from a challenge, tightened his own hold on you, his fingers splaying across your back as he pulled you more firmly against him. "I'm not letting go of her, not until I know she's okay," he retorted, his chin set stubbornly.

Their argument continued to escalate, voices rising as they stood there holding you between them. The last thing you registered before everything faded to black again was the feeling of their hands on your body, their chests pressed aginst your back and front, hearts beating with a matching intensity. Then, nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slowly regained consciousness again as you blinked open your heavy lids. Sylus and Rafayel were still there, their argument now a low, heated murmur but no less intense.

"...leave, Sylus," Rafayel was saying, his voice tight with barely contained anger

You tried to speak, your throat dry and scratchy. "W-what's going on...?" you croaked out, struggling to make sense of the situation. "Why are you both here? How do you even know each other?" Your words came out slurred and weak, your body still not fully under your control. You looked between the two men, seeing the way they eyed each other like rivals, the tension crackling in the air between them. The reality of your situation began to sink in, this was no dream. Somehow, some way, Sylus and Rafayel were both here, in the same room, arguing over you. And you were right in the middle of it. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, even as a fresh wave of dizziness threatened to pull you under again.

You looked around the unfamiliar room, your gaze landing back on Sylus and Rafayel. They stood frozen, eyes locked on you, expressions intense.

"Where am I?" you asked again, your voice slightly stronger this time. You needed answers, needed to understand how this bizarre situation had come to pass.

Rafayel was the first to speak, his brow furrowed in concern. "You're in a safe place, cutie. Don't worry, I've got you."

Sylus scoffed, "Not thanks to you" he retorted, his lips curling into a sneer.

Before they could launch into another argument, you interrupted, desperate for clarity. "Do you two...know each other?" you asked, looking between them in disbelief. "How is this even possible?"

Rafayel's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he glared at Sylus. "Yes, unfortunately we've known each other for years, Sylus here has been...keeping tabs on you.

Sylus's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Rafayel. "Fine," he bit out through gritted teeth. "Yes, it was mephisto that has been watching over you. Not that Rafayel here has been doing a very good job of it," he added with a scathing edge to his voice.

You stared at them both in disbelief, your mind reeling from their revelation. Without thinking, you pushed yourself up to standing, pointing an accusatory finger at each of them in turn.

"What makes either of you think I need your protection?" you demanded, your voice stronger now, tinged with anger and confusion. "I was having less trouble before I even met the both of you!" You couldn't believe the gall they had, arguing over you like some prize to be won when you had been managing just fine on your own until now. The realization that they had been secretly watching you left you feeling violated and furious. How dare they interfere without your knowledge or consent? Your heart raced as you waited for their response, determined to get to the bottom of this mess.

Rafayel stepped closer, his eyes softening as he circled around you. There was a change in his demeanor, a intensity in his gaze that made you feel both unnerved and strangely breathless.

"Why do you think you were doing okay before, cutie?" he asked, his voice lowering to a smooth, persuasive tone. "Luck? Or perhaps..." He paused, his fingers brushing lightly along your arm as he continued to walk around you. "...it was because of the protection we have been secretly providing you, even if you didn't know it."

His eyes met yours, and in them you saw a flicker of something raw and possessive. "You really think you could have lasted this long without someone watching your back?Without us?" There was a hint of vulnerability in his words, but also a underlying current of arrogance.

Sylus scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain as he spoke. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Rafayel. The fact that she ended up in danger last night is on you. If you had been doing your job properly, she never would have been in that situation." His eyes flashed with accusation as he glared at Rafayel, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Rafayel still didn't spare Sylus a glance, his intense gaze remaining fixed on you. "Well, cutie here said she was already home and going to sleep," he argued, his voice taking on a defensive edge. "I didn't know she was out partying with friends. I don't have some creepy mechanical crow stalking her every move, now do I?" There was a hint of bitterness in his tone, a jab at Sylus's invasive methods of protection.

You took a step back from both of them, your arms crossed tightly across your chest as you glared at Sylus and Rafayel in turn. Your eyes flashed with anger and frustration, your voice rising as you spoke.

"I really don't owe either one of you any explanations," you declared firmly. "And I don't need your so called protection, so stop." You felt a surge of independence and defiance, unwilling to be bossed around or controlled by either of them anymore. "I can take care of myself, and I don't appreciate being spied on or having my life interfered with like this." Your words were sharp and decisive, leaving no room for argument.

Sylus let out a low, rumbling chuckle at your defiant words, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and dark appreciation. "Feisty little kitten, aren't you?" he murmured, " or maybe a little dragon, all fire and fury, even when you're cornered." He took a step closer to you, his tall frame seeming to loom over you, his presence commanding and dominant. "And I think you do owe us an explanation," Sylus continued, his gaze intensifying as he searched your face. "We've both invested too much in keeping you safe to just walk away now." He reached out, his fingers brushing along your jawline, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his eyes. His hand remained under your chin, his thumb brushing back and forth as he held your gaze. His eyes bored into yours, intense and unyielding. "You can't deny it, can you? You've been playing us both, keeping me at arm's length even as you flirted shamelessly with Rafayel." His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with a mix of amusement and something darker, more possessive.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," Sylus continued, his other hand coming up to rest on your hip, pulling you just a little bit closer. "Mephisto can see everything, little dragon. He can see the way you blush and smile at Rafayels clumsy attempts to win your favor."

He leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice lowering to whisper. "Tell me, were you planning to keep us both dangling forever? Or did you intend to choose one of us eventually?" His eyes searched yours, looking for answers, for any hint of what you truly wanted. The air between you was charged with tension, Sylus's proximity making it hard to think straight.

"I...I wasn't!" you stammered out, flustered by Sylus's proximity and the intensity of his gaze. "I'm not playing with either of you." Your cheeks flushed hotly at the accusation, your heart pounding in your chest.

Before you could gather your thoughts to say more, Sylus interrupted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction

"Oh, I think you were," Sylus said, his voice still low and intense. "But perhaps Rafayel can enlighten us both." He tilted his head towards the other man, a smirk playing on his lips.

Rafayel stepped closer, crowding into your space on the other side. He inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening to pin you with a heated gaze. "I can smell your arousal, cutie," he murmured, his voice rough and low. "The same scent that clung to your skin when we went on our dates, when I held you close and whispered sweet nothings in your ear."

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I...I don't know what you're talking about," you managed to say, but your voice lacked conviction. Your body trembled slightly as Rafayel's words echoed in your mind, the truth of them impossible to ignore. You were attracted to both of them in a way that both thrilled and terrified you, and they both knew it. The knowledge put you at a distinct disadvantage in this bizarre standoff.

Sylus leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in a low, intense murmur. "How do I put this in simple terms, kitten?" His voice was a dark, velvety rumble, sending shivers down your spine. "You've been flirting with both of us, spending time with us, and right now..." His hand slid from your hip to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every hard inch of his body pressed against yours. "Instead of feeling unsafe or scared, you're feeling something else entirely, aren't you?" His other hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. "You're feeling turned on. Aroused. Desired. And we both know it."

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of jealousy and indignation as he glared at Sylus. "Maybe she doesn't want you, Sylus," he retorted, "Maybe y/n only wants me." There was a desperate, almost frantic edge to his words, a man clinging to a fading hope.

Sylus laughed, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke to Rafayel. "If you had a mechanical crow watching over her every move, as I do, you would have seen the way she reacts to my touch." His hand slid lower on your back, his fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your rear. "You would have seen the way her breath hitches and her pulse races when I'm near. The way her eyes follow me when she thinks I'm not looking. So don't think so highly of yourself, Rafayel. She wants us both, whether she's willing to admit it or not."

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement rushing through you. As much as you tried to deny it, you couldn't ignore the way your body responded to both of them. The way your heart raced and your skin prickled with goosebumps at their touch. You were caught between them, a pawn in their twisted game, but you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Some dark, hidden part of you reveled in their attention, their desire, even as your logical mind screamed at you to run.

As you turned around, to put some much needed distance between you and Sylus, you found yourself crashing against Rafayel's firm chest instead. His hands instinctively came up to steady you, one hand splaying across your lower back while the other cupped your jaw gently.

Rafayel gazed down at you, his eyes dark with emotion as they roamed over your face. They lingered on your lips for a long moment before flicking back up to meet your gaze. "Do you really want to go, y/n?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a raw, aching need that made your heart clench. It was clear that he didn't want you to leave, that the thought of you walking away twisted something deep inside him. His grip on you tightened slightly, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Behind you, Sylus let out a low, mocking laugh. "She's not going anywhere," he said confidently, his voice a dark rumble. "Are you, kitten?" His hand slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his hard chest. You could feel every contour of his muscular body pressed against you, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your clothes.

You were trapped between them, your heart pounding wildly as you looked up at Rafayel. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of indecision, any flicker of doubt. He saw the way your breath caught in your throat, the flush that crept up your neck to stain your cheeks. And he knew, as surely as Sylus did, that despite your words, you didn't really want to go. Not when you had both of them, so close, so eager, so hungry for you. The air between the three of you was charged with a dark, electric tension, the promise of something dangerous and thrilling hanging heavily in the space between your bodies.

Sylus leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You don't want this? Then we'll move. But if you stay..." His hand slid possessively to your hip, "If you stay, you're ours. Both of us, in every way imaginable." His other hand came up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his burning gaze over your shoulder.

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of triumph and dark promise as he looked down at you "You heard him, cutie," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Stay with us, and we'll give you everything you've ever wanted. Everything you never knew you needed." His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing the soft curve of your mouth.

Behind you, Sylus nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "We can give you the world. Power, pleasure, a love so intense it consumes you. You just have to say the word, and we're yours. Mind, body, and soul." His hand slid up from your hip to cup the swell of your breast, his thumb brushing over the peak of your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt.

A soft gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of Sylus's fingers grazing over the sensitive peak of your breast. Your body arched instinctively into his touch, craving more even as your mind reeled with the weight of their words.

When you turned your head to look up at Rafayel, his eyes were clouded with a mix of desire and desperation. His eyelids were hooded, his gaze heavy lidded as he stared down at you with a hunger that made your heart race. The air between you was electric, crackling with a tension that demanded release.

Acting on a primal instinct, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against Rafayel's in a kiss. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment before fluttering shut, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he kissed you back with a fervor that stole your breath away.

His lips moved demandingly against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you, to taste you, to consume you. One hand fisted in your hair, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, while the other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him.

Behind you, Sylus growled lowly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your breast as he watched Rafayel kiss you with a bruising intensity. "That's it, kitten," he purred darkly. "Give in to it. Give in to us."

Rafayel broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with a wild, almost manic look in his eyes. "Tell us you want this," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "Tell us you're ours, and we'll give you everything"

The kiss had only fueled the fire burning low in your belly, the ache between your thighs. You could feel the evidence of their desire pressed against you, hard and insistent and demanding. They were waiting for your answer, their bodies trembling with the effort of holding back, of giving you a chance to refuse.

You turned your head to the side, your lips finding Sylus's in a kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. It was different from Rafayel's kiss, darker, more demanding, more intense. Sylus kissed you like he was starving for it, like he wanted to devour you whole and consume every last piece of you.

As your lips met Sylus's, you felt Rafayel's knee press firmly between your legs, sliding up to brush against your most sensitive area through the fabric of your clothes. The sudden contact against your aching, clothed sex made you gasp, your body jolting with a surge of pleasure that quickly turned into a drawn out moan.

The sound of your pleasure echoed between the three of you as the kiss with Sylus broke, your chest heaving and your skin flushed. Sylus's eyes flashed as he heard your moan, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

"Listen to that sweet sound, the way you moan for us, kitten. You can't deny it anymore." His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes possessively as he pulled your hips back against his own. You could feel the thick, hard length of his arousal pressing your backside, leaving no doubt as to how much he wanted you.

“I bet I can get you off like this,” rafayel whispered, his voice teasing with an edge of promise. “Make you come without even putting my hands on you.”

He moved his leg, rocking it upward in a way that pressed perfectly against your clit. You whimpered loudly because, no doubt he could, but you didn’t want that.

“I want your hands on me,” you whispered. “Please"

Rafayel's eyes darkened with lust at your breathless plea, a smirk spreading across his face. "As you wish, cutie," he whispered "Tell me what you want, y/n , tell me how you want to feel my hands on you."

"Don't be shy, kitten," sylus said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "We can give you exactly what you need. All you have to do is ask."

One of Rafayel's hand slid slowly up your thigh under your skirt, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your skin prickled and tingled with anticipation as his touch crept higher and higher, inching towards the aching, empty space between your legs.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Is this where you want my hands, cutie? Right here?" His fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing and tormenting you.

You shook your head. “Higher.”

Rafayel looked at Sylus with a smirk, silently conveying a message between them. Sylus answered with a dark chuckle, his hand sliding up to the hem of your shirt.

"Of course, kitten," Sylus purred, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to stroke the bare skin of your stomach. "We want to touch you everywhere. To feel every inch of this exquisite body."

Rafayel's fingers crept higher, his touch now a mere whisper against your skin as he approached the edge of your panties. "Here?"

His eyes held a challenge, daring you to beg for it, to plead for his touch. Sylus's fingers slid up to the underside of your breast, his thumb brushing the bottom curve teasingly. They were close, so close to where you needed them, to where your body screamed for their touch.

You swallowed the embarrassment. “My…” you huffed at the words stuck in her throat. “My cunt.

Without warning, Rafayel slid his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers finding your slick, swollen folds. He groaned at the feel of your arousal, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening to pierce you with a hungry gaze.

"Fuuuuck," Rafayel breathed, his fingers stroking through your wetness, teasing your entrance. "You're fucking soaked, baby. Is this all for us?"

Behind you, Sylus growled approvingly, his hand cupping the full weight of your breast, kneading the soft flesh. "That's it, kitten. Tell us exactly what you want," he coaxed, his thumb and forefinger finding your nipple and pinching lightly.

Rafayel circled your clit with a feather light touch, not quite applying pressure, teasing you. His eyes, dark and hungry, watched your face intently, gauging your reactions to his touch. Sylus rolled your nipple between his fingers, tugging on it gently as his other hand slid down to your hip, holding you in place. "Don't be shy now," his lips brushing your ear. "Tell Rafayel exactly how you want him to touch you. Be specific."

You gasped as Sylus's fingers unzipped your skirt, the sound of the zipper teeth parting echoing in the air. The skirt fluttered to the floor, leaving you clad in nothing but your damp thong. You could feel the cool air against your newly exposed skin, making you shiver.

Rafayel's eyes flicked down to your newly exposed thighs "Or maybe...you want me to rip these panties off and bury my face between your legs until you scream?"

Sylus chuckled, his hands making quick work of your shirt. Buttons went flying as he tore it open, baring your lacy bra to his hungry gaze. "Mmm, I like the way you think," his fingers deftly unhooking the clasp at the front. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already hard and aching for his touch.

Rafayel's hands slid down your thighs, leaving your skin tingling with anticipation as he knelt before you. "Since you don't seem to have a preference, cutie," Rafayel murmured "I think I'll make the choice for you." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzled into the apex of your thighs. Your thong was the only barrier left between you now, the damp fabric clinging to your swollen folds.

Sylus took the opportunity to press himself against your back, his muscular chest against your bare shoulder blades, his hips nestling your ass against his straining erection. "Let him taste you, kitten," Sylus said, his hands kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples. "I want to watch him devour your pretty little cunt until you're screaming"

Just as Sylus finished that sentence Rafayel leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your clothed slit, groaning at the taste of your arousal. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to lick and suck at your aching sex through the damp fabric, his nose nestling against your clit.

Sylus rolled and pinched your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. He rocked his hips against you, his clothed cock sliding along the cleft of your ass, letting you feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you. Your head fell back against Sylus's shoulder, your fingers tangling in Rafayel's hair as you gasped and moaned, your body already writhing with pleasure.

Rafayel hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your thong and slowly peeled it down your thighs. He tossed it carelessly aside, leaving you bare and exposed before him. Sylus smirked, his eyes glinting with dark intent as he watched Rafayel admire your exposed sex. Without warning, he grabbed your thighs, his large hands easily encircling your legs just above the knees. "I think our dear Rafayel could use a little help"

You felt a tingle of Sylus's Evol power emanating from his hands, and suddenly, your thighs were lifted and positioned over Rafayel's shoulders. He grunted in surprise, quickly catching on and gripping your hips for support.

"Much better," Sylus said approvingly, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your inner thighs as Rafayel found himself face to face with your dripping, needy cunt. "Well, hello there, beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot and heavy against your swollen folds. "Aren't you just the prettiest little thing." He leaned in, his tongue darting out to flick against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. "Mmm, and you taste even better than you look," Rafayel purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble.

"Fuck, kitten," Sylus groaned, watching Rafayel work. "The way he's devouring your cunt, you'd think he was starving for it. And judging by how wet you are, I'd say you've been craving his touch just as much."

Sylus's fingers dug into the meat of your thighs, holding you in place as Rafayel licked and lapped at your folds, savoring you.

Rafayel paused his ministrations, his lips glistening with your juices as he gazed up at you, his eyes burning with intense desire. He gripped your hips tighter, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh of your ass. "If these were my last moments on this earth," Rafayel murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper, "there is no better way to go than with your legs wrapped tightly around my head and my tongue buried deep in this pretty little cunt."

Sylus chuckled, amused by Rafayel's words. "Do you hear that, kitten?" his fingers still gripping your thighs tightly. "Rafayel is already so pussydrunk, he's ready to worship it like it's the last thing in the world." As he spoke, Sylus used his Evol to keep your legs securely draped over Rafayel's shoulders, leaving you open and exposed to his eager mouth. His other hand came down to gently, but firmly, spread your pussy lips apart, revealing the glistening pink folds within.

Rafayel's eyes darkened with lust at the sight, his tongue darting out to teasingly circle your now fully exposed clit. Sylus pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure pain straight to your core. "Go on then, Rafayel," he encouraged him "Indulge yourself. Taste every drop of our girl's sweet nectar."

He leaned down to nip at your earlobe, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Be a good girl for him, kitten. Ride his face until you drench him in your cum. Show him what this pretty cunt can do." With that, Sylus gave your nipple a sharp tug, the slight discomfort only heightening the intense pleasure radiating from your core.

Unable to resist the overwhelming urge any longer, you began to grind your hips against Rafayel's face, riding his tongue with desperate need. Soft, needy whimpers spilled from your lips as you chased the pleasure he offered. Rafayel groaned in approval, the vibrations of his voice sending delicious shivers through your core as he gripped your hips tighter, pulling you harder against his mouth. He licked and suckled at your clit, his tongue delving deep into your entrance to taste your essence directly from the source.

Sylus continued his own sensual assault, rolling and pinching your nipples between his skilled fingers. He nipped at your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point before sucking a dark mark into your skin. "Fuck, I love seeing you like this. Completely lost in pleasure, putting on a show just for us."

"That's it, kitten, grind on his face, fuck yourself on his tongue. Use him for your pleasure until you're screaming our names and gushing all over him."

Rafayel plunged two long fingers deep into your dripping cunt, curling them just perfectly to hit that special spot inside you. The sudden, intense stimulation was too much, and you came undone with a scream of pure ecstasy.

"FUCKKK!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the walls as your body convulsed and shook. Your inner walls clamped down around Rafayel's fingers, rippling and fluttering as a wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Rafayel continued to pump his fingers in and out of your spasming sex, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit, drawing out your intense orgasm for as long as possible. He groaned in satisfaction, the sound muffled by your thighs and your gushing arousal flooding his mouth.

As the final waves of your intense orgasm subsided, you felt the warmth of Sylus's Evol dissipating from your thighs. Slowly, your legs slipped from Rafayel's shoulders, and you found yourself standing once more, positioned between the two men. Rafayel sat back on his heels, his lips and chin glistening with your essence as he gazed up at you with a look of pure satisfaction. He licked his lips, savoring your taste. When he stood, you immediately reached for the hem of his shirt, a fierce hunger in your eyes as you began to tug it upwards. He raised his arms, allowing you to peel the it off his toned body, revealing the lean muscles and smooth pale skin beneath.

Without pausing, you attacked his pants next, your fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. You yanked them down his legs, along with his underwear, leaving him just as bare as you were.

Rafayel let out a soft chuckle, amused by your eager desperation. "Eager, aren't we?" he teased. His cock jutted out proudly from a nest of dark curls, long, thick and already leaking at the tip. The sight made your mouth water, and you found yourself licking your lips unconsciously.

Sylus's hands slid around your waist, his fingers splaying across your stomach possessively. You could feel the heat of his breath on the back of your neck. You turned around to face Sylus, your eyes filled with the same desperate, lustful hunger you had shown Rafayel. Without a word, your hands reached for the buttons of Sylus's crisp black shirt, your fingers making quick work of the buttons.

He raised a brow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched you strip him with such eager desperation. "We have an impatient, kitten" He didn't resist as you shoved his shirt off his broad shoulders, revealing the network of scars that lined his skin. His chest was a work of art, each muscle clearly defined, his abs a perfect six pack.

Your fingers drifted lower, undoing his pants and tugging them down his thighs. Sylus stepped out of the pooled fabric, leaving him just as bare as you and Rafayel. His cock was a thing of beauty, thick and long, curving up towards his stomach. It was already rock hard, the head an angry red and leaking copiously. "Satisfied, kitten?" Sylus asked as he towered over you.

"Gorgeous isn't he?" Said rafayel behind you "But he's going to look even better with your perfect little pussy wrapped around his cock while you ride him." He gave Sylus a playful shove, urging him to sit back on the edge of the bed. As Sylus settled himself, his back against the headboard and his legs spread wide. "Go on, cutie," his eyes blazed with anticipation as he gestured to Sylus's impressive erection, standing tall and proud between his muscular thighs. "Climb on top and give us a show. Bounce on his cock until you're both screaming"

You climbed up onto the bed, straddling Sylus's muscular thighs as you gazed down at his cock, the thick, veiny length of him jutted out, so hard it seemed to throb with need. You couldn't help but doubt if he would fit inside you, your pussy clenching nervously at the thought.

Sylus smirked, sensing your hesitation. He reached out, his large hands gripping your hips possessively as he pulled you closer, the head of his cock catching against your dripping slit. "Don't worry, kitten, you can take it"

Just then, you felt Rafayel's presence behind you. His hands slid around your waist, his fingers splaying across your stomach as he pressed himself against your back.

"Shh, relax," Rafayel murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to feel amazing wrapped around him, cutie. His cock is going to fill you up perfectly." He nipped at your shoulder, soothing you with gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. "Just take a deep breath and sink down. I promise, you'll fit every inch of him. You're going to love every second of it."

As you started to sink down onto Sylus's cock, you felt your tight walls stretching around his thick girth. Inch after inch disappeared inside you, filling and stretching you in a way you had never experienced before. However, as you reached the halfway point, you suddenly stopped, your hips hovering just above Sylus's as a flicker of panic crossed your face. You clenched down around him, your inner muscles fluttering and quivering as they struggled to accommodate his size.

"I...I don't think I can go any lower," you gasped out, your voice strained with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. "You're too big, Sylus. I can't...I can't take all of you."

Behind you, Rafayel felt your stomach bulge slightly from the massive intrusion of Sylus's cock stretching your tight walls. He rubbed soothing circles over your taut belly, murmuring words of encouragement in your ear.

"Shh, just relax, cutie," Rafayel cooed, his hands kneading the flesh of your hips and stomach. "You can take this. Breathe through it."

He angled your hips slightly, tilting them in a way that allowed you to sink down a little further. At the same time, Sylus gripped your waist tighter, his hips surging up to meet yours.

The dual movement caused you to slide down Sylus's thick shaft, impaling yourself on every last inch of his cock. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you threw your head back with a loud moan.

"FUCK!" you cried out "Oh god, Sylus! You're so deep...so big...ahhh!" Your pussy clenched and spasmed around his throbbing member, trying desperately to adjust to the stretch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, every pulsing throb and twitch of his cock buried deep inside your core. Sylus groaned, his head falling back against the headboard as your scorching heat engulfed him completely.

Rafayel glanced at Sylus, a smug grin spreading across his face as he saw the look of pure bliss etched onto his features. Sylus's eyes were squeezed shut, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of the exquisite pleasure your tight, wet cunt was inflicting upon him.

"Wow, Sylus," Rafayel teased, "Not a word? I guess congratulations are in order, cutie. Your perfect little cunt has left our friend here completely speechless."

He punctuated his words with a roll of your hips, grinding you down against Sylus's pelvis and making you both groan at the intense sensation. Rafayel's hands slid up to your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft mounds as he played with your nipples.

"How does she feel, Sylus?" Rafayel asked with a chuckle, knowing full well the other man was too lost in pleasure to form a coherent response. Sylus could only let out another groan in response, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing ragged as he fought to maintain his composure.

Rafayel just smirked, loving the way your body had rendered Sylus at your mercy. "That's it, cutie," he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. "You've got him right where you want him. Now let's see if we you can make him beg for more..."

You started to move, your hands braced against Sylus's broad, muscular chest for leverage. Slowly, you lifted your hips until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down with a low moan.

Up and down you went, finding a rhythm as you rode Sylus. Your inner walls clung to him, slick and tight, creating a delicious friction that made you both groan with each movement. His hands roamed your body greedily, squeezing and groping every curve. He palmed your ass, spreading your cheeks and pulling you down harder onto his cock. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, guiding your movements as you bounced on his lap.

"Fuck, just like that," Sylus said, voice strained with pleasure. "Ride my cock, kitten. Take every inch of it" Rafayel watched the erotic spectacle with hooded eyes, his own arousal growing at the sight of you lost in lust.

"That's it, cutie. I want to see you fuck him into oblivion."

As you continued to ride Sylus with increasing fervor, you felt Rafayel's hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh. Just as you were about to cry out from the intense pleasure, you felt one of his hands snake around your hip, his fingers finding your sensitive, throbbing clit. He began to circle the swollen nub, rubbing and teasing it with skilled, practiced motions. The added stimulation made your walls clamp down even harder around Sylus's cock.

"Ohhh, FUCK!" Sylus roared, his head slamming back against the headboard as your clenching pussy pushed him to the brink. "Your cunt...god, it's squeezing me so fucking tightly. Don't stop, kitten. Keep milking my cock just like that."

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding on for dear life as you rode him. His hips surged up to meet yours, slamming his cock into you with deep, powerful thrusts that made your tits bounce and jiggle with each impact.

You felt Rafayel hot breath fanning over your neck as he continued to stimulate your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it, ride him harder, fuck him deeper. I want to see you milk his cock for every last drop of cum. Give him the best fuck of his life."

You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your body writhing and undulating as you rode Sylus's cock with wild enthusiasm. Your cries of ecstasy filled the room, mingling with Sylus's guttural groans and Rafayel's encouragement.

The final straw that sent you both hurtling over the edge was when Rafayel's hand slid down to Sylus's heavy balls. He massaged the sensitive balls, feeling them draw up tight as Sylus's orgasm approached. At the same time, Rafayel pinched your clit hard, the sharp sting of pain blending deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure. Your pussy clenched down viciously around Sylus's cock, gripping him as your orgasm crashed over you.

"FUCK! I'm...I'm going to cum!" Sylus screamed. His cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, growing even harder and bigger as his release neared. Your screams of rapture mingled with Sylus's cries, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room as you both hurtled towards your peaks. Sylus's hips jerked and stuttered, losing rhythm as he fucked up into you.

Rafayel jerked his hips forward, grinding your clit hard against Sylus's pelvis as he felt the other man's balls draw up tight. "Now, Sylus!" Rafayel commanded. "Cum for her! Fill her little cunt with your seed!" With a final, brutal thrust, Sylus buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming pussy. His cock erupted like a geyser, painting your insides white with thick, hot ropes of cum. Jet after jet of jizz pumped into you as Sylus moaned his release, his body shuddering and convulsing beneath you.

Your combined orgasms seemed to last an eternity, your bodies shaking and shuddering as you rode out the aftershocks. Finally, you collapsed against Sylus's sweat slicked chest, both of you panting and gasping for air.

"I bet people would pay a pretty penny to see their beloved leader reduced to such a debauched state. Sylus, the great and powerful, brought to his knees by Linkon's most beautiful hunter"

Sylus gasped sharply as your laugh made your inner muscles clench and ripple around his sensitive, softening cock. He gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he fought to maintain control.

"Don't make her laugh, Rafayel," Sylus growled, his voice still strained from the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. "Every time she does, her perfect little cunt squeezes me. Fuck, I can feel every inch of my cock even now..."

He rolled his hips up slightly, grinding his pelvis against yours and making you both groan at the sensation. Your combined juices, a mix of your arousal and his release, leaked out around his shaft, dripping down onto his balls and the sheets below.

Rafayel let out a low, appreciative whistle as he drank in the erotic sight before him, his artist's eye savoring every detail. He could see Sylus's thick, pearly essence slowly seeping out around your stretched, puffy lips where you remained impaled on the other man's cock. The creamy fluid trickled down, staining the expensive sheets beneath you.

"Fuck, what a gorgeous sight," his voice heavy with lust. "The way his cum is leaking out of your perfect little pussy, it's absolutely exquisite."

"I could paint this moment, cutie. Capture the way Sylus's release is dripping out of your sexy, well-fucked cunt... it would be my magnum opus. A masterpiece dedicated to the sheer erotic beauty of your body and its effect on him." Rafayel's hand slid down, collecting some of the leaking essence on his fingers. He brought them to his lips, making a show of licking them clean, his tongue swirling around the digits to lap up every drop of your combined juices. "Mmm, and to think, I'd only be able to paint it once I'd thoroughly tasted every drop of your combined pleasure. For art, and for my own selfish indulgence, of course."

Sylus just groaned, his fingers kneading the globes of your ass as he listened to Rafayel's words. He knew he should feel some measure of outrage at the way the other man spoke of his lover. And yet, the way your body trembled and clenched around his cock with each filthy word only served to arouse him again. It seemed there was no end to the ways you could reduce him to a state of desperate, aching need.

Before Sylus could gather the strength to fuck you again, he sat up suddenly, his hands gripping your waist tightly. With a grunt, he slowly slipped his softening cock out of your dripping cunt. You felt every thick inch of him sliding out, a fresh gush of your mixed releases spilling out of your fluttering hole as he withdrew. Then lifted you up and placed you right in front of Rafayel, your back pressing against the other man's chest. You could feel the heat radiating off Rafayel's naked body, his skin warm and slightly damp with sweat from the erotic show he'd just witnessed.

At the same time, you felt Rafayel's hard, throbbing cock press firmly against the cleft of your ass. It nestled in the valley between your cheeks, the thick shaft pulsing with need, smearing your skin with his pre-cum. His hands slid around your waist, one coming to rest low on your belly while the other cupped your breast possessively. He rolled and plucked at your nipple, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers as he ground his hips against your ass.

Sylus shifted position, lying on his stomach on the bed as he watched the two of you with a mix of satisfaction and renewed lust. He propped himself up on his elbows, his crimson eyes dark and intense as he gazed at your naked bodies.

You and Rafayel remained kneeling on the bed, your back pressed against his chest. You could his heart pounding, matching the frantic beating of your own as anticipation built between you both.

Suddenly, Sylus reached out and grabbed Rafayel's rigid cock. He gave it a few firm strokes, smearing the copious pre cum that leaked from the tip all along the thick shaft. When he lined up Rafayel's throbbing cock with your dripping entrance, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through your body. It was a thrilling mix of excitement, vulnerability and deep arousal to see Sylus's strong hand wrapped around Rafayel's cock, guiding it to penetrate you.

"Fuck, Sylus!" Rafayel gasped, his hips bucking reflexively at the sensation of Sylus's touch on his aching cock. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips as he tried to hold back from simply thrusting forward and burying himself inside you.

Sylus just smirked at Rafayel's reaction, his grip tightening slightly around the other man's thick shaft. He looked up at you both with a wicked glint in his eyes, enjoying the power he held in that moment.

"Go ahead, Rafayel, fuck her, claim her. Show me how much you want her, how badly you need to fill her up." With those words, Sylus pressed the swollen head of Rafayel's cock against your entrance, feeling it catch and then slowly sink into your soaked folds. The sensation made you both gasp, your head falling back against Rafayel's shoulder as your slick walls stretched and welcomed the thick intrusion.

Sylus watched with a mix of awe and lust-darkened eyes as you began to bounce on Rafayel's cock, your hips rising and falling in a sensual dance. The sight of your slick cunt swallowing up Rafayel's thick shaft over and over again was almost too much for him to bear.

"Goddamnit," Sylus swore under his breath. His eyes raked over your bouncing body, taking in the way your full breasts swayed with each movement, the hard points of your nipples just begging to be touched. He sat up on his knees and without warning, he leaned in and captured one of your bouncing nipples between his full, sensual lips. He suckled hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as he drew it into the wet heat of his mouth.

"Ohhh fuck!" you cried out, the dual stimulation of Rafayel's cock pounding into you and Sylus's mouth on your breast sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You reached back to tangle your fingers in Rafayel's short dark hair, holding him close as he pistoned his hips, driving his cock deeper and harder into your grasping cunt.

Sylus determined to mark you as his own, just as Rafayel was claiming you so roughly from behind, switched to your other breast, giving it the same treatment as he sucked hard, leaving dark hickeys blooming on your skin. His hand slid down to grope and knead the globe of your ass, holding you in place as Rafayel fucked into you. Rafayel panted harshly against your neck, his hips slapping against the globes of your ass with each powerful thrust. "God, your cunt feels incredible," he groaned, feeling your walls squeezing his cock. "So fucking tight and wet... "

As Sylus continued his assault now on your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark, claiming marks in his wake, you felt Rafayel's hot breath ghosting over your neck. His panting grew more ragged as he pistoned his hips with increasing fervor, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. In the heat of the moment, Rafayel's intense eyes locked with Sylus's dark, hungry gaze over your shoulder. For a charged second, they seemed to communicate something primal and possessive, a silent agreement passing between them. It was a look that spoke of a shared desire, a mutual hunger to lay claim to every inch of your body.

The air between them practically crackled with tension, the weight of their combined lust and desire threatening to overwhelm you. You could feel the power dynamic shifting, the balance of control tilting precariously as both men sought to assert their dominance over you in their own ways. And in a moment of dizzying desire, you grabbed both Sylus and Rafayel, pulling them in close. As you did, their faces turned towards each other, meeting in a messy, passionate kiss. It was a clash of lips and tongues, a tangle of hot breath and muffled moans. Sylus's hand slid up from your hip to grip the back of Rafayel's neck, holding him in place as he dominated the kiss. Rafayel responded just as fervently, his own hand fisting in Sylus's short white hair. And you were caught in the middle, your tongue darting out to dance and twine with both of theirs. It was a sensual, erotic dance of lips and limbs, the three of you writhing together in a tangle of sweat slicked skin and throbbing, aching need.

Throughout the messy, passionate kiss, Rafayel never ceased his relentless thrusting, his thick cock pounding into your dripping cunt. "She's close," Rafayel panted against your lips, his voice strained with exertion and pleasure. In an instant, Sylus pulled away from the messy three way kiss and shifted positions, moving back down to lie on his stomach between your spread thighs and without hesitation he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your dripping slit, tasting the heady mix of your arousal and Rafayel's pre cum. He groaned at the flavor, his grip tightening on your thighs as he held you in place, keeping you spread wide open for his hungry mouth.

Sylus focused his attention on your sensitive, throbbing clit, suckling and flicking the bud with skillful strokes of his tongue.

"Fuck, Sylus!" Rafayel grunted from behind you, his hips snapping harder, fucking into your fluttering walls as he felt your body tensing, climbing rapidly towards a shattering peak. "Don't stop, make her cum on your tongue while I fill her up!"

"I can't... it's too much," you whimpered, overwhelmed by the intense sensations assaulting your body from all sides. Your legs trembled and your toes curled as Sylus's skilled tongue pushed you to the brink of a massive climax. Rafayel just growled in your ear, his voice low and commanding. "You can. Give it to us. Cum on my cock, let go. I want to feel your sweet little cunt squeezing me as you come undone." Sylus doubled his efforts, sucking your clit hard into his mouth.

The dual stimulation was too intense to resist. Your back arched, pressing your breast into Rafayel's palm as he groped it roughly. A high, keening cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clamped down viciously on Rafayel's cock, rippling and fluttering as you came harder than you ever had before. Clear fluid gushed from your spasming cunt dripping down onto Sylus's eagerly lapping tongue. Sylus just moaned in delight, lapping up your release pushing you to ride out the aftershocks of your intense climax. Behind you, Rafayel grunted and slammed into you one, two, three more times before burying himself to the hilt and coming with a guttural groan. You could feel his seed flooding your insides, painting your walls white as he filled you up just like he promised.

When Sylus sat back up, his chin and lips were glistening with your combined arousal. He gathered a generous amount of the slick fluid dripping from your cunt onto his long fingers. Turning to Rafayel, he commanded in a low, authoritative tone "Open your mouth, Rafayel. Taste what you've done to our girl."

As Rafayel complied, Sylus pushed his coated fingers past his lips, making him suck them clean. At the same time, Sylus turned to you, his dark eyes blazing into yours with lust and possessive hunger.

"Open up, baby," he ordered, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "I want you to taste how fucking sexy you are" Unable to resist the commanding tone and the intense desire burning in Sylus's eyes, you parted your lips, allowing him to lean in and spit the mouthful of your mixed essence past your lips. The taste of your own arousal, blended with Sylus's and Rafayel's unique flavors, was overwhelming, you couldn't help but moan at the taste, your tongue darting out to lick your lips clean. The depravity of the act, of being fed your own cum by both of your lovers, sent a dark thrill rushing through you. You could feel Rafayel's softening cock still buried deep inside your fluttering cunt, as Sylus's fingers slid from Rafayel's mouth and he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing, filthy kiss.

As the intense sensations and emotions overwhelmed you, your body went limp, and you collapsed back against Rafayel's chest. He immediately wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you close as you both caught your breath.

"It's okay cutie," Rafayel murmured, pressing soft kisses to your temple and stroking your hair soothingly. "You did so well, taking us both like that. Such a good girl."

As he spoke, Sylus began to carefully extract Rafayel's softening cock from your dripping cunt. He gathered more of the mixed essence that leaked out in its wake, bringing his coated fingers to his mouth to lick them clean with a low, appreciative moan. Meanwhile, Rafayel shifted your limp, sated body to lie across the bed, his arms still wrapped protectively around you. He brushed your sweat dampened hair back from your face, his fingertips tracing the delicate lines of your features with a lover's tender touch.

Before the comforting darkness of sleep could claim you, you felt the gentle caress of a warm, damp cloth against your sensitive, overheated skin. Sylus was there, his touch tender and almost reverent as he began to clean the sweat and other evidence of your passionate encounter from your body.

He started at your neck, wiping away the lingering marks of his passion - the reddened skin and saliva where he had sucked and bitten in the throes of lust. The warm cloth felt soothing against your skin, and you couldn't help but sigh softly as Sylus took his time, meticulously cleaning every inch of your neck, collarbone, and the tops of your breasts.

As Sylus tended to you, Rafayel kept you nestled against him, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other hand continued to stroke your hair, occasionally brushing a few lingering kisses across your forehead and temple. Sylus's gentle ministrations and Rafayel's tender affections was almost too much, and you could feel yourself slipping towards a deep, well earned slumber.

Sylus worked his way down, wiping the sweat and other fluids from your stomach, hips, and thighs with the same thorough, almost worshipful focus. By the time he reached your most intimate area, your breathing had evened out and your body had gone pliant, ready to surrender to the promise of rest.

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